(Part 16 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas Tale)
Battling beaver clogs was not for the meek.
Rosalyn paused, breathing heavily. "Putrid rodents," she muttered. She turned to Excalibur, who stood nearby, watching. “You know, rodents and men, they are a lot alike: Into everything, and always causing problems. Why can’t they just leave me alone? Or better yet, quit throwing their weight around?” Rosalyn remembered the kiss on the church steps, and bit her lip so hard it made her eyes water.
Next to her, Buck began digging, too.
***
Headed her way with the solution to all of Rosalyn’s problems in tow behind his truck, Bodie whacked the steering wheel again. His truck lurched to the right. Bodie swerved back to the middle of the lane. He caught a glance of himself in his rear view mirror. The face staring back was masked by days of frustration, probably frustration over this idiot woman who wouldn’t take his help.
Was it just a lie? Bodie put their imaginary future on the imaginary line, and repeated what he said to Rosalyn earlier: "Choose now, Rosalyn. Quit hiding."
The engine died. "Perfect," he said, “just perfect.
***
Excalibur stamped a foot and snorted. His nostrils flared. He pawed, but the woman scrambling at the beaver dam ignored him. He wanted her to stop.
***
Looking over his shoulder inside of the Woo’s Fine Fortune Cookies factory where he had just been hired, the man with dreadlocks saw that he was not being watched. He logged in to his workstation and opened the fortune file. A few sentences later, his mission was accomplished. The man threw his locks back and laughed. He stood up, and walked out of the factory into the parking lot.
The modern art anchoring the lot’s decor was a metal tree with fortune cookies for leaves. It was also an experiment in the art of sound. A breeze hit the cookies, and they began to moan. The hobo looked up.
***
A shooting star cascaded across the horizon.
“Nope, I’m not even going to bother with a wish. Whatever I want, the opposite will happen, anyway.”
Tears welled up in Rosalyn's eyes. She wiped them with the rough sleeve of her work coat, and chewed her lower lip. As a child, she had growled when angry, until her mother told her to quit acting like an animal. It was either growl or cry. Rosalyn growled.
The horse paced, watching her. Buck looked up from his own digging, and whined.
Then it hit Rosalyn. Not the horse or the dog, an idea.
She reached into her pocket and held out a treat. “Come here, Excalibur. I have a job for you.” The horse stretched out his nose, and refused the treat, but let her slip on the halter.
“Now that’s more like it. Trust the human. Good horse.” Rosalyn held his lead line in one hand and bent over to pick up the rope. The palomino snorted softly. “We’re just going to use a little horse power here,” she said, and wrapped the rope around the base of Excalibur’s neck. “See I just need you to give a little tug here, get the stupid dam loosened. Just one stick loosened, just a little leg up, so to speak.” She smoothly tied a bowline, the one knot that wouldn’t slip.
“OK, Excalibur, I need you to walk. All you have to do is walk. Can you do that?” The horse flicked an ear at her. “Walk, Excalibur, walk.” The horse walked as if on explosive egg shells, but he walked, nonetheless. The powerful gelding appeared to agree, just this once, to do her the favor of a truce. The rope tightened.
The clog unclogged with a huge whoosh of debris. The blob of a load shifted and slipped out of the rope. Frightened, Excalibur lunged away, and his momentum upended Rosalyn, pulling her feet out from under her.
Rosalyn hit her head on a rock, back-sledded down the iced-over bank, and plunged into icy water up to her neck. Shooting stars danced in front of her eyes.
(Next: The still form in the frigid water)
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