The Joy of being Your Own Favorite Flavor

Wouldn't it be nice to lick yourself and have it be absolutely delicious?

Okay, maybe good for to 'esplain' no?

My cat Delilah, or "the Kitten" as we usually called her, took joy in many things, but perhaps none more that bathing herself. she would purr and groom her coat to perfection with relish. Occasionally we would offer her the tip of her tail and hold it steady for her. She would lick and bite it with joy. "Oooh thanks! Yum! That's a tough spot to reach!" she seemed to say. My wife often noted that she was her own favorite flavor.

Yesterday we said goodbye to our fifteen-year-old cat Delilah. She has been had a rough few months and was continually growing less uncomfortable and less mentally astute. We weren't certain what is wrong with her. A definitive answer may or may not have been at the end of a traumatic $4,000 MRI and would not have included any treatment. So we made the difficult decision to end her suffering.

A vet who specializes at-home euthanasia came to our home on Monday and put her to sleep in familiar surroundings.

That we will miss her is an understatement, there is a now a hole in our apartment, our hearts, our lives.

I found Delilah as a stray kitten while working on a short film in Vicksburg Mississippi. I named her after lead character in the movie. The I knew she was a keeper when I walked into the basement of the mansion we were shooting in and called her name. She came running from the shadows where she was hiding. I had only know her for a couple hours and she knew my voice!

I flew home with her, an adventure of it's own, and we soon became best friends. I actually had two other cats at the time but Delilah and bonded like I've never bonded with any other animal. When in my lap she would frequently look up at me and stare and I would look right back into those little eyes. Not always, but occasionally she would give me a little nose kiss when I got close.

When I came home from work I would often approach her quietly and merely place my fingers near her nose and my scent would awake her. I would tell her about my day, where I'd been, what I'd been doing and whom I met simply by letting her explore the smells on my fingers.

At this point you may be thinking that this is the sweetest cat that ever lived. You'd be wrong. Like all cats Delilah was unaffected and unconcerned with your needs.

Like with all cats there was at least one other side to her.

If Delilah were human, I picture a seventy year old lady with a cigarette hanging from her mouth, one hand around a beer, the other on a slot machine handle.

Contentious and moody, she's quick to anger but just as quick to recover. She'll growl hiss and run away for inexplicable reasons, but no worries, she'll be running back to you 'in five... four... three...'

Delilah would face down any dog or human with a steely resolve and used up about all of her nine lives (including attempting to sword-swallow an entire chicken satay bamboo skewer and not one, but two falls off a three-story balcony). For all her bravery, she is scared to death of birds real or imagined; she has been known to scurry across the room on her belly because a spinning ceiling fan was making her nervous.

Even as she aged, she remained as playful. We purchased cat toys for her once in a while but it was always a waste of money. 

Memories:

• In the morning when I would sit on the john and she would climb on a ledge behind me and knock tweezers off the sink while waiting for me to finish my business and hurry and feed her. Once she lost her footage and I found myself sitting on the john with a panicked clawing fighting cat between my back and the toilet tank.
• We would occasionally place a paper shopping bag on it's side. As soon as she noticed it, she would run full speed and crash into the thing with vigor. Then she would violently attack any part of the bag that was stimulated from the outside. We quickly learn that the paper was not thick enough, nor was any hand fast enough to risk doing this manually. A stick of six inches or so was safe.
• 'Treat treats' would, even in her 'old age' would inspire athletic spryness in her. It would often start in the kitchen where I stood while she waited in the entryway. I would drop a treat on the floor like a hockey puck and brush it slowly back and forth. Delilah would see this cue and crouch for attack, her eyes dilated like an anime character. Then I would kick the treat skittering it across the floor towards her. Many times she would swat at the first shot and send it unreachably under the stove and look at me perplexed at having made it disappear. There's got be 50 of then under there (Note: when we moved there were closer to 30). As the game progressed I would shoot them towards her like a free-throw. If she caught them and ate before they hit the wall; point Kitten. If I was able to hit the wall; point Joelee. She grew tired of this part of the game quickly and we progressed to level two in the carpeted run between the entryway and the bedroom hall. I would throw/roll a treat at high speed and she would sprint after it attacking it with her paws clapped together pad-to-pad. I have the high speed video to prove it: https://youtu.be/oxmRggepe0U
• During this game she was awarded the affectionate nick-name "Hammers", as in 'dumb as a bag of...' A treat would land right near her and she, smelling it, would look around furiously for it and not see it. Eventually the game would end when she got tired or more likely bored with it. She would lie on her side and watch the treats tumble with in a foot of her but she would not get up, seeming to say 'yeah, could you just push that in my mouth for me. If you happen to help me chew that would be great too, but I can probably manage.

Joel Would have been proud

I worked on a short film on location in Mississippi in August of 2001, that's right, the month before 9/11.

Mont Helena Plantation, The mansion we filmed at.

It is built on an artificial hill since it lies in the Mississippi flood plain. 

Our primary shooting location was an old plantation on the Mississippi flood plain. The main house had been built on an artificial hill to raise the mansion up above the flood waters. It was surrounded by cotton fields and an honest-to-God sharecropper's shack below, complete with a tin roof and 1920s newspapers stuck to the walls.

The crew's hotel, the Cedar Grove Mansion Inn, a series of bungalows for us, was about an hour away in Vicksburg, MI. It had been a tough shoot. Working outdoors or non-air conditioned indoors in hundred degree heat and ninety-nine percent humidity, hauling cables, setting up hot lights, toting camera dolly track is not much fun with sweat dripping off your nose constantly. I already had one foot firmly planted in the air conditioned television world, this jaunt back into the film world was a favor to a friend, in the spirit of adventure. After having to hold my breath and close my eyes to climb a ladder and adjust a light with huge prehistoric-looking insects bouncing off my head, when at in a swamp at 2AM, when it was no cooler or less humid than daytime, seeing a snake in the where I was carrying a light stand, I was officially done with film work! It was too hard, hot and dirty, and at least for me at this stage, the money wasn't very good either.

The morning of our last day, I stepped outside, wondering why I even bothered to towel after my shower off when the humidity turned my skin and clothes immediately damp. The key grip's bungalow was right by the street where the van picked us up so I knocked on his door to wait for the van in a cool place. A tiny orange and white kitten was running around inside trying to hide.

“Where'd the kitten come from?” I asked.

“She was out front this morning, a stray.”

When the van arrived the key grip picked up the kitten and put her outside. She ran to a culvert by the street and scurried into the drainage pipe. I was a bit horrified at first, but what else could he do. We had to work on a film for the next ten, twelve, fourteen hours. I sat in the van, but all I could think about was that kitten. What would happen to her?

At the last minute I jumped out fo the van and went to the pipe. I tried to coax her out of the pipe, but she was too scared. I reached in and grabbed her. I carried her back to the van just before it pulled away.

Now what? She was my responsibility now. I had this tiny kitten, so small she could fit easily in one hand. I would have the hour ride to figure out what to do with her all day on a location set when I got there and another day till my flight home to figure out where to go from there. We stopped and a convenient store for coffee and such. I got a small container of milk. I tried to pour small amounts into my hand for her to drink, but she was too freaked out to care about the milk.

I held the squirmy little thing on my lap till we arrived at the plantation house. I quietly placed her in the basement without telling anyone about it, including the owner of the house. I'd would have rather risked getting in trouble (fire me please!) than risk the owner would chuck her out into the cotton fields or worse. I put her down and promised her I'd be back as soon as I could. She scurried off into the dim light to hide. About an hour later I was able to take a moment to get a dish a water to my new friend. I wondered if I would be able to find her in that vast dark basement.

I called out to her in a high voice. "Little kitten, where are you. Come and get some water little girl." To my surprise she came running out from under a pile of lumber. Purring and happy to see me.

I knew right then that, somehow, this fuzzy little thing was coming home with me.

There was a young actress who was playing a character named “Delilah”. One day during the shoot she had brought her own cat to the set in a carrier. I knew my problems were solved when I saw she was working that day.

“Oh Whitney,” I said with one hand behind my back, guess what I have?”

Her face lit up when she saw the little orange fuzz ball in my hand.

Whitney took care of the kitten while I was working. When she was on the set, the hair and make-up people took over. The kitten spent most of the day sleeping on a chair that was part of the large old house. The chair had a sign on it “Antique chair, do not sit.” Someone added beneath that: “except for kitty”.

The woman taking care of the craft service table was very kind and drove to the nearest town to buy some Kitten Chow. My little kitten, however, was only interested in sleeping.

It was about 1AM when we finished striking the lights and cables. We got in the van and left the location for the last time. I sat in the dark van with the tiny Delilah, as I had already named her after the main character in the movie, in my lap. I poured some of the Kitten Chow in my hand and offered it to her. By this time she was plenty hungry. She chomped voraciously into the food with her needle sharp teeth making no distinction between the kibble and the flesh of my hand.

“MOTHER F...” I yelled in pain the silent van to the half-asleep crew.

I called the airline the next day and made arrangements to carry a cat in my home-made cat carrier I had constructed from a Kodak film box and Gaffer's tape. The 'arrangement' consisted of my giving Delta Airlines more money.

I flew from Jackson, Mississippi to Cincinnati, Ohio with no problem but when I tried to board the plane to LAX they informed me that my cat carrier was not approved and I could not board. At the desk back at the gate they my only option was to buy an 'approved' pet carrier. 

Eighty more dollars please!

At home I already had two cats, now placing me perilously one cat away from being officially crazy. It took some getting used to on everybody's part but soon Delilah was one of the family. Delilah and I already had a couple thousand miles under our belts together so I took her in the car with my every time I had the chance to acclimate her with it which paid-off nicely later on. She loved to ride in the car. She would sleep in my lap or somewhere back in the car.

She was my little redneck, my little southern belle.

Delilah, interrupted from watch wildlife on TV.

She'll roll on her back and invite you to rub her tummy but don't you fall for it; you'll probably bleed. Over the years I have learned the subtleties of her moods and signals as well as earned her trust so I can get away with it but I keep on-guard.

The little sun-goddess takes her afternoon nap where it's warm.

I was not above playing the odd trick on her either though. After a visit from my parents we were draining the air out of the double-high air mattress they had slept on. Delilah was sleeping on it at the time and slowly sank into a crater as the air leaked out. The mattress was about half empty and I could not resist the temptation of falling onto the mattress. Of course, when I did, the sleeping Delilah suddenly found herself airborne. As if in a Wile E. Coyote universe, she managed to begin running in mid air and had almost cleared the room by the time her claws hit the carpet. She returned a moment later sniffing the mattress with great curiosity.

She's not the smartest animal I've ever had, in fact we sometimes call her “Bag-O-Hammers” or sometimes just “Hammers,” as we shake our heads when she can't seem to find a cat treat that has landed inches away.

Don't tell all the other pets I have had through the years but in spite of her temperamental nature and her lack of mental horsepower, Delilah was my without a doubt my favorite, and probably always will be.

That hellish week in Mississippi was quite worth it after all. The way the Kitten looked at me when I scratched her head (or stop scratching her head) I think I may be her favorite too.

Tina Sitz & David Cassidy

This is a rewritten excerpt from a old post called "The Special Folks" about my time working with developmentally disabled adults at the Monroe County ARC at a group home for eight such people.

Tina was a four-foot-nine inch fireball with Downs Syndrome. The first thing that Tina will tell you when you meet her is that it’s “tie-nah, not tee-nah”. A pronunciation I beleive she herself invented at some point to correspond to her size.

Tina was in her thirties or close to it when I worked with her. She had a heart condition. Her lips and finger tips were often bluish. She was a diabetic who pricked her own finger and gave herself her own injections three times a day. I found it hard to watch because between the scar tissue from previous injections and IVs and the swollen hard flesh from her heart condition, the needle actually bent a little before it piercing her skin.

Amid all her physical frailties she had a spirit that, if seen in physical form would have been somewhere between a flowing heavenly angel and a pro wrestler. She always had a joke or was as ready to laugh at one. I sort of thought of her as a Huck Finn the way she sauntered, her boyish red haired looks and the way her swollen tongue made her speech sound as if she were about to spit tobacco juice out of the side of her mouth.

Tina (remember, it’s “tie-nah”) was obsessed with the Partridge Family the way a eleven-year-old girl might be. More to the point, she was obsessed with David Cassidy.

Tina had stopped developing mentally and emotionally at around eleven and as a girl that age in the early seventies she, and all her peer,s were nearly wetting themselves over David Cassidy. Tina simply never grew out of it.

There is a Partridge Family album, in fact the first record I ever owned, where the birthday of everyone in the family is printed on the album cover next to their picture. David Cassidy’s birthday, April 12^th was the same as Tina’s. This proved to Tina that her destiny with David was set in the stars.

Susan Dey who played Laurie Partridge on the TV show and played keyboards in the band was at the time, playing a role on the series “LA Law.” This only further convinced Tina that her place was by David’s side as there was clearly an opening in the band.

Tina was not about to passively wish for these things, she was going to be ready. She rehearsed every night after dinner in the dining room, where the stereo was located. She strapped on her guitar put on her headphones and belted out the most gawd awful caterwauling you can imagine, singing along with her many PF albums. Her practices were limited to a half an hour; a compromise with her housemates who retreated to the far end of the house and wanted her to stop altogether.

Tina’s guitar playing was nearly as bad as her singing. Not knowing at all how to play she simply strummed the open strings with the vigor of Pete Townsend. I tuned her guitar to a nice open E chord so at least the dissonance would be limited to her voice.

She believed her fantasy with such conviction she was able pull one over on her own doctor. She once came home from an appointment with a prescription for ear drops. When asked what this was for she gave a suspiciously brief and cryptic answer and went off to watch TV. We called her doctor ourselves to get the story.

“The ear drops are for her trip,” the doctor said, “so her ears don’t bother her on the flight.”

“Flight?”

“To Los Angeles… She’s moving there… right?”

We were instructed to intervene in Tina’s fantasy, to interject reality and help her understand the difference between what’s real and what’s not.

I essentially ignored this care plan. I never had the heart. I couldn’t see the harm. She was at the end of her life expectancy for a person with Down’s syndrome. It made her consistently and profoundly happy. Who was I to tell her she would never meet David Cassidy.

I only lasted a year at ARC. Six months full time and six months part time. They say it takes a special person to work with special people. That’s true, and it ain’t me.

I became another staffer in their live’s who came and went. The most consistent thing for them was each other and even that changed from time to time.

A few months after my last shift at St. Paul I happened to be at my brother’s apartment. His roommate had a news paper lying around. I happened to glance down at a small sidebar article.

It was a picture of Tina, standing next to David Cassidy. She was smiling so wide she must have been sore for a week.

David had recorded a new album and was touring  to support his comeback. One of the managers at St. Paul was also a jock at the local pop station and a photo-op was born.

Tina died of heart failure only a few months after her meeting with David Cassidy. He life's ambition accomplished her heart was ready for a rest. I’m glad I had the chance to know her and to learn that 'reality' doesn’t stand a chance against a dream.

As I repost this story, David Cassidy himself has passed on (It seems I may have jumped the gun on full confirmation of this but I'll update either way accordingly). An impossibility it seems for some reason, but perhaps Tina, a veteran in the hereafter can look out for her newby teen idol. I'd like to think they'll jam.

The full original post including the other members of the house is here: http://joeltjohnson.blogspot.com/2010/06/special-folks.html

My Pappy!

My Dad and his Dad mid 1970s

I have a great father. So much so, that as I got older and out into the World, I was in for a bit a shock. Not everyone had it so good apparently. To this day I have trouble wrapping my head around that. It's okay, it's a deficiency, but one I think I can live with.

My Dad taught me lots of things. He never said, "c'mere I want to teach you something". He told me stories, gave me mysteries to solve and was just his wonderful self. There are countless examples. These are just a few that stick out the most profoundly in my memory.

My Dad taught me to be kind hearted. We used to have a 22 gauge rifle stuffed away somewhere. My dad told me when the rifle was given to him he went out to hunt some small game in the woods behind our house. He aimed at a chipmunk in a tree and pulled the trigger. The chipmunk fell to the ground twitching. Instead of feeling the pride of marksmanship, he just looked at the life he had taken with a tear in his eye. He went home and put away the rifle and never took it out again. When he told me this story, it cured me of ever wanting to learn it for myself.

He taught me to be humble, how to admit when I'm wrong and how not to be an asshole with one short sentence. We were in the car going somewhere and I was being, as my Mom and now my Wife sometimes put it 'being a pill'. I was being a whole lotta pill on that occasion because my Dad did something he never did before or since to my recollection. I was being such an ass that in his frustration he called me a "little bastard". Even back then I knew I deserved it, but I was a child so I retorted indignantly: "You shouldn't call me that!" In my opinion, if he had reached back and smacked me one he would have been justified, but not my dad. He simply said in a sincere even tone: "You're right, I'm sorry."

Even though I was geared for war, In that instant with my jaw hanging open, I saw myself for the little jerk I was. I had driven my Dad to call me a name and then feel badly about it. He didn't get defensive, he apologized, to me... the little jerk. He could have yelled at me, punished me, kicked me out of the car and made me walk home, but it wouldn't have had nearly the impact as his telling me he was wrong and he was sorry. no reverse psychology, no deliberate manipulation, just the simple consequences of my actions made plain to me because he was honest and humble.

My Dad taught my ingenuity. My Dad was the sort of guy who knocked out walls and built additions to our house nearly doubling it in size. He was not a contractor, he just taught himself somehow. That's not all he did: He kept bees, kept a large vegetable garden, tapped maple trees, learned how to hand hew round logs into square beams, made bookcases and furniture, designed and made stained glass windows, built a barn, got his general license as a ham radio operator, designed and built two bridges, and taught himself photography. When I want to do something, I get excited, figure it out and do it myself. Thanks Dad!

He taught me how not to take myself or life too seriously. If you've seen the Pixar Animation "Inside Out" (and you need to) you know about "Goofball Island". From when my brother and I were toddlers and we would have 'cougar fights' to later when getting lost in the car was 'an adventure'. Good jokes, bad puns and lots of laughter is how I grew up.

Sadly, much of childhood's magic goes away. Sadly, that's life, but I'm happy to report that my "Goofball Island" is still up and hoppin'. I even put in a new wing when I got married--another success I attribute to my folks, but that's a different post.

My Dad taught me critical thinking and the scientific process was fun (self esteem as a bonus). We lived in the country, so nature was all around us. Often my Dad would encounter something interesting. Instead of a lecture on, say, the robin's egg shell and nest we had encountered on a trail, he would say: "Look, we have a mystery here!" We would rush over to see what he was talking about.

He would point out his observation and then ask us questions about it. Then he would do something remarkable. He would listen to us. Our observations and theories mattered! You can tell a kid a hundred times a day they are special and talented, but being listened to and taken seriously back then is self esteem I carry to this day. When we had gone through the process of observations and theories to our 'mystery' with his subtle guidance we would then look to him for "the answer". After all he was the smartest man in the World as far as we were concerned. Then he blew our minds again by saying: "I don't know."

What? The smartest guy in the World 'doesn't know'? He would then give his own theories on what had happened, but stress that our theories, if they were viable, were possible also. I learned then that true intelligence is not an easy airtight answer, but distinguishing observable facts from theory and conjecture and weighing them based on their merit. It was okay not to have the absolute answer. Later in school I would learn how to test and document theories, but the bigger lesson was there in the woods, or at a sprung mousetrap in the basement or a set of skid marks on the road.

Again, my Dad didn't do these things as some sort of lesson plan. He did them because it was fun for him and he wanted to share with us.

We actually still do this stuff, Mom too.

My Dad taught me self reinvention and continual self improvement. This is a lesson I can attribute to both my parents as one or the other was in school for a most of my adolescence and indeed my adult life. My dad taught high school science, biology and freshman physics. There was always that week in the fall when he came home smelling of formaldehyde when his class was dissecting fetal pigs.

He was not very happy teaching and began to explore other career options about the time I was mid-way through high school. He got his masters in Imaging Science at night school over several years and began working for Kodak as an optical engineer, where he was much happier tinkering with optics benches than wrangling unruly kids.

Even in retirement both my parents regard learning as a lifestyle. Whereas my style of learning is not so compatible with the formal classroom and the cost/benefit of higher learning simply doesn't add up at this point in my career(s), I still benefit from their example. I continually reinvent myself by hands-on, Internet learning and simply by not allowing myself to gather moss in any particular station of life.

Most of all my Dad loves me. He tells me, he shows me and he asks for nothing in return. He loves me when I screw up, he loves me though prefer going to movies to going camping, he loves me when I decide to move across the country and don't come home as much as either of us would like, and he loves me for being happy at what I do, even though maybe, secretly, once upon a time he had hopes of my going into a field of science.

And that is why, in addition to a billion other things I'll never fully appreciate, that my father is great!


The greatest!

I love you Pappy

Karen's Worst Christmas Ever, Part V-Epilog

Karen was so surprised to see Kevin that she took her foot off the brake and the car lurched forward. Kevin jumped back in surprise.

“Whoa! Shit. Sorry, sorry,” Karen said. She quickly put the Jeep in park.

“Is it safe?” Kevin said.

“Yes, I promise. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you, to explain.”

“You drove two thousand miles to explain?

“No, I flew nineteen hundred and fifty miles, rented a car, then drove fifty…. to explain.”

“I thought you hated cliches.”

“It’s painful, trust me.”

“So explain.”

“Couldn’t we go somewhere less… roadside?”

“Yeah there’s a place that’s probably open now, follow me.”

Karen drove just a little ways into town and pulled up to a storefront restaurant called the “Double L”. It had once been two stores mirrored in one building, now it was a bar and grill on the left half, restaurant on the Right. The two Ls were Lou Hollenbeck, who operated the Bar, and his wife Lisa who operated the restaurant.

They walked into the restaurant side. The door rang a little gold bell vigorously.  They sat next to the window where lace curtains hung on rods right behind a neon sign that said “Open”. White Christmas lights were haphazardly hung here and there. Otherwise the lights in the restaurant were off and it was as dim as the bar.

A man in an apron walked up to their table through an opening between the two establishments near the back. They could hear the jukebox and hints of conversation from the bar side. part of a pinball machine could be seen.

“Say folks I couldn’t talk you into a table over on the bar side could I? Lisa ain’t here tonight. It’d sure save me a few steps.”

“I think we’ll stay here. Just get us a couple coffees and we won’t need to bother you after that.” Karen said.

“Okay then.” Lou said padding back to the other side.

Kevin looked at Karen’s face in the red glow of the open sign. The same one he had first seen during the blizzard three days ago.

“I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry I…” Kevin took a deep breath.

“Alright. If I’m going to do this…“

He cleared his throat and set his face firmly like he was about to lift something extremely heavy.

“Four years ago two kids drowned in a rip tide on Hermosa Beach in Southern California. Those were my... our... my wife’s and my kids. We thought we’d beat it, but just like the statistics and everyone told us, our marriage ended about a year later. Now, I realize it’s impossible to to tell you this without sounding… I’m honestly not trying to illicit sympathy, just some background for why I’m such a huge idiot.”

Lou arrived with a couple mugs on a finger on a glass coffee pot in his other hand, oblivious to the awkward gap in the conversation his arrival had caused.

“Coffee for you… aand coffee for you… No menus then?”

“No, we’re fine, thanks.”

“Okee dokie, jus come around if you need anything. Restrooms are over there also.”

Lou disappeared leaving them alone in the room again.

“I went to Montana to hide from the world,” Kevin continued. “I left a clue for someone to find me in my sad little world and you did. It sounds melodramatic, and maybe it is, but you saved me in a small way, you opened a door for me to walk through.”

Kevin reached across the table and took Karen’s hands. They were soft and warm.

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s that bad partings can be a poison that eats away at you. I need to apologize to you for how we parted. It was entirely my fault. I never actually considered your motives to be financial or in any way questionable. You were a much needed source of light in that house. But my defenses got the better of me and I acted badly, pretty much every moment you were there. I’m sorry for that.

“You may not believe this, but you are the embodiment of Persie. When I invent a character I get a picture in my head and then, when I found you in the snow… I saw a dear face I had only imagined before.”

He caressed her hands delicately, sincerely.

“I want to start over Karen, would you be my guest, not right now, be with your family, but for New’s Eve and a few days after. I have a place in Hawaii as it happens that... Well It would be wonderful to spend some time with you there. You know, no expectations, your own room…”

Kevin looked into her eyes. It was difficult to return such a steady gaze.

Karen was stunned. She felt like she’d just scratched a lottery ticket that showed zero after zero. She imagined the sun the surf, walking on the beach with this man.

“Wow,” she managed to say. “Um, that’s…”

She paused. In that moment she took her entire trip again. Driving to Ohio in a trance, the decision to keep going West. Meeting Sadie, and Hugh. All those miles there and back. She squeezed Kevin’s hands.

“You should have driven here. The whole way I mean. The highway gives you an excellent chance to think.”

She looked at him.

“Kevin, I could fall for you in a big way. Honestly, in some ways, I’m already there. But... Oh man... not going to Hawaii with you is going to haunt me for a long time.”

Kevin gave a stiff smile and squeezed her hands back. His disappointed was in freefall, but he could at least sense the soft landing in the knowledge that she was right. Even if it was a ways off.

“I’m not even going to mention this to my… Hell, I’d never live it down. But, we’re always haunted by something you know? It might as well be... We’re on our own journeys to… I don’t know, not being quite so sad. Our paths intersected in a perfect wonderful way. I wouldn’t change or trade it for anything.”

A snow plow rattled the windows as it drove by. Their eyes were locked on each other. A burst of laughter from the bar echoed in the room. The drink cooler’s compressor kicked on, its chirping hum and fans filling the emptiness of the room.

“But those paths, changed though they may be by the other, must keep on. I know I’m not remotely there yet... Are you?”

Kevin finally looked down.

“Well, at least it’s not cliche.” Kevin said with the slightest smirk. "Thanks for that.”

“See, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself.”

“I guess not.”

Karen looked up at the plastic Pepsi clock on wall.

"Hey, it's midnight. Merry Christmas Kevin."

"Merry Christmas Karen."

Their eyes remained together for a long and perfect moment. There was only love and understanding.

“Can we keep in touch at least?" Kevin said. "You’ll tell me if you ever change your mind.”

“”Write for me, just keep writing. And if you write anything more about Persie, and trust me I’m not the only fangirl onboard with this, she needs a new dog... And do me one favor, name her Jewel.”

It was starting to Snow again.

It had been a while. Lou walked over to the restaurant side to check on his coffee drinkers. The table was empty, but the small pile of cash was ample for the bill and a sizable tip. He noticed their cars as he put the empty mugs on his finger, one drove East, the other headed West.

Karen's Worst Christmas Ever, Part IV

Kevin was not happy. He peered over the edge of the plow on his pickup at the Jeep parked a ways off the road . He wanted to keep driving just and go home, but his conscious got the better of him and he turned back. Besides, this wasn't the first time.

Any tracks had long since been covered, but he had a pretty good idea where they were headed. He grabbed his emergency snowshoes from the behind the seat and headed up the creek.

Kevin was exhausted himself when he came out if the ravine and up onto Cemetery Rock. The wind was intense now and the snow was even becoming difficult for his snowshoes. Each step he had to pack two or three times before stepping forward. He’d be in trouble himself if he didn’t find this idiot soon.

He called and listened, called and listened, clapping his gloves together occasionally to save his voice.

Then he heard something. It wasn’t a voice though. At first he figured it was just laden branches breaking under the weight of the snow, but it kept going, and at a regular pace.

Kevin shuffled on his snowshoes at a trot towards the sound. He had to stop once or twice to get a better fix. The sound was becoming slower and weaker. He had to hurry before it stopped altogether.

Nothing.

It was close.

“Hello?”

“Keep making the sound so I can find you.”

“Just one more.”

“Just give me one, c’mon, you can do it.”

Smack!

The sound was just to his right. He shuffled to a tree and saw a darkish shadow underneath. He fought through the branches and kneeled on his snowshoes. He pulled her from the tree and in an awkward backwards knee shuffle, he dragged her from under the snarl of branches.

He got down close to her face. In the last of the twilight he could see her reddened cheeks and dripping nose, he could also make out large brown eyes and a beautiful face. It was a face he knew well in his mind, but had never seen with his eyes. How could this be?

“White Christmas my ass,” she whispered shaking her head, “watch what you wish for.”

Karen’s eye’s fluttered and closed.

Monday December 21st

Ultimately it was the quiet that made Karen’s sleep uneasy. She was no city girl, but there had always been a street or highway nearby. The complete silence was unsettling.  Her eye’s slowly opened. She was in a beautiful room lying in a four-poster bed. Her eyes closed and a satisfied smile arrived on her face. She scooped up an warm armful of down comforter and pulled it close. What a nice dream.

After a moment her eyes shot open. She wasn’t dreaming. The last memories of the night before came crashing back at her. The blizzard the riddle, the… Angel type dude?

“Where the hell am I?” She said as she propped herself up for a better look around. “Hello?”

There was nearly nothing in the room that made it easy to accept it as real. Shining hardwood floors covered in oriental carpets, an antique dresser and night tables meticulously restored. The was a stone fireplace in the far side of the room with a finished log mantel laden with more antiques, and while the fire wasn’t currently roaring, it had clearly been attended during the night. The outside walls were that of a log cabin polished smooth. The inside walls were painted a deep maroon and taupe trim. The space was a perfect blend of rustic charm, comfort and feminine touches. Things like French doilies on the dresser, a geisha girl doll under a dome of glass and 19th century botany lithographs of flowers and seeds. Perhaps the only thing that suggested the waking world were the windows that looked out on the blazing white results of last night’s blizzard. The lace curtains on them were quite lovely though.

“Hello?... Reality?”

Reality then knocked on the door.

“Come in?” she said cautiously.

Karen watched the door swing open with a quaint little creak. A tray came into the room and attached to it was a rather attractive man. It was at that moment that Karen noticed what she was wearing….

Exactly the same clothes she had been in last night, minus her parka, boots and gloves.

“Uh hi. You, um, left me in my clothes?”

“Yep. Lucky me; nearly no chance of a sexual harassment lawsuit.” And thank God too. This whole thing is already a minefield of cliche. And here I am with a tray of breakfast. This could only be worse if I happened to be a pirate. I was thinking of just eating this in front of you to save face, but you need to eat some food.”

“Where am I?” Karen said pulling the tray close and surveying the sumptuous hot breakfast in front of her.

“On the property you were trespassing on. Namely mine. ”

“I didn't see any signs.”

“This is Montana, you’re always trespassing.”

“And who are you?”

“Kevin.”

“Well Kevin, first, thanks for… bringing me in last night. I'm not sure what might have happened if you hadn't come along. “

“I didn't exactly come along. I saw your Jeep with the North Dakota plates and knew you were in over your head. “

Karen felt her defenses bristle, but she took a breath and continued.

“Secondly, I apologize for ‘trespassing’ as you say, and for any inconvenience I might have caused.”

He pulled a wicker bottom chair from a quaint table set by one of the windows and sat in it backwards. He positioned himself by the door as if ready to make a hasty exit.

“Your welcome, and no problem… I think.”

“You think?” Karen said around a piece of bacon.

“I would like to know what you were doing. Closest trail head is five miles. You’re out here with no rifle, no gear and apparently no outdoor skills, especially when it comes to reading the weather.”

Karen sat up straighter in bed.

“I have skills. I know weather, kind of. I was just focussed on…”

“On stalking?”

“No, you mean you think I? No!”

“I don’t know what to think. Help me out.”

“I wasn’t stalking you, that’s for sure,” Karen said quickly.

“Capital! Who then?”

“I don't see how that's any of your…”

Kevin just stared at her.

“Well, it’s a bit. Can't we just?...”

He continued to stare.

“Alright fine. Ever heard of Fanny Arbuckle?”

Kevin’s expression remained blank.

“ ‘Persephone?’ ‘Nomads of Slorn’ the ‘Temple’ series?”

“No. “

“ ‘Heartland Incorporated’?”

“No.”

“ ‘The Jewels of Nebraska’?”

“No.”

“Never heard of any of those?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, the movie ‘Skylark’? You must know that one. Nicolas Cage? Patton Oswalt?”

“Never saw it. Heard it was crap.”

“They did kinda wreck it, the book was so much better, though Fanny did write the screenplay.”

“So that's who you're stalking, this Fanny person?”

“No! Well not really, you see, she wrote this riddle into one of her books. I solved it and it led me here.”

“I'll bet she regrets that. Probably why she moved.”

“So you do know her,” Karen said.

“No, she just not here obviously.”

“Not in this house maybe.”

“Everyone knows everyone here.”

Karen felt foolish. She was happy and grateful to be alive, but frankly she just wanted to die. Here she was, in the bed of her rescuer, not at all hard on the eyes and possibly well-off if the surroundings were any clue. And now she had been outed as a silly fan-girl and, she had to admit it now, effectively, a stalker.

“Well I can't thank you enough for the breakfast and, ya know, saving my life and everything, but I’m feeling fine now, so if you'll kindly show me to my coat and boots, and the door, I’ll be on my way back to my car and out of your hair.”

“Last night didn't make you any smarter did it?” Kevin said.

“What?.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Karen pulled the comforter up instinctively.

“I beg your…”

“I'm not going anywhere either," he continued. “We're snowed in… Kind-of a lot.”

It might be days before the roads were clear enough to get their cars out from where they were parked down further in the valley, he explained. The phones and the power were out as well, but the ranch had it’s own backup generators, and woodstoves and fireplaces and a stock of food, perishable and non, that would last them as long as needed.

He offered her some clean clothes: one of his T-shirts that had a picture of one of the robots from “Mystery Science Theater 3000”, “MST3K”, he called it, and gray sweatpants. His slippers were a bit too roomy to walk around in without stumbling, but thick pair of wool socks proved to be all the foot cover she needed. The guest bedroom where she had woken up lead to a walkway open to the large main room below. Log-styled leather seating focussed on the fireplace. There were no TVs or video game consoles... or family pictures.

The kitchen was to the rear, under some of the other upstairs rooms. It’s design was more modern and functional, but still homey and comfortable.

The coffee was strong, but it was a welcome boost. She stood by the window in the kitchen and pondered the world outside her magnificent prison.

She had arrived at night and the day before had been overcast, and then an all out blizzard. She was seeing Montana for the first time. Each part of the scene before her left her more breathless than the last. It was so much more beautiful than her dreams.

Sunlit snow crystals came up to the bottom of the window. The backyard was a seamless virgin blanket of snow rounding over unknown objects. And, were those possibly buildings? Beyond that was a forest of evergreen. She looked up past it to cream dollop foothills and beyond that an incredible snow dusted ridge of rock so high she had to get close to the glass to see the top of it. Above it all was the bluest clearest sky Karen had even seen.

There was no bad view from the ranch house. The view from the main room was to the East. The opening sides of the canyon framed the immense valley like a Bob Ross painting. Lower foothills in the foreground, gentle sloping meadows the size of counties it seemed. More distant mountain ranges accented the horizon with streams of snow blowing off them in sweeping brush strokes. The view seemed to go on all the way to the Mississippi and all of it had been baptized in the same untouched snow. The peace of it all was surreal to Karen as it was the same world out there that had tried to kill her the night before.

The beauty formed a tear in the corner of her eye, the first in a long time not to have come from pain and heartache. Perhaps it was the near death experience that enhanced her senses, but she couldn’t imagine the most jaded bitter soul not being taken aback by this place.

She wanted to share it with someone so badly she could burst. Of course, there was always Mr. Personality.

Kevin came in the kitchen door with an armful of wood. He had barely said a word since that morning and had spent most of his time in unknown rooms.

Karen spent the rest of the day napping and looking out the windows wondering if it was all real.

If nothing else there were lot of books, shelves of them in nearly every room. She looked them over but it was clear they had different tasks in literature. Lots of history, biographies, heady novels, an entire wall of old National Geographics. There was some science fiction, very little adventure, no romance whatsoever.

This was definitely not Fanny Arbuckle’s house.

Tuesday December 22nd

“So I guess you don’t celebrate Christmas,” Karen said to break the silence at breakfast.

“Not really.”

“Jewish?”

“No.”

“Muslim?”

“No.”

“...Buddhist?”

“No. I was Lutheran, growing up.” He said. “I just don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Didn’t get that puppy you wanted?”

Karen immediately regretted her sarcasm. She braced for a stiff retort, but instead his face softened.

“No, I got divorced. I used to be a kind-of a Christmas junky actually, but…”

“How long ago? The divorce I mean.”

“Three years.”

“Maybe you will be again. A Christmas junky I mean.”

His eyes remained on his shoes outstretched before his chair.

“I doubt it, maybe.”

After he cleared the dishes, Kevin disappeared outdoors somewhere leaving her to the heavenly views and the shelves and shelves of books.

Kevin stopped in his tracks when he entered the kitchen later that day. The table was a battlefield of arts and crafts.

“I got bored,” Karen said.

Before her on the table Karen had cut the maps she had printed out for her quest into thin strips and cut the strips into shorter strips. She looped then with tape she had found to make paper a chain.

Kevin froze for a moment.

“Don’t worry, it’s for my room. I needed some sort of Christmas decoration.”

Kevin continued to the fridge.

“I like them. The green of the satellite maps on one side and the white of the paper on the other, looks…  pretty.”

Karen looked up with her eyes only.

“Thanks.”

“We can print out more maps if you like, ya know if you wanted put some out here too,” he said without turning around.

“That’ll be hard without internet won’t it?”

“Who says I don’t have Internet? I just don’t have the satellite transceiver or the network turned on”

“Wait, You mean my family has been worrying about me for no reason?”

“Oh yeah, sorry, I only turn it on when I need it and my mind has been on other things. I don’t really think in terms of family anymore. I’ll get it all going if you’d like.”

“Yes, please.” she said.

“Hi, Emma, it’s Mom, please don’t hang up,” Karen said.

“Who said I was gunna hang up, you’re on Paul’s shitlist, not mine.”

“How is he?”

“He’s fine I guess, the budding little juvenile delinquent. I should thank him for taking some heat off me. Oh, and I’m fine too--thanks for asking.”

“I’m sorry honey, how are you.”

“Meh.”

“Listen Emma, I had sort-of an accident. I got caught in a blizzard, in, you know, Montana, but I’m okay. I’m snowed-in at this… actually fabulous ranch house.”

“Way to go Mom!” Emma said. “It was kinda alright how you got outta dodge... you irresponsible rebel.”

“Now this doesn’t mean you’re allowed to… This was a very unique, one-time...”

“Mom, dude, stop worrying. I’m not gunna, you know, go join the circus or become a hooker cuz you did this... awesome... crazy ass thing.”

“Sorry, I’m still conflicted about it.”

“Well I thought it was pretty cool.”

When Karen checked her email there was a string of messages from Sadie. She sent her an IM.

ktrent99

Here I am

sadie-isme423:

thank goodness i wuz so wryd

ktrent99

wryd?

sadie-isme423:

worried dear
what happened  2u???? saw the blzzrd hit u2, hit the whole north ½ of the US

ktrent99

long story. I’m at a fabulous ranch, snowed in. No Fanny A. Seems like the place but the guy here doesn’t even know who she is.

sadie-isme423:

iz he qt?

ktrent99

qt? Oh cute? yeah, he's pretty cute

sadie-isme423:

lolz i found out some things about the riddle

ktrent99

what?

sadie-isme423:

there were some ppl who posted to the forums about going to solve the riddle and all 3 of them deleted their accounts soon after

ktrent99

wierd

sadie-isme423:

ikr, i would b careful if i were u

ktrent99

ikr?

sadie-isme423:

I know right

ktrent99

Oh Yeah, I'll be careful, I promise.

“I was thinking,” Kevin said.

“Yeah?” said Karen looking up from a National Geographic with a tropical setting on the cover.

“Maybe we could snowshoe out, get a Christmas tree. For you I mean. If you want.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah, I mean, look around. These are my trees. You don’t have to come, if, you know, after the other night.”

“Oh no, I’m going, Nice as your house is, I’m getting a little stir crazy.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Karen trudged along in her snow shoes. It was like walking on sand in clown shoes. She wore a bow saw on her back. Kevin had a rifle strapped to his.

Kevin took her hand to help her over a fallen log.

“Thanks,” she said but toppled forward anyway knocking Kevin off balance, the two of them landing together in the snow laughing.

“Are we going to run into bears?”

“It’s possible, or wolves, or a mountain lion.”

“R-really. I was kidding?”

“They’re sure not.”

They worked their way up a slight incline on what might have been a trail under the snow. It was the purest white Karen had ever seen. The only sound was the shoes and their breathing The cold in her lungs felt good. She pondered how five degrees out doors didn’t seen as cold as thirty-two degrees inside her old Dodge sometimes did.

After a twenty minute hike, they came upon a glade of young firs. Kevin asked for the saw and began to free a small tree from it’s roots. Karen looked around, trying to take everything in. Beyond a cluster of some trees on a rise she saw a small cabin.

“Whose cabin is that?”

Kevin looked up from his sawing and seemed to think about his answer.

“That’s mine.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“I want to see it. It’s not far. Can we? We can get the tree on the way back.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Really, it’s so darling, I’d love to take a look.”

“I said no.”

His tone had a finality to it that echoed off the nearby trees.”

Kevin tied the trunk of the tree to a rope around his waist and started to drag the tree back to the main house.

“Sorry, about the cabin… You see folks around here, well. They’re here because they want privacy.”

“And you?”

“I’m the guy who wants privacy even from the folks who come up here for privacy. I mean, I’m glad to be helping you out, and and it’s even nice to have someone around, but.”

“But I’m imposing.”

“It’s just... difficult.”

Karen was about to speak again when Kevin, ahead of her stopped suddenly and held up his arm. Suddenly it felt like a war movie.

“Wha..”

Kevin motioned with his arm and beckoned her with the other. She came close and aligned her eye with his arm. Their heads touched breifly.

Karen strained her eyes. What was she looking for? Kevin’s pointing finger stayed steady and silent waiting for her to catch up.

There she was. A gray wolf frozen in her tracks just as they were. Looking straight at them. Her fur was coarse, her body lean. A slight breeze moved the hair on her back.

It was the single most beautiful and scary thing Karen had ever seen. She had always thought of the wolf as her spirit animal, even before she took the test on Facebook. It was her son Paul’s as well and they often traded wolf T-shirts and sweatshirts at Christmas. Now here it was, right in front of her, no fence, no cage, and capable of killing her if she really wanted.

Kevin slowly brought the rifle from his shoulder, holding it in front of him, then he slowly raised the rifle to his eye. Karen was horrified that he would even consider killing such a beautiful animal.

“what are you doing?” Karen whispered.

“shhh” Kevin said.

“You’d better not…

“Shh,  this wolf is too far East. She’s the one that’s been taking stock.”

“Stock?”

“Cows, steers. State’ll will pay for her body along with proof that she’s been stealing cattle.”

“Don’t... you... dare…” Hissed Karen.

Kevin lowered the gun and looked back at her. “Maybe I was only going to scare it off you know.”

When they both looked back, the gray had disappeared.

Not much was said on the way back to the house. Decorating the tree lightened the mood considerably along with mugs of hot buttered rum. Karen’s paper chains and whatever other odds and ends they could find. When it came to the angel they were stumped. Then Kevin had a flash of inspiration and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a rotary hand-cranked egg beater and held it up for Karen’s approval. The handle was the head, the beaters flared out like robs and the circular gear in the middle was the wings.

“Perfect!”she said.

They reclined on the couch with their mugs to admire their creation. Compact discs hung from fishing line and shimmered in the firelight.

“You know what’s nice about being snowed in?” Kevin said spreading his arms on the back of the couch.

“What?” Karen couldn’t help but wonder if her company would be part of the answer, but quickly banished the thought.

“Snow days. It reminds me of snow days!”

“Yeah it does.” Karen said with a smile. “Those were so much fun.”

“I’m not sure such happiness is possible for adults.”

“Better not to be too much of an adult then.”

“Agreed.”

Karen was warm from the rum and the fire, and also from her memories of childhood. She looked up at their egg beater angel atop the tree. Her head touched his arm behind her. Their eyes drifted to the other’s and then away in a pang of discomfort. She looked at the angel again just to feel his arm behind her. They looked at one another again. She could sense the energy of his nervousness. She rolled her head into his shoulder.

“No one’s ever saved my life before. Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome. You're one of many you know,” he joked to lighten the moment.

“That a fact?”

“Yeah, but they never call, never write.”

His arm fell off the back of the couch and wrapped around her pulling her close. Her far arm reached around and hugged his chest.

They sat there like that for a long time, two broken hearts healing, just a little.

Wednesday December 23nd

Karen arrived in the kitchen the next morning to find Kevin gone. Breakfast was still a bit warm and the coffee was still hot. The world outside was somehow even more beautiful than it was the day before.

Before she had the dishes cleaned and put away she heard a knock at the front door.

“Hello?” Karen said when she opened the door.

There was a small man in his sixties at the door. He took his bright orange hunting cap off when he addressed her. His snowmobile idled a few feet from the porch.

“Morning ma’am, is Mr. Bergstrom ‘round?”

“He’s out, I think?” Karen said. She pulled the blanket she had been using as a shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“Out? Where to?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Hmm. I’m just checking around the area, making sure people’r okay.”

“Generators are working, he seems to have plenty of food, firewood.”

“I don’t remember seeing you before miss...”

“Trent. No, I got stranded in the Blizzard. Mr. Bergstrom brought me here.”

“So you don’t know him?”

“No.”

The man peeked into the house behind her and lowered his voice.

“Just be careful miss.”

He turned to go, and put his hat back on.

“Wait, what do you mean? Why do I need to be careful?”

The man turned back halfway. He was clearly uncomfortable.

“This guy ain’t no rancher miss. He’s from LA. He’s up here cooking meth, in that little cabin up the hill.”

“Kevin? Meth? That seems a little...”

“Oh yes ma’am. Lot’s a meth up here, and folks keep it hid pretty well. Seem like pretty ordinary folks some’um.”

He stepped down from the porch on the only step the high snow hadn’t obliterated and mounted his machine like it was a horse. He tipped his hat. “I best be on. I recon you should too, soon’s you can.”

Karen closed the door and sat by the fire to warm up. It seemed ridiculous, but the gears turned in her head without her permission. She recalled his sharp reaction to her wanting to see the cabin, the rifle he carried with him outside all the time. Karen looked around. The house was very nice and filled with expensive things. Kevin never mentioned what he did for a living and had in-fact avoided the subject. Then she remembered what Sadie had told her about the deleted accounts on the forums. People who had made headway on the riddle, maybe made it here to the house and then were never heard from again. He had the Internet turned off also.

Karen had a sinking feeling in her chest. The old Karen would have panicked. The new Karen, put on her jacket and snowshoed up to the little cabin to see for herself, like Persie would do.

The door was locked. Karen felt through her hair and retrieved two hair pins. How hard could it be? She thought.

Pretty hard as it turned out.

Karen refused to give up. She was focussed. She had to get into that cabin to find out what was going on. Remembering the techniques Fanny had gone into such detail on picking locks she worked the tumblers one-by-one. She took off her gloves for more precise control and tried again, and again, and again.

Suddenly the lock clicked and turned. The door swung open.

“I can’t believe it! It worked! it really worked!”

She clicked a light switch. Nothing. She went to a window and opened the heavy shade. Whatever was in here, he did not want anyone peeking inside. Snow white light filled the cabin. It was… nothing like a meth lab. It was an office. Decorated in the same manner as the house, but with a lot more clutter, more dust. Piles of papers were stacked on shelves and the desk. Again, more books filled the shelves. Paperbacks mostly. She got closer. The titles were much closer to the best-seller stuff that Karen preferred.

In the corner was a small drum set. A pair of headphones sat on the snare drum. in another corner was a kitchenette, kept a bit neater than the rest of the room. A couch with a Playstation controller faced a larger television monitor. In the center near the largest front window was the desk.

The computer monitor and keyboard were surrounded by post-it notes and hand scrawled notebook pages. Karen got closer. The notes were tidbits of ideas, character names and traits. There was print out of book tour dates.

Everything clicked.

This was it! Fanny’s actual office!

Just to be sure, Karen went back to the book shelves. There was a glass case at the end. She opened the doors.

There they were. On the shelves, “Seed,” “Overworld,” “Harvest,” “Underworld,” “Nomads of Slorn,” the entire series, The Jewels; every Fanny Arbuckle book ever written, in hardback, all first additions.

It was Fanny. And this room was where it all happened. Karen suddenly remember the reason she had broken in. She felt ashamed.  She made her way towards the door. She had to get out of here before…

“I was wrong,” Kevin said. He slowly descended a steep set of stairs from a loft. His hair was mussed, as if he’d been napping. “I thought you were different.”

“I, I’m sorry. I.”

“You seemed different than the others. And I guess you are. None of them could pick locks.”

“Others?”

The stairs were on the same side of the room as the front door. She sidled towards it, but he made it there first and stood in her way.

“Don’t hurt me.” she pleaded.

“What? I’m not...” Kevin said, genuinely confused.

“What did you do to her?” Karen said channeling a defiant Persie, expecting to be tied to a chair by the next chapter.

“What did I do with whom?”

“You know who. Fanny! Fanny Arbuckle.”

“You mean that you…”

“You did something to her so you could use her house and…”

“And what?”

“Cook meth!” Karen stood tall ready for whatever awaited her.

Kevin tittered, then exploded into all out laughter.

“What’s so damn funny.”

“You, you are. I thought you’d figured it out, you got everything else, but Meth?”

“Figured what out.”

“Oh, wait, wait. Haha! I’ll bet Charlie was here.”

“Charlie?”

“Short guy, lotta hair growing out of his nose.”

“Yeah, sounds like the guy who stopped by.”

“And told you I cook meth.”

“Yeah.”

Karen could feel embarrassment begin to fill her cheeks.

“So you don’t… cook meth.”

“No. Hell no. Charlie’s… well he likes his drama. A bit a conspiracy theorist too. Did he tell you about how fracking is actually a cover-up for the archeological discovery of ancient Mormon cities?”

“No he just… Why don’t you deny it? Set him straight.”

“It’s convenient really. I’d rather people believed that than…”

“Than what?”

“The truth, about Fanny.”

“What about Fanny? What have you done with her?”

“Don’t be so… so Persie, this is reality. Fanny’s on a book tour… sort of.” Kevin said.

“Sort of?.”

“You really don’t know do you?”

Karen looked around the room again, the drum set, the Playstation the manly disarray on the desk.

“You? You!”

Kevin smiled.

“You’re Fanny Arbuckle?”

Kevin walked over to the desk and opened one of the lower drawers. Karen was relieved when he turned and revealed only several pieces of paper stapled together.

“I was a Hollywood screenwriter, a hack. My career was going nowhere. I did the novel thing, nowhere. Then I created a new sort of heroine and submitted my work under a different name. A woman’s name.”

“Fanny Arbuckle.”

“The rest is… as they say...”

“That explains your aversion to cliche. But who is the woman on the back cover’s, in the interviews.”

“Ah Loren. Never met her in person, though I communicate with her pretty intensely before a tour, help her prepare for her ‘role’. She’s a retired actress, out of Spokane I think. My publisher hired her. Don’t even know her last name. Better that way.”

Kevin walked back over to Karen and handed her the document.

“What’s this?”

“This is your payday, what you’ve labored for, what you nearly died for.” He went to the couch and sat down facing away.

Karen looked at the document and tried to decipher the legalese.

“I so regret the riddle. It was a stupid idea. I slipped it past my editor, but it has caused so much trouble. I guess I loved the idea of an Easter egg, and, to be honest I was pretty lonely. I liked the thought of someone finding their way here, but I didn’t think it through.

“I figured naturally fans would be the ones who would solve the riddle, but because of the Internet, word spread and it was more the treasure seeker type that met the challenge. When the first guy arrived he simply wanted the online bragging rights to finding the place first, but that would mean a stream of people coming up here. I’d have to move and I couldn’t do that, this place is too perfect. This is literally Snowberry Blossom Ranch! One of the few things I didn’t invent in the books.”

“This is that place. It’s even more wonderful than you described.”

“Thanks, I think. Anyway, we paid him off to sign a binding NDA, non-disclosure agreement” Kevin nodded at the papers in her hand. “He had to delete his accounts on any sites he had posted about anything remotely related to Fanny, or the books. And promise never to breath a word of this place or the riddle solution in perpetuity.”

Karen remembered what Sadie had said about the deleted accounts.

“There were others, always the same. Not fans of the book, just forum trollers, fortune hunters. The last one before you, we believe is a friend of the first guy, tipped-off for the same payout. There a bunch of lawyers and private investigators working on that one. What a mess.”

Karen stared at the paper. She walked over and grabbed a pen from a mug on the desk, then two more till she found a working one.

She signed and dated the NDA and handed it to him.

“No charge. Though you’ll need to send a copy of this to a certain ‘sadie-isme423’ she can negotiate her own terms.” Karen said. She paused at the door.

“Seems I was wrong about you too.”

She put on her snowshoes and started down the hill.

“Karen!” he shouted from the doorway.

She stopped and turned. He said nothing seeing the look in her eyes, she had been told a lot of things over the years. There wasn’t much new material.

“You know It was you that taught me to pick locks,” she said. “You, Fanny, Persie Pruitt.”

She turned and continued on.

“Thanks for saving me. Send a bill of you’d like.” Karen said without looking back.

A few hours later Karen had made it back to her car. She’d followed Charlie’s snowmobile tracks to his place then got a ride from him. The road had just been cleared by a front loader that was still working it way up the highway. By the time she got there she could see that Kevin had already extracted his truck and plowed a path for her Jeep as well.

As soon as she had signal on her phone, she pulled over and pulled up the stats.

It was noon. It was two thousand miles to Medina. If she only stopped for gas and a quick nap or two she could be home by midnight on Christmas eve: thirty-six hours. Easy!

The hum of the Jeep’s tires harmonized with the radio hour after hour. Station after station would come in range then crackle and die away, she would scan and find another. Sometimes classic rock, sometimes country, often Christmas music. She even listened to baptist preacher for a while, noting the R&B-like rhythm and melody in his “fahr aand brimstone” oratory.

She purchased a miniature Christmas tree for her dashboard at a truck stop. It was made for semis, so it was a bit imposing on the Jeep’s dash when she plugged it into her cigarette lighter.

“Perfect.” she said.

The brown dead landscape she had driven West through had become snow covered and dreamlike all the way back to Western New York

Thursday December 24th Christmas Eve

17 cups of coffee and eleven pee breaks later, Karen pulled into her old driveway. It was 10:33PM on Christmas Eve. Her limbs felt shaky, but otherwise she felt surprisingly good.

“Karen!” Bob still had the TV remote in his hand when he answered the door.

“Hello Bob,” Karen said as she strolled past him.

Emma was sitting in a lounge chair ears and eyes plugged into her phone until she saw her mother walk into the room.

“Mom!”

“Hey Emma. Merry Christmas!”

The girl surprised her mother with a big hug.

“Merry Christmas Mom.”

“Wow! Miss me much?”

“Meh,” said Emma with a smile.

“Where’s the other juvenile delinquent?”

“In his room, brooding.”

“Okay, wish me luck.”

“Lotsa luck road warrior.”

The sounds of a computer game came from behind Paul’s door. Rapid keyboard clicks sounded like a tiny machine gun.

Karen waited. She searched for words. How to begin?

“Paul?”

The clicking stopped.

“I’m sorry...  I’m sorry I slapped you honey. I’m… Things have been…”

This wasn’t working. Karen stared at the light from under his door.

“I saw a wolf,” she said. “A real one right in front of me. No fence or anything.”

The door opened slowly.

“Really, no kidding?” Paul said.

“Yeah, it was like twenty yards away from me. Staring right at me. it was quite an experience.”

“Were you scared?”

“A little, but mostly I was thinking of you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I officially named it ‘Paul’.”

“You did not.”

“I did, just call the Montana Department of Fish Wildlife and Parks, They’ll tell you. They put a tag on it and everything.”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, actually, I lied.”

“I thought so.”

“It’s a ‘Pauline’.”

Paul laughed, but then got quiet again.

“Mom... did I make you leave.”

Karen reached out and touched her son’s face.

“Oh no, no Paul, you’re what made me come back. I needed to go somewhere and grieve. Be somewhere where I wasn’t a mom, or a wife/ex-wife, or sister, just a person. You know?”

“Yeah I guess. We’re you grieving about Jewel?”

“Yes, but also grieving my marriage, your childhood and most of all the person I was for all that. Things change and we sometimes have to change along with them. We have to say goodbye to our old selves and that can be sad, but it’s good too.”

“Kinda like when I got too old for my Pokemon stuff and put it in the attic. I cried, but I still did put em up there, and now it’s okay.”

“Yeah, like that.”

“Are you staying here tonight Mom?” Paul asked.

“No sweetie, in fact I have to go let Aunt Jean know I’m alive, and then I really, really need to sleep! But you guys are coming over at ten, so I’ll see you then, okay?”

Karen kissed his forehead and turned to go.

“Mom?”

“Yes hon?”

“I’m sorry too. For...”

She pulled him to her.

“I know, I know.” She said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas Mom.”

Bob was looking out the window when she walked past.

“What the hell is that?”

“That’s my Jeep. Like it?”

“Where’s my car? Where’s the BMW?”

“North Dakota. Traded it to a very nice man named Sheriff Bart. He’s gunna ‘pimp that shit out’, his words.”

“But, but.”

“Don’t worry shithead, we found your stash and it’s going right into the kid’s college fund where it belongs.”

“But…”

“Bye Bob. Kids at Jean’s by ten. Merry Christmas”

Driving down the road she passed a Mercedes SUV going the other way.  She saw it’s headlights swing around in her rearview mirror and accelerate after her. It honked its horn until Karen pulled over.

“Oh what now?”

A figure got out and walked quickly towards her. Karen kept the car in drive and the window rolled up.

“Karen!” the man said, out of breath.

“Kevin?” Karen shouted.

Part V -epilog