Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch. 01

I wish I could find that old five--year diary you gave me for Christmas. I had special marks beside the dates when you brought a man home with you. I even wrote their names down, if I ever heard them. I can't remember many of the names any more. I've tried to forget as much as I can. I guess you found it after I moved out. Maybe you can pull it out some day and read a little of it. No, maybe you better not, you would just tell me that I complain too much.

I guess motel rooms are a better idea when you have a teenage daughter at home. I hope you had the men pay for the room, because I can't recall that we were exactly rolling in dough when I was young. I know I had good food, but Tincha was a good cook. I know I had decent clothes to wear, but nowhere near the fashionable clothes you wore. Maybe your shopping expeditions should have included me once in a while. You might have delayed a manicure, or an appointment to get your hair done, and taken me for an occasional ice cream cone instead. I would have appreciated it; you will just never know how much.

That's probably why I married Ricky Hennessey, just to get away from home. It didn't take long to discover I didn't love him and it took even less time for me to discover he couldn't keep a job, was verbally and physically abusive, and wouldn't pay the bills. He ruined my credit so badly every apartment complex in town turned down my application when I wanted to move away from him, and to add insult to injury, I discovered he had entertained other women on my salary. However, that's a subject I will discuss with him if I can ever stand to look at him again.

I'm sure it must be painful, to you, that you are getting older and beginning to develop a few wrinkles, but do you really think plastic surgery is the answer? Maybe one drink, instead of six, some good food, and a little exercise would work just as well. However, as you have often told me, I don't have the right to interfere in the way you live your life. So I will honor your instructions. I just hope you will understand that I cannot honor you as my mother.

Your daughter,

Gail Fisher—and yes, in the divorce, I requested my maiden name back, not because it is your name, it really isn't, it's my father's. I wanted it back because I could not stand to hear the name Hennessey, ever again.

****

Howard folded the pages and returned them to the envelope before asking, "Well, do you want to change any of it?"

Gail brushed a couple of tears off her cheek and answered, "Nope, I guess I'll just let it stand. If I started messing with it, I'd probably want to add a lot more and it would just hurt her. I will have done enough of that, by the time she reads it." After a moment of silence, Gail said, "Before you read any of the others, it's your turn."

Howard jerked his head toward Gail, "What do you mean, my turn?"

"I told you my world is crumbling and you said yours was too and you were willing to share if I was. It's your turn. Maybe if I can listen to someone else's problems, mine won't feel quite so bad."

Howard chuckled and said, "You don't have enough time."

Gail smiled, and that time Howard could really see the dimple, "That, my new friend, is where you are wrong. I have the rest of my life. I am on the third day of the rest of my life."

"You weren't serious about that part about not wanting to live?"

Gail nodded, "Maybe you might want to read that part again. I wrote that I don't want to live my life any more. In the past three days, I have quit my job, told my friends I was leaving town, and moved out of my apartment. I hired one of those cheap moving companies and everything I own, except for what's in this truck, is in a storage unit. That means kitchen, most of my clothes, and all of my furniture. I paid six months in advance and I'm going to change my life. If I can't do that, I'll just end it."

Howard looked at the road ahead and said, "Hey, you see that sign? There's a rest stop ahead. I drank that whole bottle of water and I need a pit stop, how about you?"

"Yeah, me too, but I was thinking it was a little farther along."

"Oh, you know this road?"

"Not very well, I've been this way a few times, you know, just going south to a good campground, state park, or somewhere to get away. I do it a few times a year, or as often as I can get away."

"And what do you do on these get--away times, commune with nature?"

"Either that, or sit and feel sorry for myself. My real problem is I can't figure out a way to kill myself and make sure the letters get mailed instead of becoming part of some stupid police investigation or crime scene. I guess I've watched too many crime shows on television. The police would read those letters and start trying to figure out which one of them killed me."

Howard walked into the men's side of the rest stop and stood for a moment. He believed he knew what was wrong; he just didn't know if he could fix it. However, maybe, just maybe, he could find it inside himself to help this person ... and in doing so, maybe he could get a little help, too. He needed to know there were people in the world who still cared. After washing his hands, he was back outside, walking up and down the sidewalk, waiting for Gail.

When she came out of the women's side, he walked up to her and said, "I'll make a deal with you."

She looked at him and figured this guy is going to make a suggestion she wasn't particularly interested in and asked, skeptically, "Yeah, what's the deal?"

"You take me back to my truck. It's only a little over ten, maybe fifteen, miles to the turn off and down a county road about two miles. I've got jumper cables in the back of the truck. You can give me a boost to get my battery charged enough to drive into town. In exchange, I'll read all of your letters and mail them, as soon as I know you've done it."

"You are not serious," Gail scoffed, and then changed her tone to question him, "Are you?"

"Sure, why not?" Howard asked, shrugged his shoulders, and then explained, "All I have to do is read the obits in the papers and I'll know when to mail them. Easy."

She held out her hand, to seal the bargain, "You got a deal. Show me how to get back the way we came."

"Just drive to the other side of this rest stop, where the highway goes in the opposite direction, and I'll direct you from there."

******** Gail wasn't expecting much. After all, Howard said it was just an old adobe building. However, it looked like a very neat old building. It probably had a lot of history, and it might even be interesting to learn some of its history. The ceiling had to be at least twenty feet high.

Although he tried several times, Howard could not start his truck and finally decided the problem must be mechanical, rather than a dead battery. It was so late in the day, he invited Gail to come inside and relax a while and stay to supper, if she liked, and even spend the night, assuring her she could trust him. It was too late for her to try to find and set up her own camp. She would find it easier to do if she waited until the next morning. When Howard got back inside, he asked, "Hey, you want to plug that cooler in to regular electricity, I don't want you to run your battery down, then we'd both be stuck."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Do you mind if I pop my tent out there?"

"Aw, really, you don't need to do that. Just grab your sleeping bag. There's some old metal cots in the corner ... be better than sleeping on the ground. This is snake country."

"Ugh, snakes," Gail shuddered, "I know most of them are not dangerous, or poisonous, or have teeth, but they are still snakes. I'll take the offer of a bed indoors. What are we doing for supper?"

"Ah, what would you like? What do you usually eat for supper? How do you feel about eating wild animals?" Howard watched her to see what her reaction was to his question.

She raised her eyebrows, curious. "Wild animals, you did say wild animals? I don't know ... you mean like, what? I'm probably okay, as long as it's not snake. I don't care if they do taste like chicken. I'm not interested in eating rattlesnake."

Howard chuckled, "No, not rattlesnake, but I do have venison steaks."

"I can do a steak. Is there a special way to cook it, I mean, does it need to be well done, or something? I'm a city girl. I don't know things like that."

"I can do it, or I can teach you," Howard offered.

"Show me, and tell me what I can do to help. I'm a pretty good cook, despite having a mother who does not know how to boil water."

"Then, who taught you to cook?"

"I don't know, I guess I taught myself. I had a little help from Tincha. She was the housekeeper/maid/babysitter, depending on what Melissa needed her to do. The rest of the time, I just followed the directions, made the mistakes, burned things, forgot to add the salt, and all that stuff. But I usually got it right the second time."

Howard was in the simple corner kitchen. He gave Gail two packages wrapped in freezer paper and told her to open them then showed her how to wrap strips of bacon around each one, securing the ends with a wooden toothpick. "So, you left your job, packed everything, and left town. Is this your try at having a second life?"

"I didn't really think about it like that, maybe I should. But considering my past, I'm not very good at learning lessons."

"How do you figure that? Haven't you left all of that behind?"

"Well yes, I guess I left it behind. I'm not sure I learned any lessons. When my marriage failed, I didn't make a very good choice the second time. If I had learned something, wouldn't I have done better? You need to read the letter about that failure, too."

"Okay, while I put the steaks on, go get the letter."

"Okay," Gail turned to leave the kitchen area and as she walked across the old adobe tile floor, she told Howard, "And the same rule applies, you have to read it out loud to see if there's anything I want to change."