He put his hand under her head. She was so groggy. “5 more minutes.” Bo bemoaned. She could feel herself being lifted but could do nothing to stop it.
“Ruby,” hands held her face. “Ruby?” His voice was laced with anguish. When he put his hands on her shoulders, her head wobbled backwards.
“Boss, did you find her?!” Bo thought she recognized this voice. But from where? Pancakes danced through her thoughts.
“Ruby?” He steadied her head.
“What kind of drug is she on?”
She opened her eyes to see a fuzzy Chico sitting happily near her.
“Ruby?”
“How’d … you know….!”
The anguish softened, “it’s on an envelope in your front seat.”
She moaned then whispered, “call me Bo.”
When she opened her eyes, there was a patch of bright light with a brown blob in the center. After a few blinks, the bright light was an open door. The brown blob was a person. A cop? A gold badge glittered with the rise and fall of his chest. He was talking to the door frame? Of course not. That would be silly. He nodded toward her. Her breakfast companion came into view. Both men walked into the room.
She weakly giggled, “brown blob. Brown blob.”
Her breakfast companion smiled, “how are you feeling?”
“5 more minutes.”
“Seriously; what kind of drug is she on, Chad?”
“Did Chico find anything?” Chad asked.
She heard a deep sigh, “no.”
A very gruff voice filled the darkness of her mind, hurt spilled from it. “It’s happened again.”
“We don’t know that.”
“What do you know? That’s always your story. You know NOTHING!”
“Dan, go home. Calm down.”
“Chad!”This new voice screamed. There was a moment of silence. “Walk away, coward!”
“This might be a small town but we still have crime.”
She bounced, bounced he told his shocked mind through the yard to shut the door. He had turned away from her looking up the street thinking about where to show her around too. This adventure would take about thirty minutes at best. It would take longer to get to town than it would to show her around it.
Something pelted him on the back. He turned to see a clump of snow behind him. “What the?” She was bent over in the yard making another snow ball. Automatically he formed one from the snow on her jeep. They had gotten just enough snow to cover the grass. When she rose up he hit her on the shoulder.
“You,” she hissed. “How could you? I’m a girl.” She pouted as if she was going to cry.
He was shocked, hadn’t she just hit him? Did he not have the right to fight back? He thought for a moment almost getting defensive. “You started this. I’m just defendin’ my honor.” He turned his nose toward the sky. A snow flake landed right in the middle of it. He smiled in spite of himself before hurling another snow ball at her.
She started laughing. It was the greatest laugh he’d ever heard. It was deep and pure, coming from somewhere that he wasn’t sure a laugh could come. Before long he was laughing and a six year olds snowball fight ensued.
They played for hours; neither keeping track of the time. She went running through the yard and fell. His heart skipped a beat. “Are you okay?”
She started laughing, “yeah, I’m fine.” When he walked over to her, he found her making snow angels. He lay down beside her and did the same. Her laugh grew stronger, “aren’t we just neotenous?” She sat up, “have you always lived in that house?
“No,” he answered setting up as well. “My aunt and uncle lived there. I spent most of my summers living with them. When I came back from college, I lived with them until they passed away and they left me the house? Why do you ask?”
“When I was ten, my grandparents brought me to a family reunion here. I wanted to stay in the house and be where the adults were. But gram wouldn’t let me. I sat on the porch watching all the cousins play. I just felt out of place with kids my own age. A sandy haired boy from that house,” she pointed across the street, “came over and asked me if I wanted to play?”
“Oh my stars, I remember that. We played hide and seek ending up at the lake.”
“I remember you couldn’t swim.”
“Still not very good at it.”
“Wow that seems like a life time ago.” She lay back in the snow.
“It was.” Snow had started gently falling again. When Oscar stopped to look up, it was dark.
She noticed the expression on his face. “What?”
“Notice anything?”
“Oops,” she giggled. “It’s dark.”
“Yelp and the dollar store is closed.”
She got up as did he, “don’t ja have ah Wal-Mart?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Ellic,” she grinned.
He dropped a hand full of loose snow on her head. “Point?”
“So you admit that you’re an ellic?”
“Whole heartedly. My mother says sarcasm is my only characteristic.” He couldn’t help but stare at her through the pale glow from the pole light. Her nose and cheeks were quite red from their hours of playing in the snow.
I just finished listening to the book and it upset me greatly. Before I start, allow me to say that yes, this book was written in a different time. But gee.
So here’s the low down. The local preacher tells Tess’s dad that they are descended from a wealthy line of people. Tess’s branch has changed the spelling of their last name. Her mother talks her into going to introduce herself to the wealthy side of the family. Instead of meeting the mother, she meets the son. The son ends up raping Tess. She has a child. And this is all her fault. When the child gets sick, her dad will not let the preacher be called. It would expose HER sin.
The wealthy son falls in love with Tess. But she wants nothing to do with him. She falls for a different man and they get married. On the wedding night, he’s confessing his sins to her. He’s messed around in his youth. She forgives him. So she confesses about her past. He will not forgive her. She ends up going back to her mother’s.
Enter wealthy son. He convinces Tess that her husband has abandoned her so they have an affair. Husband comes back. Forgives her. She kills wealthy son. Runs. They get caught. She talks her husband into marrying her younger sister.
In the end, Tess gets hung for murder. Her widowed husband is running through a field with her younger sister.
Is this supposed to be a Victorian romance? Did Hardy just get his heart broken and poured out his hate on Tess? There are some scenes in this book that are romantic and touching. But overall; IT’S NOT HER FAULT. Yes, she should have been more vigilant. Oh my stars and garters! It’s not all her fault. Rich son should have kept his loins in his pants. This is for sure how you tell a girl that you love her, rape her! NO!
“Oh Tess, I love you so much I could never marry your sister.” BULL!
If the mark of a good writer is that they invoke emotion in the reader, well done. This book sure invoked one.
She focused on the stone itself. It was dark gray, weathered by time, covered with lichens. The lantern section of a church steeple came to mind. A solid base with those few letters and the date. There were four columns. ‘How weird.’ She thought. The top of the columns looked like spears. Or those wrought iron fence posts fancy houses had. Spikes. Suddenly there was a sharp pain under her chin. The columns supported a solid top, adorned with a cross. This cross was slightly different from the Christian crosses she knew. Instead of one bar at the top, there were two. The very top one shorter than the one below it. At some point there had been something in the center of the stone. Time had eroded it or someone had stolen it.
She sat on the ground near the stone. Letting her eyes trail up the vine work coming out from the center up the pillars to the cross.
Something was happening to her. Anger overtook her. An anger not at the world but more of a self loathing. Anger at being found out? Struggling, fighting, anger because….. Maybe not. Self loathing turned to delight. More on point, freedom. Anger at freedom? Anger at the feeling of joy? She hugged up her knees. Her body felt like it was going to fly apart. Maybe if she hugged her knees as tightly as she could, there may come some control over this feeling. Suddenly, she was tired. Every muscle ached. She felt freedom, release. Release from what?
Something wet and a little coarse. Was she dreaming? What was wet and a little coarse? Something was rubbing against her cheek? Warm puffs. As she pulled her hand to her face, it touched something soft and furry. “You’re soft.” She muttered unable to open her eyes.
There was noise. Sound. Screaming? “Chico!” It had to be screaming. “Chico!” The voice sounded desperate. “Chico!”
As she opened her eyes, a beagle came into view. She patted its head “Hi there.”
“Chico!” The voice was a little closer but still desperate. The beagle started howling.
“Are you Chico?” Bo smiled continuing to rub its head. The dog licked again at her cheek.
“Chico!”
He howled again.
More sounds filled her ears. Foot steps crunching pine needles. Chico bounced off her. “Good boy.”
Esther observed her guest. His head was much closer to the ceiling than hers. She knew her house was small. It was a guess on her part that she had 7 foot ceilings.
It was really hard to tell what build he had under his coat. But she was assuming he was slender. The coat was narrow. From what she could tell, he had light skin and sandy brown hair and a large nose. Not so large that he looked deformed but his nose was the second feature she noticed. His face was incredibly thin. Interesting things could be done with a large nose. She smiled to herself. Then, she reminded herself about how big of a freak magnet she was. And here’s another one she suspected. She told herself people just don’t offer to help you anymore. Even before she left New York, the landlord already had her apartment rented. He had even offered her $500.00 if she would leave a week early. Plus she could keep the van as long as she needed. Out of the kindness of your heart just didn’t exist anymore. He had an angle; she just hadn’t had time to figure it out.
“Oh,” she gasped pulling his attention back toward her. She extended her hand toward him. “Esther Morrison.” When she got close to him, she could smell Old Spice. She loved Old Spice. It was a rustic manly scent that put her senses on alert. “Old Spice?”
He blushed, “yeah. Oscar Patterson.” He accepted her handshake. Her hands weren’t soft or rough but they were strong. He felt something strange in her touch, something he couldn’t define.
He noticed her looking at him. “How tall are you?”
“6’2”, why?”
“You look so much taller.” He blushed slightly. She cleared her throat, “well Oscar, I haven’t decided what I want to do yet. I just have so much going on up here,” she moved her hands around her head in a circular pattern. “I don’t know if I want to unload the truck or sit on the steps and cry.”
“Sit on the steps and cry.”
“Because I’m an emotional girl?” She scolded.
Wow, he thought. She really is wrapped tightly. “No, to clear the mind. Get it out, start fresh.”
She studied his face for a moment. He was being sincere. What a change? Someone being sincere. “If it wasn’t for the fact that crying makes your eyes red, your face puffy, and makes me physically sick, that would be a good plan.” She took a deep breath and they walked outside.
“If I may ask, how does crying make you sick?”
She turned on the sidewalk to face him. “It makes me heave. Sometimes I throw up, other times I just heave so much it hurts. A little cry is okay.”
“You have different stages of crying?”
She smiled, “well yeah,” she said as if he was a bloomin’ idiot. “There is the fighting back the tears cry where you might shed a tear or you might not. Then we have the light cry when something great happens to you; say you got flowers when you weren’t expecting them. The medium cry is when you watch a sad movie. The big sobbing, throwing up cry is when you have to move to Kentucky in December starting your life over and you’re terrified inside.”
“You don’t seem terrified to me.”
“Thanks. I’ve already had that cry.”
He shrugged his shoulders, “what can I help you with?”
“I guess the first order of business will be unhooking my jeep.” There it set like a cold gray beast parked in the way of a lot of work. She just stood there staring at it. “You know what I want to do?” She remained in the yard with her hands on her hips.
“What?” Should he even ask? To him, a woman with her hands on her hips meant danger.
“I think I want to buy cleaning supplies and clean the house before I unpack a thing.” Keep the truck forever, she thought wickedly to herself.
Oscar just shrugged his shoulders. Say something stupid. But what?! He wasn’t good around women. That could explain why he was fifty and still single. 50% of his students thought he was gay; 30% thought he was metro-sexual, and the other 18% didn’t care. Oh, but 2% wanted to have sex with him. How did he know this? They laid their survey on his desk one day during study hall.
“Show me around town.”
She snapped Oscar back into reality. “Shouldn’t you shut your front door?’
She just stared at the door as she thought about his question.
114 – 149: talk about overwhelming. This is what the chart says I should weigh. 😳
How about healthy? Are you at a healthy weight? Does weighting between these two numbers mean I’m healthy? No cholesterol issues. No high blood pressure. No diabetes (sugar). How did these become the magic numbers? I know, I’m asking a lot of questions in this post.
My cholesterol is a little wonky. Not enough that I need to take meds. God has blessed me with high good cholesterol. Doc told me this was hereditary. But my bad cholesterol is high, making my average high. 😢
I’ve mentioned in my earlier post that my acid reflux has gone haywire.
Update: since I started my adventure, I’ve lost a total of 7 pounds. 🎉
Poetry & More 