Page 14 of Bone Dust

He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”

I smile. “It happens to the best of us.”

The motorcycle ride to my house helps to clear my head and, once there, I throw a few logs in the fireplace and light it up.

My body aches. I’m physically and emotionally worn out from a day of working on the ranch and verbal sparring with Sam.

Mesmerizing bright tangerine and buttercup-colored flames ease my weary mind while the tango of colors seduces me into a more relaxed state and sleep entices me.

I stretch out my legs in front of me as warmth spreads through the night’s biting chill. Fire has its own music filled with pops and crackles. I listen as I stare at the blaze, following the sparks as I sink deep into my favorite worn leather chair. An image of Savannah comes to mind.

I’ve shied away from the social aspects of life. Sam’s visits to the ranch and an occasional trip into town for mail, groceries, and supplies are enough for me. But there’s something about her that hooks me, and I’m not sure if I like that or not.

The night is cool and the breeze drifting through the open windows brings traces of evergreen and pine from the surrounding trees. They’ve left indelible scents in the walls of this old house along with other scents I can’t yet identify. Over time I’ve gotten used to the fresh smells. I enjoy them. After years of concert venues thick with pot smoke, and hotel rooms saturated with mixed aromas of cleaning supplies and air freshener, the spicy mix of smoking wood and cool pine draws me in as they complement the peace and quiet I crave. Since moving to the ranch, I’ve discovered many things about myself. Contentment comes along with the haunting of my former existence. I have little memory of what I’ve done or who I hurt, and I need this life I’m making to bind up the wounds hidden on the inside of me.

I close my eyes, trudging through mental images of empty bottles, nameless women, and broken dreams. That fateful night when it all almost ended, my angel came to me. Though I remember seeing her, I still question her existence. Was it just wishful thinking, or did I really experience something supernatural? The mental picture is never clear. What is embedded like concrete in my mind is I was given another chance at life. The problem is I don’t what to do with it.

I lean forward and run my hand through my hair. Most men wish for a wife and family, but I’ve resigned myself to knowing those are things I’ll never have. This is the best I can hope for. My place in the world is working this ranch. It’s the only thing that’s ever provided a sense of simplicity and peace. Here, I don’t need to rehash all the bullshit. It isn’t useful. Neither are regrets, especially when you’ve buried the man you used to be.

I shift my body as my eyelids grow heavy and fall into sleep as I throw more dirt on the grave of my misdeeds.

CHAPTER SIX

Savannah

“M

omma!”

I sink to the floor, my arms opening wide. This little human with the big, cerulean blue eyes refreshes my soul like a cool drink of water. She leaps into my chest, and I pull her close. We meld into an embrace, my arms tightening around her slight frame. I snuggle against her until the top of her head fits into the hollow space at the base of my throat and in return,she presses harder against me. The smell and feel of her soothes me like nothing else in the world.

“I missed you so much, momma.”

“I missed you more, baby love.”

I never, ever get tired of this routine. In fact, I treasure it. Despite being away from her for only a few hours, our reunions are always filled with sweetness. My little Guiliana—called “Gigi” by those who love her—isn’t one to linger in sentiments. She quickly severs our embrace. Though she’s an old soul she’s also a bundle of energy like any other three-year-old.

Gigi pushes away and takes a moment to study me. She knows things, this little one, and sizes me up quickly.

“You not have a good night, Momma?”

“I’m good, baby. Just had my feathers ruffled a bit.”

She takes a second look, and when she feels confident that I’m okay, her smile widens.

“I got ‘choo.”

“You know how much I love you?”

Her head bobs. “A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Guess what? I drew a pitchur, and took a walk, and danced to some music, and made puddin’ pops, and helped cook, and washed my hands, and drew a pitchur’ …”She swiftly changes topics.

“You’re repeating yourself, baby.”

Propping her hands on her hips, she issues a serious look. “I know dat, Momma. I wanted to see if youse payin’ attention.” She lifts her gaze to her babysitter. “Right, Ms. Cora? I was a good girl today, right?”

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