Ms. Got Rocks

by Jacqueline Colt

  “Come on girl, you can open your eyes, you have been trying for a while,” Rocky was hearing her sister in law’s lilting voice in her ear.

  “Hi, Margie, where am I?” she asked, feeling like she wanted to float back away.

  “You are at Land Hospital in Sacramento, and Devlin will be here any minute. You better be awake when he gets here,” Margie was smiling down at Rocky and pushing her hair off her face.

  Rocky used all her will to focus down to her right hand that was swathed in bandages.

  “Am I going to be all right?” Rocky asked her.

  “Yes, Rocks, you are going to be fine, you re-broke one rib and they fixed your finger. But Honey, it was too long and they could not put your finger back together,” Margie was holding her left hand.

  “All that, for that? I tried to get my finger here. If I hadn’t sat at the hospital up there I could have got here in plenty of time,” Rocky felt devastated and betrayed by time, a part of her was gone forever. Margie was wiping her tears away for her.

  “Where is my finger?” she turned and asked Margie. “I want my finger. I want to take it home, and bury it. Can you get my finger for me?” Rocky asked her in a tiny little voice.

  “As soon as Devlin is here, I will see what I can do. But Rocky, you must know, the likelihood is that your fingertip has already been disposed of,” Margie looked Rocky straight in the eyes.

  “Disposed, like in thrown out with the garbage?” Rocky asked.

  “No disposed of, as in cremated with the medical waste,” she answers.

  “Medical waste, my finger isn’t waste, it is a part of me, I want it back,” some voice that may belong to her was getting loud bordering on hysterical.

  “Don’t get upset until I can find out where your finger is, then you can get upset, all right,” Margie was telling her in a soothing voice.

  Rocky looked at the ugly green wall next to her bed and answered Margie.

  “Okay,” Rocky said in a childlike voice.

  Rocky was falling in and out of sleep, when the booming voice of her brother floated into her stream of being.

  “Rocky, open up in there, open your eyes. What the hell happened to you?” Devlin was demanding. “Was it that Callaghan bastard, I’ll kill him, if it was. Justin's already out looking for him.”

  “Rocky, wake up, I got you a Pepsi with ice, are you thirsty,” Devlin asked.

  Rocky registered the popping of the tab top and she struggled to force herself back into the ugly room.

  “Hi. Dev thanks for soda pop, I am really thirsty,” Rocky managed to squeak out. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  Taking a nice, long, heavenly drink, Rocky sighed. Her entire esophagus felt like it had been living in the Sahara.

  “I didn’t have a go around with Callaghan; this was my own fault,” Rocky told Devlin what happened. “I was working a crevice and it clamped down on my finger and the rock cut off most of it and I couldn’t get back to the surface. I cut some of my finger off myself.”

  “Oh God, it was horrible,” she blubbered into Devlin’s shirt. “And now I have only part of a finger, and I do not know where the rest of my finger is,” Rocky was speed talking. It is probably in a dumpster, and I got it out of the rock so the crawdads couldn’t eat it and now I don’t have it anymore.”

  “Margie, are they giving her anything for pain, she is working up to be hysterical,” Rocky’s brother was talking around her jabbering.

  “She will be okay Dev, I’ll get the nurse and they can get her a little something something to calm her.” Margie left to find a staff person and to find out where the fingertip was located.

  Continuing to blubber, Rocky held safe in her brother’s arms told him of her experience at the hospital. She told him about driving to Sacramento alone without her cell phone and sitting in the traffic jam.

  As he was listening to her tale, he was getting whiter and whiter under his sun tan as the blood drained from his face.

  “I drove up to the cabin and got the dogs, they are at the Hound Hotel with Pokey,” Devlin told her, when she had calmed down a little.

  "Justin will bail them out when he gets off work and take them to stay at his house. I didn’t know how long we would be here. I didn’t want to leave the three of them alone at the house. I mean, Marge and I might want to have a house to come home to later. Justin said he was okay with that.” Devlin was still holding her tight and rocking her like he did when she was a little kid and he was a bigger little kid than her.

  Dev got a moist blubbery pouf of breath and the most effort at a smile she could manage.

  “Do you think I can go home now, as soon as Margie gets my finger and my purse?” Rocky asked Devlin.

  “I don’t know Rocky, I just got here myself. These places have to keep you captive overnight or they do not get to force you to eat their breakfast. God knows, you wouldn’t want to miss that treat,” her brother was grinning at her. He handed her a box of tissues.

  “You’re too old now for me to wipe your snotty nose. Clean up,” Dev was pretending to be gruff, but he was really worried.

  “You know that my flying career is over now, don’t you? I screwed myself up royally doing this one. The flight surgeon will never punch my ticket now,” Rocky was not blubbering anymore as she told Devlin what she had been thinking about when she was off in that horrible gray space of no being.

  Rocky didn’t get her finger tip back; she did have to eat the hospital breakfast, two of them in fact. They were pretty good. Rocky went home the next afternoon.

  The first thing Rocky did was throw her shredded wet suit into the garbage. The second thing she did was dump all the nuggets out of her pouch onto the kitchen table and added them to the jelly jar to be converted into the hospital bills.

  Margie cared for Rocky's finger wound, which Margie said looks great. Rocky and Dev thought it was revolting. The place on Rocky’s hip where the doctor took a graft, to cover the bare bone in her finger also revolted them.

  “I look like a skinned chicken part,” Rocky commented. Margie and Devlin laughed, she smirked back at them.

  Justin arrived with all the dogs,the bunny and dinner, the guy even cooked most of it. He impressed Margie and Rocky.

  It was hard trying to hug that many dogs and not bump any place on her body that didn’t ache, throb or scream in agony.

  After dinner while the guys watched soccer, the women went shopping for groceries and Rocky bought as much film as the camera department had in stock.

  Margie was working the six AM shift at the hospital, they rolled out the door early. Dev drove Rocky home and as they drove into the yard, there was a piece of paper stuck on the front door. That was when Rocky noticed that her dredge was tied off onto the near shore.

  Devlin shouted, “Son of a Sea Cook, the dredge motor is gone.”

  “Dev, at this moment I do not give rat's patootie about that stupid dredge motor, I probably will never dredge again. I’ll call the Sheriff from the cabin.”

  “You are only saying that ‘cause you are in pain pill la la land. When you are back together you will want that motor to sell with the dredge, if that is what you want to do.”

  Dev was letting the dogs out the back of the truck; he snatched the grocery bag from Rocky’s hand.

  Rocky pulled the piece of paper off the door. It read:

  Dear Ms. Dredger,

  I towed your dredge to the bank and put the motor in your shed. Put a new lock on it as well and will get the key to you as soon as you are back. I watered your lettuce. The vegetables look peaked. I chased off a carload of lads, probably were going to help themselves to something. Shouldn’t put your address in the paper, it is asking for trouble. Callaghan.

  Dev was reading over Rocky's shoulder.

  “Well, doesn’t that beat all? Hah, maybe all that time he was grabbing a sneak peek at the nekked girlie dredger,” Dev was giving her that twinkle merry eyed look. That meant that Rocky would never hear t
he end of this.

  “Humph!” was all Rocky could manage to say, sending them into gales of laughter.

  Making his sister comfortable on the lawn chair with a mug of tea, Devlin headed back down the mountain to work.

  “Well, what a fine mess you have gotten yourself in. I can’t get my hand wet, can’t wash dishes, can’t dredge, can‘t knit,” Rocky talked to the dogs and herself.

  Rocky sat still for a cup of tea, and then decided that the finances were in rotten shape.

  Having to get a grip will take all of Rocky’s concentration while she healed. She sat back and planned how she could pull in some serious bucks with some photos. No matter how she re-figured it with the calculator, the picture would not get any better, the checkbook was still flat. She needed to do something at once.

  Until that finger healed and she was approved by the flight surgeon, Rocky could not expect anyone will be hiring her to fly.

  The Donner photos could be expedited, as soon as she could safely drive. That should cover some living expenses. Planning to sell her plane to pay the hospitals, she would remain in debt for the rest of her born days, or maybe it would only seem that way.

  Knowing she would feel better after some movement, Rocky raced the dogs down the driveway to the mailbox. There was a pile of mail, even though she had only been gone for three days.

  Rocky knew that kind of envelope, that was rejected photos, a big portion of the pile of mail was rejections. There was an envelope from Callaghan, with a padlock key in it and nothing more than a scrap of paper, telling her it was the key to the shed.

  Ah, that one should be good news; it was from the gallery in Truckee. Yes, it was very good news, a small check and the gallery owner, Larilee, was suggesting that Rocky produce a calendar of photos for her gallery for next year. She had included some snapshots of gallery pieces she would like in it. That might be a lot of fun to do and a trip to Truckee to photograph her items would be a treat. She loved that town. Rocky made a note to call Larilee that afternoon.

  The last envelope had no return address and looked like a wedding invitation. Rocky saved that one until she was back at the cabin. The woman and dogs chased around the yard, until they all dropped on the porch. Later, after starting the soaker hoses on the front lawn before it became too hot to water, they hustled back to the porch and Rocky opened the envelope.

  Inside was a picture of her dredge floating at the big rock, the picture cut from the newspaper with the news article reporting the accident. Paper clipped to the picture was a post it note.

  “That was fucking dumb mining. You wouldn't make a pimple on a good dredgers' ass.”

  Rocky turned it over; there was neither signature nor any other defining mark.

  “I’m getting hate mail for cutting my finger off. This whole world is getting way out of wacko,” Rocky said.

  Standing stunned on the porch, she looked closely around her property.

  She locked the front door and fell down onto the sleeping bag and the tears began to smart in her eyes.

  That next morning was going to be hot; the sun was already searing the brown grass of the meadow. The old cabin was too hot for sleeping already. With coffee mug in hand, Rocky walked with the dogs around the cabin and started the soaker hose on the lawn.

  The improvised water tank was almost empty. Rocky would have to haul the dredge motor down to the well head and hook up the water line to fill it. That would have to happen today, but it could wait another few minutes while she finished her coffee.

  Not being able to fly the race team job was really going to hurt her financially and emotionally. When Rocky was healed, she would need to be examined by a flight surgeon to get approval before she could fly again.

  All morning while doing her home chores, Rocky was debating with herself about selling the plane to pay the medical bills. Rocky still wanted to have her flight ticket current, even without a plane.

  The first priority was to get grocery money coming in; the plane sale could wait a week.

  Rocky decided she would drive next week, she would check with Margie on the weekend. Even though Margie would probably tell her she could not, Rocky would drive anyway.

  The finger did not feel too stiff to hold something, though the end was very tender, at the least bump of the hand her whole arm was an agony. Margie was bringing a finger protection cage for her.

  Standing at the far side of the meadow, Rocky spotted a Sheriff car drive by on the county road. On the chance that it was Justin Dixon, she waved.

  Just because Rocky was still married but in the divorce process, shouldn’t stop Deputy Dixon from honking the horn as he drove by. Even vaguely disappointed that it may not have been Dixon, Rocky admired his morality. She hoped that was what was keeping him from stopping by.

  Dropping the issue of Dixon and dating, Rocky returned to worrying about earning a living. The bottom line of the thinking was there still was not any money coming in without dredging or flying. She would have to find a job in a local store, when her hand had healed enough to type or do a manual task.

  The phone in the kitchen was ringing off the wall, Rocky slammed the screen door as she ran to capture the beast.

  “Rocky, it is Jazz Harris, I’ve been trying to call you for a couple of days.”

  “Hi, Jazz, uh, I had a dredging accident and been laid up, couldn’t get to the phone,” Rocky said.

  “Holy crap, are you gonna be okay?” Jazz was almost breathless with concern.

  “Eventually I will, I just have less of one finger,” Rocky explained.

  “What! I’m coming right out there, you can’t be alone to recover. My God, I can be there in six hours.”

  “Could you Jazz that would be so much help, just for a couple of days.”

  “As long as you aren’t the patient from hell,” Jazz joked.

  “I’m all that and more, come anyway, I’ll behave,"Rocky promised.

  Chapter 23

  Continuing to mull the job problem while she wandered the area, she took a reality check look at the meadow. There was a treasure trove of money waiting in the front yard beyond the patch of lawn. There was possibly a gold mine.

  Setting her coffee mug down on the porch steps, she hurried into the warm cabin and found the old phone book.

  Metal dealers, scrap metal dealers, metal recyclers. There were some listed, most in Sacramento. Rocky would prospect the metal mine in her front yard.

  Not being able to drive that week, did not preclude moving the truck to the closest pile of metal and pitching scrap metal to make a truckload. A small truckload, she had no idea how much weight the old truck would be willing to haul to Sacramento next week.

  “Okay, that was a worthwhile call,” Rocky told the uninterested dogs who were napping on the cooler porch.

  “The scrap metal people do not take every kind of metal, but they said the price was good right now, for what they accept,” Rocky was feeling better; having her project of the week laid out. A call to the auto junkyard in Auburn was even more positive news. It would buy most vehicle parts.

  "And, you guys." Still talking to the dogs. "Maybe we can find some big tub or something to use as a water catcher."

  Rocky remembered to have her cell phone slung on her belt, and with a second mug of coffee, she again toured the front yard.

  It must be the after effects of the painkillers; Rocky felt her brain was hopping from one subject to another.

  She told the dogs, “I’m not waiting any longer to know, I’m calling the Sheriff Substation about Mom’s chairs.”

  After waiting on hold long enough to do a complete walk around the cabin and to rescue Thumper the Jackrabbit from the soaker hose in the front, the dispatcher told Rocky that Deputy Dixon would call that day.

  “Fine, I’ll surely be here,” Rocky said with some mild disgust, it seemed she was always waiting for someone to call or arrive.

  The day continued along with Rocky picking small pieces of metal to go to t
he scrap yard, and trying to keep Thumper out of the river. The little jackrabbit was now completely bonded to the canine species and wanted to follow the dogs into the river for a swim. The soaker hose was a pale substitute to the bunny.

  By late in the afternoon, Rocky was hot, dirty, sweaty and tired of scrap metal. The dogs and Thumper were cool, clean, damp,smelling of river water and sunshine.

  Rocky was particularly tired of the Deputy Sheriff not returning her call. The county wasn’t that populated and certainly no hotbed of crime.

  “Why isn’t he returning my call?” she asked of Thumper while wiping the mud from the little jackrabbit’s huge back feet. Thumper twinkled her nose and blinked her big brown eyes.

  * * *

  When Jazz drove them to Old Town, she mused as she stretched out in the seat. The friends had spent the morning on the two-bit tour of the gold country.

  “I’ll get Daddy to buy the whole town and I could move out here and have so much fun.”

  “Great, then please Madame Town Owner, lengthen the runway at the airport to take the jet, and put in lights so we could use it at night, but first run the county sewer line up to the cabin,” Rocky said. “I’d like having you as a neighbor and Mayor, very convenient.”

  “Good idea,” Jazz said, “I like your thinking.”

  The rest of the afternoon was spent giving Jazz practice with the dredge on dry land, and then she went into the river to check out her new equipment.

  Jazz, of course, took to the underwater work like a little green frog. She was a natural athlete knowing how to use her body to achieve the goal. Rocky had shown Jazz the grid map on the wall of the living room. The grid delineated the portion of the river bottom that had previously been sampled and found gold bearing. She moved rocks from the grid they would use the first day Rocky was cleared to get wet.

  Jazz and the dogs held swimming races up and down the river, with Jazz winning and Phoebe second. Thumper was a very unhappy bunny being stuck on the dry beach, slamming her big hind foot on the sand. Rocky sat on the beach with the aggravated rabbit and took photos of the group. Jazz was enough aware of the camera to ensure that her face was never in the camera’s viewfinder, Rocky did not notice.