Page 12 of Red Mountain Burning
Otis pinched his chin and scrutinized the man, judging his intentions. “You’re surrounding yourself with questionable company, my friend.”
The man pressed his lips together, and Otis could almost read what he wanted to say—that Drink Flamingo money was just too good to turn down.
Otis raised a hand, shook his head, and bounced his eyes from one man to the next. “If you don’t put the mountain first in your decisions, you’ll suffer the consequences.”
“Sounds like a threat to me,” Bellflour said, lighting his cigar with a silver Zippo.
Otis stared at the orange flame. “I don’t need to threaten anyone here. This mountain takes care of herself.” As he said the words, Otis hoped she would continue to do so.
Bellflour puffed hard, the orange going red, and a cloud of smoke swarmed around him.
“And Bellflour,” Otis continued, “if she doesn’t protect herself, there are a few good men and women here who damn sure will. Don’t forget that.”
Bellflour pulled the stubby cigar away with his fat fingers. “Ah, Otis. I was hoping we were done with all the bickering and threats.”
The grapefather tilted his cap to the man and turned away. “I was too.”
Otis caught himself angrily stomping back down the gravel drive and slowed to a more calculated meandering. The grapefather had to be wiser about the situation, not a hothead running around chomping at people like Pac-Man.
How could he deal with a neighbor whose agenda was the exact opposite of his own? Part of him wished he were back in the Middle Ages, where he could settle the war the old-fashioned way. With stricter laws and lawyers, his hands were tied.
* * *
Otis foundJoan sitting in the living room under the painting Otis’s Aunt Morgan had done of him, an arresting picture of Otis on all fours, howling at the moon. He couldn’t look at the painting without remembering that night that Morgan had shined a light on him well past midnight and scolded him for howling in his birthday suit.
“It’s lovely to have gotten to know you,” Joan said into the phone.
Otis clapped his hand to his forehead. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re still on the phone with this buffoon.”
Joan gave him the evil eye and returned to her conversation.
Otis looked back at Morgan’s painting. It had been a long time since he’d howled with the coyotes. Knowing he couldn’t listen to another word of this agonizingly long phone call, he pivoted back toward the kitchen, raising both hands in the air in frustration.
After wearing out the floors in the kitchen with his feet, he finally heard her end the call. Returning to the living room, he said, “The whole world’s crashing on top of us, and here you are, delighting in a phone call with a stranger who wants to sell something that you don’t need.”
She clasped her hands together. “If you don’t lighten up, I’m going to send you to your room, Otis. You sound like a five-year-old. The poor guy gets yelled at and hung up on all day long. The least I could do is treat him like he’s human.”
“You’re treating him like he’s your best—” Otis stopped himself and sighed. “I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Well, you are.”
“I’m truly sorry.” Otis did feel like a five-year-old as he traipsed toward her and collapsed onto the couch. “I can’t share this mountain with that man, let alone be his neighbor. It looks like they’re putting in a pool, Joan.”
“What’s wrong with a pool? We do live in the desert.”
He crossed his arms. “It’s the principle of the thing. No farmer has time to sit by the pool.”
“Your farmer’s tan is testament to that,” she said, apparently trying to lighten his mood.
Her humor was lost on him. He shook his head in defeat and breathed through a notion that he’d not yet said out loud. “Something tells me this is my last vintage here. I can feel it in my bones. It terrifies me to think what this mountain might become.”
“Oh, quit talking like you’re dying. You’re in your late sixties. You’ve got a long way to go.”
He drew in a lengthy breath. “Yeah, but I’m running low on fight, my love.”
“Then don’t fight. Go be you. Focus on your wines. Not his.”
Otis removed his cap and folded it in half. “I think this could be it. Seriously.” A heaviness settled into his chest.
