Violet Eyes

by John Everson

  He laughed. As he did, she could see the black spots of his beard already poking back through his chin at the earliest point of the morning. Either he got up early, or his beard grew fast!

  She took his hand and clenched her teeth, knowing it was going to hurt when he pulled. But he supported her carefully, deftly slipping an arm around her back as he pulled her from the dirt. His hand was broad and strong on her lower back; he almost seemed to lift her one-handed.

  But then she automatically moved to put her foot back on the ground. And the pain fired instantly up her ankle to gouge her brain.

  “Shit!” she complained, and grabbed on to the forester tighter. “Sorry,” she added.

  He laughed. “Hug away,” he said. “Better you than a tree in that regard!”

  She smiled, despite the embarrassment. “Well, I’m glad my hugs are better than wood, but I still can’t believe I did this. Thank you so much for picking me up. Literally.”

  “You know, the girls never usually say that to me,” he answered. She could see a faint twinkle of humor in his eyes.

  “Do you pick a lot of girls up off the jogging path?”

  “Well, it’s really more of a walking path,” he said. “Maybe that’s where the problem arose…”

  “There were no signs saying Walk, Don’t Run,” Rachel pointed out, gasping in pain between words.

  “Well, it’s a dirt path through the Everglades with lots of roots and…”

  “So you’re…suggesting…” she squeaked in sudden pain “…that I should have had common sense?”

  “I never said it was common,” he answered.

  “But you think I have no sense?”

  At that moment they broke out into the clearing, and Terry pointed to a white pickup truck instead of answering her. “That’s mine,” he said. “I’ll drive you to the hospital if you want.”

  Rachel frowned. “I don’t think it’s broken or anything…and I haven’t been in Passanattee long enough for insurance to kick in so…”

  Terry looked down at her foot and nodded. “Understood,” he said. “You just moved here? From where?”

  “Upstate,” she said. “I wanted to get as far away from my ex as possible and still live in Florida.”

  “Well, there still are the Keys,” he said. “But I guess you can’t go too much farther.”

  He opened the door to his pickup, and slipped two hands under her armpits. “I’m going to lift you up. Don’t try to move that foot.”

  “No,” she protested. “I can help…”

  He ignored whatever she was about to say and in one fluid motion, she was sitting in the cab. She gasped in a twinge of pain, but then relaxed into the seat.

  Terry closed the door and then hopped into the cab on the other side. “I can take you home,” he said. “I have some lineament and sports bandages at my house. If you’re not going to go to the doc for this, I want to wrap that for you before I take you home.”

  Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but was stopped by his hand.

  “This is not open for debate,” he said. “You don’t leave my care until I’ve made sure you’ve got that ankle taken care of.”

  “You’re very demanding,” she complained.

  He smiled, and pointed to the door. “You’re welcome to walk home?”

  “Okay, okay,” she laughed.

  Terry pulled out onto Route 7 and headed towards town. Just before they hit the main drag, he pulled off into a subdivision not far from her own. And just a couple blocks in, he pulled into the carport of a small, light blue frame house. As he killed the engine, he apologized. “It ain’t much, but it has a roof, and bandages.”

  He helped her out of the cab and into the house, seating her on an old brown couch in a small living room.

  “Wait here,” he asked and disappeared down a dark hallway. She could hear drawers opening and closing, and then he was back, kneeling down at her feet. She gritted her teeth as he took her foot in his hands and carefully undid the laces of her shoe. Not because it hurt, but because she hated someone else touching her feet. And she hated relying on anyone, especially a stranger, to help her. Although, if a guy was going to touch her feet, she could do worse than Terry Brackson, she considered. His shoulders looked broad and strong as he crouched on one knee before her. His hands were cool as he slipped off her shoe, and gently fingered the red lump that was her ankle. It had already swollen to twice its normal size.

  “Can you move your toes?”

  She did.

  “How about your whole foot?”

  “Ow,” she complained, but she did.

  He nodded. “I’m not a doctor, but I’ve played one in the forest. And I think you’re going to be all right. A little liniment and a couple days off this foot on the couch at home and…”

  “I can’t skip work!” she said. “I just started there, they’ll can me!”

  “Well, you aren’t going to be driving this week,” he said. “And you sure aren’t going to be walking much, unless you want to mess this up some more.”

  She shook her head. “No, but I have to go. And I need to get home first. My son is probably up by now, and wondering where I am.”

  He shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere until I apply Terry Brackson’s patented miracle cure for jolted joints and aching ankles. This will just take a minute.”

  Terry squeezed a tube and a menthol smell filled the air. Then a cool splash enveloped the heat of her ankle, and he was massaging in the pain-killing ointment.

  “Don’t be surprised if people ask you about your new perfume today,” he warned.

  “Yeah, right,” she said. “I’ll just send them your way.”

  Terry stretched out an almond-colored elastic bandage, and then began to wrap the ankle. The tightness of the hold felt good against the ache. When he was done, he took the ointment back to the bathroom, and she heard the faucet running as he washed his hands.

  “All right, let’s get you home,” he said when he returned. He helped her off the couch and like a three-legged race contestant, they hobbled back out of his small house to the truck. Five minutes later, they were in her driveway.

  “If you want, I can hang around for a little while and give you a ride to work,” he offered.

  Rachel hesitated. “That would be amazing of you. But don’t you have to get back to work yourself?”

  “I figure… I’m just helping one of our park users to get out of the Everglades safely,” he said. He smiled, and Rachel melted at the warmth in his face. His eyes were filled with a kindness she hadn’t seen in a man in…she didn’t know how long.

  “It will take me twenty minutes or so to get ready and to get Eric off to school,” she said.

  “Take thirty,” he said. “Especially if you have a coffee maker.”

  She laughed. “I can help there.”

  Eric opened the door before they reached it. Feral was barking fast and furious somewhere inside. His eyes widened when he saw Terry helping her walk.

  “What happened, Mom?” he asked.

  “I’m a klutz,” she answered, and pulled the screen door open to allow them to step inside. After introducing Eric and Terry, she nodded towards the hallway. “I’m going to go clean up a little and change. If you could just get me to the wall…”

  “I can help?” Terry offered. But she declined.

  “I can do this. The wrap is helping a lot. If I can just lean on that wall…I’ll be able to manage.”

  She directed Eric to get ready for school, and pointed Terry towards the coffee maker in the kitchen, and told him what cabinet to find the coffee in. Then she hobbled back to the bedroom, blushing with both exertion and embarrassment. Nice way to start her new life. Although, as she stripped off her T-shirt and sponged herself fresh with a damp washcloth, she had to admit the accident had yielded benefits. Terry had totally gone beyond the call to help her; she had to think he was interested in her beyond just “doing his duty” to help someone who’d fal
len in the parkland he managed. And she definitely wanted to see him again…preferably when she could walk on her own two feet. She found that she was acutely aware that she was standing in her bathroom in her bra while Terry was just a few yards away, probably in her kitchen.

  The thought made her feel warm.

  “All right, you horny hussy,” she whispered to her reflection. “Just get your shit together, and worry about shacking up later.”

  Rachel carefully moved about the bathroom and bedroom, leaning on the walls, but slowly getting cleaned up and dressed. She didn’t worry as much about her hair as she normally would; she figured the big bandage on her ankle was a free pass to be half-assed today.

  When she navigated back down the hall, she could smell the fresh coffee coloring the air; Terry was sitting on the couch with a cup in hand, and Eric was scooping up spoonfuls of cereal, leaning over the coffee table.

  “You set?” she asked him. “Homework packed? Lunch?”

  “I’m ready, Mom,” Eric said. “And I fed Feral. We’re all good.” He pointed towards the door. “Go to work, I’ll be fine. I’ll head to the bus in a couple minutes.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, and her son laughed.

  “I don’t think it matters,” he said. “You’re not going to be doing much either way. Go!”

  Terry downed the last of his mug and took it back to the kitchen, rinsing it out in the sink. Then after she kissed Eric goodbye, he helped her back to his truck.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” she told him, when he slid into the driver’s seat and revved the engine. It sounded strong and tuned…just like its driver. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she instantly wanted to slap herself. What kind of sappy crap is that?

  “Just do me one favor,” he said.

  “Name it.”

  “Have dinner with me tonight?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Friday, May 10. 5:14 p.m.

  Rachel got a ride home from Susan Jefferson, the amazingly tan girl who held down the customer service cube next to hers, at the end of the afternoon. Listening to the lilt in Susan’s voice all day kind of drove her a little nuts—the girl had that same perky airhead sound to her conversations that had annoyed her about the girls in the Thai place the other day. But Rachel had to admit, Susan’s ditzy way seemed to get results. The woman never raised her voice or sounded tense (if anything, it sounded like she was trying to score dates with some of the angry customer service callers) and by the time the phone clicked back on the receiver in the cube next to her, from what Rachel could tell, the customers seemed to always be mollified.

  Rachel, on the other hand, struggled to keep her temper in check on almost every call. Susan was cute, irritatingly chipper and good. Which only made it harder for her to ask the girl for help, but…she didn’t have a lot of options. Just like she was to all of the customers, so far, Susan had been really nice to her.

  So at the end of the day, she found herself limping along, following Susan’s neatly sashaying behind to her neat little blue Mazda. Even the girl’s ass was perky, Rachel thought to herself. Watching Susan’s effortless strut made Rachel want to swing her own hips in jealous competition (older gals can still wiggle, she thought) but she could just barely keep herself upright given the ankle. It was feeling a little better, and with the solid pressure of the bandage on it all day, she found she could put a little pressure on it.

  She tried to just be thankful for Susan’s kindness, instead of being jealous of the girl’s easy allure.

  “My mom always said to soak a sprain in Epson Salts,” Susan offered, as Rachel moaned and levered her way into the low passenger’s seat.”

  Rachel nodded her thanks.

  “Maybe after my date,” she said.

  “Is he cute?” Susan smiled. Her eyes flashed and her teeth seemed to grow just a shade whiter as she said “cute”. Rachel forced a smile and reminded herself that Susan was helping her.

  “He is,” Rachel said.

  “Well, just remember,” Susan advised. “Give him just enough to make him want to come back. But you want to still keep him guessing.”

  “Thanks,” Rachel said. A twenty-something was trying to give her dating advice. The girl looked like she had just walked out of the sorority. Did Rachel really look that clueless? “I’m right here,” Rachel announced, avoiding any pursuit of that conversation and pointing at her house as they turned down her street. Saved by a quick commute!

  “If you ever need me to watch your son?” Susan offered. “I love kids! Got two little brothers.”

  “Thanks,” Rachel said opening the door. “But I think I have this one covered. Maybe next time though.”

  Susan nodded, blonde locks bouncing across her shoulders and covering one eye. “See you Monday!”

  Rachel watched the Mazda pull away. Maybe she should have seen if Susan was free tonight. She just wasn’t comfortable going there yet, though. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Terry seeing Susan when he picked her up. He might think better about which woman he wanted to have dinner with.

  She laughed away that insecure thought, and began to walk across the street. Billy was out, which was perfect. At his age, Eric really could stay at home for a couple hours on his own, but she didn’t really want him to.

  Billy crossed the street to talk to her, asking “What’s up?” with a white-toothed grin that looked as bleached by the sun as his hair. The kid looked…fresh, she thought. Healthy, strong and ready for anything. She was pretty sure college kids hadn’t looked as good as him when she’d been in school. She could have introduced him to Susan, and the two could have passed as a real-life iteration of Barbie and Ken.

  Figures, she thought. We got the dogs when we were in school, and the kids these days…they got it all.

  She shook off the thought about how Billy’s pecs probably looked with his shirt off and instead focused on the topic at hand. “Do you think you could keep an eye on Eric tonight?” she asked. “He’s really almost too old for a babysitter, but…I’ve got a date, and I don’t really want to leave him totally alone in a new place…”

  Billy smiled. “Say no more!” he said. “We were talking the other day. Eric needs to work on his fastball. I’m there for him.”

  He blinked quickly, three or four times, and then shook his head, as if to ward off a mosquito. Then he grinned.

  “Awesome,” she grinned. “I owe you big time.”

  “Great. Do you do landscaping?” he asked with an innocent gleam.

  Rachel shook her head. “Afraid not. But I’ll contribute toward the bill!” She smiled.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Babysitters make $50 an hour, right?”

  Rachel raised an eyebrow. “I was thinking more like $5.”

  “What’s a zero between friends?”

  “Uh-huh. Thanks, Billy,” she said.

  Terry picked her up at seven, and Eric was already across the street and practicing his fastball pitch on the front lawn with Billy when he pulled in the drive. Rachel had gotten a long branch from a pile near her back fence and stripped it of twigs and dead leaves. It served well as her walking stick. When she hobbled up to answer the door, Terry grinned.

  “I was hoping you were a nature lover,” he said. “But wow…you’re like a mountain man.”

  “Bite me,” she answered.

  “I might,” he promised. Then he took her elbow and helped her to the truck. “I thought first though, we might check out some normal food. I was thinking Boudreaux’s, down by the docks. Okay with you?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever. I have no idea what’s good around here or not.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were seated at a riverside table, staring out at the cypress trees and the green rolling river that led out to the sea. Passanattee wasn’t that far from the ocean, but sometimes, it felt like it was deep inside the swamp. She didn’t know about the food, but Boudreaux’s sure had a great view.

  “H
ow did you end up working for the swamp?” she asked, and then instantly regretted it. She sounded like an idiot. He wasn’t working for the swamp, he was working for the state of…

  “I love the Everglades,” he said. “I grew up in Ohio, and we didn’t have anything but fields. But here…” He shrugged. “I came to school down here, not really sure what I wanted to do. But when I saw the Everglades… I knew that somehow I had to work here. To help preserve the wildlife here. To make sure nobody came in with a bunch of plows and cranes and started filling in the swamps to build new condos. There’s plenty of space around the country for that. But there is only one place that is like the Everglades. And we can’t replace that.”

  “Wow,” Rachel said. “Sounds like you’re a convert.”

  He grinned, and she could see the sparkle in his eyes when he did.

  “Totally. I love this place. And I want to make sure nobody ever comes in here and messes it up.”

  “I think humans pretty consistently manage to mess up just about any good thing they find.” As she said it, a mental image of Anders came to mind. She forced it away.

  “We do tend to abuse nature more than we care for her,” Terry agreed. “But we can do good too. Just look at the story of the Bald Eagle! We nearly took out the whole species with pesticides and hunting, and then people got wise, and realized it would be pretty embarrassing to have killed off our own national emblem. Now there are thousands of them in the skies again—all because people decided to take action. We can do good, when we put our minds to it.”

  “Yeah, but we usually don’t,” Rachel said. “Usually we bulldoze down the forests, fill in the swamps and pour asphalt. You know that, it’s why you’re here.”

  “Are you gunning for the Miss Misanthrope award today?” He smiled, but Rachel saw the crinkle of concern in his eyes.

  “I think I already won the crown,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’ll try not to hate you too!”

  He faked a bow. “I’m honored. But would you still be saying that if I hadn’t picked you up off the ground this morning?”