Gathering Fallen Rocks Ch 07

"Are you Gail E. Fisher? And is this your cellular phone number?" Pete held out a report showing her cell phone number printed beside her name. Pete Curran was stiff, acting so official that Howard was surprised by his attitude. He appeared formal and in asking questions, had Gail standing stiffly.

They were outside Frank and Melanie's front door. Although invited to come inside, Pete declined and politely asked Frank and Melanie to go inside the house so he could interview Gail alone. When Pete looked at Howard, expecting him to leave, too, Gail grabbed Howard by the hand and held on, saying she wanted him to stay. Pete nodded once at Howard then turned to Gail, asking her a few questions before asking about her cell phone number.

"Yes, that's my number."

"Ma'am, this number was used to report an incident on Friday involving the deaths of seven individuals. Your cell phone provider said you reported this telephone was stolen before this report was called in. Is that correct?"

His question was so accusatory Gail looked from Pete to Howard, seeking help. Howard merely nodded. The expression on his face gave Gail the information that she should trust Pete. "Yes sir, I called in the report yesterday."

"Can you tell me why you waited so long to report the theft?"

Before answering, Gail looked at Howard, then back to Pete, showing how nervous she was. "I'm sorry, I was not aware of the theft until Friday evening."

Howard interrupted, "Pete, she was in the hospital and I took her to stay with Aunt Jean for a few days. The first time she was back at the ranch was Friday night, after I got off work."

Pete looked at Howard, nodded and said, "Thank you Howard. However, I'd rather have her tell me what happened."

As Gail explained, Howard occasionally offered clarification of the information Gail provided and went to the truck to get the treatment and discharge instructions given to him when he took Gail from the hospital.

"May I keep this?" Pete asked. "I promise it will be returned to you as soon as I can get a copy."

Gail nodded, "Sure, I guess so. I have no reason not to."

Pete looked at the papers in his hand then asked, "By the way, was anything, other than your cell phone, taken from your handbag?"

"Yes, but it wasn't important. My business cards from a company where I'm no longer employed and," responding to the pressure from Howard squeezing her hand added, "a couple of envelopes, but I found them later, so I guess it was just the phone and business cards."

Pete said, "Thank you" then looked at Howard. "I think I'll stop by and talk to your aunt. Don't call her, Howard. I'm not going to frighten her. I just need to make sure the story checks out."

Gail looked at Pete, "Are you also going to talk to Santos Aguirre. It's his fault, you know. He frightened me and I didn't want to stay at the ranch."

Pete nodded and both Howard and Gail could tell he was reluctant to do so, however he said, "Yes, I will speak to Santos Aguirre. I don't think either of you are interested in getting into a shouting match with him over who said what or did what, but I will speak to him."

As soon as Pete drove away, Howard, still holding her hand, was leading Gail toward the stairs saying he needed to turn off the air conditioner and they should go back to the ranch. Frank stuck his head out the back door of the house, asking what Pete wanted, so Howard explained as simply as he could, and then gave the truck keys to Gail.

"Here, Sweetheart, start the truck, let's go back to the ranch, I think we're done here."

********

"Gail," Howard said, as they walk into his ranch house. "You probably aren't going to like this, but I've been thinking about your letters. If this investigation of Pete's goes any further, it might be a good idea to destroy the letters."

"Why?" Gail asked, startled that Howard would ask her to do such a thing. "There's nothing in those letters to hurt anyone. I didn't make any threats. I'm just fussing or complaining to people about how they caused problems for me."

Shaking his head, Howard said, "I don't know what Santos is planning, but he sure seemed interested in the letters. He's not above mentioning them to Pete and might take delight in detailing the contents of the letters."

"So what if he does?" Gail said, unconcerned that Santos would mention the letters to Pete or anyone else. "What good is it going to do him? It's not going to get your ranch for him. And isn't that what he wants?"

"I don't know. I haven't read them. Well, I read a couple of them and you're right, they just sound like you are really pissed at someone. I just remember you saying something about not wanting them to be part of some police investigation, if you did what you said you wanted to do." He turned to look at her and said angrily, "And I don't even know if you are still thinking about doing that. Any time I say something to you about how much I want you here, you keep saying you need to leave."

"Well, damn. Howard, you have enough going on in your life right now. You don't need me to mess it up worse." She raised her voice, "I can't stay here, mooching off of you. I need to get on with my life, what little there is left of it."

Howard lowered his voice, but couldn't keep the anger out of it, "Is this about the baby? You can't possibly think a baby would have made your life better. Good God, a child is a lifetime commitment."

Instead of matching his lower voice, Gail screamed at him, "Well, thank you, Mister Pleas. Maybe a commitment to a baby is just a little better than anything else I've ever had in the rest of my worthless life. At least it would be someone that cared about me and loved me back, instead of all the men who never did give a damn."

Unable to avoid matching her vehemence, Howard yelled, "And you think I'm another of those men?"

When she stood toe to toe, glaring at him and did not answer, he demanded, "Do you? Do you Gail? Is that what you think?"

Just as he demanded an answer, she demanded an answer to her own question, "Well, don't you? From my side of this debacle, I can't see any difference."

Howard took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and looked at her, "Then before you leave, sit down and write me a letter, too." He turned and walked out the door, going he did not know where, to do what he did not know. He just needed to escape her before he said any more he would have to regret.

********

My dearest Howard,

Sometimes when you look at me, I see something in your eyes that I do not understand. I don't know if what I see in your expression is sympathy or sadness, contempt or fury, lust or some other emotion I can't describe. I know you try to hide your emotions from me, so some of what I see may not be what you really feel.

If you feel sympathy, please don't. It causes me to cry, when I think about the miscarriage, but I know it is for the best. I am not emotionally or financially stable enough to rear a child. And it would be a horror if I had to live with my mother and allow her opinions and disregard for others to rub off on my child. I doubt that my father would help, either. After all, he took me back to my mother and said I was too much like her for him to live with. He would just tell me to get an abortion.

If you are sad for me, I can understand that, when I think about how badly I have messed up my life, it makes me sad, too. If the sadness is for your sister, I will share that emotion with you. I might wish she had asked for your help. She had to know how much you loved her. I know you would have taken care of her. You are doing it so well for me.

I don't know how you could avoid feeling contempt. I should be ashamed of considering leaving a world as beautiful as this one. But I despise myself when I consider that I cannot manage to live one single day without feeling I'm a total and utter disgrace and causing problems for the other people around me.

I know you get furious with me. It seems like I want you to show a strong emotion, because I do it to you so often, almost every day. Why is that? I start the argument and then I cannot stop. I spend an hour trying to think of a way to apologize and it does me no good, because the next time I see you, I just want to do something to make you smile.

After this morning, I think I finally understand lust. That's probably what has kept me here longer than I should have stayed. Is that what it is? Or is it more than simple lust? I am not experienced enough to know.

I am surprised at the welcome I feel from the people in this little town. When I was staying with your Aunt Jean, I even considered looking in the phone book to see if I might find a job in my profession. I have a license, which is quite an accomplishment at my age, even though I seldom mention it.

However, I didn't make any calls, probably because I am too insecure to ask for a job. I know I could get a lot of information about your many times great–grandfather and might even settle your concerns about the original land grant and any subsequent transfers. It would be one way of repaying you for giving me a home and caring for me, for which I will never be able to fully express my gratitude.

Love,

Gail

********

After writing the letter, crossing out parts and then writing some more, Gail copied it onto clean sheets of the special yellow paper and folded them, but she did not have an envelope for the letter. Instead, she put it with the other envelopes. Despite Howard's questions, she could not bring herself to destroy the letters she had worked so hard to write. She was discovering they had taught her something, every one of them. Some of the self–taught lessons were about whom to trust, and whom she should not. No longer would she be a small mouse in the corner, waiting to be frightened into running into a hole at the first sign of a cat. She might not be able to attack the cat, but she would not allow another mouse to take her cheese, or take cheese from someone she cared about.

It was useless to sit and worry about things she could not solve, because she could not change other people. Whatever they had done in their past, it need no longer affect her. Instead, it was time to tackle a problem she had the skills to solve. It was time for someone to investigate Howard's concerns about the ownership of his ranch. As Gail paced from the kitchen stove to her wooden food box beside the fireplace, Santos Aguirre walked into Howard's small adobe house.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Pleas," he startled her.

Gail turned and looked at the man who was causing her so much grief. As she walked toward him, she said in her sternest tone, "Mister Aguirre, get out of this house. You do not own this house and you have no right to walk in here when it pleases you. Knock on the door like any civilized person. If, and I repeat, if, I want to invite you in, I will do so. Otherwise, get the hell out of here."

He did not move and Gail advanced a few more steps as he said, "Mrs. Pleas, you do not have this right to demand I am to leave the house. It is my house. I own it. I come inside when I choose."

Gale glared at him, "There you are wrong, sir. You do not own this property or you would have already used every legal means at your disposal to see that Howard was removed from it.

"If you are not aware, let me tell you that a law has recently passed the state legislature. It is called the

Castle Doctrine.

Do you understand that a man's home is his castle? If I feel threatened by someone coming into my home, my car, or my place of business, I have no duty to retreat from an attack if I am in a place where I have a right to be and if I do not provoke my attacker. I can use force to defend myself. You read those letters, so you know my father is a police officer. I assure you I am an excellent shot with a 270 rifle and any handgun you want to name, both automatics and revolvers. That means I can kill you, and I would not be arrested for a crime. So, Mister Aguirre, I am informing you that I feel threatened by your presence, and I am telling you, as politely as I know how, please leave."

Gail turned and walked toward the fireplace, to stand beside Howard's gun rack and crossed her arms, waiting for Santos to leave. Within her reach were several loaded rifles and handguns.

Santos turned and walked out of the house, brushing past Howard on the way to his big shiny black sport utility vehicle, rattling off a volley of Spanish words so fast Gail couldn't understand a single one of them. Howard watched as the man got into his truck, slammed the door, started the engine, and gunned the motor, throwing dirt and dust in his wake.

Howard walked into the house and looked at Gail then leaned out the door watching Santos's dust cloud going toward the highway. There was a quiet look of anger on his face. "What did you do to him?"

Shaking and trembling, Gail tried to hide her fear, but she felt good about what she had done. "I told him to get the hell out of here or I'd kill him."

"Yep, I imagine that would really piss him off. I've never seen him that mad before. Are you still mad at me?"

"No, Howard, I never was mad at you. I'm mad at myself. I am such a fool. When you go to work in the morning, can I ride to town with you? I need to buy myself some decent clothes, so I can find a job, an apartment to live in, and hopefully my replacement cell phone."

"What?" Howard shook his head, fearing he had not heard what he hoped she was saying. Did she really intend to stay? Even if it wasn't with him, at least he would know where she was.

"Well, I can't very well ask for a job wearing blue jeans. I need a telephone so I can get a phone call, just in case someone actually wants to hire me. And I need a place to live so I can go get my furniture and the rest of my clothes."

"Do you want to tell me what this is all about?"

"I'm not sure yet. But as soon as I know, you can be the next one. I'm sorry I can't burn the letters yet, they are the best education I've had in my entire life, and I still have a few things to learn."

********

Before speaking, Gail watched as a short, elderly man stepped off a stepladder and bent over, to pick up a roll of wallpaper. "Excuse me. I'm looking for Mister Atwood."

Straightening up, the man turned to answer Gail, "You got him, that's me."

"The young lady, next door," Gail pointed to the office space adjoining the one where this man was hanging wallpaper, "she said I should come speak to you about a job."

"Well, my goodness, you wallpaper people sure do dress up when you go to a job, don't you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry I'm not a wallpaper person. I came about a job in your abstract company."

"Now, that is curious, I haven't advertised for that job yet. How did you hear about it?"

"I didn't hear about a particular opening, I'm new in town and I'm just checking to see if anyone has an opening."

The man walked toward Gail, holding out his hand, "Then let me introduce myself, I'm Atwood, David Atwood."

Gail shook hands with him, "Nice to meet you Mister Atwood, I'm Gail Fisher. I'm TLTA licensed, and I'm looking for a job. I asked the girl next door for an employment application, but she said I should speak to you."

"Then let's go talk about this," he said as he walked toward the front door.

Gail followed and looked back, "Can you leave that? I mean it looks like you're about ready to start putting the paper on. Can you just leave it? Won't it dry out, or something?"

"Oh, those wallpaper people will be here in a little while, I'm just trying to rush things and I should leave things like that to the professionals. Come with me, we can go next door to my office, and get better acquainted. And you can tell me what experience you have."

Gail followed as Mister Atwood led the way, out the door of the large office space, which looked like it was in the middle of being gutted and rebuilt. They walked down an outside walkway and into the office space next door.

As he walked by the front desk, the young lady sitting there handed him three pink telephone messages. He stopped for a moment to read them and handed one back to the young girl, saying, "Petra, call them and say, "No, not yet"." He gave her a second message and told her to return the call and say, "Tomorrow, if I get instructions today." The third message he stuffed in his pants pocket.

Down a short hallway, he turned into an office full of dark woods, a massive desk with stacks of files on the two front corners and more stacks of files on the credenza behind him. A small table in the corner of the room had two chairs beside it, but the tabletop was not visible, it was covered with additional stacks of file folders, most were two or three inches thick. There were additional files on the chairs.

"Yes, as you can see I have a lot of work to do. Properties in this part of the state are selling faster than I can keep up with them. Sit down, Gail, and tell me who you worked for, how long you were there and what your job was."

"Thank you, Mister Atwood."

Before she could say another word, the man interrupted her, "But first of all, I need to ask you to call me Atwood. My mother had a sense of humor and my father wasn't much better. His name was Zechariah Atwood. He said his name covered the alphabet from A to Z. They named me Atwood David Atwood. Dad said no one would forget my name, but he was an important man in this town and everyone called him Mister Atwood. When you say Mister Atwood, people will think you're referring to my father. So, you may call me Atwood. Makes it simple, doesn't it?" He laughed and Gail joined, liking his sense of humor and his comfortable way of talking to someone he did not know.

Gail told him of her previous experience, the courses she took, how long she had been licensed, and what her duties were. Atwood remarked that he knew her former employer and asked if she objected to him calling to verify what she had said.

"No, I would expect you to call them. But I'll be blunt. I had a personal problem with Mister Abrams. So, if he doesn't give you a glowing recommendation, please take that into consideration."

Atwood chuckled, "No, I thought I'd call Carlson," indicating the President of the company. "He and I are old friends. Confidentially, if you had told me you respected Abrams and worked well with him, I'd put that down as a black mark. The only reason that man has a job is because his sister is married to Carlson. Now, you just sit there for a minute and I'll make my call."

Gail listened as Atwood and his friend spoke about each other's personal lives. She tried to be polite and not act too curious when Atwood laughed a few times after asking Carlson for an employment recommendation for Gail.

When he hung up the telephone Atwood said, "I guess I better hire you before Carlson drives down here and takes you home with him. He said his whole plant is in a mess since you left. Abrams is complaining he doesn't have enough people to do the job and has to work overtime."

Gail blushed and replied, "That was very nice of Mister Grayson."

Atwood asked, "Is he correct, that you trained most of the people in the abstract and research plant and got passed over for promotion a couple of times because Abrams said you weren't experienced enough? You want to tell me about that?"

"I don't really want to say anything bad about Mister Abrams," Gail began and was interrupted by Atwood saying he wasn't looking for dirt, he just wanted to know what Gail could do and how good she really was. She added, "Yes, most of the new hires worked beside me for at least the first two weeks. A couple of times I applied for openings in the main office, but someone else got those jobs."

"Then tell me why you decided to change towns. Looks like almost any company in town would hire you the minute you walked in the door."