Chapter 11

Yes! Her! And she SAW me!

Shit fuzzy and fall back in it!

Through the double pane glass ... even over the throb of the turbo prop on the other side of the plane, I heard her screech.

“David!” Wendy said, “You came!”

She took off running, burst through the door ... and knocked me flat on my back...

“How did you know I was coming?”

The kisses were spaced between the words so unless you knew what she was going to say before she said it ... it wasn’t going to make a bit of sense.

I knew.

However, Karen didn’t know. All she knew was some old hussy ... had knocked her man flat ... was kissing the heck out of him. She wasn’t having any of that.

She reached out ... did you know my sweet little guitar player has instant claws ... the illusion was grizzly bear paws ... razor sharp and five inches long.

Made me wonder how she played guitar with those razors.

“Karen! No!” I said. There wasn’t anything for it, “This is Wendy Austin ... my wife.”

Karen stopped... “Wife, eh?”

Wendy beamed.

“It’s complicated,” I said.

<Complicated, > said the Watchers. <You could call it that.>

For the first time ... I saw a blur near the voices. Nothing solid ... but still there.

<Shit! He saw.>

“Ok ... you guys explain it.” Oops ... out loud. Heck and shuckydarn. But ... explain it they did. I saw what they told Karen and Wendy did too. In living color ... with subtitles and the Directors comments running in the background.

The accident ... the rescue ... the collision with the door and floor ... the mess at the hospital ... my flight ... Wendy’s flight ... it all came out while we were sitting in the folding metal chairs in the lobby of that 1950’s brick one story building laughingly called the Sheridan County tower.

They finished.

A long pause ensued.

Longer.

Longer.

Still not long enough.

Oops.

Too long.

And Karen said, “So ... she’s NOT really your wife.”

“You got it,” I said.

Wendy said, “Except in Colorado ... in Colorado ... he’s mine.”

“That’s easy,” She turned to me, “Hairy, stay out of Colorado.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So polite is my Hairy,” she said, directing the comment and the evil grin at Wendy.

“So where do we live?” Wendy asked.

“I have a log cabin on Wolf Creek,” I said.

<This is going to be fun.> <You think?> <Yup>

So ... since she had the only vehicle ... we all piled into the 1966 Jeep Station Wagon ... and I do mean all of us ... Them too.

<This is cozy.>

“I thought it was a trifle cramped,” I said. “Somebody has been eating well.”

You know what kind of looks THAT got me.

One would think I’d known better than to put that in words ... but I didn’t.

If the glares were as dangerous an knives ... I’d have been flayed alive. Instead ... Karen slammed on the brakes and said, “Comments like that cause sore feet.”

“I wasn’t talking about you and Wendy ... it’s the OTHERS.”

WhoBoy Howdy ... serious mistake.

Suddenly Wendy said, “Pull into that gas station, Karen.”

Wendy dashed in waving a dollar.

“You didn’t.”

<We did.>

You know ... same as it ever was. Punishment for opening my big mouth.

One would think there would be a direct route from the airport to Soldier Creek. Nope ... you caint get there from herh.

Trust me.

Soldier Creek Road has suffered from Civic Improvement. At Fifth and the water plant the east west road USED to make an abrupt right due North. There USED to be a steep hill and the road made a ninety degree west at the bottom ... so as to keep from having to build ... and maintain a bridge. That 90 at the bottom of the hill was where I got the engine I put in MY Dodge Townwagon/Powerwagon. That turn’s not there ... neither are a whole series of shacks that used to be on the south side of the road ... they’re gone ... remember this story is happening in the late 1970’s and early 80’s. Civic Improvement

So trust me. You can’t get from the airport to Soldier Creek unless you go back to town ... OKAY?

So ... it was Airport Road to Big Horn and the gas station on the corner Then north on Big Horn until it teed into College. East on College to Main ... north ... wave at Johnny at the Two Bit and honk at the Silver Spur ... where Karen remembered she had practice at the Avocado. Left on Fifth and out Soldier Creek to Wolf Creek and the cabin.

“Tipis!” shouted Wendy. “There’s tipis!”

And there were. Mighty fine sets too. Karen grinned.

My painted lodge was a sitting in pride of place with three others ... unpainted of course. It takes a peyote experience to give the lodge its colors.