Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 02

I used to wonder how a man and a woman could have a child and not care anything about the child. Then after I married Ricky, I learned it wasn't too difficult for a woman to get pregnant. Whew, how I escaped that one I'll never know. There was one close call, but by then there wasn't much left of the marriage and the miscarriage didn't seem like such a tragedy. I didn't think enough about it at the time, but since then I don't think I could bear to have a child with Ricky Hennessey as the father. When he got drunk and hit me or threatened me, I wondered what you would do if you knew. I was too afraid to tell you, not because you would hurt him, but because it would cause problems with your job. Wasn't that silly of me? Why should I care so much about someone I didn't even know?

It was probably hard for you to have me living with you that year, but I liked it. You talked to me as if I was an adult, even if I did have a bad attitude and I know I was disrespectful. The talks we had, taught me to think for myself. That was a lot better than just reacting to whatever was agitating me at the time. As Mother said, I was certainly headed down a path of self–destruction. Your experience and knowledge as a police officer sent me down a different path, which saved me from a lot of grief. That year of being away from some pretty horrible friends showed me there was a lot more to life than the next thrill.

I guess this letter is to thank you, and not just for the lessons—I did enjoy learning to shoot all those different guns. Although you encouraged me to go to the police academy, and I know you could have gotten me on the force, I did not have the same interest in law enforcement as you do. Perhaps your new son will decide to follow in his father's footsteps. I know he has a good man for a father.

Maybe you won't think so badly of me after you find out what I've done. I just can't think of what else to do. My life is a mess and I don't want to mess up the life of another person, too.

Your daughter,

Gail

********

After a quick breakfast, Howard said, "I think I found the problem with my truck. Come help me a minute, while I try my battery again. I need to get to town. I have to work today."

"Okay," Gail responded. "Let me roll up my sleeping bag and I'll just follow you out."

"You can stay, if you like. You can camp here as well as anywhere else. There's electricity and a decent bathroom. I haven't read all the letters, yet."

"Oh, wow ... well ... okay. Yeah, I'd like to do that. What time do you get home?"

"Yesterday was early, so today is late. I'll be back, about dark, sometime after eight."

"Do you eat supper in town or do you want me to fix something? That's the least I can do. Tell me what you want, it might be the only thing I do all day."

"I'll wait until I get home, just surprise me. I'll eat anything that doesn't eat me first."

As soon as Howard drove off, Gail unloaded her truck. Instead of setting up the tent, she took some of her gear inside the old adobe house, put her perishable foods in Howard's refrigerator, and looked for meat to thaw for supper. A package of venison burger and her non–perishable things gave her an idea.

In the meantime, she found a broom to sweep out the dirt she tracked into the house and one thing turned into another until she had swept the whole house and cleaned the furniture of the dust she stirred up. By the time she was looking for her sandwich meat, the venison meat had been cooking for an hour, and she was adding a jar of sauce, then turning the heat down to the lowest setting on the stove's burner.

Several times she listened to her cell phone ring, but couldn't bring herself to answer it. Maybe later she would listen to the messages and then again, maybe she wouldn't. The noon call was probably from Gary because he always called at noon, but she could not think of anything to say to him. He would try to apologize, but she was not interested in accepting an apology. Maybe she should work on his letter, too. It was more than he deserved, but if she tried to see him, she would tell him what she thought of him and he would try to say it is as much her fault as his and she would probably cry and they would make up and it would start all over again. At least in a letter, he couldn't talk back.

********

Dear Gary,

Why am I being so nice to you? You are not dear to me. It took me a while to realize that.

The first time you asked me to go to dinner with you I was flattered. I seldom dated and did not spend time at typical single's scenes. When you took me home, got out of the car to walk me to my door and waited while I unlocked the door, I knew I had made a mistake. I was not accustomed to being pawed while fishing my keys out of my purse. I think I made some excuse, like the wrong time of the month or I was too tired, anyway, you left.

I was surprised you called for a second date. I figured you had gotten the message. Instead, I agreed to meet you and we had a nice dinner. I thought you understood I was not going to bed with you. I guess you thought you could wear me down, because we went out a few more times and to a couple of movies.

I never have considered myself a "totally irresistible woman" although that's what you said the first time you proposed marriage. I didn't think I was "the most intriguing woman you had ever met," although those are the words you used when you proposed marriage the second time.

You almost won me over when you asked the third time, while you kissed me and tried to back me into my bedroom. I think that's when I knew what you wanted. You just wanted to win, it was a contest, and you were determined to get into my bed and show me what a fabulous lover you are, because that's what you said after the third proposal. Why did I let you? Was I so starved for affection I was willing to ignore that I didn't even like you?

Even after that night, when you said we should be married, or I think you meant that you felt you had no choice, I was not interested. Don't you ever listen to what people are telling you?

What I did not know was that you were doing almost the same thing, but with a great deal more success, with my best friend Carol Ann. What did you plan to do? Were you going to compare notes with her other male friends? She isn't interested in the man, just good sex. You can ask her, she freely admits it. She keeps score and gives each of her conquests a number. You would not like to know where you are, on her list of The Best 100 Men I've Fucked. In hindsight, I can recall all the times you asked, seemingly innocent questions, about her. Maybe I should have gotten the message, but I did not, much to my regret.

Something I read, probably in a silly email, was about how to select a mate. After the passion and sex is over, you better have something to talk about or you have nothing. Well, Gary, you have nothing. I tried to find something you and I could discuss, but all I heard from you was about your job, or the television show you saw last night. I don't think that's going to last for the years a marriage lasts. I've already had one of those short lousy ones and I don't want another.

Thanks anyway,

Gail

********

Knowing it wasn't the letter she really wanted to send to Gary, Gail put it in his envelope and went for a walk instead. Maybe some physical exercise would chase the cobwebs out of her head.

The trail she followed was clear and well worn, with very little grass, just a plain dirt path. At first she thought it was an animal trail. Then she began to notice empty one–gallon plastic jugs tossed into the brush. Several times a torn shirt or a pair of women's underwear were tossed aside, trampled and dusty. Beneath a small stand of low growing trees, she saw several men sitting in the shade. Instead of following the trail to the trees, she veered off the trail and made a slow gradual turn, going back to Howard's house, where she locked herself inside.