The woman knew her son and husband would worry if she did not return soon
Afternoon sun bore down on the hills as she rode the appaloosa bareback on dry, hoof-tracked trails. Magenta and purple ice plants carpeted the ground. Bougainvillea intertwined with hibiscus bushes. As the horse clopped through the soft dirt, the woman inhaled the scent of honeysuckle mixed with dust. She believed this was the smell of happiness.
Twisting strands of coarse mane through the fingers of one hand and gripping the worn halter in her other, she leaned forward to pat the horse’s neck. Sweat made its gray fur shine and glisten.
“Almost to shade,” she said and sat up.
She kept her back straight, let her waist go loose, and gave in to the horse’s rhythm. The animal’s muscles were strong and sure, and she gently pressed her heels into its flanks.
“Come on,” she said. She gave the animal’s spotted white rump a light smack. The horse quickened into a trot, and the woman clucked her tongue until they cantered against the evening breeze. With no saddle, she had to completely trust the horse’s movement.
She closed her eyes, let go.
In unified motion, rider and horse crossed the open land and entered a shelter of gnarled, centuries-old oaks. Cool shade cloaked them.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw a man sitting on the trail in front of them. She yanked the horse’s mane, breaking the canter and throwing herself off balance. She struggled to sit straight again and whispered to calm the horse.
The man looked up and blinked. “I put a blanket on her,” he said.
The gray horse stepped back, then forward again. Its hooves crunched bits of acorns and twigs littering the ground.
“Who?” the woman asked. “You all right?”
Dust streaked the man’s black suit pants and the striped necktie he had tightened around his left forearm. “Thought I was alone,” he said.
“So did I,” she said.
She could no longer see out of the trees. Water ran over a pebbled creek bed she had never noticed before.
She could no longer see out of the trees. Water ran over a pebbled creek bed she had never noticed before.
The appaloosa tensed, and she guided the horse to the trail’s side. Sliding off its back, she slipped its halter around a Eucalyptus’ thin trunk. The animal picked up a hoof and stomped it against the ground.
“It’s all right,” she said and rubbed her hand against its muzzle. It was soft like a newborn’s delicate hair.
“No, it’s not.” The man stood up and walked toward her.
Only five feet tall, the woman had to look up at him to study his moon-like face. His dark hair accentuated his pale skin, and he squinted onyx-colored eyes at her.
“Where’d you come from?” he asked.
She pointed at the trail. Wiping her palms against her jeans, she stepped back. He stood close enough for her to detect his sweat’s leathery smell. All scent of honeysuckle was gone.
“What happened?” she asked.
He started to walk toward the creek, and she followed. By the water, he stopped and scooped up a handful of pebbles.
“As a kid I panned for gold,” he said. “Only found fool’s gold.”
“A lot of that here,” she said, pressing her lips together and watching him shake the tiny rocks in his hand.
He held out his palm. “All fool’s gold.”
“Sometimes it’s real,” she said.
He started to laugh. She pictured coyotes howling at night as they scavenged and stalked through the hills. Daylight was fading.
The man took off his gold wrist watch. A crack ran across its face. “Fool’s gold,” he said again and threw the watch at the stream. It caught on a broken branch, then slipped and sank into the creek bed.
The breeze rustled the trees and spread fog into the hill’s uneven spaces. Earlier, the temperature had reached a hundred degrees, unusually high for spring. The woman had let her seven-year-old son cook eggs on the driveway. She had promised him real sunny-side ups and pancakes for dinner if he cleaned the yolks and whites off the concrete.
“Chocolate chip smiley faces on the pancakes,” she had said as she hugged him before heading to the stable.
With his thin, smooth arms, Davey had gripped her around the neck. He smelled of the Palmolive he was using to wash the driveway, and she kissed the top of his wispy hair. As he hung on her neck, she memorized the feel of his little-boy arms against her skin.
“Dinner when I get back,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
He finally let go and looked at his mother, who crouched down next to him. “If I stay still, time might stop,” he said.
She had smiled and said, “You don’t need to save time.”
The horse whinnied and strained against the tree. The woman knew her son and husband would worry if she did not return soon.
“Eucalyptus grows fast…they brought it from Australia for railroads,” the man said. “But it’s too soft.”
“Smells good,” she said.
“Useless,” he said.
The horse snorted, kicked up dust. “It’s medicinal, though,” she said.
“Wrong.” The man took a pocket knife from his belt and flipped it open. He stabbed it into a Eucalyptus’ trunk. He pulled it out.
The woman stared at the bark’s wound. She tugged at her blond ponytail. She wanted to leave. She wanted to gallop the appaloosa out of the dark grove and hear only pounding hooves. Instead, she listened to the crickets’ chorus in the bushes. “It’s getting dark. Do you need help?”
“My car,” he said and pointed down stream. A few yards from the water, a black Lexus was turned on its side. A door was missing and the opening gaped at them.
“God,” she said.
“Wrong again,” he said.
She peered up at him. A cut had dried and clotted on the back of his neck.
“My daughter,” he said.
Saliva abandoned the woman’s mouth. She wanted to hold Davey, pick him up and carry him as if he were a toddler again. She shut her eyes, felt his arms on her neck, remembered him as a baby, his tiny hand closing around her finger.
“She’s resting.” The man pointed. A small, blanketed figure lay on top of a rain coat. A suit jacket supported her head, and her stringy hair spilled onto the ground.
The woman slowed her steps. “Where were you going?”
“Weekend escape,” he said.
“Riding’s my escape, and my return,” she said. “Always brings me home again.”
He nodded, walked over to his daughter and smoothed his hand along her hair. “I woke up, and we were on our side,” he said.
“She all right?”
He stood and walked back to the woman. He yanked at the necktie knotted around his arm.
“I’ll call someone.” The woman started to walk away.
“I want to buy your horse,” he said.
“What?” She stopped, wished she had not tied up the appaloosa. A possum, bright white in the dimming light, ran in front of her. She jumped, and the animal paused, its pupiless eyes staring.
“I can pay,” he said.
She ignored him—he could not put a price on her horse. “I’ll get help,” she said.
“Stay.” He was right behind her.
As she tried to move away, he caught her neck in the crook of his arm. The air in her lungs felt as if it compressed, and she could not take a deep breath. Flight response took over, and she kicked and struggled like a scared horse bucking. His bicep held her against him.
She went limp, and then fear left her. She had the strange thought that his thick arm was more protection than threat.
He loosened his grip.
“Can you ride?” she asked. His leathery sweat smell made her cringe.
“No,” he said. “I can’t.” He let her go.
She stood still and kept her back to him. She wondered why she did not run.
“Is riding like flying?” he asked.
Turning, she said, “Yes.”
The man rocked back and forth, balancing on one foot, then the other.
“Your hand,” she said.
He looked down at his left hand, turned it palm up as if reading his lifeline. It was purple, and his upper arm was swollen and red. Grabbing his pocket knife again, he started to cut the necktie straining against his forearm’s flesh.
“Rattler,” he said.
“Keep it on.” She moved toward him, reached to stop his quick slices at the silky material. “You’re delirious.”
The man stared at the knife in his hand. The woman wondered if more than the snake’s poison was affecting his mind. She thought about what would make her crazy. She thought of Davey.
“Your daughter,” she said. She ran toward the girl, and knelt beside the child, who was stiff and cold beneath the blanket. If she were the man, she would undo the tourniquet too.
She stroked the girl’s cheek and tucked the blanket around her. The man stumbled over and sat down next to them. He held half the tie in his good hand. His other hand looked like an inflated balloon.
“Can’t ride,” he said.
“I know,” she said.
The man put his round face to the dusty ground. The crickets’ chirping became louder, brighter, and in the distance, coyotes howled. The woman could smell the Eucalyptus’ minty scent—it was not honeysuckle but it was calming. Walking over to the appaloosa, she freed the horse and led it over to the father and daughter. She sat on the ground next to them, and the horse, calm now that it was no longer tied to the tree, stood above them.
“Stay,” the man said.
“Yes,” the woman said.
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