Buried Treasure

"Your sense is my sense, Miss Kramer," I responded.

Before I dropped her off, she gave me a head's up about Pete. "He can be very possessive," she warned. "Knowing him, he's not going to just disappear. You cleaned his clock in that bike race. Then, in his mind, you stole his woman. There could be trouble ahead."

*****

I couldn't wait to see Kevin again. I was beginning to feel about him the way Pete felt about me, crazy. Being made love to that way by a guy with Kevin's stellar looks and knowhow would make any girl crazy. Not to mention his sensitivity to my needs and concerns.

But, as I warned Kevin, there could be a price to pay for that and it wasn't long in coming. Just minutes after I arrived home, Pete bombarded me with texts, demanding information on me and Kevin. Were we an item? Did we sleep together? That sort of thing. We'd started dating is all I gave him. No surprise, he showed up at my door later that night. Mom wanted to know who was "banging on our door like they were trying to bust it down." I told her it was most likely Pete who was upset about what happened earlier. Then I stepped outside on our porch to confront Pete, an angry, wounded Pete, a Pete I no longer wanted much to do with. Still, I felt he at least deserved an explanation. I felt anxious watching him in his jeans and black sweater, his dark brown hair pulled back, his hands balled into fists, his beefy, tat-covered forearms flexing, his reddened face a picture of barely controlled rage.

He got right to the heart of his mission. "So what's the story with you and this Kevin?"

"Like I texted back," I said, "we're dating."

"Yeah? For how long? I thought we were exclusive."

"YOU thought. Not me. We were always free to see other people."

He looked away and shook his head. "Where'd you meet him?"

"Pete, look, I don't think—"

"Where'd you meet him, Brisa? I mean, with all you have going on, going to school, your part time gig at the hospital and seeing me, where do you find the time? Did he hit on you or something?"

As I debated whether to tell him the truth, my mom and dad stuck their heads out the door. "Is everything okay?" dad asked.

"We're good," is all I said.

"Well, I'm not so good, Mr. and Mrs. Kramer," Pete budded in. "Brisa apparently has a new boyfriend."

Pete and my parents had developed a nice rapport over the months that I'd been seeing him. They liked him and they still weren't comfortable with me seeing Kevin. "Oh, yes," mom said, "that damn prosecutor, the one who wanted Brisa locked up. Don't worry, Pete, he's not her boyfriend."

As I stood there and cringed, Pete cried, "Prosecutor?! What's she talking about, Brisa?"

They had the impression that Pete already knew Kevin's identity. They wouldn't have spilled the beans had they known otherwise. Tactfully, they bowed out, leaving Pete and I alone once again. He picked up where he left off. "You've got to be kidding me," he said, his face picture-perfect for what incredulity is all about. "That 'bastard Kevin Wrubel?' to quote you. That's who you're dating?!"

"I was wrong about him. He's a decent guy."

He stamped his feet and looked around, shaking his head. "How the hell did you ever connect?"

"Remember weeks ago when I told you about my dad's interest in taking me shooting?" He nodded. "Well, my dad did and Kevin was there, and I practically ignored him. Then I saw him again when I went to Patriot Arms by myself. Long story short, he helped me with my shooting technique, both there and at another range later on. The rest is, well, like I said, we're dating."

"Guess he's helping you with your cycling, too. You refused to go riding with me following your crash, a guy you've been seeing for months, yet you somehow found the courage to ride with him, a guy you barely know. That seems fucked up to me, Brisi."

I shrugged. "I'm sorry, Pete. What's happened with Kevin is something I never could have predicted."

"No, me either. But then what should I expect from a chick whose sense of loyalty is non-existent?" His eyes, angry and seemingly inflamed, bore into me as if he possessed x-ray vision and was trying to incinerate me. Stepping down from the porch, he grabbed a stone from the garden and threw it against the stucco siding of the house. "This is so fucked up," he repeated, "so totally fucked up."

"What's so fucked up, Pete," I said, now getting steamed myself, "is you acting like a spoiled child who can't get his way. I have someone else in my life, okay? Deal with it!"

"That's all you have to say, deal with it? What about us, Brisi? We're through? Is that what you're trying to tell me? He took a few steps toward me, then stopped a few feet short of the porch steps. "You hardly know this guy. This is all wrong, you're making a mistake."

"Well, if it's a mistake then it's my mistake and I'll deal with it," I said. "Meanwhile, you need to leave me alone, let me live my life, let me date whom I choose without being harassed. And yes, we're through. Good night."

As I turned to go back into the house, he yelled a parting shot: "Good luck with that State's Attorney you once claimed to despise, you phony bitch." Through the glass of our storm door, I saw Pete drive away, hoping I'd seen the last of him but fearful I hadn't. That clichéd threat—'if I can't have her, nobody else will'—kept me up at night. What if Pete began stalking me, then did something violent?

*****

"This time you have a State's Attorney on your side," Kevin said when I told him what happened. "Stalking's a crime. Of course, for obvious reasons, I couldn't prosecute Pete's case if it came to that. Let's hope it won't." Pete's hateful texts kept coming. "Ignore them but don't block them," Kevin advised me. "They'll serve as evidence if he's ever charged. Meanwhile, stay vigilant, alert."

Vigilant and alert. That was me, looking over my shoulder and glancing in my rear view more often when driving. In fact, the only times when I felt safe, when I let my guard down, was when I was with Kevin. He had this soothing, assured way about him. He was totally devoid of Pete's macho pretense. He was the epitome of quiet strength. Even my parents got to like him. Dad thought that Pete had gone "off the deep end." Luckily, Pete's texts got more infrequent, then stopped altogether.

The deep end was an apt way to describe my deepening affection for Kevin Wrubel. A whirlwind of romantic dinners, shooting and bike dates followed that confrontation with Pete. Great sex, too, of course. "This is my favorite gun of yours," I said one night after our third go-around. "Keep the ammo plentiful."

He did, made love to me in all sorts of ways and in different places. I loved the sexual skits. My fav wasn't far from reality—me playing a criminal defendant that Kevin prosecutes. During the "trial," I distract him by lifting my dress and exposing lots of cleavage. Finally, he recommends to the judge that all charges be dropped. Then, when the "courtroom" clears out, he fucks me like nobody's business over the trial table. We dressed for the part—Kevin in his pinstripe suit, me wearing a short dress, no panties and high heels.

For my college graduation, he bought me a pearl necklace. He gave it to me in his jeep, then told me he loved me. "And don't say it back unless you mean it," he added.

"Okay, I won't," I said while looking into the visor mirror after trying it on. I kept my eyes on the mirror, admiring the way it looked against my turquoise blouse, glancing at Kevin every few seconds, enjoying the nervous anticipation on his face during my silence. Finally, I said, "Kevin, I fell in love with you way before this moment. Couldn't you tell?!"

He began to stammer. "Well, um, I mean, I wasn't sure..."

"Then get sure," I said, then told him that being arrested for forged prescription was the best thing that ever happened to me. "I wouldn't have met you otherwise."

He expanded on that theme. "I once read that a treasure of riches often lies buried in tragedy. The trick is to sense that it's there, then find it." He took my face in his hands; his eyes misted up. "You're my amazing find, Brisa Kramer, my treasure. And I will treasure you always." I snuggled against him and cried.

*****

Kevin wasn't just talk. He proposed a year later after I started nursing school. We haven't yet set a date. No hurry. We're still very much in love, enjoying each other's company. As an engagement present, dad gifted me his prized Ruger .22, along with a cute card that read: "A couple that shoots together, stays together."

We're still shooting together. Kevin's still better but I'm gaining ground. In fact, I'm now hitting a few bulls-eyes, just like he said I would.