Scarlet Ribbons

"Yeah, she did fine. She does seem a little angry about something. Did she want to take lessons or was she talked into it?"

"No, she's the one who asked to take lessons in the first place."

Cheyenne climbed down from Horse. "Well, maybe she's just having a bad day. I'll be back next Saturday unless you cancel."

"I don't think there's much chance of that. Say, how about joining me for a cup of coffee sometime."

She looked at him. He was cute but... "Aren't you still in high school?"

"I graduate this year," he replied.

"Don't you think I'm a little old for you?"

"No, not at all. What are you, all of twenty?"

"Twenty-one."

"So you're three years older, big deal; you know what they say, age is only a number, come on, what do you say?"

He seemed more mature than most eighteen-year-olds. She smiled. "When?"

"How about tomorrow, do you know The Corner Coffee Shop on York Road?"

She hesitated only for a moment. "Okay, two o'clock?"

"It's a date," he replied, while sticking his hand out.

She shook his hand, "See you then," she said. Cheyenne got back into her car and waved goodbye as she drove off.

"Hot Damn," Chandler muttered to himself.

Carrie watched it all from her bedroom window. She had no idea what they were saying but she didn't like it when Chandler asked the good-looking teacher how things went instead of asking her.

Evidently, he wasn't aware of her plans for the two of them. Somehow she had to let him know they were destined to be together but she'd have to be subtle. She didn't want to scare him away.

That night in bed, Carrie thought long and hard for a way to make sure Chandler knew his role in her life-long plan. There was a small lake in the back of the property. What is more romantic than a picnic? Yeah, she and Chandler could take a ride to the lake and have a picnic... perfect, she thought. With visions of her and Chandler making out by the lake, Carrie drifted off to sleep, beaming with excitement.

Sunday, Carrie waited until she got Chandler alone. "Guess what I did?"

"I give up, what'd you do?"

"Oh, you're no fun," she scoffed. "I made us a picnic basket. I thought I could show you what I learned yesterday while we ride out to the lake and have a picnic."

"Sorry, Carrie, I have a date... "

"A date! With who?"

He was a little taken aback by her seemingly angry response. "With Cheyenne," he replied in kind.

"Cheyenne! Jesus Chandler, she's got to be in her twenties."

"So what? She seems nice and I want to get to know her better. What's it to you, anyway?"

She may have been young and inexperienced, but she knew it wasn't the right time to tell him how she felt. For that, she would wait for the right opportunity, but in the meantime, she had to keep the predators away... including Cheyenne. "We're going to be living under the same roof together, Chandler, don't you think it would be nice if WE got to know each other better?"

It didn't sound unreasonable, but he wasn't about to break his date. "We have plenty of time to get to know each other, Carrie. Like you said, we live under the same roof, I drive you to and from school every day, we're going to be spending a lot of time together so relax."

She was trying to think of something to say, but he didn't give her a chance. "I'm going to run up and change, I'll see you later." With that, he just left her standing there. She was livid, but knew she had to hold it in.

A little while later, she heard Chandler tell his dad he was leaving early because he wanted to stop at the florist in the mall to buy Cheyenne a rose. She watched him drive away from her upstairs bedroom window then, lay down and cried.

*****

Axel stood looking out at the most incredible landscape he'd ever seen. For as far as the eye could see, giant red rocks reached for the clouds. He had no idea where he was... somewhere in Utah, he thought. The road he was on had signs saying something about it being historical, but he wasn't paying much attention.

Actually, he'd been driving around for a week and not paying much attention. He remembered crossing the Mississippi for the first time in his life and he knew he'd driven through several states, but which ones and where they were... who knew.

The pain in his stomach was a little less day by day. He could finally get in and out of the car without wincing. In another couple of weeks, he'll be good as new... physically anyway. The psychological pain, he knew, would never go away. His wife and child were everything to him. Hell, he gave up his lifelong ambition to be a watercolor artist so he could give his family some financial security.

Since he was old enough to hold a paint brush, he knew what he wanted to do in life. His high school art teachers recognized his talent immediately and helped him win a scholarship to the Chicago Art Institute, one of the most prestigious art schools in the country... then he met Julie and fell head over heels in love.

He knew becoming a successful artist would take years of hard work and study. How would he be able to support a wife and eventually a family? His dad worked for a Ford factory and made a good living. They weren't rich, but he grew up in a nice house with two cars in the garage and always had nice clothes and plenty of food to eat. So, Axel's plans were changed...

He asked for his dad's assistance and took a job as a welder in the same plant his dad worked in. They had a training program, and in time, he was making enough to ask Julie to marry him.

He hadn't given up on the idea of becoming a full-time watercolor artist, but figured it would just take longer. As he saw it, he'd work for Ford during the day and paint in the evenings and weekends. Unfortunately, he hadn't factored in the time it took to be married. There were always places to go and things to do. When Carrie came along, it was nonstop. His dreams sunk further and further into the background until they disappeared completely, but he never complained and never regretted it.

He hadn't picked up a paint brush in many years, but the scene that lay in front of him was certainly inspiring. He leaned his back against his car and just watched in awe as the sun slowly sunk behind the mountains.

As much as he was enjoying the serenity, Axel wasn't interested in driving on that winding road with steep drop-offs after dark, so he continued on his journey, hoping to find a motel soon.

It was almost completely dark when he reached the end of the road... literally. Now what, he thought. He had two ways to go, left or right. All he could see to his right was darkness, but there were lights the other way. He slowly drove along what the sign said was Main Street looking for a motel. "Shit" he muttered. Evidently, he'd driven right through the whole damn place. He'd seen some small towns during his drive, but this one took the cake.

He made a three-point turn and headed back. This time he made a right the first chance he got and stumbled onto the Motel Torrey. He prayed they had a vacancy because he really wasn't interested in any more night driving on mountain roads. He got worried when he didn't see anyone behind the counter. He rang a bell that said, "Ring Me," and was glad to see a young lady come from the back.

"Yes Sir?"

"I'm really hoping you have a room available for the night."

"Yes, Sir, we have a few, is it just for yourself?"

"Just me," he replied with an air of relief.

"We have two rooms with king-size beds for a hundred and fifty-nine dollars, one room with a queen size for one thirty-nine, and a smaller room with a single for seventy-five. The smaller room actually has the best view of the mountains," she added with a smile.

"That sounds good to me. Is cash okay?"

"Of course."

"Is there a restaurant in the motel?"

"No, Sir, we have a continental breakfast in the morning, but no restaurant. What are you in the mood for? We have everything from fine dining to the Ma and Pa greasy spoon."

Axel had to chuckle to himself; from what he'd seen, the town didn't look big enough for a coffee shop. "Nothing fancy," he responded, "a hamburger, fries, and a decent cup of coffee would be great."

"Slacker's, just go out the way you come and make a right on Main Street, you can't miss it.

He thanked her as she pointed in the direction of his room. It was just as the young lady described it... small. It was too dark to get a good look at the mountains. He grabbed a quick shower, then walked down to Main Street for dinner. He had to admit, it was one of the best burgers he'd ever had.

When he got back to his room, it started all over again--the deep depression that consumed his soul. It started every night about the same time, and was like a big, heavy blanket from which there was no escape. He knew from experience that suicidal thoughts would soon penetrate his cogitation. They scared him. He didn't want to die, but at the same time, he knew it would give him peace. Was life worth living despite the pain and emptiness, or not? It was a question he'd asked himself a thousand times since leaving Chicago.

Normally, he'd just lie down and let the spell consume him until sleep would be his relief, but this time he was determined to break the curse. He saw a cheap ballpoint pen with the motel's logo on the desk; beside it was some stationary. He sat down, turned the paper horizontally, and visualized the beautiful rugged terrain he was looking at earlier.

Before he even realized it, he had the pen in his hand and was making a series of quick strokes. He started with a horizon line and then worked on the composition, strategically placing the peaks, valleys, and plateaus to guide the viewer's eye to the point of interest.

Once the basic sketch was done, he determined the sun's direction and blocked in the shadows accordingly. Next came the overall toning, allowing for highlights, midtones and deep shadows.

A small smile stretched across his face, probably the first one in a long time. That's not bad, he thought while holding the ink sketch. For the first time in a decade, he wished he had some watercolors. As he lay down in bed, the urge to paint again replaced the feelings of doom he usually felt before going to sleep.

The next morning he enjoyed a couple sweet rolls and coffee before stopping at the check-in counter. The cute young girl who greeted him the night before was now replaced with a middle-aged man. "Hi, I'm staying in your small room..."

"Yes, Mr. Brolin, did you sleep well?"

The friendly courtesy took him a little by surprise. "Yes, I did, thank you. I was wondering if I could stay another day or two?"

"Most certainly, although, since you're paying in cash, I would ask you to pay each day in advance."

"No problem," he replied while pulling a hundred from his wallet. "You don't by any chance have an art store in town, do you?"

"Ah, well, there's Suzy's Craft Shop in town. They might have some art supplies. I know she sells picture frames and stuff."

"I'll check it out, thanks." After getting the directions, Axel walked back to town and stopped in. All they had in the way of paints were a couple of kid's sets but they did have charcoal pencils and sketch pads. When he returned to his room the maid had just started stripping his bed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sir, I thought you had checked out."

"No, I'm going to stay another day or two, but don't let me stop you. You go ahead and do whatever you have to do."

She finished making the bed and was on her way to the bathroom when she saw the ink drawing from the previous night. "Oh, wow, did you do this?"

He smiled at her enthusiasm, "Yeah, I was inspired by the scenery around here."

"This is beautiful. You're really good, are you famous?"

He chuckled, "Me... no, I used to think I would be one day, but it was just a pipe dream."

"Oh, Sir, don't sell yourself short, we have artists go through here all the time and you're as good as any of them. I... I don't suppose I could have this," she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, of course, take it."

"Thank you," she hesitated again. "Would, ah, would you sign it for me?" He picked up the pen and signed it.

"Thank you again, I'm going to frame this and put it up on my wall at home. Maybe someday I'll be able to tell people I have an original... " she stopped to look at the signature, "an original Axel Brolin." She finished cleaning the room and pulled the drapes open on the double patio doors revealing the mountainous vista outside before leaving with the sketch.

Axel sat on the bed facing the great outdoors and started to sketch. The charcoal gave him the ability to be more creative with his shading. Soon he had another sketch that he ripped from the tablet and started another immediately. Before he knew it, he had a bunch of charcoal sketches strewn all over the bed. He studied each one picking out things he didn't like in some and things he did like in others. "Damn," he cursed out loud, "I need paint."

It was almost time for lunch anyway. He stopped by the desk on his way to Slacker's. The same guy was still there. "Hi, again."

"Mr. Brolin, how can I help you?"

"Do you, by any chance, know where the nearest art store would be? I really need to get some watercolor paints; even just a basic set would be fine."

"I'm sorry, I honestly don't know. Most of the towns around here are small. I know there are a few artists who live in the area but I have no idea where they get their supplies. Would Amazon have what you're looking for?"

"Amazon," he never even thought of them, "I'm not sure, they might. Do they deliver out here?"

"Well, not exactly; their drivers don't like driving on the winding roads, especially at night, but they have a facility in Venice, that's about an hour's drive. You can arrange to pick it up there. That's what most of us do. Did you come over on twenty-four or route twelve?"

"Ah, route twelve."

"Yeah, that can be scary for folks not used to driving in the mountains. Venice is straight out twenty-four, it still winds around some, but it's not nearly as bad as twelve."

"And you have wifi out here?"

"Sure do, we got it about five years ago. They finally put it in because of the tourist trade."

"Okay, I'm on my way to Slacker's for lunchm but I'll check out Amazon when I get back, thanks."

Amazon, indeed, had everything he was looking for. He was also pleasantly surprised to see his favorite watercolor paper from decades ago was still available. What he wasn't so happy about were the prices; he couldn't believe how expensive everything was.

He wasn't sure how long his urge to paint would last, so he ordered only what he thought would be a good start. Two days later he felt like a kid in a candy store as he drove back from Venice, Utah, with a backseat full of painting supplies.

Axel wasted no time when he returned to his room. He cut some of the watercolor paper in fours, then soaked one of the sheets for stretching and stapled it to a backing board to dry.

Next, he started to lay out his new palette, earth tones on one side, cool colors on the other. He squeezed a small amount of paint into each well. When he added water to Scarlet Lake, his favorite red pigment, it reminded him of lying on the sidewalk and watching his blood mix with the rainwater as it trickled down the drain. He had to stop for a moment. That one thought brought it all back like it happened yesterday. He took a deep breath and looked out the double glass doors at the red mountains. It wasn't long ago he felt his life was over and he was ready to meet his maker, now...

*****

One thing about independent reporter and blogger: Walter Frey, he didn't give up easily. Since talking to the bartender, he knew Axel Brolin's stabbing was just the tip of the iceberg. There was a real human interest story to be told, but so far he just kept running into brick walls. No one knew where Axel was or where to find his wife and daughter.

For the past three weeks, he'd used every investigative method he knew, including just driving around talking to anyone who owned horses. As he was driving back from yet another dead end, he spotted a place he hadn't been to yet. The sign said, "Bennet Boarding Stables and Riding Academy." As he drove up, he saw a middle-aged woman walking from the house to the stables. "Excuse me," he yelled while getting out of his car, "do you work here?"

She chuckled, "Young man, you have no idea. What can I do for you?"

He introduced himself and gave her a business card then told her who he was looking for.

"Brolin, that name sounds familiar. My daughter's giving riding lessons to a young lady; I think her name is Brolin. She's over there in the tack room if you want to ask her."

He made his way across the hard dirt to a small building and knocked. He heard a young female voice from inside yell out an invitation to enter. He again introduced himself and told her who he was looking for. Cheyenne looked at his business card with more skepticism than her mother.

"Why are you looking for them?" She asked.

"If she's who I think she is, she's the daughter of that guy who was stabbed a few weeks ago."

"What guy?"

"The one on the Internet. The guy who saved the woman from being kidnapped...

"Oh, I know who you're talking about. You think the girl I'm teaching to ride is his daughter?"

"Well, I'm not sure until I get a chance to talk to them. There are all kinds of rumors floating around about them and I'd like to get their side of the story."

Cheyenne thought for a moment, "I don't know who you are. Anyone can have cards printed up. I'll give this to Mrs. Brolin, if she wants to talk to you then she can call you. That's the best I can do."

That wasn't at all what he was hoping for, but he wasn't about to try and strong-arm a pretty, young lady. "Okay, please tell her it's important that she get back to me." He was disappointed when he left. If Brolin's wife and daughter left him for another man, there was no way they'd call him and admit to it.

Chandler was waiting out front when Cheyenne drove up that following Saturday. She had planned on asking him about, it but changed her mind at the last minute. She liked him, a lot, but she had done a little research herself and the whole Brolin situation sounded a little seedy to her. If the speculation about the guy's wife and daughter were true, she wondered what part Chandler played. She waited until she and Carrie were far enough from the house before starting her query.

"So, Carrie, how long are you visiting for?"

Carrie looked at her a little strangely, "Visiting, who said we were visiting? We live here now."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed since you and your mother have a different last name that you were visiting Chandler and his dad. What about your dad, does he live here too?"

"No, my mom's divorcing him. We moved in here about three weeks ago. She and Jim are getting married pretty soon."

"Getting married... " Cheyenne wasn't stupid or naive, it was obvious that her student's mother and Jim Freeman were lovers and had most likely been having an affair behind Mr. Brolin's back. "I feel sorry for your dad; do you see him often?"

"No, he... ah... he kind of disappeared. Mom says he's probably found a nice secluded place to come to terms with what's happening. We've checked the house a couple of times, but so far he hasn't come back yet. He... he got in a fight a little while ago and his phone was broken so I haven't been able to call him either."

"Damn, that's rough, I'm sure he loves you though."

"Yeah, I love him, too. I really wish I could talk to him."

Cheyenne had put it all together and was about to change the tone of the conversation. "Did Chandler know his dad was having an affair with a married woman?"