Brian was struggling with a spreadsheet scheduling the Consortium’s summer classes. He wanted Earle, the carpenter who sang in Trevor’s band, to lead a poetry class—meaning demonstrate his chants—once a week. If Brian could find transportation for twelve students from Asheville and back, the class wouldn’t interfere with Earle’s work on the cabins’ wraparound decks, which paid much more than teaching a poetry class ever could.
From the window, Brian watched a small bird hop outside on the sunlit grass. It flew away and he jumped up as if a cup of boiling water filled his lap.
[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]
His cell phone was vibrating inside his front pocket. His hands swiped at his slacks, which showed no sign of having had a scorching liquid tossed in his lap.
“Hey, Bri. Can you pick me up in Hot Springs? The Spa Hotel. I’m fine, but Angelina’s station wagon is wrecked.”
“Trevor? You were in a wreck and now you’re at a spa? What about the police?”
“The police are fine. Only Angelina’s car is wrecked. It landed in a pool.”
“And you’re unharmed?”
“The water was knee-deep, Brian. No fault accident. A glint off the water blinded me.”
Brian swiveled anxiously in his chair. “What do you mean ‘the police are fine’? You were making deliveries, right?”
“I was on my way home, Brian. Rounding this curve on 70 where the sun bounces off the water. Officer Saunders says it’s always been a dangerous spot. That’s why they built the barrier a few years ago. I’m really lucky.”
“Yeah, Trevor. You’re lucky beyond what anyone should even pray for.”
“Can you come right away? Officer Saunders doesn’t want to leave until she’s sure someone’s with me. In case—one in a million chance—there’s internal bleeding or a concussion or something.”
“Why didn’t you go to the emergency room?”
“On a beautiful day like today when I feel so fine? All an emergency room would do is make me sick.”
“So Officer Saunders is waiting with you at the Hotel Spa?”
“She’s the soul of kindness, Brian. Called her partner to cover for her while we tried out the amenities here. We’re in the tea room. Right when you walk in.”
Kaya was standing outside Brian’s office. “Do you want me to go with you?”
Exasperated and bemused—even for Trevor this was extreme—he shook his head.
Close to four pm, when Brian arrived, Trevor and Officer Saunders, a cheerful woman who looked to be in her mid-forties, were drinking tea and eating lemon squares. Brian said no-thank-you three times.
The officer (“Call me Marlene,”) put a warm, damp hand on top of Brian’s. “People stereotype the police as serious and severe. But everyone has dreams. Everyone enjoys a bit of whimsy now and then.”
“Thank you. Can I get the bill?”
“Trevor paid that. Look at the time,” Marlene said and extended her hand to Brian. “Pleasure.” She clasped both Trevor’s hands and he leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
“Thank you so much, Officer. You saved me life.”
“Those are the words policemen and women long to hear.”
After she pushed through the revolving door, Brian said, “Shit, Trevor. Didn’t she smell the stuff on you? I could smell it the second I walked in here.”
“You did? Even after I worked out at the gym here and showered and put on new dry clothes? It’s in my blood. That’s why I couldn’t go to the emergency room even if I wanted to. And you shouldn’t go there, either, Brian.”
“No more deliveries, Trevor. No more driving, even if Angelina calls the accident a fluke.”
“Don’t worry. Jacob’s ganja is way too consecrated.”
“You mean concentrated, Trev.”
“That, too. I can’t drive a car after smoking a friendly bowl with clients—it’s the custom here. Do you think anyone could smoke this stuff four or five times and then stare down the highway distractions?”
Halfway back to the lodge, Brian relaxed. “What did you and the police lady do?” He laughed. “Have saunas and massages before your tea and cookies?”
“No saunas,” Trevor said. “She had a facial and I ran on a treadmill and watched TV. You can rent shorts. But I charged this two hundred dollar sweat-suit on your card. Plus socks and luxury sneakers, which were the only kind they had. Same as the special wick-away underpants.”
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