Mr. Popularity ~ Section II

    By Lisa L

    Beginning, Section II, Next Section

    Chapter Five

    Walk out!
    Girl, don't you walk out,
    we've got things to say.
    Talk out!
    Let's have a talk out,
    and things'll be O.K.
    Girl, I don't wanna fight.
    I'm a little bit wrong.
    You're a little bit right.
    I said, "Girl, you know that it's true.
    It's a little bit me.
    It's a little bit you."

    ~ A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You, Neil Diamond, 1967

    'Look at him, Jane.'

    Elizabeth's excuse for being in the kitchen was to help with dinner, an unbelievably see-through pretext for the inexperienced cook. She'd done nothing more than rinse the kale twice and ruin Jane's salad dressing. In fact, she was trying to avoid one on one time with their guest. Delarango had been there a good fifteen minutes and, except for a half-hearted greeting, she'd backed off and let Jane do the talking.

    She sipped her red wine, his contribution, and didn't feel any better for drinking it. Over the rim of her glass she brooded, 'What could he possibly find so interesting in those old photos? He doesn't even know anyone in them.'

    Her house was a time capsule with contributions and cast-offs representing the best and worst of Bennet taste and sensibility. The oldest were a pair of cherry wood Mission chairs hugging a braided rag rug that circled in an explosion of color. Marginal pieces included a horseshoe shaped coffee table, picked up on a road trip through the Southwest, and a lamp influenced by old time fashion sporting a ruffled brown shade on a milk-glass base. Under Hook's friendly escort, Delarango had been pouring over a wall of framed family photographs that captured events at the ranch from as far back as the 1920's.

    As Jane tossed her green soybean salad, silk sleeves fluttering like the wings of a white peacock butterfly, she reminded her sister, 'Remember, this is your chance to smooth things over and get on a good footing with him.' When Elizabeth finally nodded in agreement, Jane turned her attention to their guest, 'What do you think of our family photos, Rick?'

    'You're lucky to have them.'

    'Our great-grandmother, Mama Gertie, was a diligent writer. She chronicled the time she spent here. From her efforts, we have a combination historical record, family album and stream of consciousness journal. She was a great fan of Virginia Woolf and Henry Miller.'

    'Which one is she?' he asked, scanning the rows of photos on the paneled wall.

    'The one on your right, with the women down at the beach. She's the tallest, wearing a bathing cap.'

    One of the few things that could entice Elizabeth to join the conversation was a discussion of her infamous great-grandmother. They'd always been compared as similar in looks. When Elizabeth was little, her grandmother predicted she would possess the same temperament as Mama Gertie. Elizabeth found this a great compliment. She thought of her as a trailblazer, a forward-thinking, modern, no-nonsense woman.

    She told Delarango, 'There's another of her sitting in a rattan chair out on the deck. In the pants and the cardigan.'

    He studied the images in both photos and squinted back at her. 'You look a lot alike. There's definitely a resemblance.'

    'I've been told we have similar personalities, too. She was a no nonsense woman. She was headstrong and didn't let things get in her way.'

    'Is that a book she's holding, Elizabeth?' Her face screwed up when he said her name. He'd learned it from Jane.

    'It's not a book, Rick, it's one of her journals. Look on the shelf.'

    Delarango diverted his attention to the bookcases that shared space with the photos. It showcased favorite books from generations of Bennets, works consumed at the ranch over the decades. Amongst the choices across the top shelf were several of Mama Gertie's dog-eared Virginia Woolf titles, Cannery Row, Steinbeck's masterpiece about the local area, and eyebrow-raising works for their times including Ulysses, and The Tropic of Cancer. Her personal journals were there too, and Delarango easily spotted the one in the photo. He pulled out a worn leather volume embossed across the front with "1934" and cautiously turned the yellowed pages as he sat on one of the few contributions Elizabeth had added to the house, a new couch.

    Hook lounged at his feet while he had an unhurried look through. 'Do you feel closely connected to the ranch?'

    This guy's as thick as the extra chunky salsa he makes. Here he was encapsulated in a time warp of questionable Bennet decoration, staring at a plethora of family photos stretching back for generations, standing in a house so old that it could only still be standing for sentimental reasons, and he asks if she feels connected to it? Boy, he didn't get it. Or, maybe he had some other motive for asking. Like another offer to move ready for her to sign on the dotted line. Oh, Delarango was smooth. And, unbelievable. And, she was about to eat vegetarian stir fry with him!

    She talked over Jane, who launched into a courteous answer, to clearly state her position, 'Papa Joe came out to California and, on the way to San Francisco, saw this land. He risked everything to buy it and worked for years to pay it off. The ranch is so much a part of me that if someone were to try and take it away, it would be like cutting off my arm. If I had to leave here, you might as well rip my heart out because it would stop beating and I would die!' That was as close to announcing her position over a bullhorn as she could get. It should squelch any ideas he had of trying to buy her out again. He had to have gotten that message.

    The room was quiet after her outburst. Jane let the silence wash away some of her sister's heartfelt, if overemotional, speech before she once again offered her honest perspective, 'As I was about to say, I understand the significance of the property being our family's heritage but I don't think of it as anything more than a vacation home. The only reason I come here now is to see Elizabeth. If she didn't live here, I would never come.'

    'Jane! How can you say that about our legacy?'

    'I just see it differently. I'm not as emotional as you.'

    'I can't believe you really feel that way.' It was tantamount to defecting to the other side.

    'That doesn't mean I condone the way Mom went about it all. That was way out of line but, if she called us all together about selling the ranch and buying beachfront on Kauai, I know how I'd vote.'

    'But that wasn't Papa Joe's intent. He meant for it to belong to our family.'

    'Elizabeth, you can't possibly know that. Maybe if Papa Joe had traveled to Kauai, he'd have sold the ranch and bought there.'

    'I don't believe that. And, don't you care that you'll leave me homeless?'

    'Lizzy, it was a hypothetical example. Don't get upset.' The doors to the deck were open and a gust curled through in a poor attempt to lighten the air.

    Maybe Jane needed to hear this as much as Delarango. 'If this land didn't belong to our family, I wouldn't care where I lived. I'd live out of my truck on the side of the road.' Elizabeth switched her focus to their guest, practically daring him to wade in, mention anything to do with his part in all of this, and have his head cut off in the process.

    'I admire your passion,' he told her. She clicked her tongue against her teeth before he continued. 'And I share your viewpoint about the connection with the land. For me, if I'm going to own something, I want to feel that there is a reason for it besides the financial investment. It needs to be a part of me in some way.'

    'If you really feel that way, then why did you make me that offer? You should have known that I wouldn't take it.'

    'What offer are you talking about?'

    She shot Jane disbelieving look and answered, 'Last May? Lawyers in LA, a moving offer, compensation, dinero?? Does this ring any bells?'

    'I don't know anything about that. It wouldn't have been from me.'

    'Oh please, it had to have been from you. There's no one else my mother's been stupid enough to sell any land to but you.'

    'What was the firm's name?'

    'I don't remember.'

    'Would you mind showing me the letter?'

    'I don't have it anymore.'

    From the kitchen, Jane piped up, 'She burned it!'

    'Did you really?' Delarango looked at her a little differently, lingering over her with an expression she couldn't interpret. He appeared not to be bothered at all with the direction in the conversation. He dropped it as easily as he built evil dwellings and walked into the kitchen to give Jane a compliment about the menu. Hook followed him and Elizabeth was left on her own to eye the fireplace and wish that amongst the ashes there was just one bit of the letter left intact. It didn't matter. After all, who was he kidding? She knew it was from him!

    Dinner was to be consumed out in the September night, under the watchful supervision of The House. As Elizabeth gathered serving dishes to carry to the deck, Jane leaned in as she breezed past, 'You're sounding a little antagonistic towards Rick, Lizzy. Try and tone it down, huh?'

    Elizabeth deliberately took a seat with The House behind her, Delarango sat opposite her and Jane staked out the buffer zone in between.

    Delarango made a big to-do about Jane's cooking, especially the soybean salad. While they were eating, Jane did all she could to keep the conversational drift going in a convivial direction. She asked Rick about his artistic forays and Elizabeth was treated to tales of how Delarango's painting was included in an exhibit at USC's Fisher Museum, how Delarango had been a contributing author to an anthology of Principles of Leadership and Personal Achievement in Business Excellence, how Delarango had collaborated on the design of The House, and how impressed Jane was with Delarango. She couldn't stand it any longer.

    'I saw your sculpture at the city council offices.'

    'You did? I'd be interested to hear what you thought of it.'

    'It reminded me of a pack of rabid Dobermans.'

    Neither missed it when Jane loudly inhaled but Delarango's full attention never wavered from Elizabeth. Ever since he'd arrived on the hill, she'd felt invisible around him. He deliberately didn't speak to her. He didn't even seem to see her. Now the recipient of his exclusive appraisal, she wished he'd go back to ignoring her. She squirmed and picked at her tofu and kale.

    'That's not a bad interpretation, Elizabeth. Raging, uncontrollable beasts is an excellent depiction of evil. That's the nucleus of the subject and I'm glad I was able to express my meaning to you. The work represents man's eternal conflict between good and evil.'

    'That's what Ed told me.'

    'Who's Ed?'

    She looked sideways at him, 'Never mind.'

    In the kitchen, as they prepared a tray of dessert bowls filled with berries and homemade yoghurt, Jane scolded Elizabeth, 'You're not trying, you know.'

    'How much do you want to bet he's making this stuff up? Who could possibly be accomplished in such a variety of things? And at his age? He's not some old man that's been at it for decades.'

    Jane glanced out to the deck, 'He's definitely not some old man. Have you noticed how his green shirt enhances his eyes?'

    'Green doesn't enhance brown eyes.' Elizabeth's wish had finally been answered tonight when Delarango arrived and handed her the wine. With no obstacles to limit her view, he set a pair of dusky brown ones directly upon her. With that kind of unobstructed view, she grudgingly admitted they rounded out his overall gold star looks.

    'So, you noticed them?'

    His eyes had nothing to do with what was going on here. She pressured Jane, 'There's nothing we know about him that's been above board and honest. And, what kind of help are you? You're so easily influenced. You've taken up as head cheerleader for Delarango's team. Don't expect me to fall into place behind you.'

    'You're exaggerating. And slipping back into the state of mind you've been stuck in for the last year. I'm just trying to make up for your lack of graciousness towards our guest. Now, pull yourself together!'

    As she set the spoons and napkins on the tray, Elizabeth advised, 'Jane, someone has to remain objective here.'

    When they returned, Jane blithely switched the subject of the conversation to Elizabeth, bringing her occupation out of the closet, mentioning her recent business trip and her sea otter project.

    It looked like a light bulb switched on over Delarango's head, 'So, you're around marine mammals at work?'

    'I used to be every day. Now I spend most of my time in my office. The sea otters have priority and I'm devoted almost exclusively to that program's development.'

    'That's very impressive, Elizabeth. When do you expect to have it up and running?'

    'I don't know.' Things weren't moving along fast enough to suit her. The majority of the funding hadn't been released yet. 'I'm just getting everything lined up, waiting for the word to go from Mark.'

    'Is Mark your boss?'

    At the introduction of Mark, Elizabeth let her guard down and gushed, 'Yes, Dr. Mark Wieggoché. He established ORRI back in 1980. He's a genius, really, he's built the place up from nothing into one of the most prestigious centers for marine rehab.' Elizabeth spoke at some length about the facility and Mark, she couldn't talk about one without other, and left no doubt of her admiration for Mark Wieggoché's years of work.

    'And now that he's helped Elizabeth with her sea otters, she's going to be a pioneer in the field. It's pretty exciting, even for someone like me who doesn't know a seal from a walrus.'

    'Well, he sounds like he can get things done.'

    'He can. Not only is he brilliant, he's powerfully persuasive. His efforts are why we have the funding for the sea otter program. He can talk anyone into anything. Last Christmas, he got me to work a 24 hour shift so everyone with families could have the day off. I still don't know how he did that!'

    'That doesn't sound ethical. I hope he doesn't do that too often,' Delarango ventured.

    If anyone asked, Elizabeth would swear the sun rose and set with Mark Wieggoché. She took umbrage at Delarango's remark and considered it further proof of the poor character she judged him to have. Sidetracked from her scathing analysis of him during the praise-fest of her boss, she veered back onto her path of neighbor bashing, lying in wait for her next opportunity.

    Jane presented the perfect one when she asked him, 'What do you think seeing your house from this angle?'

    He glanced fondly towards his property, something he'd done more than once while they'd been outside. 'It's like sitting in the passenger seat of your own car.'

    'Speaking of cars Delarango,' Elizabeth reverted back to calling him by his last name, 'do you have a valid driver's license?'

    Delarango didn't seem to notice that Jane closed her eyes and mouthed an expletive. His polite answer belied that anything was out-of-line with such an enquiry.

    'Yes I do.' They faced off across seasonal berries and when Elizabeth didn't respond, he asked, 'Why are you asking me that?'

    'Well, seeing that you've run me into a ditch, that you don't know a thing about safe speed limits on a road like this,' she gestured off in the distance, 'or anything about yielding the right-of-way, I figured you might have had it revoked for too many infractions.'

    Jane tried to diffuse the hostility Elizabeth was determined to escalate, 'I don't recall seeing any speed posted on Calle de Oro.'

    She inadvertently opened the file on another contentious matter. Elizabeth practically demanded of Delarango, 'And, why did you go and name the road Calle de Oro?'

    'Because it didn't have a name.'

    'It certainly did have a name. It's been Bennet Ranch Road since Papa Joe bought this place.'

    'Not according to Caltrans. They had no record of any name for it.'

    'Why didn't you come and ask me about it?'

    'Because if there was no name for the road, you'd have already known, having been here before me.'

    'Well, I didn't know it.'

    'She found out when she went to check about the height of your fence.' Apparently, it was too tempting to remain on the sidelines, but every time Jane joined in, she seemed to make things worse.

    'What?' Revelations about Elizabeth's activities were opening Delarango's attractive brown eyes. He was getting more than he bargained for with his invitation to dinner.

    'That's right,' Elizabeth crossed her arms, 'I went into San Ramona to see if your fence was built too high.'

    Brows rose and furrowed. Delarango asked, 'Was it?'

    'No, but if it was, I was going to make you tear it down.'

    'I'm sure you would have tried.' Something that sounded very much like a challenge slipped into Delarango's reply. It set off a flurry of an exchange.

    'That's when I found out you changed the name of the road.'

    'I didn't change anything. There was no name for the road.'

    'What about the sign?'

    'That old sign that was down by the mailboxes? That indicated the turn to Bennet Ranch.'

    'No, it didn't. It identified the name of the road. You should have come and asked me first, Delarango.'

    Delarango seemed to be trying hard not to lose his cool. 'Well, you should have come and asked me about the fence, Elizabeth. As far as the name of the road goes, I thought a long time about it and picked a very good one.'

    'Lizzy, if it's not Bennet Ranch Road, Calle de Oro is nice.' With an unappreciative look from her sister that said to pipe down, Jane took a big mouthful of yoghurt.

    'If you'd asked me, then it could have officially been named Bennet Ranch Road. That has significance. Calle de Oro means squat!'

    'You say that from only one perspective!'

    'You want to talk about limited perspectives? Have another look at The House.' Delarango seemed momentarily confused by Elizabeth's nickname for his residence. He looked over the old summer house. 'Not my house, your house!'

    After he had a quick glance at his black boxes huddled across the way, she made her point, 'That hulking spectacle has caused me to take in your perspective on what constitutes a house for the last year. Never mind that I think it's probably what Picasso would have come up with if he'd designed a house-'

    He pointedly interrupted her, 'Comparing any talent I might have with Picasso is not an insult, Elizabeth.'

    '-after consuming a few bottles of your precious red wine.'

    'Oh?' It was a frosty, one syllable response.

    She wasn't deterred. 'Your perspective has become my perspective whether I like it or not! Why did you have to build it so close to my place? You bought two acres- '

    'Actually, it's one point eight five-'.

    'Okay, fine. Why didn't you give me some breathing space with your one point eight five acres? Better still, why didn't you buy land in Santa Barbara?'

    Elizabeth was practically shouting. She'd risen from her seat and emphasized the picturesque coastal town she'd much rather see Delarango living in by hitting her palm against the table. The bowls shook, Jane jumped, and he leaned back in his chair to candidly appraise her. Even in the limited light she saw his color darken. He looked at her just like he had earlier. Differently.

    Hovering above him, she refused to feel embarrassed about what she'd said. Let him look. He can think whatever he wants about me. She'd shed her baggage and felt better for it. Elizabeth was hitting aces from her side of the court.

    And, she robbed him of his chance to return service and rack up some points of his own by gathering up the dishes and stamping into the kitchen. As she scrubbed and dried, and saw Jane talking earnestly to him, her euphoria evaporated. By the time she'd put the last bowl away, she knew she really didn't feel any better at all.

    What had she achieved? Nothing. He was a defiant bastard that couldn't even apologize for the mess he'd made. What had changed? Nada. He was going to skulk around in The House until time immortal. He was here to stay. Even when she won, she lost with Delarango.

    Delarango. It sounded like the number 6 combo plate at Lupe's Taco Pit.

    He didn't stay much longer. Jane followed him inside and they went over to the bookcases, talking low and perusing the shelves. Before Elizabeth could say anything about it, Jane had helped him pick a few of Mama Gertie's journals to take home and read. Souvenirs in hand, as he walked past the counter he made a concerted effort to end the evening on a polite note, 'Thanks very much for dinner, Elizabeth.'

    From the other side, her standard polite reply slipped out, ridiculous under the circumstances, 'Your welcome, Delarango,'

    Once he was gone, Jane got a glass of water, downed three aspirins and propped her elbows on the kitchen counter. She rubbed the tender spots of her temples as she stood side by side with her sister. 'Sometimes you amaze me.'

    'I don't suppose that's meant as a compliment.' Eventually she asked, 'It was pretty bad, huh?'

    'How bad do you think it was?'

    'As bad as when I tripped up the stairs at Fisherman's Wharf on prom night and broke my ankle?'

    'At least you knew your ankle would heal and there wouldn't be any scars. You know, there are two things that you could offer to redeem yourself: an explanation and an apology.' Jane slipped on an optimistic outlook, although it sounded forced, 'You can/could move forward from there. Now that you've got this all out of your system, I'm sure Rick will improve as you get to know him better.'

    'Jane, you still don't get it. I'm not at fault here. I'm not to blame. I don't want to get to know him any better. I don't like him. He's a bragger. He's a manipulator. He's dishonest.' After a moment's thought, she added, 'And, I hope he builds another road just to avoid driving me off of Calle de Oro again.'

    Before she could go on, Captain Kirk interrupted and instructed his helmsman, 'Warp factor 5, Mr. Sulu!'

    Elizabeth reached to answer her mobile. It was her brother-in-law, calling on her phone because Jane had switched hers off. She turned it over to her and plonked herself on a couch.

    It was late. Weariness weighed Elizabeth down. She felt like she needed to sleep for a week but she couldn't free herself from her thoughts. She chose a remedy that always worked when she couldn't unwind. Leaving Jane talking on the phone, she called for Hook, pulled on a heavy cable knit sweater and headed out the door.

    Completely out of character, lights blazed next door. Maybe Delarango had indigestion and was looking for antacid tablets. Hook looked up at her, questioning whether she was going to lead him next door, over to the rippling ponds he favoured. She deliberately walked the other way, following the sliver of a new moon down the paved road, until she came to a path she knew well.

    Autumn wasn't officially here, but the late night had hints of its impending arrival and Elizabeth wrapped her sweater tightly around her as she stepped off the road. She never worried about walking in the hills like this with Hook; he was alert to other animals. If something was out there, he'd let her know and they'd turn tail and head back home. Sometimes, he wouldn't even venture out the door if he sensed a threat close by. Tonight he sniffed liberally and sensed no danger. But he detected a presence.

    With a bark and a bounce, Hook dashed off over an open field. Elizabeth lost sight of him in the darkness but that didn't matter. What she heard explained everything.

    'Hey boy, what are you doing? Does Elizabeth know you're out?'

    Delarango. Obviously, he couldn't see her either in the thick veil of the night.

    Elizabeth followed his voice and he slowly materialised under the midnight sky. She found herself sharing a vast field guarded by an abandoned apple orchard. The wooded stand shielded the world away, as if it didn't exist beyond the trees. A whim of nature created the private place. Its existence was secure only until dawn lit the hillside.

    'Yes, I know he's out. What are you doing? Do you want to be a midnight snack for a mountain lion?'

    'That would solve a lot of your problems.'

    The secluded atmosphere did nothing to soften Elizabeth mood, 'Well, we can just leave you out here to await your fate.'

    'What is it exactly that makes you dislike me so? I understand you didn't want a house built here. Why didn't you tell your mother?'

    Elizabeth tugged her sweater tighter, 'My mother didn't tell us she wanted to sell off a portion of the ranch. One day I saw surveyors from the deck and I called her about it. We had words, lots of words, over several weeks. The last time we spoke was when she told me she'd signed the papers.'

    'Your mother's shortcomings have nothing to do with me. She certainly wasn't cheated. She got above the value of the land.'

    'That's the only plus out of all of this.' The insinuation to Delarango's unwelcome presence left him silent so Elizabeth continued on, demanding more than asking, 'Have you really done all those things? The painting, the writing, all the creative stuff?'

    'Why do you think I'd make it up?' The intimate setting unknowingly influenced the pair to close the distance between them. Scarcely an arm's length separated them. With Elizabeth's frame of mind, it was like vinegar and water.

    'Come on Delarango, I wasn't born yesterday. It's very unlikely you've mastered all those things and run your Mexican food factory.'

    'I don't care whether you believe me or not.'

    'And, just why did you move here? Aren't you out of your element?'

    Delarango seemed in no hurry to answer her. He took a step away, which still left him close, and eventually said, 'I wanted to get away from running my business on a day to day basis. I was looking for a certain place and when I came here, I knew this was it.'

    'But, the land wasn't for sale.'

    'Everything has a price. Your mother heard hers and that's why she sold.'

    This brought more brooding silence and as they stood in the concealed clearing, the night wrapped them even closer. He bent down to pet Hook and Elizabeth stole a look at him. His hair had fallen loose over his forehead and a 12 o'clock shadow brushed his face. His packaging was something to admire but not something to be swayed by.

    'You know, even though I've put up with all kinds of crap from your house and your blatant disregard for my position as a resident here, I think the thing that has pissed me off more than anything is that you kept ignoring me. I could be standing right in front of you and you never said a word. It happened over and over again. Why were you so rude?'

    Delarango stood up. His eyes were black now, and they pulled her in and held her fast. Without a word, he took his answer out of his pocket and held it in his hand for some time, as if it were a closely guarded secret. Then, he revealed what he had by slipping on a pair of glasses. And still he said nothing; he just looked at her with that same expression she was unable to read.

    Chapter Six

    Oh, Great Googamooga,
    Can't you hear me talking to you
    Just a ball of confusion
    That's what the world is today, hey

    ~ Ball Of Confusion, Barrett Strong and Norman Whitfield, 1970

    On Friday morning of the first week after what had already become known as Black Saturday, due to events at the now infamous soirée, Elizabeth was exhausted. She'd not slept well. Her mind raced and her tired body couldn't find rest. Nothing was worse than tossing and turning and hearing Hook snore peacefully.

    The huge release from dumping her pent up frustrations all over Delarango had caused Elizabeth's emotions to peak and come out on the other side. But the other side wasn't as sunny as she expected. The residual effects of her rant still clung to her. They were like barnacles stuck in the hull of her conscience.

    She tossed and turned and went over - and over - their conversations. Maybe she was wrong. To a degree. About certain things. It seemed there was little doubt she entirely misread that Delarango had ignored her. When he'd pulled out his glasses and put them on, she recalled all the times he'd squinted at her. The man was near-sighted. In the poor light, at a distance, he couldn't see her. She grudgingly gave him that one.

    But, she didn't know why he denied he tried to buy her off the hill. She firmly believed that he should have discussed the naming of the road with her. She still wanted to know why in the world he built The House so close to hers. And, what was this about slandering Mark's business ethics?

    As dawn broke on the other side of her new drapes, she looked at Hook and grimaced as she recalled her rabid Doberman remark. And her assessment of Delarango's driving skills. And her drunk Picasso remark. Her insight crystallized and she understood that he probably didn't have a very good impression of her.

    Jane didn't know she wrestled with such thoughts. Elizabeth chose to keep a steely façade when it came to discussing anything Delarango. While Elizabeth orchestrated her movements all week to avoid him, Jane managed to tour The House and was treated to Delarango's premium brand of baked corn chips and guacamole.

    Delarango. It sounded like a grubby, good-for-nothin' desperado sneering out from a wanted poster. If only she could get rid of him by turning him in to the law and collecting the reward. [I was rotflmao here!]

    She had the day off. Jane needed to get to the airport by noon. To try and combat her fatigue, Elizabeth took Hook for a walk before they were due to leave. When she came back, she noticed Jane's bag wasn't packed. She wasn't ready to go. She was peeling an orange, slowly eating each section. Elizabeth observed, 'You don't look like someone set to fly home.'

    'I'm not.'

    'Well, you'd better get on with it. Your plane leaves in an hour. Hurry up.' Elizabeth went around Jane and reached for an energy drink out of the fridge.

    'I've decided to stay for a while longer.'

    Intuition kicked in, that inexplicable force that could set off sirens and flashing red lights. Elizabeth immediately became wary, 'Well that's great, but why?'

    Jane was straightforward about the business at hand. After throwing away her orange peel and washing her hands, she said, 'Lizzy, you're having difficulty adjusting to all these changes in your life. There's nothing wrong with needing time to accept them, but after a year, if you haven't been able to resolve it on your own, you need to get help.'

    Elizabeth thought she hadn't heard her sister right, 'Hmmm?'

    'It's time for an intervention. I need you to listen and not say a word.'

    'Oh, please Jane---'

    'Quiet!'

    'Jane,---'

    'Sit down!' Elizabeth's eyes widened as she sank onto a bamboo bar stool. 'You're in denial. You aren't acknowledging your own part in all this. You aren't aware that you need help with your problem. I'm closer to you than anyone and I have to do the right thing.'

    Jane spent the next 15 minutes highlighting the events of the past year, always focusing on Elizabeth's reactions and her inability to understand, adjust or forgive, and silencing her sister when she tried to interrupt. 'We're not going to get anywhere if you don't let me do the talking. You'll have your turn in a minute.'

    She mentioned Elizabeth's trip back east and her professed desire to establish a new relationship with Delarango upon her return, only to blast him with her pent up hostilities once she had him in her sights. As Jane leapt from point to point, Elizabeth began to crack. 'I just want my life back to what it was.'

    They went back and forth. Elizabeth never got the last word in and found herself verbally cornered. Through watery eyes she looked at her sister, 'Jane, I'm so confused.'

    'There's help out there to get you through this.'

    She waffled, 'Oh, I just don't know.'

    They talked some more and eventually Elizabeth came around and admitted to Jane she was wrong to have gone after Delarango the way she did. She gave Jane a peek into the dark place she'd been inhabiting, 'I honestly couldn't control myself. Once I started in on him, I had to keep going. Sort of like a shark chasing a blood trail.'

    Jane repeated, 'You need some professional help.'

    Elizabeth didn't put two and two together straight away. 'That might be something to consider.'

    'You know this is not normal, especially for you?' You're always the one who lights up a room and who's upbeat and positive.'

    'I am, aren't I?' she posed meekly.

    'Yes. So, you agree you're in a crisis?'

    Elizabeth nodded. She wondered how long it had been since her cheerful self had been replaced by a cynical one. More than that, when was the last time she'd woken up to thoughts other than The House and the man connected to it? Too long. She reflected back on her regrets from this morning and nodded at Jane again.

    'Great, grab your purse, I'm taking you for treatment now.'

    'Treatment?' Now she got what Jane meant about taking a trip to see a professional.

    'Yes, that's the most important part of the intervention. I talk, you listen, you go to treatment. I've made an appointment with a doctor. He's expecting us.'

    'Now? But I haven't had lunch yet.'

    Jane went to the kitchen, grabbed an apple and banana out of the new fruit bowl, and handed them to her sister. She took the energy drink out of her hand. 'Come on, now.'

    Jane got her moving and walked right on her heels all the way to the truck. They both stood at the driver's door.

    'Give me your keys.'

    'I'm having problems adjusting not driving.'

    'Lizzy! This is how it works with an intervention. You can't take care of yourself. I have to drive you or it's not an intervention anymore.' She held out her hand and Elizabeth reluctantly dropped the keys into it. They got down to the main road and Jane hung a right.

    'Where are we going?'

    'San Ramona.'

    'Then, you're going the wrong way.' Jane executed a u-turn while Elizabeth got a case of nerves. 'Where in San Ramona?'

    'Do you know where Jimbo's All Day Buffet is?'

    'Yeah, is the office close to that?'

    'No, that's where the doctor is.'

    'What!?' Elizabeth put her foot down, 'I'm not going to see a doctor who works out of an all you can eat diner!'

    'It's just a central place to meet. He's from out of town.'

    'Which town?'

    'San Francisco.'

    'Why would he come all the way here to see me?'

    'He's doing this as a favor.'

    'Why?'

    'Because he was asked.'

    'I ask people a lot of things that they don't do, Jane.'

    'He's a friend.'

    'I didn't know you had any friends who were therapists.'

    'I don't'

    'Then, whose friend is he?'

    Jane's admission followed a long pause, 'Mom's.'

    'Turn the car around!'

    'I will not.' Jane gripped the steering wheel tightly.

    Elizabeth would have turned the car back around if she'd been driving. Restricted in her options, all she could do was offer her opinion based on the kind of company her mother kept. 'This is going to be a complete waste of time.'

    They pulled into a crowded parking lot of a building done up like a log cabin with a snow covered roof. Jimbo, Elizabeth assumed, was the fiberglass giant in a red checkered shirt guarding the front doors. Someone had taken a hunk out of one of his ears and hacked off his kneecaps. He was one tough mountain man, still smiling despite his losses.

    'I've heard of this place,' Elizabeth mulled.

    'Really? That's good.'

    'Actually, it's not.'

    They went in, and once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she stood stunned at the scene before her. Everywhere she looked seniors scavenged the buffet bars and consumed voluminous plates of food at numbered picnic benches. They crossed the sawdust-covered floors in a great circular migration. Tables, buffet bars, tables. Then, the cycle was repeated. Tables, bathrooms, buffet bars, tables. It was a social scene as crowded as the Serengeti. Clearly, this was where it was happening in San Ramona if you were part of the over 60 crowd. [OMG, am I happy I don't live there! LOL]

    From over in a corner, a man stood up at his table and gestured to them. Elizabeth rightly assumed this was the doctor they'd come to meet as he was the only one in the place, besides the staff, who wouldn't have been a card-carrying member of the AARP.* Nothing about his appearance, he was dressed in a lightweight turtleneck and casual slacks, gave any indication of his professional individuality.

    'Hello, Ms. Bennet,' he stretched his hand out to Jane.

    'Hello Dr. Collins. I'm Jane. This is Elizabeth.' She cleared up their identities.

    'Ah, the patient.' He inclined his head towards her and Elizabeth saw an earphone protruding from his left ear. 'Hello! I was waiting for you.'

    'Well, we got here as fast as we could,' Elizabeth said and then, when he began talking to the velveteen curtains, she realized Dr. Collins had answered a call. Jane giggled behind his back.

    'I hate those phones,' Elizabeth mouthed to her.

    They sat down at Table 16 and eventually Collins did whatever he had to do to disconnect the call. He said nothing else, merely inspected Elizabeth in a non-committal fashion. The patient felt obligated to speak. 'This is my first intervention.'

    'We are here today for you, Elizabeth. This is your, time. I hope you've come prepared to listen with an open mind.' He smiled into space and asked, 'You got my information?'

    'No, I don't have anything, do you Jane?' But Collins was off again, talking to the voice in his ear.

    While he spoke, the waiter arrived and ran through the multitude of offerings at Jimbo's. Apparently, the $8.95 price also included bottomless drinks. Elizabeth's eyes lit up as he set large, empty glasses in front of them. All things considered, ordering a martini to rival the size of Lake Tahoe seemed to be just the ticket about now. She rejected the idea when she saw the look on Jane's face. It was as if she could read her mind sometimes. 'I'll have a diet Pepsi.'

    The doctor concluded his call in time to order a drink and, at the waiter's invitation, looked towards the salad bar. So did Jane, who declared, 'Start without me, I'll be right back.'

    'Jane! Is this an intervention or have we come for a cheap lunch?'

    'Sorry Lizzy, but I'm hungry.'

    'Why did you have me eat that fruit?'

    'Because you need to concentrate on your therapy, not BBQ ribs.'

    Dr. Collins couldn't take his eyes off the mountains of food. He rose from his seat, 'I'll only be a moment Elizabeth and then we can begin.'

    The waiter arrived, flashing an "I like big tips" grin as he filled their glasses. Elizabeth sat flipping her knife end over end while Jane and the doctor filled their plates. She eyed the Chinese bar and considered rebellion. But her hunger had vanished. Once they returned and settled in, Dr. Collins managed between bites of shrimp and Swedish meatballs, 'Now, Jane has told me about your problem, but I'd like to hear about it from you.'

    He put down his fork, poised a pen over a small pad of paper, and waited for her to begin. She launched into her story, jumping back and forth from point to point, finally ending with the image of what it was like to have her view replaced with the unsightly edifice of The House.

    Dr. Collins' first question addressed this, 'Have you always disliked boxes?'

    'I don't dislike boxes.'

    'Do you have some sort of phobia for the color black?'

    'Black isn't a color. It absorbs all colors and reflects none.' He scribbled on his pad when she said this and Elizabeth felt compelled to explain, 'I don't particularly like black, certainly not on a house.'

    Wearing stretchy white pants and a matching jacket, Jane volunteered, 'I don't like black either.'

    'Please Mrs. Bingley, remain an observer if you will.' He returned to Elizabeth, 'But, you dislike the architectural style of this house which, by your own admission, is a group of boxes painted black.'

    'That's a reflection of the owner's bad taste.'

    'Ah, the owner. Perhaps now would be a good time to explore his part in all of this.' Dr. Collins cast a stealthy eye at the pasta bar. Its lure was too great and he interrupted Elizabeth, just as she was about to begin, with a raised hand, 'If you'll just hold that thought, I'll be right back.'

    He retreated to wait his turn at the end of a long line of patient plate-holders. Elizabeth leaned across to Jane, 'Have you completely lost your mind? What could you possibly have been thinking meeting at this place? His mind is full of how much food he can pack in.'

    'I think he's jumped in and really started to get into the heart of it all. And, we do have to eat if we're taking up a table.' Jane glanced in the doctor's direction and back to her sister, offering an apology as she rose, 'Sorry, I'll only be a sec.'

    Jane trotted over to the pasta bar and conferred with Dr. Collins. They both returned with heaping plates of colorful sauces and imaginatively shaped noodles. The doctor picked up a laden fork. It hovered threateningly at his mouth while he instructed his patient, 'Alright, now let's hear about this man.' Then, he devoured the oversized bite.

    'Delarango?'

    He mumbled affirmatively, 'Yes, would you describe him for me?'

    Elizabeth bit her lip in thought and answered, 'Well, he's very tall, has a hint of olive in his complexion, thick dark hair with a little bit of a wave - just the length that's long but not too long, very large hands he takes good care of, a classic Greek profile, although I don't think he's Greek, and he needs glasses.'

    Jane couldn't help but toss in her two cents, 'He has a wonderful voice, doesn't he Lizzy? Deep and confident without being overbearing.'

    'Tell me about the other night,' Collins coaxed.

    'Well, we had a few moments.' Jane cleared her throat and Elizabeth elaborated more fully on events from last Saturday, giving the doctor important as well as irrelevant details of the conversations that night. She ended with the talk she and Jane had about his shirt.

    With a mouth full of linguini and clam sauce, Collins hit one into left field with his next question, 'What shade of green was his shirt?'

    Jane jumped in, 'Sort of emerald.'

    A large group of buffet migrants shuffled behind Elizabeth. One from the herd knocked her in the head with an elbow and either didn't notice or didn't think it was worthwhile to stop long enough to apologize. Already testy from the food and phone interruptions, Elizabeth snapped, 'Jane, eat your pasta!'

    Her patience lost with her well-meaning sister, the good doctor and the proceedings in general, she continued, 'It was peacock but what difference does any of this make? The shade of his shirt, his voice, that fact he's drop-dead gorgeous has nothing to do with anything.'

    'Ah! I can see we need to implement some relaxation techniques. Here's an excellent tool.' Collins' nostrils flared with a huge intake of air. 'Deep cleansing breath. It does wonders. You try.'

    He smiled encouragingly at Elizabeth. She creased her brows at a speck of oregano stuck to his tooth and would have given the doctor some specific instructions on what to do with his over-inflated counsel but for Jane, who was also encouraging her by sucking in air through 'O' shaped lips glowing in the sheer, dimensional shine of Crystal Coral gloss. Elizabeth gave in and took a dainty breath. Dr. Collins smiled at her and indulged in another together before he finished, 'You need to get out of these destructive negative-thinking habits. Let the situation resolve by itself.'

    Then, Dr. Collins smoothly explained the method to his madness. 'How you described Mr. Delarango has absolutely everything to do with it. You named all his physical features that appeal to you and did not offer any examples about how he behaved, how he acted, or what you thought of it. It wasn't until I questioned you about the other night that you told me. My educated guess is, despite a real distaste for him due to events you've experienced, you're attracted to him. I'd also put my reputation on the line,' he summed up, with a tone of voice that indicating he was quite pleased with himself, 'by concluding that a degree of sexual tension exists between the two of you.'

    Sex! With Delarango? Elizabeth's eyes practically popped out of her head.

    'I'd like to ascertain how serious it is,' Collins told her.

    'That's ridiculous!' Elizabeth refuted the doctor. She visually implored Jane to back her up. Jane just shrugged. Intimacy with her neighbor? Consensual nookie in The House? Consensual...she mused. Sensual, sensuously, sensuousness, sensuosity! She shook herself free from those thoughts and felt compelled to state her position, 'I have never - ever - had any thoughts of that nature towards Delarango.'

    'Consciously.'

    'Or unconsciously,' she insisted.

    'But Lizzy, if they were unconscious, how would you know you had them?'

    'Jane, he told you to be quiet!' She addressed Dr. Collins, 'Look, I'm not interested in Delarango.'

    'That's for us to ascertain, now isn't it Elizabeth?' He put down his fork and looked directly at her. 'And, nothing good can ever come between the two of you if you can't move past the resentment you have for him. Good afternoon, Dr. Collins here.'

    He'd taken another call. Elizabeth told the ceiling, 'I don't believe this. Any of this.'

    Dr. Collins didn't seem to notice her frustration with his tableside manner. He made quick work of his latest call and continued, 'So, let's address your hostility of late. Whether or not he deserves any portion of it, it appears you've projected all your aggressive tendencies onto this Mr. Delarango.'

    'But, he's been responsible for everything that's changed at the ranch! He even changed the name of the road to Calle de Oro.'

    'You don't like the name?'

    'No, of course I don't.'

    He jotted some more on his pad and asked, 'Is it that the name is in Spanish? Many Californians don't recognize the cultural heritage we have with our neighbors to the south.'

    Elizabeth shook her head.

    'Perhaps you actually do like it, but refuse to admit it because Mr. Delarango chose it? We may have some control issues here too, Mrs. Bingley.'

    Jane shared a concerned air with the doctor while they both scrutinized Elizabeth.

    'This has nothing to do with control. I already told you, the road had always been called Bennet Ranch Road. Calle de Oro means nothing.'

    'To you.'

    'That's right, to me.'

    'Control,' the doctor confirmed. He went on, 'Maybe it means something to him. Have you considered that there is another person who is responsible for the changes in your life?'

    Everyone knew to whom he referred. 'Of course.'

    'It appears that you haven't made any effort to come to terms with your mother's part in this.'

    This was unfortunately true. Jane nodded.

    Dr. Collins pushed his plate away and, no longer under the influence of a mediocre meal, began to sound much more credible. 'Elizabeth,' he began, 'all situations we face in life can be classified into two categories: things we can change and things we can't. When you have no control over a situation, sitting and worrying and getting angry won't make any difference to the outcome.'

    'The key to moving on is forgiveness--of self and others. You must forgive yourself for the way you've acted. You must forgive your mother for her part in this and you must forgive your neighbor for his.'

    He put it all back on her. Elizabeth looked guilty.

    'Forgiveness is a two way street. If you really want to resolve this, you need to clear your conscience by apologizing to Mr. Delarango.' Elizabeth dropped her head into her hands. While she'd kicked around that very notion during her sleeplessness - some sort of general 'if my conduct on Saturday night overstepped acceptable dining conventions, I am sorry' speech - hearing it said out loud made it very real. Her stomach roiled. Collins continued, 'But, Elizabeth, it must be genuine. Don't do it until you're ready. You'll known when its time. Have you ever heard of reframing?'

    Thinking he'd taken yet another call, she remained buried in her hands and didn't reply.

    He repeated, 'Elizabeth? Have you ever heard of reframing?'

    Apparently, this was meant for her. She looked at him through spread fingers, 'Well, it usually involves new wood, glass and matt boards!'

    Humor was apparently not his strong suit. Dr. Collins appeared confused.

    'Chronic stress makes us vulnerable to negative suggestion. Reframing is a technique used to change the way we look at things in order to feel better about them. This exercise helps you to learn to focus on positives. The key is to recognize that there are many ways to interpret the same situation. It involves three simple steps,' he ticked them off on his fingers. 'First, accentuate the positive. Second, eliminate the negative. Finally - the most important - latch on to the affirmative.'

    'And don't mess with Mr. In Between,' Elizabeth sang as she perked back up and twirled her finger.' From their blank looks, Jane and the doctor did not find her jokes amusing. She sobered up and said, 'Sorry.'

    'You have nothing to apologize for. Remember this time is for you and what you can get out of it.' He paused before taking off in another direction, 'I'm not going to extend myself any further for this cause unless clear parameters are set.'

    'I just want my life back,' Elizabeth explained.

    'You may very well think that but I couldn't possibly comment.'

    'Isn't that what you're here for?'

    Collins tapped on his ear phone, indicating he was once again talking to someone else. Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the table while he finished. Then he told her the first thing that she could really latch on to, 'You've always had your life Elizabeth, it's up to you what you choose to do with it.'

    Thus began, over profiteroles and espresso torte, thirty minutes of quality Elizabeth time, punctuated by Collins' breaking off only twice in mid-sentence to redirect his conversation to callers.

    He ended their time with a long-winded questionnaire about diet and stress. 'Do you experience migraines, lack of energy, insomnia? Do you have skin problems, hair loss or bleeding gums? Are you regular?' Collins asked her about her sugar intake and fretted over her abused adrenaline glands. He touched upon her salt consumption and fussed over her blood pressure. He recommended a comprehensive physical exam and a radical diet overhaul.

    'That's been my goal for the last week,' Jane injected into the conversation.

    'I had no idea my diet could be so deadly.'

    'Do as I say, Elizabeth,' Dr. Collins advised.

    She watched him spoon tapioca pudding into his mouth. Definitely not as he does!

    They came the end of their session. After Jane paid the bill and they stood to leave, Dr. Collins was inspired to lead them in one final motivational tool. The good doctor extended plump hands to Elizabeth and Jane, whose faces were the essence of bewilderment.

    'Let's join together for some parting inspiration.' The quickest way to get out of Jimbo's was to go along with him. They followed his lead and bowed their heads, Elizabeth sending up her own prayer that no one in the restaurant knew her.

    Collins began, 'Now, repeat after me. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.'

    He paused patiently until they recited, 'God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...'

    'Courage to change the things I can.'

    'Courage to change the things I can...'

    'And the wisdom to know the difference.'

    'And the wisdom to know the difference.'

    Elizabeth left under a smattering of stares from the diners, some of whom had paused their midday food intake long enough to watch the curious events at Table 16. She was armed with pamphlets on nutrition and its relationship to her mental health, a ten-point chart to make it through the day with a positive perspective, the number to a 24 hour stress management hotline and a new way to breathe.

    Dr. Collins offered a final parting encouragement over a parking lot full of sensibly priced, midsized cars, 'Remember Elizabeth, it's a waste of energy to worry about events over which we have no control, and to deny any attraction you might have.'

    At the beginning of the drive home, Jane made a point of praising Dr. Collins and probing Elizabeth for her thoughts on it all. But Elizabeth didn't feel like talking. Jane left her alone to mull things over. She thought about stress. She thought about how much 'bad fats', trans fatty acids and saturated fats, were coursing through her body. Enough to implode her. She thought about eliminating the negative. And she thought about Mr. In Between, Delarango, who had become the man of the hour this afternoon. She had no doubt that Collins had aimed in entirely the wrong direction when he targeted her feelings for him as romantic. It was impossible. Delarango? What a joke.

    Delarango. The De La Raaaango! It sounded like a 60's dance craze, the latest in-thing for a teenybopper shindig, danced wildly for a few months before it was dethroned by the Hanky Panky.

    * AARP: American Association of Retired Persons

    Chapter Seven

    Posted on Saturday, 2 June 2007

    When I woke up this morning
    You were on my mind
    And you were on my mind
    I got troubles, whoa-whoa
    I got worries, whoa-whoa
    I got wounds to bind

    ~ You Were On My Mind, Sylvia Fricker, 1965

    The wind had turned with autumn's departure and chilly blasts, easily mistaken for Arctic bellows, roared off the sea and up the hillside. It whipped the tufts of long, dry grasses into an agitated state and moaned a lonely cry across the ranch. A doleful whistle threaded through a tiny space in the old sliding doors that extended along the length of Elizabeth's deck.

    Before a cheery fire Hook lay at her feet with his head between his paws. His eyes flicked towards the doors whenever they rattled and shook. Elizabeth reclined in one of the Mission chairs with a handmade quilt tucked around her. On a table by her elbow was a mug with green tea pooled at the bottom. A weighty bestseller, ‘How to Live Long Through Good Nutrition: The Essential Guide to Healthy Living', rested on her lap and all the information from Dr. Collins cluttered the floor, along with a mountain of her own sourced from Internet sites and the local library. Elizabeth knew much of it by heart, having spent the weeks since the intervention at Jimbo's trying to apply it to her daily life. It was an exercise in self-sacrifice when it came to avoiding some of her favorite foods. It was one in self-healing when it came to coping with stress and looking at life from a different perspective. She'd taken hug steps to accentuate the positive and made significant changes in her outlook towards health, tolerance of others and what it meant to forgive and forget. The ‘forget part' was possibly the hardest of all, especially given the view through the open drapes.

    Ultimately the Elizabeth of old, the one who'd been M.I.A. for the last year, was back. A little bruised and a little wiser, but back just the same. And overtly cognizant of how very un-Elizabeth-like she'd been. She'd over-reacted to events and over-dramatized the effects they'd had upon her. And the dinner! The empathy she felt towards Delarango maxed out whenever she revisited that night. If she felt this way, how must her victim feel?

    As always, this led Elizabeth to what had become known as The Delarango Question. It was not so much of a question as it was an assessment of the dynamics brewing between her and the gentleman next door. There was no way she could accept Dr. Collins' assertion that she was attracted to him. She didn't identify any feelings - deep or superficial - that told her she wanted Delarango for a long weekend, an invigorating night, or even a speedy 30 minutes. He was attractive, no problem admitting that, all you had to do was take him in and unless you'd just crawled out from under a rock on an undiscovered continent that was obvious. But, Elizabeth liked to think she was deeper than that when it came to who she decided to fancy. She didn't know Delarango, and she knew zippo-zero about him except what little she learned through a slick magazine article, some fancy food packaging, his self-proclamations and Jane's second-hand tidbits.

    Still, she'd come to understand that people didn't always recognize their real feelings. But, facing the possibility that she might subconsciously want Delarango for more than a good tamale recipe was too much to grapple with right now.

    Delarango. The Delarangos. It sounded like the whole Charro team, dressed in their silver-studded jackets, mounted on sleek horses prancing down Colorado Boulevard on New Years' morning. Feliz Año Nuevo!

    Now, Elizabeth focused on her apology. The doctor had predicted she'd know when the time was right. But so far, all she'd come up with was empty a bunch of empty excuses to avoid the inevitable. Since Jimbo's, she'd done nothing but duck for cover whenever the risk of contact with her neighbor seemed imminent. Guarded eyes shifted towards the sliding doors. Outside, mere yards away was The House, with Delarango doing who-knows-what inside: painting, writing, cooking, micro-managing his food empire from hundreds of miles away. She'd spotted him numerous times. And avoided him just as many.

    Her newly enlightened self-awareness led her to one clear-cut fact: she was chicken. Every time she came close to making direct contact, her bravado popped and she was left a deflated, rubbery shell of doubt. If she didn't change her approach, she'd never accidentally-on-purpose bump into him and get past this apology business!

    Maybe tonight she'd taken strength from the forces of nature roaring outside because this time she wrestled with her reluctance and won, finally formulating a speech to testify to her newfound knowledge and attitude. It touched upon every point that should be addressed. Elizabeth's confidence grew with her progress until, rallying her enthusiasm, she got up and paced the floor, deftly stepping over Hook as she went back and forth experimenting with her delivery style: Honest and conciliatory; sincere and contrite; direct and assured. She settled on positive and genuine. The most important aspect of it was she really meant what she was going to say. She went to bed fully prepared to speak to him the next morning. It would be a new start to their relationship.

    In the morning Delarango's sprinklers automatically came alive, watering his lawn with showery precision. It was the first thing Elizabeth heard. Over time, a strange transformation had occurred without her realizing it. The House - and the presence of its owner - had woven into the fabric of her daily life, making routine and predictable events next door go hand in hand with hers, so that one happening without the other came to mean that something was missing.

    When Hook was slow to come back inside - a friendly exchange with Delarango would have occurred.

    Dusk fell - like clockwork Delarango's drapes were routinely pulled shut.

    Returning from work - light from the stained glass porch light next door cut through the night.

    Late night on the deck - one by one lights inside The House were extinguished until only a solitary one continued to shine in the top middle window.

    So this morning she didn't think twice about the soft sound of sprinklers waking her up. Her apology was her first thought. The fragile speech had shattered during the night and pieces of it floated around inside her head like space debris circling Earth. As she let Hook out, she quickly put it all back in place and steeled her faltering will which, during the night, had inched her back towards the Chicken Zone. If she was going to get through this, a prepared mental state was crucial so she poured coffee and began to run through the speech as she waited for Hook. He was back before she'd started on a second rehearsal. She recruited him as her audience and received tail-wagging approval. This buoyed Elizabeth's confidence and spurred her into action. As soon as it was practical, she pulled the drapes and stepped out onto the deck, half expecting Delarango to be waiting for her across the narrow divide.

    He wasn't. Just like last night, it was cold and windy. Except for the iridescent patterns excess water from the sprinklers left on Delarango's concrete, there were no signs of life at The House. Her momentary disappointment didn't diminish her enthusiasm though and Elizabeth left for work with one eye on the rear-view mirror, looking forward to getting back home to hunt down Delarango.

    After work, when she crested the last rise of Calle de Oro and approached her carport, Elizabeth appraised her surroundings. Something was out of place. She quickly identified a black patch where there was usually a warm beacon from Delarango's porch light. So, Delarango had an absent-mindedness about him. She tucked away this tidbit of knowledge and as she parked, picturing him mad scientist-like in his kitchen-slash-laboratory, knee deep in bubbling sauces, scribbling notes on the results of his latest concoction, too busy to even notice that night had fallen.

    A novel idea struck her. To hell with trying to invent an "unexpected" meeting to apologize; she could go over, ring the bell and initiate contact. That would be much better than a devised meeting of the neighbors. He would know she was there for exactly one purpose: to confess her regrets and begin anew. It was such a good idea, she found herself halfway across his drive, finger out ready to punch his doorbell before she came to an abrupt halt. First, she needed to wash away the eau de fish that clung to her.

    Her hellos to Hook were short and as shampoo rinsed away down her face and shoulders, another idea came to her that surpassed the initial genius of her new plan. Capuliatu in crudo, or Spaghetti with Fresh Tomato was penciled in on tonight's menu. She could make it for two. Delarango would appreciate the healthy benefits from the Mediterranean meal and she could demonstrate he'd been an influence on her new way of eating. She could even take over a conversation booster, ‘The Essential Guide to Healthy Living'; it would be a double whammy since Delarango was into nutrition and books.

    Top heavy in her towel turban, she left all the ingredients to marinate and went to finish getting dressed. Tonight the wardrobe road was full of potholes. Nothing looked good. All her jeans seemed baggy and none of her tops did the right thing in the right places. Elizabeth wasted 20 minutes choosing a grey sweater with a daring neckline. In the middle of applying finishing strokes of mascara, she abruptly stopped. A close inspection revealed her eyebrows weren't symmetrical. She leaned into the mirror and wiggled them one at a time. They were seriously askew. The right one curved while the left one sort of angled en route. Elizabeth couldn't believe she'd never noticed it before. It was so obvious and strange looking! She tried to fluff them up to hide the difference. She frowned. While she rummaged through a drawer for her tweezers, the clock reminded her she couldn't dawdle, so she gave up after adding a dash of lipstick and turned away. Maybe her deformity would garner some pity from Delarango.

    With a great batch of Capuliatu in crudo resting on top of the volumous book of health, she headed for the door and didn't go five steps before she sat it all down to wipe her sweaty hands. Nerves had kicked in. She ran through her apology one more time, then picked everything up and went next door.

    The House had one of those over-sized doors, something a goliath could enter through without stooping. Elizabeth fumbled in the darkness and with her elbow pressed the doorbell, part of an elaborate communication system mounted on the wall. While she waited, the wind had its own ideas of what her hair should look like and took action. With her arms full there was little she could do to counter its effects. As she tried to flip her hair from her face without any hands, she remembered her eyebrows. To compensate for their deficiencies, she tried to even them out by raising and holding up the right one. It made her look like half of her face was surprised. She was about to press the doorbell again when the speaker crackled to life.

    ‘Hi!' she offered, hugging the wall to stay out of the wind.

    ‘Hello!'

    ‘It's Elizabeth from next door.' She looked up, expecting the porch light to come on with her arrival.

    ‘This is Rick.'

    ‘I know that! Hey, I've been wanting to talk to you.'

    ‘I can't come to the door right now.'

    ‘Oh, you have to! I've brought dinner over. Are you hungry?'

    'Press and hold down the blue button and leave me a message. I'll get back to you as soon as can.'

    ‘Rick!" Elizabeth began, trying not to make any judgments about his attitude. She pushed the blue button, ‘Rick, did you hear me say I've brought dinner over? I made something I knew you'd like. A healthy Mediterranean dish. All we need is some of your red wine!

    She released the button and waited for his response. When he didn't say anything more, she pushed it again. 'It's dark out here. You didn't turn your porch light on. Rick? Aren't you going to answer the door?'

    Apparently he wasn't.

    'Rick listen, I wanted to apologize about your mailbox and about insulting your accomplishments and especially about dinner the other night, but not through a speaker. Please, just come to the door for a minute. Then, if you don't want to talk to me anymore you can eat your spaghetti alone. Rick?!'

    She rang the bell again and the speaker crackled, 'Hello!'

    She was about to answer again when he continued on, "This is Rick. I can't come to the door right now. Press and hold down the blue button and leave me a message. I'll get back to you as soon as can.'

    ‘Rick! Are you in there?' she asked, forgetting to press and hold the blue button. She leaned against The House, in the dark, in the cold, with her platter of spaghetti quickly losing its steam. Once she accepted Delarango wasn't going to come to the door, she let her eyebrow drop in disappointment before she stumbled back home in the wind.

    Delarango. It sounded like a wannabe artiste who probably spent waaaaay too much time sniffing the paint thinner.

    As she turned away from the driving rain, Elizabeth chuckled to herself. Only fools and dedicated employees would be out on a day like this. She wryly thought they may be one and the same. Once again, she was pulling 24-hour Christmas duties -solo- at ORRI. She was the warm body to handle feeding schedules and emergencies. It seemed like the right thing to do. She'd offered after a blatant hint and a nice Christmas gift from Mark, a $50 grocery store gift card which was nice compared to last year's gift of a cheese and meat platter pre-packaged in Des Moines.

    With her fellow employees in their warm homes that smelled of pine trees and roasted dinners, and Mark off for a few weeks in Napa where he'd bought into a vineyard, Elizabeth slogged along with buckets of fish to Mercy and Mild's enclosure. The refrigeration unit for the sea lions, on the fritz for almost a month, should have been fixed by now but remained out of commission. Their meals had to be hauled over from the large old facilities that housed a number of other ORRI residents.

    She set down the heavy buckets and wiped water from her face. The gray sky blended with the horizon and it was difficult to pinpoint where it stopped and the sea began. A sudden gust roughly pushed her. She picked up her buckets and hurried around the corner and into the sea lions' den. Ready for dinner, they barked approvingly when they saw the buckets. Elizabeth cleaned out their enclosure and played with them, squirting them with the hose. She repeated this general theme for several hours until Christmas dinner had been served throughout the Institute.

    Back in her office, she watched the afternoon dissolve into chaos with bits of debris flying though the air as the storm gained intensity. Inside was cozy enough with her space heater and a package of rice cakes. She looked at the wilted mistletoe hanging from the light. Its red bow sagged. On his last day at work, Mark had tried one more time to get her under it. He'd reminded her that the funding for the sea otters would be in place after the first of the year and suggested that he deserved a reward for his hard work. Elizabeth tactfully demurred. In any other circumstance she would blindly follow his lead. Mark was a dynamic man - full of energy, canny and upbeat. He looked and acted much younger than she suspected he was. She wasn't sure of his age, but a review of his history could zero in on a pretty good guess. Elizabeth was possibly his biggest fan, but she couldn't get past the age gap to think about a personal relationship with him. The kind of admiration that Mark was encouraging just wasn't there.

    As Elizabeth crunched on her rice snack, she decided it was just as well Jane was in Vanuatu for the holidays; she didn't have to test her healthy diet commitment with the temptation of a lot of once-a-year treats. This way, spending Christmas and New Years alone, was really a help for her. None of that artery-clogging stuff this year, she could just sit and prop her rubber boots onto the edge of the desk and munch away on another dry cake. No one to open a bunch of gifts with or swap stories about Christmases past. Yep, she could just sit and watch the weather run amok. She was lucky she didn't have the after-dinner mess to clean up. That was always the worst part of the day. The crowded kitchen had ten different conversations going at once. Nope, she could just sit here all alone, look at the cards she'd taped to the wall, and play with her phone.

    Her last call had been to Jane before she'd left for her tropical paradise. She checked her voice mail; the only two there she'd already picked up, both from Mark wishing her a Merry Christmas. She navigated to her contacts and deleted three she couldn't place. She tested her ring volume. "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" pierced the quiet office with its poignant melody. She tested it again and again - da-da-da da dada dada daa-da - singing the lyrics to herself until it was time to restock the refrigerators with frozen fish from the freezers.

    When she stepped outside, leaning into the gale to keep from being knocked backwards, she half-sang the final line of the carol, 'And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.'

    It was carried away on the wind.

    December 25th might be Elizabeth's marathon work day but New Year's Eve and Day weren't. She popped in for a couple of hours the last morning of the year before she checked out until January 2nd. On her drive home Jane called from a million miles away. She was watching the sunrise tomorrow, New Year's Day, since she was on the other side of the International Date Line.

    'Happy New Year!'

    'Why are you whispering?' Elizabeth asked.

    'I'm the only one up.'

    'How was your New Year's Eve?'

    'Festive! Full of raunchy dancing and French champagne.'

    'You don't like to dance.'

    'No, but the local men do and let me tell you how hot they are gyrating to a primitive beat in nothing but sarongs.'

    'How hot are they?'

    'Hot enough to keep me sizzling all night!'

    'Wicked, wicked.'

    'I will say I used the situation to the best of my advantage.'

    'And my brother-in-law's.'

    'Most definitely! What are you doing tonight?' Silence gave Jane her answer. 'Weren't you invited out?'

    Elizabeth usually had a New Year's Eve fling with friends from University. 'Young families seem to have priority this year.'

    'Oh.'

    'I don't want to go out anyway. The weather's been bad and I've got things to do.'

    'Okay.' Jane didn't sound convinced. 'Maybe Mr. Delarango will be throwing a bash and invite you over. Oh, that's right, someone hasn't apologized yet, unless you want to tell me something I don't know.'

    'He's still gone. I finally get my act together and he vanishes.'

    'It's ironic that you're complaining about his absence. You've wanted him gone since before he moved in.'

    'I know, but now I'm ready to apologize.'

    'Look, Rick will be back, sometime. After building that mansion he wouldn't just abandon it.'

    'You don't think so?'

    'Well, I don't know...'

    'But, you just said...'

    'I know what I just said. What I meant was, he'd have to at least deal with moving his things out.'

    'So, you think he's left to live back in L.A.'

    'I don't know. It would appear he has business in other places to be gone for so long.'

    'That's L.A. He could have a company move his things out and never come back.'

    'Yes, he could. But we don't know that's what's going on.'

    'Well we don't know it's not. And Jane, if he doesn't come back, I'll never see him again!'

    'Don't get so worked up. We don't know anything.'

    'But, it's this not knowing that's bugging me. If he doesn't come back so I can apologize, I'll never forgive him.'

    'I know.' Jane paused and quickly added, 'Oh, I've got to go. Breakfast is being laid out on the terrace.'

    'By a man in a sarong?'

    'Not sure. I can only see a brown chest. I ought to go check if he's wearing anything down below. Maybe they have a custom in Vanuatu that I don't know about! Try and have a good night Lizzy.'

    Elizabeth spent the afternoon working on her sea otter project. Time slipped by and it was dark before she took a break. She let Hook out and had a peek in the fridge to see about dinner. She'd forgotten she needed to food shop. Salad was an option but she wanted something warm and filling. Going all the way back to the market in San Ramona was out of the question so she decided to live a little and order from a roadhouse cafe a few miles down the road. She found their take out menu; they had a veggie burger so she ordered it along with a jumbo side of onion rings.

    She thought it rather pitiful to be working on New Year's Eve so instead she read the news headlines. The lead story about the high price of gasoline had a linked article about ethanol where she learned about corn hoarding to keep ethanol prices high. That linked to an article about how expensive corn tortillas had become in Mexico because of the hoarded corn, all of which led her to forget that Hook was out. She went to the door to find him sauntering up apparently unperturbed about the inclement weather. She went back to the PC and continued, thinking about corn tortillas and Mexican food and people who made money from it and that, of course, led her to Delarango.

    And Elizabeth did something she never thought she would do. She googled him.

    Business links, art links, links that had to do with a charity he founded, and his company's website. Several sites in Spanish, one that, from what Elizabeth could tell, was nothing more than chatting about the attributes of well-known or successful Latinos. Delarango had his own topic and pictures were linked. Elizabeth got lost looking at Delarango in a suit, in a starched white button-down Oxford, with glasses, without glasses and, her personal favorite, tanned in faded blue denim with the sleeves rolled up. Intriguingly dark in the photo - his skin, his hair, his eyes - the picture also portrayed an element of the unknown about him, the enigmatic Delarango. Dr. Collin's theory resurfaced but she was too hungry to think about it. She left Delarango up on her screen to go call the cafe just as their delivery person knocked on her door. Elizabeth grabbed her wallet and rummaged through, looking for something besides a twenty.

    'Hi, do you have change?' she asked as she opened the door.

    'I might but I left my wallet at home.'

    The answer from the other side of the threshold pierced her somewhere way down deep inside. She lifted her head and found herself in a dead stare with Delarango. The alive and kicking version. The situation knocked her of balance and she uttered the obvious into those dark eyes. 'You're not the delivery guy.'

    'Well, I have this,' he said, holding her gaze and a bottle of red, 'so you could call me the delivery guy.'

    Elizabeth smiled uncertainly and lost her voice.

    'I got your message and was wondering if you still had that spaghetti.'

    She shook her head and managed, 'That was from weeks ago.'

    'I've been gone.' They appraised each other as Delarango continued, 'Well, if you haven't eaten, I'm not going to let you start on this. Who knows where that might lead.'

    He said it lightly, politely, without any hint that it was meant other than to keep the conversation flowing. But Elizabeth tried to read deeper into it, wondering if he was referring to the dinner. Maybe that was his way of alluding to it. Then he added, 'Unless you're in the mood just to see where it does lead.'

    Elizabeth scrutinized him more closely. Maybe he meant something else all together. Before she could decide, the delivery guy arrived with her order. He didn't have change so she bought a very expensive burger. Delicious smells filled the doorway. Fate had handed her a belated Christmas gift. This was what she'd been hoping for. Pulling herself together, she didn't think twice. 'Do you like onion rings?'

    'I love onion rings. Have you ever had them with an award-winning Merlot?'

    There was never any doubt about inviting him in. She stood aside to let him pass and found herself riveted to some great-fitting black jeans or possibly what was inside the jeans. She knew this was her moment and she tried to retrieve her apology but watching Delarango as he walked into the house was a distraction. In the meantime he'd asked her a question she'd missed.

    'Sorry?'

    With Hook shadowing him, he was making his way to the PC where marine mammal reference material laid open, 'How's your sea otter project coming?'

    The monitor! A surge of terror jolted her when she remembered Delarango in faded denim reproduced in high pixel resolution looking out across the room. As she tried to remember if her screen saver was set, she practically screamed, 'Rick!'

    Man and beast stopped in their tracks.

    'Watch out, I've got extension cords going everywhere.' The extension cords weren't anywhere near him; Delarango looked around for them which distracted him from looking at the PC monitor long enough for Elizabeth to coax him into the kitchen to open the wine. She left him uncorking on the pretense of lighting a fire, detouring on the way to the PC to shut it off. She exhaled in relief when his picture vanished.

    Elizabeth made a salad and over dinner shared everything except her apology. Things were going so well; they were getting along as if she'd never gone for his jugular like a hungry lioness. She couldn't seem to fit the apology into the cautious dance of reacquaintance they performed. Then, about an hour into his visit, Delarango gave her the chance.

    They sat on the floor, close enough to the fire to feel the heat on their faces, sharing the last of the wine. Several times when they'd been talking, she caught herself drifting off in appreciation of his outward appearance. Tonight he looked just about as fetching as he did in the faded denim picture. She reminded herself she wasn't the type to pick a man based on his looks, at least not his looks. Hook had laid claim to him, never leaving his side even after the onion rings were gone. Now Hook's head rested against his leg. As he stroked the length of the dog's back, Delarango asked, 'So, why do you need to apologize about my mailbox?'

    Elizabeth looked like she'd mistakenly walked into a crowded men's room. 'Look, the night's been really nice. Do we need to mess it up by talking about your mailbox?'

    'I doubt there's anything you could say that would be that upsetting.'

    'Really?'

    'Try me.'

    She decided to take a leap; if she'd thought more about it she might never get it out. 'The day I met you at the mailboxes I was trying to prop yours back up.'

    'It was falling over.'

    'That's right but it wasn't falling over until I hit it with the door of my truck.' Her confession had his full attention. 'I accidentally hit it when I was trying to get out of the truck to catch your mail. The door had opened and it was falling out.'

    'So while you were being neighborly and trying to help me you accidentally knocked the mailbox over? I think I can live with that.'

    'But I didn't tell you that I was the one that did it, and that wasn't right. I'll be happy to pay for the repairs.'

    'Are you happy you got it off your chest, umm, so to speak?'

    She nodded, acknowledging that was the whole story and nothing but the story. Actually, the truth lay somewhere in between but she didn't need to go there.

    'Then that's all the payment I need.'

    Delarango wouldn't listen to any more talk about it. He was so gracious and easy-going that Elizabeth just sort of slipped into talking about the last year and how she'd turned into another person.

    ‘It never occurred to me that someone else would live up here. It's been just me for so long and it happened so fast that I never had a chance to get used to the idea before everything changed. I didn't react well.' She played with the end of Hook's tail. ‘Every little thing just set me off and my attitude took a dive. I would like to apologize for that.'

    She didn't know whether it was that Delarango was astute and understood how much she needed to tell him the things she did or that he was too polite to interrupt, but Elizabeth made most of the points she outlined with him listening quietly. Her speech wasn't delivered like she'd planned; it evolved into a dialogue that acted as a bridge of understanding between the two of them. Too far to cross in just one short interlude, nevertheless, the way to establish friendly relations was identified; the course was marked. She still had questions for Delarango, but not to be asked tonight.

    He didn't stay late; he'd driven up from L.A. that day and was tired. An afterthought made him pause after their goodbye. He stood half-shadowed and the light defined the contours of his face. Looking down at her with a frank expression, he added, ‘Thanks very much for dinner, Elizabeth. Again.'

    They were the exact same parting words that he'd used before, at the end of that fateful dinner they'd never forget, but the way he said them tonight conveyed an entirely different meaning. She closed the door behind him and let the warmth of contentment spread over her.

    So happy with herself and how things had gone, Elizabeth was on a bit of a high so she wrapped up in a quilt and went out onto the deck. The wind had blown away all the clouds and the stars celebrated up above. She couldn't recall the last time she felt so untroubled. She watched them for a while until their light became the same light she'd just seen in Delarango's eyes. They held her fast and wouldn't let go.

    Before she went inside she glanced over to The House, just in time to see one solitary light, shinning in the top middle window, go out.

    Continued In Next Section

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