Alligator Park (25 page)

But things were very
different when I was a young girl growing up.
My life
consisted of struggles and setbacks, and in spite of my optimistic attitude,
after every success I was always presented with one more hurdle to tame.

Many years later,
when I studied physics, it occurred to me that Newton’s Third Law of Motion
“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction” ruled not only
rockets and the planets, but also human lives. I saw a pattern: “For every
advancement there was an equal and opposite encumbrance.” It instilled in me
this weird feeling that somehow I don’t deserve this happiness, that hardship
is my destiny, and this is just the calm before the storm.
I try to forget about it telling myself
it’s only from the stress of working eighteen-hour days, and then, after a few
days, my melancholy passes.

A week goes by, and then, one
afternoon, Will saunters into the kitchen.

“Need anything from the food
store? Tribal Council’s tonight and we’re out of Fry Bread.”

“Can’t think of anything,” I
say.

“Okay, I’ll be back before
dinner,” he says, and then drives away in his SUV.

An hour later, one of the
servers enters the kitchen and tells me there’s a guy at a table asking for me.

“He told me he was an old
friend. Just wanted to wish you luck with the restaurant,” she says.

I wonder: Could it be
Logan... or one of my friends from the university? I peek through the window,
but don’t recognize the back of his head. I wipe off my hands and stroll into
the dining area. And then, when I turn to face him, my heart races at top speed
as I realize I’m being confronted with my worst nightmare.

It’s Damon.

I think about running back
into the kitchen, but it’s too late; he’s already seen me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Is that any way to greet an
old friend?” he says.

“I’m not your friend.”

“Oh, come on. Are you going
to hold that against me?”

“How did you know I was
here?”

“Your picture. I saw it at a
rest stop. Recognized the blue hair.”

“Eat your meal and leave,” I
say, and turn to walk away. He grabs my hand and I snap it away from him.

“Don’t touch me or I’ll have
you arrested.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I came to
apologize. That wasn’t me back there. My girlfriend had just cheated on me and
I was drinking to ease the pain; okay, I drank too much. I’m not usually like
that. Just tell me you’ll forgive me so I can have some peace.”

“If you want
forgiveness, go to church,” I say, and then rush back into the kitchen. I watch
him finish his dinner and see him toss some money on the table as he gets up to
leave. The waitress picks up the check and the money and then rushes into the
kitchen.

“He left me a twenty dollar
tip,” she says.

“Don’t let that fool you.
He’s trouble.”

“I think he’s kind of cute.”

“You haven’t seen the dark
side of him.”

“I know how to handle men,
always have.”

“For your own safety, please,
stay away from him.”

“Maybe you’re saying that
because YOU want him.”

“I’m saying that because I
don’t want you dead.”

“Alright! If you feel that
strongly about it.”

The waitress cleans off the
table and puts the tip in her pocket. Will walks in, and in a panic, I relate
to him the whole story about Damon.

“There’s not a lot we can
do,” he says. “He hasn’t broken any laws.”

“Can’t we file a police
report?”

“What evidence do you have? I
doubt they’d take it seriously.”

“But he’s out there, free as
a bird, and I’m here, a sitting duck.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for
him. Don’t go anywhere without telling me first.”

I avoid the customer parking
lot by day and ask Will to escort me after dark, but I always get this uneasy
feeling he’s out there somewhere, spying on me. Even though I haven’t seen or
heard from him in over a week, the tension is overbearing and wearing me down.
I find myself waking up screaming with frequent nightmares. Even Fargo, who can
sleep through a hurricane, is jarred by my late-night outbursts. And then, a
couple of days later, he hands me a handgun. I look it over and see writing on
the side. It says: Ruger 9mm.

“What’s this for?” I say.

“Just in case.”

“I don’t know how to use it.
It scares me.”

“Come on,” he says, and takes
me to a shooting range. He shows me the basics and after an afternoon of
practice I’m able to consistently hit the target at ten yards.

“I think you’re good enough
to protect yourself,” he says, and then we stop at the police station on the
way back to get the necessary permits for a concealed weapon. Initially, I keep
the gun close to me, in a drawer in the kitchen. But then, after two weeks go
by and there’s no sign of Damon, I place it in the PT Cruiser, safely locked in
the glove compartment, so I don’t forget it when I’m driving alone.

Another week goes by and the
nightmares subside as I return to my former self. I wonder though, perhaps he
was telling the truth and really did just want to apologize. Maybe he’s a
decent guy at heart and just got caught up in a bad situation he couldn’t deal
with. In any event, I’m pretty sure he got the message and has left the area.

I now have some new water
samples for Dr. Parker so I call her to arrange a meeting and she agrees. When
I arrive at the usual meeting spot, a remote area of the parking lot at the
Gainesville mall, she’s already there, sitting in her black BMW. I pull
alongside her car, get out, and then hand her the plastic bag containing the
jars. She hands me a manila envelope with the results from the previous
analysis.

“I’m sorry, doesn’t look
promising. Couldn’t find anything unusual in that last batch.”

I stand there with my hopes
dashed, with nothing to say.

“Maybe the new ones will be
better,” she adds, trying to ease the depressed look on my face.

Suddenly a black car drives
up and stops right in front of both our cars blocking our path. The driver gets
out and strolls toward us, and then, when I see his face, get the most
unearthly feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s Damon.

I think about racing back to
the cruiser and getting the gun, but it’s too late; he’s right beside us and
blocking my path.

“Hello girls,” he says,
trying to be charming. “When I saw the PT Cruiser I couldn’t believe it. What a
coincidence... running into an old friend.”

He turns his attention to Dr.
Parker.

“And you are?”

“Dr. Jessica Parker.”

“A doctor? How impressive.”

“Not an MD. I’m a professor
of microbiology, at the university.”

“Impressive nonetheless.”

“And you are?”

“Damon,” he answers.

“Only Damon?” she asks.

“Damon’s the only name that
matters.”

“Well then, Damon, pleased to
meet you,” she says, and offers her hand out the car window in a well-practiced
gesture of friendship. He returns the courtesy and shakes her hand.

 “Well, I’ve got to run,” he
says. “Nice to meet you Dr. Parker. Maybe the three of us can get together for
lunch some time.” He strolls back to his car, starts the engine, and races
away.

“Who was that?” she asks.

“Trouble. I’d stay away from
him.”

“Don’t worry, when he finds
out I’m married with three kids, he’ll lose interest.”

“Okay then, see you next week?”

“Next week’s fine,” she says,
and then speeds away.

I scramble to the cruiser,
lock the doors, and then place the gun on the seat beside me. If Damon pulls
anything funny, I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary, even if I have to
shoot him.

I embark on the long trip back to Fargo’s
place oppressed by the possibility that Damon may be out there stalking me, roaming
around, waiting for just the right moment to ambush me. At any moment I expect
him to pull alongside and force me off the road and into the ditch. What could
I do if that ever happened? My car would be disabled and I would be at his
mercy. And the roads are so deserted he would have plenty of time to do as he
pleases.

Thank goodness for the gun. I
rest my hand on it every few minutes for reassurance, to make sure it hasn’t
moved out of my reach in the event I am forced to use it. But nothing happens
and I arrive safely back at the restaurant.

I relate the incident to
Fargo and he suggests I file a police report. He takes me to the state police
barracks and Detective Bolt invites us to his office. After we file in and take
a seat, he shuts the door and sits down behind his desk.

“Did he at any time threaten
you?”

“No, not really.”

“Did he threaten Dr. Parker?”

“No, in fact he was quite
cordial.”

“Then he’s broken no laws.”

“But I just know he’s up to
something. Look what he did to me before.”

“I don’t doubt for a minute
the incident in North Carolina happened exactly as you described it. But why
didn’t you file a police report back then, when you were up there?”

I relate to him the reasoning
behind our decision, that Damon might be a local boy and have powerful
connections, people of influence that would believe him over us. He could turn
everything around and make us out to be the perpetrators.

“I’m sworn to uphold the law,
but if no laws are broken there is little I can do. I’m sorry,” he says.

“I understand.”

“Look, if he ever makes any
threats, or even hangs around and harasses you, give me a call and I’ll
personally check it out.”

“I appreciate that,” I say,
and then exit his office. As we stroll back to the jeep, Fargo turns to address
me.

“If you see him around, let
me know. I’ll find out what he’s up to, even if I have to beat it out of him.”

“Actually, I’d prefer you
stay out of it. Maybe I’m seeing more into this than there is. Maybe he’s
really out to make amends.”

“He’s already made amends. In
the meantime, avoid going anywhere alone... until this thing blows over.”

“Don’t worry, I keep the gun
with me all the time. I feel safe with it.”

“As you wish,” he says, and
then we drive back to Fargo’s cabin.

Back in my
bedroom, I peer over the lab printouts from the previous samples and
corroborate Dr. Parker’s assertions that they are about as exciting as a glass
of water. There’s no sign of any contamination. I’m left with an eventuality I
had not considered; my research is now effectively shut down until I get the
results from the new samples. All I can do is wait, so I redirect my efforts
toward the restaurant.

Will is doing a superb job
managing the staff in my absence and appears to enjoy it. His proposal for an
addition has already been approved by Tribal Council and work is scheduled to
begin any day. It would double the size of the dining area, but put additional
burdens on all of us, and probably require the hiring of additional help. But
the extra revenue is well appreciated and Fargo is using his newfound wealth to
remodel the kitchen and bathroom in his house.

The excitement of the new
construction and the additional tourist traffic makes time go fast and the next
thing I know a week has passed. I call Dr. Parker to get the results of the
previous samples, but there’s no answer. I call back an hour later, but the
phone just rings and rings and then puts me into her voice mail so I leave a
message for her to call me.

A couple of days pass by and
still there’s no response. I give myself the excuse she is probably too busy
with her students, but secretly, I’m starting to get worried.

It’s now been over a week
since I left that first message and still there’s no callback. I’m now calling
several times a day and leaving a voicemail each time, but I don’t even have a
text message in response. In desperation, I call her once again. The phone
rings and rings and rings and then I get the announcement, “Message box full.”
It’s obvious something is wrong. Has she lost interest? Is she sick?

I discuss the issue with
Will, relate to him my concerns about how Dr. Parker isn’t returning my calls.

“Pay her a visit,” he says.

“I can’t. If someone sees us
together, she could get fired, or even sued.”

“Wear a disguise.”

“A disguise?”

“Sure, it’s easy. You lose
the blue hair, and then you dress down, so you look like a student.”

The idea intrigues me, so
Will and I drive to the local thrift store where I manage to find a worn-out
pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and a hat big enough to hide my hair. Then I
get some hair dye and some whacky cosmetics to have fun with. To make my
disguise even more convincing, I pick up a fake nose ring and some temporary
tattoos. 

“When are you going,” he
asks.

“Monday. We’re closed anyway,
so it shouldn’t cause you any problems.”

“Never gave it a thought,” he
says.

...  

On Sunday
morning, Will asks me to accompany him to church. I tell him I’m too busy, but
he insists, making the unarguable case I need to take some time off to let my
mind reset and untangle itself from the daily irritations. He’s right. There’s
no denying it’s been a hectic couple of weeks and I need to chill out so I take
him up on his invitation. He opens the restaurant as usual at 6:00 AM and then
tells the cashier and head waitress we’ll be out for a couple of hours and to
wing it until we get back.

We drive to a
small Catholic church about twenty-five miles away and then, after we’re
already seated, discover this particular service is all in Spanish. But it’s
only a minor inconvenience since Will and I both understand enough Spanish to
know what’s going on most of the time.

After the
service, we step out the front door and into the bright morning sunshine
caressed by the refreshing breeze of a cool March day. A woman, about my
height, with black hair, and a smile that could tame an alligator, approaches
us and stands in front of Will. From the intense gaze between them, it suddenly
becomes apparent this is not a chance encounter, and there is much more than a
casual friendship going on here. I’m flabbergasted and speechless so I blurt
out the first stupid thing that pops into my mind.

“You know each
other?”

They give each
other a smile and then Will responds.

“This is
Juanita.”

“Pleased to meet
you,” I say, and offer my hand in a formal gesture I picked up years ago and
mindlessly do out of habit. We shake hands and then I blurt out the second
stupid thing that comes to mind.

“Are you two
going out?”

“I’m hungry,”
Will says. “Let’s go have breakfast.”

No one objects so
he takes Juanita by the hand and leads us to his SUV. I climb into the back
seat relinquishing the front seat to Juanita. Will takes us to a Tex-Mex diner
fifteen minutes up the road that, from the number of cars in the parking lot,
appears to be doing a brisk Sunday business. Inside, it’s bustling with
families and their kids so we ask for a booth in a far corner and the hostess
gracefully accommodates us. I order an iced tea and a Western Omelet brimming
with a generous helping of red bell peppers and the others do the same.

“So... where did
you guys meet?”

“Juanita and I go
way back, from when I was a SEAL, on shore leave. Met her at the local food
co-op where she was working. My mother had sent me to buy ‘three sisters’ but I
didn’t know what that was and couldn’t find a sign with that name on it. I
wandered aimlessly up and down the aisles until Juanita realized I needed help
and came to my rescue. She politely explained that ‘three sisters’ was the
traditional Indian name for corn, beans, and squash. I told her I lived in
Georgia up until I joined the Navy and my dad, even though he was Creek, wanted
to live like white folks. He didn’t like my mother filling my head with
‘useless Indian folklore’ as he called it. So then Juanita took my hand, led me
to the counter, and handed me a fruit drink she made herself. And while I stood
there, sipping that fruit drink, she patiently recited the whole legend to me.
I got to tell you, the minute she hit me with those beautiful eyes, and that
addictive smile, I knew I wanted her.”

“Go on.”

“Well, we dated a
bit, but it never worked out because I was here for only two weeks, and then
I’d be gone for eight months. When I got out, up in Philadelphia, I often
thought of her, but was ashamed of being homeless. You see, I used to tell
everyone how, when I got out of the Navy, I’d be educated, have money, be
successful. I couldn’t bring myself to come here; I was embarrassed.”

“But you’re here
now, and everything worked out.”

“Thanks to you.
Remember when you asked me to come to Florida, because you were afraid to go
yourself, and that you needed someone experienced, someone strong, to show you
the way?”

“Yes, I
remember.”

“Well, I always
wanted to go, but didn’t have the courage to take that first step. Your drive
and enthusiasm was the shot in the arm I needed. Without you, I’d still be up
there, feeding pigeons on a park bench, and begging for quarters.” 

“And now you’re a
restaurateur,” I say.

“I guess you can
say we fed off each other’s energy.”

“I’m so glad for
both of you.”

Will wraps his
arm around Juanita and pulls her close, and then she goes on to explain how she
came here when she was only five, how her father left their ancestral home in
Laguna Pueblo in New Mexico, near Albuquerque, looking for work as a migrant
worker, trying his best to give the family a better life. Her mother had been
active in the mission at Laguna and often talked about going back. But he
always wanted to stay one more year, which turned into ten, and then into
twenty, and is now going on thirty. So after a few years, when it became
apparent this would be their home forever, she joined the local church and
raised her family in a book she loved deeply, the Bible.

“I can see why
you two get along so well,” I say.

Will takes the
little black book out of his pocket and holds it up for all to see.

“Amazing little
book. Always comes through in my time of need.” And then he and Juanita gaze at
each other with an all-knowing smile that makes me suddenly feel like a third
wheel. I redirect my attention to my omelet and then sip on my iced tea,
glancing around the room in a lame attempt to make myself invisible. But after
a few moments, life returns to normal and I politely wish Juanita all the best.

Will drops her
off at a small house set back in a field planted with cabbage, and as we drive
away, I ask him why he didn’t tell me he was seeing someone.

“Well, you know
how these things go. Sometimes they don’t last.”

“But you could
have told me she would be here today.”

“I wanted it to
be a surprise, see your reaction when you saw her for the first time.”

I tell him what a
nice couple they’d make and how happy I am he now has a special person in his
life.

“Yeah. Juanita’s
the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

I nod in
agreement and then we quietly make the trip back home.

... 

Monday arrives and time for
my trip to Gainesville. The first order of business is to get rid of my blue
hair so I dye it black. Then I place some fake tattoos on my wrists and neck,
and slip into the jeans and flannel shirt we picked up at the thrift store. I
lighten my complexion with foundation, darken my eyelids to excess, color my
lips bright red, and then install the nose ring. To erase any vestige of my
former self, I apply black nail polish over the blue I normally wear, tie my
hair into a bun, and push it up under the hat to give the illusion I have short
hair. As I gaze into the mirror, I see a person I don’t recognize. But will it
work on others?

Will and Juanita are in the
front room watching TV so I saunter in, swinging my butt and shoulders in an
exaggerated manner, like a hooker on skid row. As I pass by, they laugh
hysterically.

“If I didn’t know it was you,
I’d swear you were someone else,” Will says.

“So it works?”

“Totally.”

Will reaches into his pocket
and hands me his car keys.

“Here, take the SUV. Someone
might recognize the PT Cruiser. Juanita and I aren’t going anywhere.”

Will winks at Juanita. She
looks away in a blush, waving him off with her hand.