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Young woman & her Husky move to Wyoming escaping a convict husband and LA Dectective |
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She stood looking out the kitchen window, holding the peach sheer curtains back with a soft hand. The police came to the front door just thirty minutes previous, taking her precious dog with them. The hand on the curtains began to tremble and she breathed deeply. Melissa O’Conner wasn’t going to allow them to take her pooch without a fight, she could assure them of that. Troubled blue eyes took the sunshine out of the room so deep was her gloom and sadness. Her ten month old Husky puppy was in the doggy-jail mobile with that rotten detective driving, smirking, behind them. It was getting to be very difficult being the wife of a convict she decided. Her hand left the curtain and she passed the miniscule kitchen counter to the tiny table where a phone from Goodwill and a stack of mail resided. She lit a candle that matched her brave attempts at synergistic décor, Peach and Cinnamon. She touched the locket that her mother gave her before the brave lady died in the county hospital, on charity, of an overdose. The locket had been passed down through generations of proud Spanish women, despite the intermarriage and hard run of poverty the family had sunk to. Now it belonged to her, the only thing that she truly owned. The locket and her dog and a small Kia was her sole list of possessions. The brave dog looked at her with his blue eyes that matched her own, soul filled eyes that made her weep when she looked at them. “Will you come back?” Melissa wondered. Being a wife was a big mistake. The young woman with old eyes was twenty years old, had been married since she was fifteen just to get out of her parent’s drug infested home. Melissa married a man who took risks, big risks, to provide her with a home and his own secret habits. Isaac O’Conner, once a partner to the very man torturing his wife, was jailed for possession of drugs, running a prostitution ring and being a very successful bookie. He had not paid his taxes in years and the IRS wanted their piece of flesh just as badly as the Los Angeles PD. He was put in jail, his assets and home and properties seized. Melissa, three months pregnant with their first child, was tossed out onto the street by the same smug detective who had just taken her dog. She found work at WalMart, she had the baby and the child died at the age of seven months from SIDS. The dog was from God, she knew. Melissa had been on the brink of doing very stupid things, taking a handful of pills and washing them down with a fifth of Jim Bean, when something howled mournfully outside her door. A purebred Husky puppy with a torn and bleeding paw looked up at her, saw the confusion on her face, and invited himself in. Jack had been her companion since then, and she had taken life more seriously. Now a manager at WalMart, making decent wages, she was able to rent a shack with a yard for her dog to play in. She had learned to decorate with the employee discount she had, and she made a sweet home for the two of them. Then he came, Detective O’Mally, another Irishman with a chip on his shoulder, claiming that her dog had been complained about one too many times, was unregistered, and would be impounded as a public nusicnce. Melissa demanded an explanation, demanded to see written proof these complaints against her dog. “I keep him in the house if I am not there to supervise,” she snapped , ignoring the warrant the rotten cop was flashing in front of her face. She prayed the tears in her eyes would not fall, made herself more angry to prevent breaking down in front of a man who made his leisure time a chance to introduce hell into other people’s lives. “Where is your supervisor? I want his name and number, I am making a complaint!” “Mrs. O’Conner, it really doesn’t matter what you do. No one will listen to the wife of a con. Just shut up and stop making this harder for yourself.” The ice blue eyes contrasted with the tan face and white hair. Still a young man, hate had etched its mark on his face, harsh lines where there should be dimples. She shut her mouth, determined not to do something stupid. Melissa watched as the man swaggered out the door, kicking the kennel where her dog was trapped on his way to the blue cruiser in her driveway. Melissa looked at her mail again. Ignoring the blinking message light, she picked up two identical looking letters, both from the court, both determining her fate. She opened the first one. Her husband was filing for divorce, wanted it final in two weeks. Melissa looked at the post mark and at the calendar. If she put the papers in the mail by this evening, it would get to the right people nearly in time. By the end of the month, she would be free of a man who had beaten her, lied to her, raped her twice. By the end of the month, she would finally be a woman free of a husband. Without hesitation, Melissa clicked her pen and signed every form outlined in yellow highlighter. The second letter caused her more anticipation. It was a record of the court’s findings about her dog. Breathing deeply, she took the letter opener and opened the letter. The contents were better than she could expect. If she would pay the fine for having the dog unlicensed within city limits, and if she complied with the courts order to have the dog enrolled in a three month “Good Citizen” obedience class, she could pick her dog up at the local pound. The total amount she would need for doggie bail mad her choke, but she could make the payment out of her savings. Going back to the window, Melissa looked out at the setting sun. By the end of the month, she would be free of the rat-infested city and somewhere else. Somewhere where her dog would run free and her own wings could learn to fly. Somewhere out West, where cowboys rode their horses and checked fences, and women with one hand and a stub of a hand to the elbow for the other appendage, could make a life. |
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