eyes as if she could see into him. Or through him. “You don’t remember my name, do you, Harold?”
“It’s just that I’ve been busy.”
“It’s Pepper.” She pointed to the dog. “And that’s Glenda.”
“Glenda?”
At the sound of her name, the dog jumped up, tail wagging. She whisked her nose into his crotch and slimed Harold’s pants.
“Mind your manners, pookie, come here,” Pepper commanded, but the dog ignored her, clicking over to inspect Harold’s trash can.
“Why Glenda?”
“You mean why do I own a dog I can’t train, or why did I name her Glenda?” Pepper’s remark was light, but Harold still pulled her collar to get her away from the trash.
He shrugged. “Both I guess.”
“She’s not that bad, just needs more exercise than I can give her lately.” She scruffed Glenda’s head. Her tone fell. “My ex took me to see a performance of Wicked about the time I found my lump. He left me the next day. A couple weeks later I went out to the rescue shelter when I just couldn’t stand to return to an empty apartment ever again. Do you ever feel like that?” She got up and strolled over to the photographs on his wall. “These are pretty.” She straightened one of them. The attention somehow endeared her to Harold despite the way she ignored the dog’s disappearance into his bedroom. “Yosemite?”
“Yes.” Georgia had tried to get him to go to more theater, but large crowds made him queasy, and people randomly singing and dancing made him uncomfortable. It was unnatural.
“How come you never make it to any of the complex parties?” Without waiting for an answer, Pepper headed for the door. “I better go. Thanks for the water.” Hand on the doorknob, she paused, eyes locked on the Kaleidoscope. “But I will not thank you for showing me that creepy toy. Come on, Glenda.” She patted her leg to coax the dog to her side and rushed out as if she’d just remembered leaving something on the stove.
“I didn’t tell you to look in it,” he said to the closed door, and glared at the ’scope. It had rolled in between the salt and pepper shakers. He lifted it to the light streaming through the blinds. The same swirly colored glass chips floated and fell into a random pattern.
Still nothing.
Associate names with something concrete you will recall easily , the book advised.
“Pepper,” he repeated, replacing the ’scope next to the crystal shakers on his table next to the salt. “Pepper and spice. Pretty, perfect Pepper.”
****
Walter pulled the hoe through the hard earth pocked with weeds, turning the dense soil. He’d worked all morning, hand-plowing the thawing soil enough to plant the tomatoes he’d coaxed to sprout inside the shack. Drifts of gray ice and snow still huddled next to the cabin walls, but the sun had appeared for three afternoons in a row, and he was anxious to get his vegetables planted from the seeds he’d brought along.
He’d managed the past few weeks by hiking into town and rummaging through the town dumpsters, but as the weather changed and the flies buzzed, he found it more and more difficult to find anything edible in the rotting slop. And his body craved fresh food, no more leftovers from skiers’ hasty lunches purchased at the deli on their way back to the flatlands.
Walter straightened, then twisted at the waist until his spine popped. The sun’s afternoon rays penetrated through to his stiff muscles. He headed inside, leaving the gardening. Before it grew too dark to see, he wanted to read over the material he’d carried up the mountain. He knew buried in there somewhere were clues that would prove his innocence.
With the ’scope finished, he had time now to work on the ciphers and figure out who wanted him dead.
****
The next day at lunch, Pepper floated into the courtyard, and saw Harold, her mouth forming an “oh.” He didn’t know how to accept the smile that bloomed as she crossed over and plopped down on the bench next
“It’s just that I’ve been busy.”
“It’s Pepper.” She pointed to the dog. “And that’s Glenda.”
“Glenda?”
At the sound of her name, the dog jumped up, tail wagging. She whisked her nose into his crotch and slimed Harold’s pants.
“Mind your manners, pookie, come here,” Pepper commanded, but the dog ignored her, clicking over to inspect Harold’s trash can.
“Why Glenda?”
“You mean why do I own a dog I can’t train, or why did I name her Glenda?” Pepper’s remark was light, but Harold still pulled her collar to get her away from the trash.
He shrugged. “Both I guess.”
“She’s not that bad, just needs more exercise than I can give her lately.” She scruffed Glenda’s head. Her tone fell. “My ex took me to see a performance of Wicked about the time I found my lump. He left me the next day. A couple weeks later I went out to the rescue shelter when I just couldn’t stand to return to an empty apartment ever again. Do you ever feel like that?” She got up and strolled over to the photographs on his wall. “These are pretty.” She straightened one of them. The attention somehow endeared her to Harold despite the way she ignored the dog’s disappearance into his bedroom. “Yosemite?”
“Yes.” Georgia had tried to get him to go to more theater, but large crowds made him queasy, and people randomly singing and dancing made him uncomfortable. It was unnatural.
“How come you never make it to any of the complex parties?” Without waiting for an answer, Pepper headed for the door. “I better go. Thanks for the water.” Hand on the doorknob, she paused, eyes locked on the Kaleidoscope. “But I will not thank you for showing me that creepy toy. Come on, Glenda.” She patted her leg to coax the dog to her side and rushed out as if she’d just remembered leaving something on the stove.
“I didn’t tell you to look in it,” he said to the closed door, and glared at the ’scope. It had rolled in between the salt and pepper shakers. He lifted it to the light streaming through the blinds. The same swirly colored glass chips floated and fell into a random pattern.
Still nothing.
Associate names with something concrete you will recall easily , the book advised.
“Pepper,” he repeated, replacing the ’scope next to the crystal shakers on his table next to the salt. “Pepper and spice. Pretty, perfect Pepper.”
****
Walter pulled the hoe through the hard earth pocked with weeds, turning the dense soil. He’d worked all morning, hand-plowing the thawing soil enough to plant the tomatoes he’d coaxed to sprout inside the shack. Drifts of gray ice and snow still huddled next to the cabin walls, but the sun had appeared for three afternoons in a row, and he was anxious to get his vegetables planted from the seeds he’d brought along.
He’d managed the past few weeks by hiking into town and rummaging through the town dumpsters, but as the weather changed and the flies buzzed, he found it more and more difficult to find anything edible in the rotting slop. And his body craved fresh food, no more leftovers from skiers’ hasty lunches purchased at the deli on their way back to the flatlands.
Walter straightened, then twisted at the waist until his spine popped. The sun’s afternoon rays penetrated through to his stiff muscles. He headed inside, leaving the gardening. Before it grew too dark to see, he wanted to read over the material he’d carried up the mountain. He knew buried in there somewhere were clues that would prove his innocence.
With the ’scope finished, he had time now to work on the ciphers and figure out who wanted him dead.
****
The next day at lunch, Pepper floated into the courtyard, and saw Harold, her mouth forming an “oh.” He didn’t know how to accept the smile that bloomed as she crossed over and plopped down on the bench next
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