Chapter 7: Fear of Dying

It was 2:30 am when the heavy metal doors next to the receiving and booking building opened slightly to expel a person onto the brightly lit alley. The man was shorter than average and bundled against the evening chill and light snow. He glanced back as the door clanged shut and hugged himself miserably. He cursed in Spanish before trudging out of the alley onto the traffic-empty main street. He walked northeast along Deer Park Drive, leaving the Oregon State Correctional Institute (warmly referred to as The Ox) behind. Somewhere off to his right was the Landfill that often stunk up the prison yard.

Enrique “Henry” Gustavo reentered society as a cold, empty shell with no drive or future. He trembled in the cold and tried to pull his coat tighter. The nearest hotel was miles away to the northwest in downtown Salem. He was used to walking despite the harsh weather, so he turned up his collar and began his journey as a free man.

He was more nervous about the cash in his pocket than anything else. He had saved over $900 during his five-year confinement. Just his luck, he would get robbed. He trudged along, avoiding the snowy drifts when possible and stumbling through them otherwise.

A voice called out from ahead, and he glanced into the darkness beyond a lone streetlight.

“Yo Henry,” the heavily Latino accent filled him with dread. “Glad to see you finally made it out, mano.”

Several figures materialized out of the gloom, and he halted.

“What’s wrong, brother?” another called out with a sinister laugh. “Aren’t you happy to see your old compadres, amigo?”

He knew he was a dead man. These ‘compadres’ were soldiers of an opposing gang called the Bandoleros, whom he often warred with before he was arrested for a B&E and several aggravated assault charges. He suspected they framed him but kept quiet and did his time.

They surrounded him, and he felt angry despair at his misfortune. He had hoped to escape notice for a few days by asking for his release in the middle of the night, but now, it was unlikely that anyone would ever see him alive.

“We’re happy to see you—” another chimed in. He was cut off by the rumble of an approaching vehicle. It was coming from behind, Henry with high beams blinding the opponents across from him.

An older Ford Excursion raced forward as if to run them down. The Bandoleros scattered as it closed in at high speed. Henry remained frozen. At the last minute, it swerved aside and braked suddenly, with the passenger door next to him. The window rolled down, and a voice called, “Get in if you want to live!”

Henry had no choice. He sprang into action, wrenching the door open and jumping inside. The truck raced away before he closed it. The warm interior felt heavenly against his cold face as the window closed. He glanced at the driver, a young Caucasian man with long brown hair and a short, well-groomed beard. A disturbance behind him drew his attention, and he noted a medium-sized black and white dog with a thick coat perched on its hind legs and front paws on the center console. It gazed at him intently and huffed at him in greeting.

“Hell of a night to break out of prison,” the driver noted as they continued into the city lights, painting a macabre portrait in the snow-filled night sky ahead. “You don’t know me,” the man continued. “We’ve never met and probably won’t again after tonight.”

Henry remained silent, trying to determine if he was safer or had just fallen out of the skillet into the fire. His instincts suggested the former, and he relaxed.

“We need to get you out of town,” the driver said. “Your friends won’t stop looking for you. They have my plates. Hopefully, they’ll focus on me and give you time to figure your shit out.”

‘You have a strange idea of luck, amigo.’

“I’m Vince,” he said, reaching out with a big hand.

“Henry,” he replied, taking it firmly. He observed quietly as they merged onto I-5, heading north.

“I’m taking you to Portland,” Vince explained. “We’ll get you a hotel room there. Stay until you find your wife and daughter.”

The Hispanic ex-con studied the man. “What do you know of my family?”

“I know your wife is Maria, and she is across the river in Vancouver,” he replied. “I don’t know exactly where, but you’ll find them quickly. I don’t know your daughter’s name.”

“Sara,” he replied softly as the thought of his little girl made his heart flutter.

“How old?”

“She will be 13 next month —” his voice caught as he remembered all the missed birthdays.

“My baby sister Cassidy just turned 13,” Vince said with a smile. He reached into the center console, dislodging Bandi, and removed a small pink sling bag with glittery tassels and a beaded strap. “Every little girl should get a gift from her long-lost daddy, eh?” he remarked as he handed it over.

Henry took it and could tell by its weight that it wasn’t empty.

“There’s a burner phone inside,” the driver said. “And something else.”

Henry felt suspicious as he held the bag without opening it. “I don’t know you, amigo,” he muttered. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“That’s a fair question, Henry,” Vince replied. “I’ll be honest, it’s not entirely out of kindness.” He glanced into his rearview mirror and switched lanes to pass a semi-truck. “I’m going to ask you a huge favor. Consider it carefully.” He nodded at the bag. “Regardless of your decision, the bag and its contents are yours, no questions asked.”

“I sense a heavy ‘something’ here, and I’m on parole with one strike left.”

“That is why I want you to think carefully before you decide to help me.”

“Help you how?”

Vince remained quiet for a full minute before answering, “I want you to break your parole and—”

“Fucking hell, dude!” Henry exclaimed. “I just got outta that fucking place! Less than 30 minutes ago—”

“How much safer do you feel outside?” Vince interrupted.

Henry closed his mouth as he reflected on the previous hour. If not for the timely rescue, he would be dead.

Vince kept quiet for a few minutes before continuing, “I don’t want you to break any laws. Just violate your parole conditions enough to get sent back. If you keep your nose clean, you’d probably be up for early parole in another six months.”

Henry said, “I may be a lowly Beaner, but I ain’t stupid,” he growled. “You ain’t asking me to get locked up again to keep my nose clean.”

Vince smiled in the dark. “No, I’m not. But as you just said, you aren’t stupid. And I feel you can achieve what I will ask discreetly.”

“You want me to bleed someone inside?” He grunted.

“Punish,” Vince corrected. “I leave the means up to you, but I want someone to pay for what they did to me.”

“What happened?” Henry asked, feeling the bag to discern its contents.

“Just open it,” Vince said. “I didn’t fill it with scorpions!”

“What’s in it?” the Hispanic man asked flatly.

“A cell phone,” he replied, “And a present for your wife, Maria. Emerald earrings—my girlfriend picked them out. And ten thousand dollars cash.”

Henry tugged at the drawstring and stared into the bag in astonishment. He reached in and pulled out a banded stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Jesu Christi!” he breathed.

“There’s time,” Vince said to his incredulous passenger. “Plenty. He’s awaiting trial for trying to murder me. My lawyer says he won’t be sentenced for at least six months due to a backlog.” He reached into the console and removed a thick envelope with all the details concerning Brian Oakley and his confinement.

He glanced at the man holding the stack of bills and staring into the night. “What do you think?”

Henry blinked and held up the cash. “I’ve never had this much money before,” he said with a distant look in his eyes.

“I don’t know the going rate for a ‘contract,’ but I promise that’s just a down payment,” Vince replied.

His passenger skeptically turned to stare at him.

“I’ll give you an extra forty K if you do this for me. Tell me how you want the money, and I’ll see to it. I swear on my life.”

Henry reflected on his time in prison as they continued through the night. He had witnessed attacks and fatal shiv incidents. He wasn’t physical or violent, but he knew how to protect himself whenever he was away from his gang.

“I need an answer before I drop you off, but think about it,” Vince interrupted. “Right now, I want you to lay low and be with your family. Make up for lost time. Wine and dine that woman of yours and spoil your girl. You said she was thirteen?”

Henry nodded.

“Cassidy just started junior high school. Sara could use a new computer if she is as bright as I think. Best Buy has a great deal of popular Apple Notebooks. Maybe take them to Great Wolf Lodge for the weekend.”

Henry’s pulse raced as he thought of everything Vince had described. “Can I think about it for a few minutes?”

Vince nodded and turned to the road. It had stopped snowing, and he changed lanes to pass a long stretch of semis.

Henry opened a velvet jewelry box and found a gem-encrusted emerald choker with matching earrings. He wondered how she’d react. The cell phone remained in its package but had been opened. He thought of his daughter, who he hadn’t seen in over five years. Maria visited when she could, and they kept in touch by letter and infrequent calls. Life was hard for her without him, but she was still in love. Could he throw that away for six months or a year? Worse, what if he got caught ‘punishing’ this pendejo? His thoughts returned to prison, which sucked! But he never felt unsafe during his confinement. He glanced at the driver.

“What did you mean earlier when you said something about those Bandoleros getting your plate and drawing their attention? Those are some mean fuckers to piss off, amigo.”

Vince’s smile had a sinister pall in the reflected light. “Maybe they’ll try to track me down,” he replied grimly. “If they do, it’ll be on my terms.” He gestured behind him with his thumb, and Henry saw a gleaming black crossbow in the seat behind him. The bows were curved back and locked in place, and he saw two arrows protruding from the front.

‘May you kill all of them, ’ he thought grimly before recalling his confinement. It wasn’t all bad. He taught himself to read and write in English and took basic studies classes for his GED one day. He found a love for books and enjoyed working in the infirmary and the kitchen—

“You say this pendejo poisoned you?”

Vince nodded and gave him a brief rundown of his shellfish allergy and how his ex and her lover had ground crab and shrimp shells into a powder and sprinkled it into his food.

“Fucking cowards,” the Latino ex-con grumbled before falling back into his thoughts. He remained quiet for several more minutes before turning to regard the driver.

“Amigo,” he spoke smoothly, “Have you ever heard of castor beans?”

Vince glanced at him and shook his head. “No ... I mean, maybe. I’ve heard of them but couldn’t tell you anything.”

“Have you heard of ricin?

Vince gasped. “You mean the shit that killed those commuters on the Japanese train?”

“I think that was sarin,” the passenger said. “It was laboratory-created. I’m talking about the bad shit that happens if you eat the finely ground powder from raw castor beans.”

“Will it kill you?”

The man grinned back. “If it doesn’t, you’ll be begging for death before it’s through with you.”

“How do you access something like that?”

The ex-con said, “You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to smuggle shit into prison,” he laughed. “Especially small items like a gram of powdered castor beans, which my wife can make at home.” He said, “We always get care packages, and the guards x-ray them to find contraband.” He fanned the stack of bills thoughtfully. “I have a particular fondness for those instant noodle packs. You know those Maruchan ramen things?”

Vince nodded.

“They may open one or two packs to ensure the noodles are real,” Henry smiled. “But they never check the flavor packets.”

The cell phone buzzed on the nightstand next to her bed, but it wasn’t until the third buzz that Kelly woke up enough to grab it. She didn’t bother to check the caller ID.

“Hello?” her voice cracked from the dryness caused by the sleep medications.

“Your boyfriend’s not doing well in prison, is he?”

Her eyes flew open, and she sat up. “Who’s this?”

“Not even prison can protect the wicked.” The voice was a soft, ominous whisper devoid of warmth or emotion. It was cold, like a ghost’s breath.

“WHO ARE YOU?” she screamed. “Why are you calling?”

“Fear of dying is worse than death itself—” before the call ended.

She closed her eyes tightly, sobbing, hugging her knees, and rocking back and forth. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she began striking her head with the phone. “Why?” she wailed.

She screamed and nearly dropped the phone when it buzzed again. It was an unknown caller ID, and she stabbed the button to answer it. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

“Shhh,” the voice whispered. “You won’t have to fear much longer—” Another click, and she flung the phone away, weeping as it clattered against the wall.

He snapped the burner phone in half, tossing the pieces out of the truck window, half a mile apart. It was 2:35 a.m., after another double shift at the 4030 substation outside of The Dalles. It was another hour on the road before he would be home. The next day was Thanksgiving, and he grumbled about going to his parents for dinner. He invited Shannon, but she had begged off, promising to consider it next year. Instead, she decided to stay at the cabin and keep Anna company. He felt his spirits soar as he pictured her asleep in his bed, nude beneath the covers, with Bandi at her feet and the juvenile fox beside her, with its bushy red tail draped across her throat like a living fur scarf. He was counting the minutes until he could crawl into bed with her.

Terri left a message for him to call her back, but it was too late (or early) to reach her now. Since their last meeting, she had attended two hearings and a judge-ordered bench conference. Her tone suggested a development, and she seemed eager to discuss it.

When he left Highway 35, NF-3520 was blanketed with undisturbed snow. He slowed, switched to 4WD, and lowered the snow plow as he crept northwesterly. When the sun was up, he’d see Mt. Hood dominating the landscape before him, but he focused on the road in the dark. There was a subtle indentation in the snow from previous vehicles, including Shannon’s Jeep Rubicon. Few travelers ventured this deep into the park this time of year, which suited him. A fresh set of snowmobile tracks crossed the road before it branched. He turned onto the less traveled logging road paralleling Robinhood Creek, noticing evidence of game and other tracks in the fresh snow. Deer ventured through his property by the hundreds, as did the occasional predators.

It started snowing lightly as he turned off the worn track, navigating around The Peanut. The mostly obscured tracks continued past the hidden turn-off, which he found odd. Someone had recently traveled the route into the park toward the mountain. It was impossible to say if they had returned this way. A few routes beyond his property eventually connected to another NF road and a highway. It could have been sledders who hauled their snowmobiles on their trucks.

His thoughts left as he pulled into the clearing. The headlights illuminated the empty camper trailer beneath its protective shelter and the nearby cabin. Shannon’s Jeep was parked with about three inches of snow covering the hard top. He maneuvered the Excursion for an easy departure and shut it down. He had barely opened his door when Bandi bounded into the cab and onto his lap, happy at his return. Her keen ears had probably sensed his approach miles back, and she left the warm cabin to greet him.

“Hey girl!” he laughed, returning her affection with pats and hugs. “I’ve been gone for nearly a day. That’s gotta be almost a week in dog years, eh?”

All was forgiven, apparently, as he held her in his arms and carried her up the front steps. He carefully scraped the snow and dirt off his feet with the deck brush next to the door. Putting her down inside the dark main room, he removed his boots and heavy coat. He considered unloading the groceries from the truck but decided against it since it was cold enough to keep anything from spoiling. He padded into his bedroom and heard Shannon softly snoring in their bed. ‘Their bed?’ he mused. It felt empty on those nights when she wasn’t there. The door to Anna’s room was closed, and he hoped his movements wouldn’t disturb her.

“Hey,” Shannon whispered in the dark beside him as he sat on the bed. “What time is it?”

“About 2 am,” he replied softly, reaching over to find her lips and kiss them. Her fingers curled into his beard and held him firmly as she moaned.

“Mmm,” she sighed happily, releasing him. “Hurry up and get in bed.”

“I need to shower.”

“You need to get in this bed,” she insisted, patting the mattress.

“Or not,” he chuckled as he stripped down. He leaned over her covered form, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down onto her.

“Oh, you need to shower!”

He chuckled, rubbing his long whiskers on her face.

“Ugh! Go!” She shoved him back, and he grinned as he entered the bathroom.

Half an hour later, they lay entangled beneath the covers, struggling to regain their breath after energetic sex. She lay atop his sweaty body with his rigid penis still inside her, holding him with her Kegels and savoring the intrusive contact. She planted kisses over his face and neck as she purred affectionately. Their tryst had upset the balance of nature, driving the disgruntled juvenile fox from her nesting spot by their heads to Bandi’s warm loft.

“How was work?” Shannon asked sleepily, tugging the blankets over them.

“There’s a front moving in, and they expect heavy snowfall,” he remarked. “Ozzy and I stayed over and finished the PMs on seventeen subs.”

Can you plow the road for me tomorrow?

He grunted his agreement. A heavy-duty plow was mounted to the front of his Excursion. It was unlikely that she would be unable to negotiate the trip back to her Rubicon, but she preferred not to take chances. “We might as well sleep in,” he said. “The County won’t clear the highway before mid-morning.”

He had grown limp, and she reluctantly climbed off his body to clean up in the bathroom before snuggling against him under the covers.

When they woke up, the sun was up, and a wonderful aroma greeted them from the kitchen. Arty had burrowed around Shannon’s neck again, and Bandi was curled at their feet.

“What’s that smell?” he murmured, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed.

“Hmm?” she mumbled back, her face obscured by her long dreads and the bushy red tail of her companion. She reached up to clear away the fur and hair and sniffed curiously. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up quickly. “Oh my gosh! That smells heavenly!”

Minutes later, they entered the main room and found Anna singing softly in her native language in the kitchen. Vince had donned clean sweats and a shirt while his lover pulled on his oversized long-sleeved jersey with IBEW Local 125 on the front and back. Her long legs ended in warm wool socks on the plank flooring.

“What’s that incredible smell?” she asked eagerly, stepping over to the petite woman and kissing her cheek warmly.

“Dobraj ranicy,” the woman replied with a warm smile. “Happy Thanksgiving.” She tended to a skillet on the wood stove, flipping several round flat cakes.

“That’s right!” Shannon chirped. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

Vince stepped forward and looked over the pregnant woman’s shoulder as she removed the four thick white patties and began pressing more from a batch of batter. He wrapped his arms around the woman’s thin frame and kissed her cheek. Over time, she became accustomed to their hospitality but still froze as he embraced her. Her body wasn’t stiff as she turned her cheek to accept his peck.

“Dang, Anna,” he said. “I dunno what you’re cooking, but it smells amazing!”

“They are ‘draniki’,” she replied, smiling as she placed a platter of warm treats on the counter. “Potato cakes,” she added. “I made them like my mother taught me, with seasonings and chives.” She nodded for them to help themselves, and they both snatched a cake and bit into it.

“Oh my God!” Shannon exclaimed with her mouth full. “These are so good!”

“Mmhmm,” he agreed as the delightful flavors filled his mouth.

“I enjoy them with honey sometimes or sour cream,” the woman said. She removed the coffee percolator from the back burner, where it was burbling. Vince had shown her how to make coffee, and she always had a fresh pot ready.

He happily fetched several cups and filled them. “I need to bring in the groceries,” he said while helping himself to another cake and sipping his coffee.

“I brought them inside,” Anna replied, adding the final cakes to the platter. “Sit and eat.” Her belly was protruding heavily now. During her last clinical visit, it was determined that she was just over seven months pregnant with a due date of January 15th. Vince and Shannon eagerly collected everything she’d need to focus on nursing the baby. A crib, bassinet, changing table and shelves of baby supplies were ready for the newcomer.

Anna gave him a shopping list and rearranged his kitchen, insisting on cooking and tidying during her stay. He was happy she had a purpose but drew the line at her splitting and hauling firewood, saying she was better suited to indoor activities. Shannon helped him keep the wood piles stocked. The metal job box he converted to cold storage was kept full of meat and frozen goods, and he had made a root cellar accessible via a trap door in the kitchen. She kept it stocked with vegetables like cabbage, potatoes, onions, and squash. He bought ultra-pasteurized milk by the case since it had a long shelf life but made sure the expecting mother had plenty of fresh milk and cheese.

When he arrived that afternoon, he saw several vehicles in his parents’ carport. His Excursion wouldn’t have fit with the snowplow, so he parked on the street. His curiosity about the guests was answered when his mother and Pastor Bob greeted him at the door. He felt a twinge as his mind was drawn back to that fateful night years ago—

He held a brown paper grocery bag full of treats, eggnog, and a gift-boxed Super Mario Odyssey for his sister. He was looking forward to sitting with her on the couch to play it.

“Vince, Dear,” his mother said warmly, though the apprehension in her eyes seemed at odds with her welcoming hug and kiss. “You look so much older,” she arched an eyebrow as she scrutinized his trimmed beard and curly brown locks that flowed beneath his navy-blue wool cap. “—and ... shaggy.”

The minister cupped his hands over the young man’s shoulders. “It suits you, Vincent,” he said warmly.

Vince had a sense that they were maintaining a thinly veiled façade—as if they were trying to prepare him for—

He turned and studied the vehicles parked in front of the garage, scowling when he recognized the ivory-tone Lexus. He bristled, and his mother’s face fell. “What are they doing here?”

“Vince, please—” she balked fearfully.

“They showed up at your father’s invitation, son,” the pastor added softly. “It’s time to mend—”

“I thought it was just going to be a family celebration,” he retorted as his father slipped through the partially closed front door.

“They are family!” the older Hargrove barked.

“The hell they are!” Vince snapped. “They destroyed my family!” He shook off the pastor’s hand.

“Vince!” his mother cried.

“Now, look here, son!” his father growled, stepping into his space.

“A new voice called out, ‘Well, look what the cat dragged in!’ He glanced up and felt his face warming with anger as his Uncle Gordon stepped onto the porch holding a tall glass. ‘Happy Turkey Day, Vinnie!’ the older man raised his glass in salute.”

Vince noticed the pastor closing his eyes in resignation. “Fuck you!” he spat, causing his father’s older brother to blink in disbelief.

“Vincent!” his father yelled. “Enough!”

“Fuck this!” he snarled, thrusting the grocery bag at his old man, who grasped it. He slapped the gift box into his mother’s shaking hands. “Give this to Cass,” he grumbled. “I’m out!”

“Wait! Vincent!” the pastor called, following him off the porch. “Please don’t—”

“It’s time to grow up, kiddo!” Gordon yelled drunkenly from the doorway. “When are you gonna get over this?”

Vince spun in the front yard and glared hatefully at the man who gazed at him with open contempt. “Right after I sue your ass for my brother’s wrongful death!” he yelled.

“Oh really?” the drunken man sneered as he staggered forward. “How?” he scoffed. “There’s a statute of limitations on wrongful death lawsuits!” he yelled bitterly. “And we are well past that!”

A cold sense of purpose flushed through Vince’s mind as he smiled coldly back at the man standing between his parents. Behind them, he saw Gordon’s wife hovering in the doorway with Cindy’s more petite figure pressed against her. “Maybe you weren’t aware, but when wrongful deaths of minors involve sexual abuse allegations —” his eyes glinted darkly under the porch lights. “There’s no statute of limitations!” He turned and stepped to his truck. “I’ll see your ass in court!” he yelled as he climbed into the cab and slammed the door.

Brian Oakley looked up from his magazine when he heard voices outside his holding cell. An electronic buzz sounded, followed by a loud click, and the door slid open. He was detained in the PC block after his most recent accident less than a week ago. This time he had been shoved from behind in the shower and skidded across the slippery tiles, striking his face against the concrete partition. The result was a fractured orbital socket to accompany the broken nose and fractured ribs he had obtained a few days before that incident. It was falsely asserted that he was a sex offender of minors, and the facility had no choice but to place him in protective custody.

“Chow time,” the guard said from the entrance. Beyond him, Brian saw (through his good eye) a tall, slender man with a long salt and pepper beard, wearing white coveralls and a fishnet over his wild hair. He wore spectacles and was familiar to the injured inmate, being the quiet-spoken food service handler who delivered his meals daily. He turned to a huge stainless-steel cart and opened its doors to retrieve a standard cardboard meal tray.

“Happy Thanksgiving, my brother,” the tall inmate said as he brought the tray and set it on the resin-cast table.

Brian sat up as the smell reached his nose, and his belly rumbled. “Is that real turkey?”

“And all the fixings, dude,” the hairy man confirmed.

His sore ribs protested as he rose to his feet and stood by his bunk, per protocol. It was to ensure no physical contact between him and any other inmate—even the docile—Carl? He couldn’t remember the quiet man’s name. He only knew that he was a self-proclaimed pacifist Buddhist or some such bullshit. He got busted for running an illegal dispensary. Or that’s what he claimed when he delivered books and magazines.

“There’s plenty of it, man. You got real, genuine powdered, mashed potatoes, mashed up yams, and for real cranberries, dude, with the molded rings.” He placed a hermetically sealed packet of plastic cutlery, a dinner roll, and a half-pint carton of fat-free milk on the tray. “Enjoy your repast, my brother,” he added, placing his hands together and bowing slightly before departing, “Salaam.”

Once the other inmate was outside his cell, he was allowed to approach the table and seat himself. He marveled at the thick slices of breast meat in gravy. It was way beyond the typical prison fare that he was growing accustomed to. For breakfast, he grudgingly ate a tiny carton of yogurt and a hash product that was warmed up and served over toast. On other days, they substituted the hash with thin browned slices of processed meat that made Spam look like Beef Wellington.

He didn’t notice the guard and server moving along or his cell door closing as he tore open his cutlery packet and began wolfing down his holiday meal. The extra mashed potatoes must’ve been a mistake, but he wasn’t about to complain as he savored every bite.

At home, Vince settled into the easy chair next to the kitchen stove and opened the first of many Deschutes Brewery Black Butte Porters he planned to drink. He rarely drank alcohol but had developed a fondness for dark beer. Shannon sensed his introversion and gave him space, joining Anna in her room. The pregnant woman relaxed in her rocking chair, knitting a baby blanket for the bassinet. She was teaching the taller woman to knit using undyed alpaca wool. The patterns the Belarusian woman wove were beyond Shannon’s ability. Still, she learned quickly under the woman’s tutelage and clicked away, determined to make a hat for her boyfriend.