Secrets, Lies and Dragonflies

Chapter 11

"So this is where my macho attacker lives, huh?" The woman's torpedo glare is locked in on Vincent. 

As if on cue in a bad movie, the sound of his father's truck rumbles from around the corner.  I've come to know it well. 

Vincent stands to attention.  White as a ghost, pure panic spreads across his face.

eeerrrrrrrr . The driver side door creaks so loud it shifts my nerves into overdrive.  And when he slams it shut, the jarring metal crunch makes me jump out of my skin.       

Walking around the front of his truck with a mix of concrete, paint and red clay on his worn out jeans and shirt, Mr. Saunders looks puzzled at the scene on his front lawn. "What's going on here, son?" he asks, adding to the darted stares. Though he wasn't a terribly large man, there was just enough mean in him that made him feel gigantic.

"Oh, so this is your son?" the woman says, approaching the beat up, old Ford.

"Who's askin'?" he shoots back, redirecting his confrontational tone toward her. 

"I'm Tabitha Morris." She reaches out to shake his hand, seeminly unaffected by his crudeness.  "And you are?"   

"Uh.  Saunders.  Steve Saunders."  He studders, seemingly very affected by her willfulness.  That's because normally at this point, most people are scared off by his boorish routine. But this woman hasn't backed down yet. I can only imagine she's fuming under that half smile.  

When he finally accepts her hand, she says steadily, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Saunders.  Oh, I see there is an artist in our midst?" 

I hadn't noticed before, but she was right.  Under the carport, pieces of rugged, wooden fencing several layers thick lean against the wall.  Their weathered look must be from years of neglect.  The most forward panels have been painted on.  Landscapes, animals and a particularly mesmerizing one of woman holding a child.

"No artist here," he says sharply.  "Just a bunch of junk that ain't been cleaned out in years.  Something I can help you with, ma'am?"

"I respectfully disagree, Mr. Saunders.  I see them as quite beautiful," Ms. Morris says just before spinning back to Vincent.  "But yes, on to the business at hand.  I was hoping to speak to this young man's parents." The anger in her voice is notably subdue. 

About to bear witness to his deserving doom, I want to interject before she rights the wrong that's been done to her.  But I'm frozen stiff, just like the moron on the stoop.    

"Ma'am.  Whatever my boy did, don't worry.  I'll make sure he don't do it again," the elder Saunders says.  His salt and pepper beard and weathered skin is splattered with stucco.

"That's so refreshing to hear, sir.  Young people these days need that sort of parent.  One who cares about the things they do and the way it impacts others."  She makes her way closer to Vincent.  "I wonder if all the kids in this town aspire to be just like your boy?"

Mr. Saunders takes his hat off and scratches his full head of graying hair. "I don't catch your meanin'."

"As it happens, I was running down the mountain trail and listening to my music. The last thing I expected to find were cyclists.  It's not the kind of path that lends itself to bike riders, you see.  So naturally, I wouldn't think to watch out for anyone coming up behind me, and so fast.  But thank goodness, your boy was thoughtful enough to announce his presence."  She shakes her head.  "He could have really spooked me.  Why once, I had this terrible experience when these juveniles came right up behind me and yelled horrific things; scared the living daylights out of me. Kids these days can be downright mean and disrespectful.  Mr. Saunders, it is truly refreshing to finally meet a gentleman such as yourself who tries to raise their children right."

Standing a little more upright, Mr. Saunders looks back at Vincent and almost smiles.  Yeah, I think that is definitely almost a smile. "Wouldn't expect him to be any other way, ma'am.  Like I said, if he ain't doing something right, he'll have me to deal with."

"Yes, I can see that.  To be honest, I recently moved here and wasn't sure what kind of place this would be. But thanks to your son, I had a truly ....memorable experience on my run this evening. What a special and energetic young man he is.  And what is this fine, young man's name?  I didn't catch it," Ms. Morris asks.

"Come on now, boy. Introduce yourself to the nice lady," Mr. Saunders snarls, giddy as a pit bull wanting to play catch.       

"S...s...s...s sorry, ma'am.  M..m...my name is Vincent," he stammers.  A second later, he utters, "Thank you."  

The long pause that follows is agony, kicking my motor mouth into high gear. "Hi.  I'm Mackenzie.  I actually live right around the corner from here at the Farmer's House Café." Like a tour guide on a cruise ship, I extend my arm in that direction.  "Well, I don't actually live in the café.   It's hard to explain.  Come to think of it, if you're around tomorrow morning, you should come by.  Breakfast on the house.  My Aunt makes amazing omelets."  

"She makes a mean banana nut muffin, too," Mr. Saunders says, pulling on his ball cap. Aunt Amy regularly sends Vincent home with a brown bag full of his dad's favorite treats.

"Well, thank you. Such hospitality.  I may take you up on that offer, Mackenzie," she says, studying each of our faces, probably committing them to memory for her most wanted list.  "It was a real pleasure to meet all of you."  She adds with a slight nod, "And Vincent, I'll be watching you.  Not too many boys like you around, dear."  She readjusts her white ball cap, tugs her short ponytail into place and takes off toward Main Street.

When she's finally out of sight, Vincent snaps out of his daze.  "Hey, Pops.  I just got home and was getting ready to work on the mower blades.  Okay if I finish this up and then get right on it?"  He holds up his soda can.

"Alright but you better hurry it up, Vinny.  We got a bunch of yards to get done tomorrow.  Sitting 'round sipping on soda pop ain't gonna cut it."  He makes his way up the stairs and mumbles, "Cut it.  Get it?" just before he disappears inside the single-wide mobile home. 

"Did he just call you Vinny?"  Ethan says.  "Dude, I haven't heard him call you Vinny since we were like.....geeze....eight?"

"Yeah. And he was trying to be funny." Vincent's face scrunches. "What the heck just happened?" 

"Your bacon just got saved is what happened.  And I have no idea why, man.  That lady could have ended you." Ethan says, his eyes still stormy. "Man, I don't get you sometimes.  But I'll tell you one thing, you were definitely on your own with this one, dude.  That was pretty messed up."

My blood pressure is starting to normalize.  "I swear you're like a cat, Vincent Saunders.  A cat on his twentieth life, forget nine.  You seriously deserved whatever wrath she could have brought down on you.  I have no idea why she didn't turn you in.  Someone's watching over you, that's for sure."

"I can see that.  A guardian angel.  I'm sure they're standing in line fighting over who gets that job." Ethan says, shaking his head.

"Whatever.  Obviously the old lady can take a joke."  

"Well, that old lady looked real familiar.  I have no idea from where I would know her from, but you better watch yourself.  News travels fast in our small town.  Trust me."

"Dude, if your dad found out about what really happened?" Ethan says.

"Yeah, Yeah...I gotta go sharpen the mower blades before he comes back outside." Vincent tosses his empty can on his way to the rear of the trailer leaving Ethan and me alone. Trumatized.   

"Well, that was fun," he says, still shaking his head.

"Yeah, loads.  That boy has issues, Matt." Matt's my nickname for Ethan. But I never call him that when anyone else is around.

"Ya think?"

"Oh shoot!  I gotta go!"  I say, jumping on my bike. "Can you make sure your idiot friend doesn't do anything else idiotic please?" 

"Oh, so now he's just my friend?" Ethan yells.

I shout back as loud as my lungs would let me.  "Yep, when he acts like an idiot, he's all yours!" 

I better not be late on account of that idiot.