The perimeter gate had opened. Sandcastle Estate now towered before them in all her byzantine wonder. Her futuristic spirals, arches, gables, intersections and eaves appearing so prodigiously engineered that Brant was certain he had never seen anything like it.
Teresa got a real kick out of his goggling. “I told you you’d be amazed. Now just pull up to the east face, near those steps and park,” she pointed.
“All this . . . in a desert. It’s so beautiful!” Brant arrowed his beaten vehicle down a curved, mosaic-tiled drive. From every view point, manicured beds of flowers, lush greenery and assorted fountains of all types and sizes with their mists reaching high into the air, surrounded them; he could hardly keep his eyes on the driveway. He had heard the rumors, but this was beyond even what he had imagined. It was truly an Eden in a desert wasteland. No wonder the Reitman’s were so determined to keep their paradise under lock and key, and away from public eyes. It was their sanctuary, and not to be defiled.
As the Cherokee stopped with a dusty screech, a young teenage girl suddenly bounded down a series of smooth, marble steps—skipping every other one in her excitement to reach them. She was dressed in a youthful sporty outfit—bright and summery. Her long thick hair was full and straight, and bounced delicately over her shoulders as she ran. She was as lovely as she was youthful, and seemed truly overjoyed by their arrival. “Hey Teresa!” she called out, waving her hand vigorously.
Teresa smiled delightfully and waved back with equal zeal. She managed to exit the car just in time to intercept a large hug. “Hey, Jess!” she said. “You look like you’ve been out in the sun.”
“I live in a desert,” laughed Jessie. “What do you expect?”
The two laughed and hugged while Brant stood by his door smiling like a dumb stump. He felt a little intrusive in this emotional interaction, and hoped that Teresa would introduce him as her friend, and not just the guy who found her broke down in the desert.
“We were getting so worried,” Jessie continued, finally releasing her grasp. “Gracie was about to call out the National Guard,” she smirked. Then the girl suddenly crinkled up her noise. “Ouch! What happened to your cheek? You have a little scratch and it’s all red on this side,” she pointed out.
Teresa snorted embarrassingly. “Oh that.” She eyed Brant. “I biffed it trying to get our car out of the sand,” she waved it off. “I’m fine.”
“Out of the sand? What happened?”
“It was nothing. Really.”
Brant finally strode up to join them, hands in pocket. “It does look sore. I felt awful,” he announced, with a friendly nod. “She plunged head first right into the dirt like a torpedo.”
“Yes. Thanks for that clarification, Brant,” toned Teresa, giving him the eyes. “Jessie,” she redirected, calmingly, “This is Brant Stephens, he’s an old acquaintance of mine, and the nice gentleman who saved me from a very long, and certainly a very hot, walk this morning.”
Jessie smiled, and eyed him welcomingly.
“Hey,” Brant said extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Jessie.”
“Nice to meet you too,” she replied. She turned back to Teresa, her bright eyes now squinting from the sun. “So . . . you two know each other? That’s kind of weird . . . I mean that you were both out there in the middle of the desert at the same time.”
Teresa grinned humorously. “Go figure. Providence. Isn’t that amazing? I thought the same thing,” she said in a flush.
A sudden voice came tapping down the long spread of steps from a granite-pillared veranda above. There, sitting amongst a collage of intricate exterior décor, was a small petite woman. “Did it occur to anyone that from my vantage point, I can’t catch a single word of your conversation!” The timid, yet abrupt voice shouted. “It is simply too far to eavesdrop and I’m not about to wheel this thing all the way down there!”
Brant looked a question at Teresa. “That’s not—?”
“Yes. Yes it is. That’s Gracie Reitman. Your affluent host.” Teresa smiled endearingly. “Isn’t she something.”
“Indeed she is.”
Gracie sat in her custom wheelchair at the edge of the uppermost step. She was dressed in an elegant pattern of floral—replete in silk, lace and topped with a flamboyant, wide-rimmed summer hat . . . large bow tied on one side. Her white-gloved hands were folded neatly in her lap. She suddenly waved unexpectedly, and before Brant knew it, he had waved back.
“Now get yourselves up here!” she hollered down. “I want to meet the man who has been wandering around my desert, and who rescued my Teresa.”
Brant flushed, swallowed, then leveled a nervous regard on Teresa. “She means me.”
Teresa ginned. “Yes, she does. Be afraid, very afraid.” Then she eyed him desperately.
“Yikes,” he whispered back.
Jessie snickered at them both and grabbed hold of Teresa’s hand. “Come on,” she said happily.
The three headed up the steps.
Gracie waited, her character brimming with anticipation.
As they stepped onto the terrace, Gracie was already reaching for Teresa’s hand. “Teresa, dear. I was so worried about you,” she said, giving her hand a contented squeeze. Then the old, wrinkled eyes narrowed as she noticed the scratch on Teresa’s cheek. “What happened to you?” she said in concern. “Are you hurt?” And she looked a crafty eye at Brant.
Brant paled and felt his stomach drop.
“No, no. I’m fine. Really. I just fell,” Teresa explained for what she hoped would be the last time. Oh why, oh why, did she let Brant talk her into pushing that stupid jeep!
Brant stepped up on key, his hand outstretched. It was now or never. “Hello, Mrs. Reitman. This is such an honor. Thank you for admitting me.”
Gracie surveyed him like a dress in a window shop. Then, as if satisfied, she nodded, smiled and raised a patrician hand. “You are Professor Brant Stephens?”
Brant nodded, then eased at her warm introduction. He shook her hand gently.
“It turns out that Mr. Stephens and I are old high-school acquaintances,” explained Teresa. “And,” she continued, looking a question at Gracie, “a desert acquaintance of yours, as I understand it?”
“Indeed.” Gracie nodded. “Interesting how those to whom we traverse often return to us on different trails,” she said. “It is unavoidable in a world truly small as ours.” Then she paused and sighed contently. “You are the only outsider ever allowed on Reitman land, Mr. Stephens. I took a great deal of flak for that decision. But I somehow knew it was the right one—now I understand why.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Reitman. I have wanted to meet you in person for so long, to thank you for your kind cooperation with my research.”
“Oh?” she replied, her brow wrinkling under her large hat. “How nice.”
“You see,” Brant continued, “I don’t like the dark. From my provisional campsite, I’m able to see Sandcastle in the distance, because of the flat terrain. And at night, this desert can feel very large, and very lonely. But the many lights from the estate grounds extend a pleasant radiance which always makes me feel content and not quite so alone in my work.”
Bullseye, Teresa thought.
Gracie smiled and nodded her approval of him as her guest. “I’m so glad. I suppose we do make ourselves out to be a bit of a Christmas tree at nighttime around here.” She paused, then drew off strangely, staring out toward the distance. “But unlike you, Professor Stephens, it is not the darkness which causes me hesitation, but that which the darkness conceals. It makes me feel very vulnerable, not knowing what is out there . . . what moves about, yet refuses to reflect light.” Then she seemed to catch herself, and turned back with a smile. “And how is your work progressing, Professor? Did you find any treasure out in my sandbox?”
“Academic treasures a plenty, Mrs. Reitman. I’ll keep the University’s computers busy for some time filtering through all of the data I’ve acquired. It will make my class on Eremology th
at much more interesting this semester.”
“Oh, but that is excellent!” she clapped. “Now, speaking of your university, I understand your desert sabbatical will be ending shortly, as I recall our contract.”
“Yes,” he replied. Brant was even more impressed. The woman matriarch ruled a multi-billion dollar empire, but still took note of the details in a simple contract which he had typed up months earlier. The contract came as an appeal—which Brant had simply mailed to her company—Reitman Enterprises. It had been a long-shot at best, and he never expected a response. So when his department secretary handed him a phone message not too many days afterward, he had been utterly shocked to learn that it was from Gracie Reitman.
“You’ll forgive me, Mr. Stephens, if I don’t invite you inside. I’m extremely grateful to you, and if you would like, you are welcome to spend some time admiring our lovely grounds before you leave. But I’m afraid Teresa and I have business to attend to. And the day is nearly spent. You do understand?”
“Oh, of course. I need to be getting back anyway. I want to try and contact a towing service tonight, before it gets too late, and have them pick up Miss Henington’s car.”
“Oh?” chirped Teresa, surprised. “You . . . you don’t need to do that. Really. I’m going to make my brother come and get it. It’s his crappy car.”
Brant shook his head. “Who knows when that will happen. And it’s just sitting out there in the middle of nowhere. It will be my pleasure.”
“It is a kind gesture, Mr. Stephens,” Gracie spoke up. “But that won’t be necessary.” She looked from him to Teresa. “My mechanic assures me that he will have the car delivered here in perfect working order within the hour. I believe, in fact,”—she paused for a mental recap—“that he has already acquired it.”
Brant’s brow rose, curiously, “but how did—?”
“He’s extremely assiduous, and a bit of a mechanical genius,” she added with a smile.
“Gracie. Thank you so much,” said Teresa. “Please let me pay for—”
“Oh pooh,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Well, I better be on my way then,” said Brant, glancing at his watch. He turned to Gracie. “Mrs. Reitman. Thank you, again, for allowing me access to your property. It means so much.” He extended a grateful hand.
“Gracie,” she replied, giving it a gentle shake. “My friends call me, Gracie.”
Brant beamed.
“I’ll walk you to the car,” Teresa bubbled up. “I need to get my. . . my umbrella.”
Brant smirked. “Yes please. Don’t leave that in my car.”
Teresa didn’t reply but shot him a ruthless glare.
Gracie grinned, easily catching the tacit banter in their exchange.
Brant turned and nodded to Jessie. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Jessie.” Then he took Teresa’s arm. “Let’s go then.” And they headed down the steps.
“I’ll walk down with them,” spoke Jessie, suddenly.
“Oh,” popped up Gracie, catching the girl by her sleeve. “Would you mind, instead, getting me a drink of water, dear? Teresa will be back momentarily, and I was hoping you’d get her a fresh glass as well. The poor thing must be completely parched.”
“Okay,” Jessie replied happily, and hurried in through the large arched entry.
Gracie smiled as she watched Brant and Teresa descend the steps. She liked Brant. He was, good soul, as they say. Gracie could sense as much in the handsome man. She could sense that, and something else brewing between the he and Teresa. And it was a good thing . . . perhaps even love? She sighed pleasantly to herself then engaged the motor on her chair and headed back inside.
Brant stood at his car door, laughing hysterically at Teresa, who had opened up her umbrella and was displaying it hilariously.
“Hey Teresa!” came a surprised voice from nowhere.
She whirled and went red as a beet. “Sam!” she said surprisingly, quickly closing the umbrella. “There you are. Gracie said you were out catching lizards.”
The boy looked troubled under his baseball cap; not at all the beaming, energy-infused kid that Teresa had seen just days earlier. Below his cut-offs, both knees were dirty, and he had an insect catching-net—which looked like it had just been used to catch an angry falcon—in one hand and a small critter-cage in the other.
Sam blinked, eyeing Brant suspiciously.
The boy’s apprehension was well understood. His past had proven, all too often, that when a stranger showed up at his foster home, it meant change, and usually in a bad way.
“Who is that?” he asked, drawing a pointed finger.
“Hey Sam,” replied Brant, with a friendly enough smile to disarm the boy.
The finger, however, stayed on target.
“Sam. This is Brant Stephens. He is a good friend of mine. He’s the one who rescued me from being broke down in the desert.”
Sam’s expression instantly changed. He lit up like a wet-toed mouse on a live wire. “Oh. Hey, Brant,” he said, finding both his smile and a wave. He put down his net, cage, and hurried over to Teresa where he promptly wrapped her in a large hug. “Jessie said you were late . . . and then Gracie said she couldn’t reach you . . . then Jessie said something might have happened to you . . . and then Gracie said she was going to call the police chief, and then . . .”
“Whoa there kiddo! Breathe!” exclaimed Teresa. “I’m fine. See,” she said, holding out her arms and turning full circle. “I’m just fine.” She bent, took off Sam’s hat and ruffled his hair. “Sam is Jessie’s brother.”
Brant nodded. “I figured as much. They look alike.”
Sam wrinkled his nose. “Don’t say that in front of Jessie. She’ll hit you.”
Brant laughed. “I’ll remember that. So . . . did ya catch anything in that net of yours?” he asked.
Sam’s head went depressingly down. “No. There’s a great big lizard in that bush over there,” he pointed, “but he’s too fast.” Sam raised his mutilated net. “And this net just tears in the bushes.”
“Hmm,” said Brant, eyeing the net perplexingly. “Well, I’ve been living out here in the desert for weeks now, and I’ve been using a secret hunting art for catching lizards.”
Sam gave him a disgruntled look. “Sure you have.”
Brant let out a come clean snort. “Okay. You’re right. I’m kidding about the art . . . thing, but I really do have a sure way of catching those hot-footed critters,” he assured. “Do you want me to show you?”
Sam infused with excitement. “Really?”
“You bet. Guaranteed catch.”
Teresa shook her head and smiled doubtfully at the man. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
“Are you doubting my lizard-catching skills?” Brant teased.
“Yes,” she replied adamantly. “Shockingly, I am.”
“Come on, Sam. We’ll show her. Take me to that bush.”
“As much as I’d love to wait around and see this blunder, I have a meeting with Gracie. Sam can fill me in later on your outcome.” She sighed regrettably and reached out her hand. “Thanks Brant. Thanks for everything. It’s been an,”—she paused to allow a chuckle—“adventure, to be sure.”
Brant reached and took her hand softly. “I love adventures,” he whispered. “Up for another one sometime soon?” He smiled warmly, and his bright-blue eyes sparkled with innuendo. “Please?” he begged. “One more chance for a real date?”
Teresa felt her stomach do a summersault. A sudden wave of warmth rushed through her and she felt light-headed. “Why not . . . sure,” she managed, then noticed her hand still wrapped tightly around his.
“Hey Brant!” shouted Sam. “Hurry up! He’s still in there!”
“I’ll call you,” said Brant, his gaze deep and sincere. Then with a final squeeze on her hand, he turned and jogged off toward Sam and the bush.
Teresa headed back up the steps . . . she could have floated up them.
/> “Can ya see him,” whispered Sam. “He’s right there sitting on that rock.”
“Oh yeah. He’s a nice pretty one,” replied Brant, crouching carefully down on one knee. “Now, let me show you how to do this.” He took his right hand and started wiggling his fingers. “Lizards see movement more profound than anything else,” he whispered. “So, you keep this hand way out here in front of him, moving your fingers like this. Then, you bring your other hand in toward him from behind. Very, very slowly.” Now Brant drew his left hand ever-so-slightly closer and closer toward the lizard. “See his eyes. He’s so focused on my moving fingers, he doesn’t even see me coming at him with the other hand.”
“This is so cool!” whispered Sam, very near bursting.
Closer and closer Brant eased his left hand in, while his right hand stayed well out and above the lizard, his fingers moving like crazy. Then snap! Brant made the plunge with his left hand. “Got him!” he shouted.
“You got him! You got him, Brant!”
“See. What did I tell you.” He handing the squirming lizard over to the boy. “All you need is a little practice and you can do it too.”
“Okay! Thanks!” Sam dropped the reptile in the cage then snapped the lid on tight.
“Don’t forget to give him air,” reminded Brant.
“I won’t. I’ll punch a few holes in the lid.” Sam hurriedly reached in his pocket to retrieve a small Swiss Scout knife. As he pulled it from his pocket, one of the odd stones he had found earlier fell on the ground.
“Hey. You dropped this, kiddo,” said Brant, bending to pick it up. He eyed it curiously. “Where did you find this?” he asked Sam.
“I found it today . . . in a packrat hole, just over there by the solarium,” the boy replied, his interest still focused on his latest catch.
“Amazing,” whispered Brant, eyeing the round stone intently. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“You can have it if you want?”
“But it’s yours, Sam.”
“It’s okay. I have another one just like it,” he replied. “Go ahead and take it.”
Of Salt and Sand Page 52