Secrets, Lies and Dragonflies

Chapter 27

It's been two days since my last real meal—the barbecue pig roast at Chuck Connor's party. My stomach churns at the mention of his name, but my appetite has returned with a vengeance.

A plate of bite sized sandwich squares was just delivered. My favorite. Warm roasted turkey, sauteed squash and zucchini covered with mozzarella cheese all squished between waffles.  Sweet chutney sauce oozes out the sides. 

The thin walls barely stifle the karaoke performance of Burning Ring of Fire downstairs.  Clanking dishes being washed in the sink distort the tempo.  This old house was a disaster the first time I saw it. I never imagined I'd be living in it one day. But Aunt Amy has managed to transform it into a place you'd see pictured in one of those fancy magazines.

BUZZ –BUZZ- The alarm is coming from the backside of the house where the café is located. Aunt Amy installed an extra loud buzzer so she wouldn't miss vendors dropping off supplies if she were in the front of the building.

The window in my bedroom has a perfect view of the tulip garden that lines the walkway from the gravel parking lot to the house.  No one can come or go from the cafe without me knowing.  But today, there's a fifty-fifty chance that moving from my horizontal position could mean triggering a whole new set of horrific attacks.  The constant pain, mostly in my pinned arm, is enough to keep me in bed. Taking a mouthful of the amazing sandwich, I resign myself to staying put. My thoughts drift to the picnic bench beside the tulip garden, the one I catch Aunt Amy sometimes sitting on in the middle of the night. She doesn't know I'm watching her, but I can't help myself.  I wonder what she's thinking when she's blankly staring at the arrangement of flowers. I wonder if she remembers what a jerk I was when we planted the garden. Mom insisted I spend Black Friday helping her and Aunt Amy paint the garage and plant tulip bulbs, and not shop with Abigail and Lindsey.  So over that Thanksgiving weekend, my primary mission was to make sure everyone else felt as miserable as me. After all, I was sacrificing so much to spend time with them instead of my friends.

BUZZ –BUZZ-

The cafe doorbell rings again.   

"Just a minute," Aunt Amy yells. 

A Waylon Jennings song, Good-Hearted Woman, resonances into my room when the rickety, screen door creaks open.  Eavesdropping is difficult, but this part was clear.   

"Oh, so you're Tag, huh?  I wondered if you would even show up."

And just like that, my appetite vanishes. I can picture Aunt Amy's scowl, but I can't make out much more.

Finally the playlist switches and there's a long enough pause for me to catch Tag say, "Ma'am, I swear.  If I had I known she was seriously hurt, I would have gone after her.  I just had no idea she was hurt that badly.  Are you sure she didn't flip over her bike again?"

Although I can't piece together what she's saying, her tone says it all.

Unfortunately Tag doesn't sound like the complete jerk I was hoping for.  "Yes, Ma'am.  Like I said, it was really dark out and she was pretty upset with me.  Please won't you let me apologize to her?  I feel terrible."

"Do you think I would let the likes of someone so...so...so...irresponsible and cruel see her after what you've done?  You have another thing coming, pal." 

Thanks to Lenny Kravitz, the rest of their conversation is muffled noise. It turns quiet.  Stairs. Someone is coming up the stairs.

Aunt Amy enters with a familiar device in her hand. "Here's your phone.  It's dead."

"Oh, thank you," I say.  "So I'm guessing that was that guy, Tag, at the door, huh?"  

She sits on the side of my bed and we both take in a deep breath, but for different reasons. She shakes her head, "You never can tell about people. He could really fool someone."

"I bet," I say under my breath.  

"The way he described you landing in the bushes trying to avoid him seemed so truthful. He said you hurt your leg, but took off down the mountain trail in such a rush.  He didn't notice your arm at all. When he found your phone, he didn't know which way you went and figured you'd try to call it, but never did. I told him none of that added up with all your injuries—the stitches, the broken arm. He seemed genuinely shocked that you were so bad off." She pats my leg. "You know, I've been told a time or two that I can be pretty gullible."

My heart stops. What does that mean? Is she on to me?

"Now I see why. I would have pegged him as a good kid. But I guess you can never tell."

"How 'bout the dog? Did he happen to bring it?" I ask.

"No. And I did mention that to him. Having a vicious attack dog on public trails is downright criminal. But he insisted that even though it's a very large animal, a St. Bernard he clarified, it was well trained to listen to his every command. He kept saying, 'Nicholas would never hurt anyone.'" 

His name was actually Zacchaeus, but I refrain from correcting her.   

"In fact, I even threatened to call the park authorities on him for having an unleashed dog.  That's when he told me his dad's the new Park Ranger."  She pauses.  "Come to think of it, I bet his parents don't even know what happened.  That's what I'll do. I'll head straight over there and give them a piece of my mind." 

"Oh, no, Aunt Amy.  Really.  It's fine." I'm stammering. Wincing when I reach for her hand, I plead, "Can we just forget this terrible weekend ever happened?  I know how hard this has been on you. I would love to put it behind us and move on." 

She puffs. "Lord, Mackenzie, I hate seeing you in so much pain. It just isn't right." She fixes my pillows and sighs. "Why don't you finish your sandwich and get some rest. We can talk about all this later when you're feeling a little better."

I nod. "Okay. Sounds good. Thank you."

"I'll be back up to check on you in a bit." As she heads back downstairs, Lenny belts out, Baby it ain't over till it's over. An omen of what's to come? I should hope not. Hopefully this is all over. Tag's now out of the picture and Aunt Amy is none the wiser of the mountain of lies I'm buried under.

Ding-Dong.  

This time, a softer tone sounds, signaling company awaits on the front porch of the three story, old Victorian home.

"Hey guys," Aunt Amy says brightly, a stark contrast to the last visitor.  "She's going to be so glad to see you. Head on up.  Let me get some drinks.  Ethan, muffin?" 

It's my musketeers. 

"Yes, please," Ethan says.

"How about you, Vincent?  You look like you could use a sandwich."

"You know me well," my idiot friend says. 

"Girls, can I bring up some brownies?  I just finished a batch.  And some tea?"

"I wouldn't want to put you out," says Lindsey.

"Honey, let me put some meat on those bones.  I won't take no for an answer." 

"Okay. Okay," Lindsey says.  I detect no sign of things gone awry in her voice.  With my phone missing for the last two days, we've had zero contact.  I hope she's still not angry.  Not sure I can take another confrontation.