Tea Cups & Tiger Claws

by Timothy Patrick

  He ran and fetched a horse.

  ~~~

  Sarah headed straight for the trailhead. As a little girl, when she’d first seen the sharp rocks and sheer cliffs of Bryson Canyon, the sight had sucked the breath right out of her lungs and had turned her heartbeat into a spastic rendition of chopsticks. After the meeting she’d had that morning with Veronica and her aunt’s attorneys, she needed that kind of distraction, even if the canyon didn’t frighten like it used to, and even if Barney usually snoozed the whole way down. She leaned back, gave him his head, and tried to get lost in the rhythmic march down the narrow trail.

  It must’ve worked because when Sarah woke from her daydream, she found herself at the bottom of the canyon hanging halfway off the horse. He’d spooked and had jumped to the right, which had sent her falling to the left. Now she dangled there, like a drunken trick rider, holding onto a fistful of mane as she tried to right herself. Then he jigged backwards and down she went, landing on her seat. She watched in disbelief as Barney galloped back up the canyon trail, going faster than any barn-sour horse that ever lived.

  So much for Bombproof Barney, she thought. More like Barney the bum. She looked around to see what might’ve spooked him. Probably a scary shadow, or a weed that wiggled the wrong way in the wind, or, heaven forbid, a rock that looked like a buck-toothed gargoyle. “Stupid horse,” she muttered to herself, even though it hadn’t been his fault. She’d been slouching in the saddle like a wet washcloth and hadn’t been paying attention. If anything, she should be thankful it hadn’t happened up on the steep and narrow part of the trail. She got up, dusted herself off, and started walking.

  Almost immediately something caught her eye near the top of the canyon. Even though it didn’t look like much more than a speck on the horizon, she knew exactly what it meant: Mack was coming to her rescue, like usual.

  When they met on the trail some twenty minutes later, he looked her up and down and said, “Are you ok?”

  “I’m fine, except I don’t know how you got here so fast. Even if Barney ran the whole way he couldn’t have made it that fast.”

  “He didn’t. I met him on the way down.” Barney, who’d been trailed back down the canyon, poked his head around Mack’s horse and gave Sarah a surprised look.

  “And why were you coming this way?” asked Sarah.

  “To look for you,” answered Mack.

  “How come?”

  “Because I didn’t like the look on your face when you rode off.”

  “And what look is that?”

  “The ‘I’m about to get bucked off my horse in Bryson Canyon’ kind of look.”

  Sarah smiled and said, “I don’t doubt it.”

  “And the sad look of someone who might have things to talk about,” he added, before dismounting and leading Barney past his horse, where he gave Sarah a leg up. Then he looked up at her and said, “Now will you tell me what’s going on, or will I have to unleash some very scary detective skills?”

  The tides of change can surge all they want but Mack will never change, thought Sarah. Even though she didn’t want him to fight her battles, it gave her comfort just being near him, like a rock wall to stand behind while she caught her breath. She looked at him as he got back onto his horse. He had on dusty clothes, and if he took off his cowboy hat, she’d find blond matted hair and a fine line of dirt on his forehead. That’s how he looked at the end of the day. Every day. And in the morning he’d show up looking all shiny and smelling good. He was steady and unchanging. He’d work hard tomorrow just as he’d worked hard yesterday. He’d do more listening than talking next week because that’s what he’d done the week before. And if he saw a cloud hanging over a friend on Monday, he’d look them over very carefully on Tuesday, which is what he was doing now.

  The two faced each other on horseback. Sarah quietly sighed and then started to talk. “From the safety of the hereafter, Aunt Judith has decided to give her daughter a spanking and has handed me the paddle.”

  “Ok…” said Mack.

  “Veronica’s not getting her inheritance for twelve years and I’ve been made trustee over the estate with instructions to give her money for essentials only.”

  With wide eyes Mack whistled and leaned back in the saddle. “I bet that went over like a…a….”

  “Like a spoiled heiress who’s lost her inheritance?” asked Sarah.

  “Yeah, like that, and I don’t like it. Can I tell you why?”

  “Yes….Please do,” she said, a bit startled. In Mack’s world this almost amounted to an outburst.

  “Have you ever been bitten by a horse?”

  “Just a few nips here and there,” said Sarah, “nothing too serious.”

  “No, I’m talking about a nasty bite. The kind that leaves a mark big enough to take a dental impression. Well, it’s always the same horse that does it, the one that never got taught any ground manners. You turn your back and bam they got you. And that’s how Veronica is. She never got taught any manners at all, but let me tell you, she doesn’t care if you turn your back or not, she’ll get you when you’re….” He stopped mid-sentence and looked at Sarah. “This isn’t helping, is it?”

  “It’s ok, Mack, I’ve had a few hours to work through some of this. You’re just getting caught up. I’m glad. There’s not another person in the world I’d want by my side.” She immediately realized how inappropriate that sounded and looked away. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she continued, “I know all about Veronica’s bad side, just like you do, but what about the good side? Do you remember when she was sweet and innocent?”

  “No, not really.”

  “I do. Starting when I was seven and she was two. Somehow I understood that Aunt Judith didn’t like being a mother. Seven years old and I knew that. But it didn’t matter because I wanted to be Veronica’s mother. So I did it. From that day forward I took her by the hand and looked after her. When nap time came around I brought her in before Nanny Sally even had to say a word. When Nanny had the day off, I kept track of Veronica’s bottle, and her baby food, and did everything else for her before my mother had a chance to do it herself. And when Aunt Judith had guests and wanted to show off her baby daughter, I had to hide behind the curtain so Veronica went to her mother instead of to me. It was a little girl’s dream. I got to play mommy and have a sister all at the same time. And it lasted for almost ten years. And yes, she was sweet, even if it is hard to believe now.”

  “And you’re saying there’s some of that left in her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe that’s what Aunt Judith thought.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” said Mack, “and that’s the part I don’t like. You’d have to do what’s never been done in the history of Sunny Slope Manor. You’d have to let her Royal Highness get knocked on her butt a few times.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you don’t get character just by sitting on a throne being queen of the universe.”

  Sarah thought for a moment, remembering one of her mother’s wall hangings, and before she could check herself said, “Trials produce endurance; endurance, character; and character, hope.”

  “That’s right. And there ain’t going to be any hope until she gets some character. That’s an interesting saying. Where’s it from?”

  Embarrassed at the thought of Mack finding out about her mom’s world class Bible thumping, she waved her hand and said, “It's Shakespeare.”

  “Shakespeare? Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Mack shrugged, turned his horse, and they started back up the canyon, first side by side, then, when the trail narrowed, in tandem. On the way, Sarah filled him in on some of the other details from the meeting that morning at the law office of Mackey, Millington, Schneider and Pendigrass.

  After Veronica had stormed out of the conference room, and slammed the door hard enough to shake the walls, Roger Millington, one of the partners, explained that a testamentary trust, such as
Aunt Judith’s, didn’t require a court hearing or a judge’s stamp of approval. Either Sarah accepted or she didn’t. If she accepted, she needed to immediately take control of the estate on behalf of Veronica and start fulfilling the duties of trustee. “Just start doing it,” he’d said. “It’s as easy as that…. Of course, a signed letter of understanding from Veronica might be prudent, but it’s not required.”

  Of course not, Sarah had thought, because if it had been, she’d be off the hook; Veronica would pluck out an eye before she’d sign such a thing. When it came to business, Aunt Judith didn’t make mistakes like that. She’d thought through every little detail. Where were the insurmountable obstacles when you really needed them?

  When they got back to the stable, and had dismounted, Mack took both of Sarah’s hands into his and said, “Sarah I want you to promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Veronica can be unpredictable. Promise you’ll tell me if things start to go bad.”

  “I will, Mack. Thank you.” But then he didn’t let go of her hands. And she didn’t let go of his.

  “I’ve been worried about you, you know,” he said.

  Sarah felt the tears well up.

  “Don’t carry everything on your shoulders,” he continued. “Let me help. That’s what friends are for.”

  Overcome by emotion, she only managed to nod her head, which seemed to satisfy Mack because he immediately wrapped her up into a big hug.

  ~~~

  Veronica held the steering wheel in a death grip and screeched the car out of the parking lot in Santa Marcela. The meeting had been bogus. A bunch of dumbshit lawyers had given everything to her cousin. She’d flashed the cutie pie smile, and they fell all over themselves, like usual. So Veronica gave them the finger and split.

  Now she tore down Highland Avenue, on her way back to Prospect Park, and a giant glazed donut thirty feet in the sky caught her attention. She hit the brakes, whipped a loud U-turn, and bounced her Mustang Mach 2 into the donut shop parking lot. She had an appetite like a cow. That’s how it worked. Six days a week she starved and one day a week she became a slave to giant donuts twirling in the sky. The cycle started every Friday afternoon, after her visit with Dorthea, when food went out of fashion as fast as cocaine went up her nose. That went on through the weekend and into the next week until she snorted her last line and came crashing down and started eating like a pig. If she played it right, the crash came Friday morning and she had only a few hours of hell.

  Veronica blamed Dorthea for this rationing bullshit because she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be a drug dealer or a worried aunt. On Fridays she dealt, to her one and only customer. The rest of the week she gave out nothing but warnings about overdoses and death. And whenever Veronica lined up a backup dealer to plug up the gap, he almost immediately disappeared into the back of a police car or disappeared altogether, as in poof, gone for good.

  But now Friday had arrived and Veronica counted the minutes until her meeting with Dorthea. In the meantime, she scarfed jelly donuts, chain smoked Virginia Slims, and stirred a simmering hatred for her cousin. Once again Sarah had weaseled her way into getting everything, while she, the rightful heir, had been left with a measly allowance. Sarah knew how to do that kind of shit. If she stood up and swore the earth to be flat, in no time at all she’d have a dozen idiots standing in line and nodding their heads.

  Everyone made jokes about spoiled Veronica. What about Sarah? She had all the good things in her own life and then, because she wanted more, she helped herself to the good things from Veronica’s life, too. She took clothes and jewelry and lessons and vacations and horses and money. She even stole things that couldn’t be spared, like a mother’s love. Sarah had had a mother who cared. Everyone knew that about Aunt Abbey. She’d cared about every little thing in her daughter’s life. Veronica had had a mother who didn’t give a shit. But Sarah took her anyway.

  This time, though, Veronica had an answer for Cousin Sarah because good old Dorthea had a strange way of getting very worked up over any little problem that bothered Veronica. When she’d smashed her car through someone’s fence, Dorthea jumped in and smoothed things over so well that nobody ever found out about it, not Mother or the police or nosey Aunt Abbey. Another time, when a new cop in town hadn’t understood that curfew laws didn’t apply to Veronica and her friends, she got him fired. Snowballs in summer or sandcastles in winter, it didn’t matter; if Veronica wanted it done, Dorthea did it.

  Veronica liked Fridays and this one looked to be shaping up even better than most.

  On the elevator ride up to Dorthea’s floor, Veronica looked at Horrick, who looked at his shoes like usual. Except for his ugly face, she didn’t mind him too much. He didn’t talk and he didn’t look at her. Not like that spaz Ernest who stared nonstop but was too much of a weirdo to do it like a normal person, so he did it sideways.

  When the elevator door opened, Veronica heard classical music. It sounded out of place. Other than dorky Lawrence Welk, which Dorthea sometimes left on while they talked, there had never been any music. And when she got to Dorthea’s living room, she found other different things—like everything. The place looked like a living room now, instead of Abe Lincoln’s log cabin. Instead of a rocking chair, Dorthea sat at the far end of the room in a red velvet chair with gold claw legs. The homey sofa, the wooden reading lamp, and the TV with the ugly rabbit ears had disappeared. Veronica quickly scanned the rest of the room and looked for one thing in particular: her purple gift bag. It usually sat on the floor by Dorthea’s feet. Just as the panic started to rise, she saw it, partially hidden by an ivory figurine, on a gold table that stood behind a red and gold velvet sofa.

  “Please sit down my dear. I’ve been so worried about you,” said Dorthea, who looked different, too. She looked more like the creepy lady in the painting who acted like the queen of England or something. She sat up proper and straight in a stylish mauve dress and her spinster hairdo had been replaced by a toned down bouffant—not too modern, but a definite improvement. Queen Wannabe had knocked off Granny Make-Nice and it made Veronica nervous. She just wanted to make the score, sick the dogs on Cousin Sarah, and get out of there.

  Dorthea motioned toward the sofa, which stood adjacent to her chair. Veronica slid behind a gold coffee table and sat down facing the big window. Dorthea, who sat to Veronica’s left, stared with watery gray eyes, head tilted to the side, and a phony look of concern painted on her face. She looked like all the other idiotic people who kept offering their “sincere condolences.” Her mother had been dead for three weeks and everyone kept saying it.

  “Now my dear, how are you holding up?”

  “Fine.”

  More silence and tilted head bullshit. It felt all wrong. They had their routine. Why did it have to change? Annoying questions, old lady stories, and out the door with an eight-ball. That’s how it worked. Emotional bonding had never been part of the deal.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Dorthea finally said. “You tell me everything that’s on your heart. The last thing I want is for you to feel alone in this difficult time.”

  That sounded more like it. And if she wanted everything, she’d give it to her, starting with Cousin Sarah served up on a silver platter.

  “Alone? Didn’t you hear?” asked Veronica. “I’m not going to be alone for twelve years because Mother made Cousin Sarah my boss.”

  “Oh that’s nothing to worry about, my dear. That was probably written into your mother’s will before you came of age. It’s very common to name a legal guardian for a child.”

  “Not a legal guardian, something else.”

  “Financial guardian?”

  “No. Trustee. That’s what it is. She’s the trustee, which means she practically owns Sunny Slope Manor and everything else until I turn thirty years old.”

  Dorthea stood up, looked into Veronica’s eyes, straightened her designer dress, and then sat back down. “I’m sure you are mistaken, Veronica. Walter Tu
bbs has assured me that your mother’s will is in perfect order. I spoke with him just yesterday.”

  “Walter Tubbs didn’t have anything to do with it. He’s an idiot. It was a bunch of lawyers from Santa Marcela. The law firm of Mackerel…Marmalade…and Snodgrass…. Something like that. We had a meeting at their office this morning. They handed everything over to Sarah.”

  “No! This will not happen!” screamed Dorthea, jumping to her feet again. “It will not get ruined by a bunch of bumbling idiots! Do you hear me?”

  “Don’t yell at me, lady. He’s your bumbling idiot, not mine.”

  “Dorthea, I’m here,” said a loud voice in the foyer. It sounded like Ernest.

  “Not now, Ernest! I’m busy!” barked Dorthea.

  He breezed into the room anyway, wearing a funny looking black top hat, a black cape with bright red lining, and his usual dorky white button up shirt and wrinkled black polyester pants. The cape, along with what could be seen of his greased-back black hair, made him look like a cheesy Count Dracula.

  With a shiny black cane in his hand, he paraded back and forth along the length of the giant window and dramatically flung his cape at each turn. Then he stopped and said, “Oh Dorthea! You’ve redecorated! If I’m not mistaken, I’d say you’ve entered your Windsor Castle phase, and all I can say is thank goodness. That Little House on the Prairie thing was really scary.”

  “Ernest! What are you doing?” asked Dorthea.

  He stood rigidly straight and looked to the right of Dorthea. “You know. That little thing we talked about…. My proclamation of love.”

  He sang the word “love” like an opera singer and Veronica laughed out loud. But then he clicked his heels, did a military turn, and winked at her vigorously. She stopped laughing and started wondering if Ernest had found Dorthea’s secret stash.

  “Ernest, get out of here now!” shouted Dorthea, her arm raised, pointing toward the exit.

  “But the job isn’t done, Dorthea. And if the job isn’t done, then the vermin gets run over. What’s a vermin to do? He must do the job!”

  He dashed around the coffee table and knelt before Veronica, almost looking at her.