Fuzzy Logic

by Susan C. Daffron

  “How nice that I can be a distraction. My mom has been packing, so I think she may finally really move in with your dad. I’m hoping that happens. Then I’ll feel like my mission here was accomplished. It’s been an odd visit for me too, since I thought I’d be tending to her in a state of illness, not cleaning furiously and then visiting San Diego attractions with you.”

  “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.”

  “Quoting lyrics now are we?”

  “You know who it is, right?”

  Jan smiled. “I love John Lennon. That song was written for his son Sean.”

  “Still batting a thousand. Impressive.”

  Michael directed Jan to a riding stable that was south of San Diego, close to the Mexican border. She parked the rental car in the muddy parking area. As they got out of the car, a horse whinnied. The earthy scent of dust, horse, and manure filled the air.

  Jan waved her hand toward the barn. “Where is everybody?”

  “They’re probably inside saddling up the horses. We’re the only ones riding today. Since it is your first time on a horse, I thought it might be better if we weren’t riding with a big group of people.”

  “I appreciate that. If I fall off or freak out, I’d rather not do it in front of a crowd. How did you pull that off?”

  Michael smiled. “My agency has worked with these folks in the past. They owe me. Remember that trained horse in the commercial? It was one of theirs. We paid them a fortune to truck Trigger up to Alpine Grove and tend to him.”

  “Yes, I remember you were worried about the horse’s time.”

  “I think Trigger’s participation in the ad is helping put one of their kids through college.”

  They entered the darkened barn, where a short older woman with wild gray hair bursting out from under a cowboy hat was doing something to the saddle on one of the horses. Jan whispered to Michael, “Those horses are really big. You didn’t tell me they’d be so large.”

  “Up close they look bigger; it’s a perspective thing,” Michael said as he waved to the woman. “Howdy, Connie. How’s it going?”

  Connie patted the horse’s side. “Hiya Mikey. Just cinching up Friday here for ya.”

  Jan glanced at Michael and turned back to Connie. “The horse is named Friday?”

  “She was born on Good Friday,” Connie said. “And you’ll never find a better horse. Right, Friday?” The horse waved its head up and down.

  “What’s the name of the other horse?” Jan asked. “She...or he...is very pretty.”

  “That one’s yours darlin’, and her name is Honey,” Connie said. “She’s named that because she is such a sweet ole honey-pot. We put all the little kids and beginners on her. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Just yesterday, we had a five-year-old little cowboy up there and he did great.”

  Jan walked up to Honey and tentatively reached out a hand to pet the horse’s neck. “Hi, Honey. You’re going to be nice, right?” The horse made a snorfle noise. “I hope that’s a yes.”

  “Don’t worry darlin’, you’ll be fine. So we’re ready to go here. Let me get the mounting block for you.”

  While Connie disappeared into another room, Jan tried to will the butterflies in her stomach to settle down. “What if I fall off? I could break something.”

  Michael put his arm around her shoulders. “Allegedly, a five-year old did just great yesterday. You’ll be fine.”

  After some patient assistance from Connie, Jan sat atop Honey. “Things look different from up here.”

  Michael rode Friday over to stand next to her. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  Jan smiled. “We haven’t moved, but so far, so good.”

  Connie explained a few basics and instructed them on the rules of the trail. “I’ll be right here. All you have to do is follow me. The horses know what to do and they know where we’re going. Okay, let’s go, folks.”

  Jan’s stomach clenched in fear as Honey moved underneath her. But she had listened closely and then attempted a few tentative experiments in equine direction. The horse actually was paying attention to her instructions. She looked back at Michael, who was following her on Friday, “I’m riding!”

  Michael grinned. “I knew you could do it. Watch out for that tree branch; we’re heading down that trail over there.”

  Jan focused on the trail and Connie’s horse in front of her, who was named Anna. They walked through a swampy woodsy area with branches overhanging the trail. Jan ducked to avoid getting smacked in the face by various shrubs. They exited the trees, which opened out to a wooden bridge that crossed the dunes toward the Pacific Ocean. Jan gasped as the panoramic view of an almost empty beach that seemed to stretch for miles opened up in front of her. “I didn’t realize we were so close to the beach!”

  Connie turned around in her saddle. “Yep. This is the good part. You get to ride in the ocean. The horses like to splash around a bit and get their feet wet to cool off. If you have a camera, I’ll take your picture, too.”

  “I have one,” Michael said. “Here you go.” He handed the camera to Connie and rode around toward the ocean and indicated that Jan should follow him.

  Honey was enthusiastic about the go command and launched toward the ocean at a slow trot, instead of the placid walk that Jan had enjoyed on the trail. Panicking at the sudden movement, Jan clutched the horse’s mane and the saddle horn and bumped in the saddle as Honey moved forward. “Ow! Easy Honey, slow down!”

  Michael grinned. “Try pulling back on the reins.”

  Recovering her equilibrium, Jan did as instructed and Honey returned to a walk, sloshing through the waves. Jan laughed as the water splashed up on her jeans and the wind whipped her hair around her face. “Wow, this is amazing!”

  After the horseback ride, Jan was on an adrenaline high. According to Michael, the next stop on the San Diego tour was the Hotel del Coronado for a late lunch. He directed her to the red-turreted Victorian seaside resort that Jan had seen only in pictures. They sat at an outdoor cafe under a big white umbrella.

  Jan sighed as she looked out at the expanse of white sandy beach and the ocean. “This is so beautiful. I always wanted to come here after I saw the movie Some Like it Hot. The movie was filmed at the Hotel del in 1958.”

  “Marilyn Monroe was hot.”

  Ignoring the movie-star commentary, Jan said, “Did you know the hotel is supposed to be haunted? A woman named Kate Morgan died here in 1892. She died on a staircase from a gunshot wound that was determined to be self-inflicted. But some people think it was murder, and that now she’s a ghost who haunts the hotel room where she stayed.”

  “Are you worried?” Michael waved a potato chip at her. “A haunting can really ruin your lunch.”

  “Kate sounds fairly harmless, really. Guests who’ve stayed in the room say that sometimes she turns the TV on and off or they feel breezes going through the room when the window isn’t open.”

  Michael took a sip from his water glass. “There are a lot of historical photos in the hallways with plaques full of information like that.”

  Jan’s eyes sparkled. “I can’t wait to see them! Are you almost done?”

  After they left the hotel, Jan drove north toward Michael’s house. He needed to let out Swoosie, so it seemed her two whirlwind days of being a tourist were coming to an end. As they sat quietly and watched the scenery go by, Jan reflected on all the places she’d seen and things she’d done. She hadn’t had this much fun in years. Maybe ever. But tomorrow Michael had to go back to work. Jan planned to spend time at her mother’s place helping her finish moving, and then packing for her own return trip to Alpine Grove. It would be great to see Rosa again, but returning to her life and work was strangely depressing. Maybe it was just post-vacation letdown. She hardly ever took vacations, so she’d didn’t have much experience with the disappointment of returning to regular, day-to-day life.

  They got to the house and Michael moved to get out. Jan stayed in her seat. “Thank you for
everything. I’ve had such a wonderful time.”

  Michael gave her an odd look. “Don’t you want to come inside? I can hear Swoosie yapping. She’s probably beyond ready to get out of her crate.”

  Jan smiled with relief. The day wasn’t over after all. “Sure, that would be great.”

  Jan walked through the door of the bungalow and noticed the dark hardwood floors. No wonder Michael offered to help refinish floors in his dad’s house. These floors had obviously been redone. They gleamed with what had to be dozens of coats of varnish.

  Michael put his camera on a table and pointed to a well-worn overstuffed couch that was covered with a blanket, presumably placed there to ward off Swoosie fur. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  Jan heard the clang of a gate and Swoosie came charging out of the bedroom and ran around the room twice before leaping up onto the sofa next to Jan and giving her cheek a slurp.

  “Swoosie. Where are you?” Michael said from the kitchen. “Let’s go outside.”

  The dog leaped back off the couch and raced around the room two more times before shooting toward the back door in the kitchen.

  Jan wiped the slobber off her cheek. Swoosie had energy to burn. Even with all the walks, it was like having the Tasmanian Devil hurtling through the house.

  She heard the back door slam and Swoosie and Michael returned. The dog seemed to have restored some degree of composure and daintily hopped up on the sofa and curled up in a corner.

  Jan looked up at Michael. “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing. She just was expressing her displeasure at being left behind. I call it spaz-dog mode when she loses her marbles and runs around like that. She should be fine now that she’s let me know that being stuffed in her crate is rude and offensive. Even though she loves her crate and chooses to sleep in there herself sometimes. But when something is not her idea, it’s offensive. We actually go through this pretty much every day. So do you want something to drink?”

  “That would be great,” Jan said as she got up from the sofa. “I guess I’m not used to such a high-energy dog. Rosa is a lot less moody. She just hangs out and follows me around, hoping for food.”

  Jan followed Michael into the kitchen. The room was light and bright with white cabinets and appliances, but it looked almost unused. “I’m guessing you don’t cook much.”

  Michael turned around, grabbed her around the waist, and pressed his body to hers, pushing her back against the counter as he gave her a crushing, hungry, bone-melting kiss. He released her and said, “I’ve wanted to do that for hours. Ever since you were out there with your hair all wild, riding in the ocean.”

  Gasping in surprise, Jan gripped his shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Oh, um, wow.”

  Michael grinned. “Are you actually at a loss for words?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and then reached behind her head to pull out the hair tie that was holding her hair back. She pulled his head down toward her to kiss him back and murmured. “Maybe I should wear my hair down more often.”

  Michael put his hand at the nape of her neck, pushing his fingers into her hair as he nibbled on her neck. The roughness of the stubble on his jaw made her shiver as he moved across her shoulder and pushed her t-shirt aside. Good thing the counter was there, or she’d probably fall over. Steve had never made her feel like this. Ever.

  Breathless, Jan pushed him away. “I hate to break the mood or your momentum, but I’m being rammed into a drawer handle here. It’s starting to hurt.”

  “This house does include a bedroom. With a large soft bed in it,” Michael said with a questioning look. “It’s a queen size.”

  Jan smiled, “Well that’s some serious salesmanship. If it’s queen-size, how could I possibly refuse?”

  Michael scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot. He placed her on the bed, stretched out next to her, and stroked her cheek lightly with his fingertips. “You look a little nervous.”

  “I think you have a lot more experience with flings than I do.”

  “Flings?”

  “One-night stands, affairs, carrying-on, fooling around, dalliances, hanky-panky...” Jan’s eyes widened. “Sorry, I’m out of synonyms.”

  Michael propped his head up with his hand and looked down into her eyes. “You mean sex.”

  “Well, yes. That seems to be where this is heading.” Jan knew her cheeks were undoubtedly a mortifying shade of crimson by now. “It’s not like I haven’t done it before. I mean I was with Steve for a long time, but it was, well um, not always that great. Particularly recently. Maybe it was me. I don’t know. Plus, we were engaged. I’m not the sleep-around kind of girl.”

  “So you’re reassuring me that you’re not a slut? That’s good to know.”

  Jan cringed inwardly. What was she trying to say? “I was just thinking, that’s all. You’re going back to work tomorrow and I’m going back home. And what happens then?”

  Michael gathered her into his arms and kissed her, “I think sometimes maybe you think too much. Why don’t we just relax and see what happens now? Didn’t someone say that tomorrow is another day?”

  “Scarlett O’Hara. Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. Published in 1936.”

  Michael smiled. “I had a feeling you’d know.”

  He leaned over her and kissed her deeply. And then Jan stopped thinking about much of anything at all.

  As the sun was setting, Jan laid curled up in Michael’s arms with her eyes closed, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this relaxed. Or satisfied.

  Her pleasant sense of contentment was interrupted by odd noises outside the bedroom door. “Slurp, snorfle, slurp...” Then a pause. Then more slurping.

  She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked down at Michael’s face. “Is your dog making a gross noise outside the door?”

  He sighed and opened his eyes. “I hope not. It rarely means anything good when she does.”

  “Does she slurp a lot?”

  “Slurp?”

  “Yes, slurp. Don’t you hear it? But it’s not like a normal dog cleaning noise. What is she doing?”

  Michael sat up and looked toward the door. “I have no idea.” He got up out of bed, giving Jan an opportunity to thoroughly peruse his naked form as he strolled toward the door. All that running with the dog was definitely paying off.

  Michael opened the door and found Swoosie sitting on the other side, looking happy to see him. She wagged her tail and slurped. Michael crouched down and opened the dog’s mouth. “What have you got in there?”

  Swoosie wagged more enthusiastically and willingly let Michael peer into her mouth and poke around among her teeth to see if she was chewing something she wasn’t supposed to be chewing.

  Jan sat up in bed and held the sheet up over her chest. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking to see if she ate something. As I may have mentioned, she tends to eat things she shouldn’t.”

  “Like the contents of half a buffet table.”

  “Yes, that too. But she has been known to eat things that not everyone would classify as technically edible.”

  “Is she okay? She doesn’t have anything stuck in there does she?”

  Michael let Swoosie’s mouth close and stood up again. “Not that I can see.”

  Swoosie slurped loudly and both Michael and Jan looked at her. The dog wagged her tail and slid into sphinx position, slurping some more.

  Jan grabbed her shirt and threw it over her head. “Can I take a look?”

  Michael shrugged. “Sure. She’s used to people trying to remove artifacts from her mouth.”

  Jan walked over to Swoosie. “Say aaaah.”

  “I think you may have to take a more direct approach.” He crouched down, grabbed Swoosie’s muzzle again and opened it. “What do you think? See anything?”

  “No. Maybe she’s having some kind of allergi
c response to something she ate. I didn’t see much of anything in the kitchen, but maybe she ate something else. I, ah, wasn’t really paying attention.”

  Michael grinned at her. “I wasn’t either. Let’s take a look around.” He stroked the dog’s head. “She seems happy enough. Not like she’s sick. Unfortunately, I know all to well the expression she gets on her face when she’s not feeling well.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  After locating and then putting on the rest of their clothes, the pair went around the house looking for anything missing that might meet Swoosie’s broad definition of edibility. Swoosie followed them, slurping occasionally for emphasis.

  Giving up, they sat on the sofa. Swoosie jumped up and sat in between them. Michael opened the dog’s mouth again for another look. “I can’t figure this out. There’s nothing in there. Maybe you’re right and it is an allergic reaction.”

  “Should you call the vet?”

  Michael sighed. “I suppose. They’re on speed dial. I have no idea what’s wrong with her. It’s getting late in the day and if she is allergic to something, I’d hate for her to die in the middle of the night because her throat closed up or something.” He stroked Swoosie’s soft head and said sadly, “You are such a problem child.” Swoosie leaned on him, smiled, and wagged, pleased to be the center of attention.

  After a short conversation with the veterinary clinic, Michael and Jan loaded Swoosie in the car for the drive to the office. They sat in the lobby, waiting for the vet and listening to Swoosie make her peculiar slurping noises.

  Jan reached over and took Michael’s hand. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right. It’s probably not very macho to say, but I love this dog. It will kill me if something happens to her.”

  “I understand,” Jan said squeezing his hand. “I feel the same way about Rosa. She was my mom’s dog originally, but now she’s my best little buddy. Every time I think about the fact that dogs only live 15 years or so, I want to cry.”

  Michael shook his head, “Yeah, let’s not go there. I can’t handle the idea of Swoosie getting old. Of course, at this rate, she may not get old. We’ve spent a lot of time here at the vet. This dog is her own worst enemy.”