Bodacious

by C. M. Lally

  I put the lady’s phone back up to my ear and hear Dale’s truck tires crushing gravel. “Brax, I’ve got him. I’m here. There’s a siren in the distance, but I can’t see the ambulance yet.”

  “Rowan, that’s Dale. He’s a friend of mine, and he’s gonna stay with you until your mama is stable and then take you to your grandparents. Okay?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You go with him; he’s a good man. I’m gonna let you go to call your grandparents. I’ll call you later this evening, so charge your phone. And mind your manners for your grandparents. I love you.” Hanging up that call is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

  “Thank you, Dale. Once she’s secure and on her way to the hospital, could you take him to his grandparents’ home in Parker? They live next to Southfork Ranch.”

  “Of course, I can. Is this your new number in case I need to get a hold of you?”

  “No, use my old number. I was borrowing a phone so that I wouldn’t have to disconnect from Rowan. He’s so scared and doesn’t need any more drama in his young life.”

  “You’re a great father, Braxton. Don’t you worry. We’ll take care of him for you, and just so you know — you can trust me. This never happened in my book.” Sincerity rings true in his voice. Small town gossip will never die, I guess, but true friends will always have your back.

  “Thank you, Dale. I appreciate it more than you know.”

  I hang up the phone and start a slow walk back to the lady to return her phone. She’s not as close as she was before, sitting on the cab steps of a large Chevy 2500. She must have finally had a little faith in me. She stands and starts walking towards me to re-claim her prized possession. We meet halfway in between the parked trailers, and all of a sudden this large lot seems small.

  “Thank you for letting me use your phone,” I say dropping it into her outstretched palm. “There was some trouble, and I needed...I needed to call for help.” I stutter, swallowing the ball of tension that has been building in my throat. The morning sun catches her hair, and I realize it’s more strawberry-blond than red. She has it pulled back tight into a neat ponytail, but the cinnamon-colored streaks are what catch the light, and draw my eyes to her. She’s pretty, but her gray eyes are harsh and distrusting.

  “Do you need a ride somewhere? To help the boy?”

  “Not unless you can teleport me to Dallas,” I snap at her. “Do you always listen to other people’s conversations, Nosey Rosey?”

  “Nosey Rosey? Really? And yes, I do when they are in a public lot and occur on MY phone. This is Los Angeles” she gestures with a sweeping hand in the air, “nothing is private here.”

  “As I said, thank you for the use of your phone, ma’am. You’ve done your one good deed for the day. If I were in my rider gear, I’d tip my hat to you in goodwill, but I don’t think you’d offer me peace in return.” I walk past her as she grunts in disgust and head to my trailer a few rows over. I can feel her angry glare burrowing holes into my back. Maybe that heat will ease the tension in my shoulders since my workout was cut short.

  I push the door to my trailer open and let the satisfying feeling of neat and tidy living wash over me. After the drama of this morning, I know I wouldn’t be able to walk in here and clean up a mess. I set my keys and phone down on the kitchenette table and take a seat. Ten more seconds of silence is all I need before I have to pick up that phone and call Julie’s parents. Maybe fifteen seconds. Yeah, fifteen. I close my eyes and picture Rowan’s face. It’s a mirror image of mine, but he’s got his mama’s dimples. Someday soon, Rowan. Someday soon, we’ll be together, and this will all be a nightmare in the past.

  I clench my fists and release them as my thick, gnarled fingers fumble for the phone and pull it to me across the table. Sliding the green arrow across the screen, I dial the number by heart.

  Chapter 4 – Noa

  MY MOTHER STROLLS INTO the dining room and places the Parker House dinner rolls on the table like she kneaded the dough herself. I know good and well that Dorothy, my parents’ maid, had them in her hand twenty seconds before when the kitchen door swung open. She looks up at me with an air of annoyance as she adjusts her prized Haviland Limoges Floral bread platter so that it perfectly aligns with the Waterford crystal candlesticks.

  The minute she turns her back to me, I knock the platter off-kilter an eighth of a centimeter, just to prove that Marlena Knight can and does live in an imperfect world whether she likes it or not. Monty sees me and swats at my hand, but doesn’t correct my sabotage. I look up and see a slight smile quirk the corners of my father’s full lips before he continues with placing his napkin on this lap.

  “And to what do we owe the pleasure of both of my lovely daughter’s at dinner tonight? Is someone nominated for an Oscar?” His gray eyes meet mine, and for one brief moment, I feel a sadness pulsing from them that I’ve never felt before.

  Monty smiles wide before placing a small bite of roast beef in her mouth, humming loudly while she chews for everyone to hear. “No, Dad. Those nominations don’t come out for nine more months, and you know that. Stop teasing me.”

  “Actually, I came to share my news,” I boast nervously. My mother’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. I’m pretty sure she’s expecting an apology about my date ditching. She read me her riot act a while ago, and we haven’t spoken since. She sets her fork down on the table linen perfectly next to her knife and settles her hands in her lap before giving me her undivided attention.

  “Well go on, Dear. I’d love to hear it. We could all use some good news, that’s for sure.”

  I take a deep breath in and let it go slowly, allowing it to hiss between my lips like an air valve leaking in a tire. I swallow hard, pushing down the ball of knots that just formed in my stomach. “I’m taking a leave of absence from my job and am going on tour with the PBR for a year. Myla and I went to their show here in LA a few weeks back and it was quite evident they needed a sports medicine doctor on staff, so I contacted them and we’ve been in negotiations for a few weeks and now it’s done. I’m going.”

  My head turns, and I silently meet the faces of every single one of them in turn. No one moves a muscle or bats an eyelash as blank stares greet me. “What’s the PBR?” Monty asks, her shoulders shrug in confusion.

  “It stands for Professional Bull Riders,” I explain.

  Understanding settles into her brain. Her lips press together tightly, leaving an ugly grimace and her eyebrows knit in disgust. “Eww. Why would you want to do that? You’re going to smell like manure and sweat all day.”

  My mom releases a very unladylike groan from underneath her breath. “Noa, if this is in regard to our argument over you ditching the date choices that I’ve made for you, I will back off and give you some room to choose for yourself.” She huffs a shallow breath, letting me know this is her final word on the matter.

  I glare at her through the narrowed slits of my eyes. It’s not fixed that easily, Mother.

  Before I can utter a word in disagreement, she scoops her napkin from her lap and throws it into the center of her plate. Mashed potatoes and carrots splatter onto the table linen. She raises her eyebrow at us over the mess, daring anyone to move a muscle, while she throws her tantrum and stalks into the kitchen. We watch the door swing back and forth a few times before it finally comes to a definitive stop.

  Okay. There. Now it’s done. Mom has left the conversation, but her leaving doesn’t solve the problem.

  I quickly look at my father and see a mixture of pride and panic on his face. He smiles and winks at me in a show of support before placing his napkin gently on the table and scooting his chair back to rise and go after her.

  “Well for once, I am not the cause of the drama in the family,” Monty laughs in surprise at this rare turn of events in our lives. “Let me know if you need any help handling her.” She giggles as she leaves me to deal with my parents alone.

  I’ve learned that when dealing with them, my mom more specific
ally, that the less that is said, the better off I will be. My mother has this talent of turning your own words against you. That allows her to win almost every argument she participates in. It took my dad pointing that little-known fact out to me during my teenage years, and it’s a lesson I’ll never forget.

  I finish my meal in quiet solitude, but look up nervously when the kitchen door swings open with a hard push. Dorothy’s smiling face eases my frayed nerves. “Oh, girl. You’ve done it now.” She shakes her head taking me to task for causing a familial uproar. “Good for you,” she says and winks, before re-entering the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates.

  I step out onto my parent’s patio. The flagstone is still wet from the light rain we received this afternoon. I plop down onto the teak lounger and slouch all the way down into the cushions. One of my favorite things to do is get as low as I can and make myself even with the infinity pool when I look out. I envision myself floating off the edge of it, like a waterfall and swirling away to wherever the water would go...down into the canyon and out into the Pacific ocean.

  “Dreaming of floating away again, aren’t you?” My dad has always been the perceptive one of my parents. “Only this time, you’re not dreaming; you’ll be driving.”

  “Yes, I’m running away to join the rodeo.”

  “Why are you doing this?” He sits on the lounger next to me, crossing his feet and hugging the matching decorative pillow. There isn’t any hint of emotion in his voice. It’s a solid question meant to provide information without any judgment. He wants to know the reason behind my seemingly impetuous decision so that he can rationalize it to her when she complains about me over the next few weeks.

  “I need a break, Dad. Los Angeles and it’s ‘privileged’ problems are wearing me down. I’m thirty-six, and I have no control over my life. I don’t date who I want, work where I want, or even see the patients that I want. I don’t live where I want. I could go on and on...”

  “Now wait. What’s wrong with living in your grandparent’s old house? You don’t have a mortgage. Their estate pays your property taxes and utilities. That’s a pretty sweet deal for a single woman in this city.”

  “Exactly, Dad. I’m privileged and therefore, useless. Everyone gives me everything, and I’m at the point where I feel like a zombie walking around waiting for people to live my life for me. I want to do my thing: make my own choices, see what I want to see and do what I want to do. I would like to contribute to my own life. Is that so horrible?”

  “You know, the role of a parent is to make life easier for their children than what they had growing up. Maybe we’ve made life too easy, but it’s all provided with love.”

  “I know that, and I’m appreciative. But just like Mom, I need some control over it. Hopefully, she’ll see the purpose behind the decision and get on board with the idea that her daughter joined the rodeo.”

  “Knowing your mother, she’ll tell her friends you’ve joined Rodeo, and they’ll all think you went shopping.” I snort out loud at his joke, and we both laugh at the whole situation because he’s just summed up my mother perfectly in one public relations joke. “So, when do you leave?”

  “I fly into Salt Lake City tomorrow afternoon to join them. They are ordering a trailer for me, but it won’t be ready for a few weeks. We’ll pick it up when we stop in Indiana. In the meantime, I’ll be bunking with one of the riders.” He quirks both eyebrows up in surprise. “Don’t worry Dad.” I have to turn away from him to hide the smile on my face. “I haven’t found a man of my own in the past two decades. I don’t think I’ll be finding one in the next few weeks, or months even. I’ll be alright.”

  “Sweetheart. Don’t sell yourself short,” he says, patting my knee like I’m sixteen. “You’re an amazing woman and when you aren’t out-shined by these Hollywood lights— the world will see it too. I just hope you don’t stay gone for too long. I’m going to miss my Sunshine.”

  “Aww. I’ll teach you how to Skype and Facetime. It’s easy.”

  “Hey. I know how to do those. It’s Snapchat that has me boggled.”

  “Alright, give me your phone, Dad. I’ll show you the face filters first.”

  KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

  “Is he home?” I turn and ask Bill, the circuit manager. I’m so tired; I take a seat on two of my suitcases that are parked next to each other.

  “Yeah, he’s here. He’s probably just got his earbuds in. He’s always walking around here with them in.”

  Pound. Pound. Pound. Bill beats on the flimsy door that reminds me more of a refrigerator door than a home exterior door. Well, not a home. I guess this is an RV that serves as a home. He then rattles the cheap door handle. I watch the aluminum of the door dent with that last beating. I’m not sure who’s going to pay for that damage, but I’m glad I didn’t put it there.

  “I’m coming” gets shouted out from somewhere in the back of the trailer, and Bill turns to me and smiles.

  “See, he’s home.” He winks at me like he had faith all along.

  Security chains scrape through their aluminum tracks and rattle as they hang. The door swings open and there he stands with a Mickey Mouse beach towel wrapped tightly around his waist that hangs all the way down past his knees. It’s thin and frayed, so I can see the corded muscles of his thighs bulging underneath it. He’s wet. His chest hair is matting in curly swirls. His eight-pack abs and happy trail catch my immediate attention. I swallow the dry lump in my throat loudly.

  “Braxton, this here’s Noa and she’s gonna be bunking with you until her ride is ready. We pick it up on our way through Indiana in a few weeks, but I told you all this the other day.”

  He nods his head at me and swings the door open wider for me to enter. Bill carries my luggage in and sets it in the kitchen, which happens to be the largest room in the RV. Suddenly, I feel like Alice in Wonderland, except in reverse. This RV isn’t big enough for us three adults and my four suitcases in the kitchen.

  “Bill, take her things in the back bedroom. I put her back there to be more comfortable.” He points past me and through the narrow kitchen doorway I can see part of a full-size bed that’s neatly made. I take a quick glance around the place and notice how clean it is. Everything has a place. It’s neat and organized. He must have slaved all day to clean up. I’m glad my plane was late then.

  “Sorry for appearing like this,” he says, gesturing to the towel and raking his hand through his dark, wet hair. He flips it over to the side to get it out of his eyes. “I’ve been running errands all morning. It’s my only day off, and I got stuck in traffic with not knowing the city.”

  Bill comes back from delivering my suitcases and reaches out to shake my hand. “Noa, I’ll be by in the morning to give you the grand tour and show you the sports facility. We’ve got a staff meeting at 10:00 am, and I’ll introduce you to everyone then. Okay?”

  “Absolutely. Thank you for everything today. I appreciate it.” I shake his hand quickly. He’s got a powerful grip, and his hard, dry calluses are digging into the soft pads of my palm.

  “Brax, take care of her. She’s gonna be our saving grace around here. Feed her good tonight. She’s had a long day already.” He slaps Braxton on the bare shoulder and gives me a wink before leaving out the tiny door.

  We stand in awkward silence for what seems like an hour, but I know it’s been more like three minutes. I wonder if he recognizes me from borrowing my phone a few weeks back from his “emergency”. He clears his throat to speak, but in my haste to fill the silence I interrupt him. “You didn’t need to displace yourself from your room for me. We can switch back.”

  “Nosey Rosey, you didn’t displace me. As a gentleman, I can’t let you sleep on the lesser bunk. I can just imagine what the LA boys would do, but us country boys treat women with the utmost courtesy.”

  Well, I guess that answers that question. “Nosey Rosey, again, huh? I see you haven’t matured in the few weeks we’ve been apart.”

  “Matured? I thin
k you’ve mistaken my pet name for you as sarcasm. I assure you it’s a term of endearment, Dear.”

  “My name is Noa. Please use it, Dear.” I add with a huge smile and a touch of sarcasm myself. Country boy my ass. He’s not that charming.

  “Well, Noa, if you’ll excuse me I’ll get dressed now.” He turns and walks away only to give me an eye-popping show of the bubble butt that God gave him perfectly formed in that tightly stretched towel. Thank you, Walt Disney, for that princely show of gluteus maximus.

  I catch myself staring at him for a good long moment before I realize he’ll be back any second and wonder why I’m still standing here.

  The picture of the little boy hanging on the wall grabs my attention. He must be the emergency call that he made from my phone. I wonder if he’ll ever tell me the full story. He gives me the impression that he’s wrapped tighter than a coiled snake when it comes to his son.

  I start to unpack my luggage, moving and squeezing my things into the nooks and crannies of this small room when that dark feeling of panic begins to hum in my body. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to push it down. Claustrophobia.

  Yes, it’s claustrophobia. My muscles tighten and pull taught on my skin, and my breathing gets shallow, coming in little huffs of air. How in the hell am I going to survive for a year like this? I pull the curtain back and crank the window open like a mad woman. A fresh breeze blows in, and I lie back on the bed and let it enter the room, inhaling and exhaling, taking deep calming breaths.

  A shadow flashes across the room, and I feel the corner of the bed dip down. I hear the other window cranking open, and the full force of the breeze blows across my body. I look up to see Brax filling the door frame of the room. “You alright?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine in a moment.” I throw my arm over my face to cover my embarrassment. I hope I’ll be okay, or this will be one very long adventure.