Tumbleweed Logic Read online

Tumbleweed Logic

  ZaneDoe

  Copyright © 2008 ZaneDoe

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1-4196-6137-X

  ISBN-13: 978-141966137

  ZaneDoe

  Tumbleweed Logic

  .

  The life of this book is dedicated to Joseph, Oliver and Doe with a special thanks to my friend Gayle.

  Tumbleweed Logic

  2008

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  TUMBLEWEED LOGIC

  Chapter One

  Goodbye Dead People’s Stuff

  Lena intended to drive straight past—eyes forward, no looking back or glancing to the side. She readied herself in every way possible for this final drive-by. Yet, at the crucial moment, her foot eased off the accelerator and the little car slowed to a near stop. The impatient blare of a horn propelled her to pull out of traffic and into a vacant space by the curb. Against her better judgment, Lena peered through the busy traffic to take one last look before her final goodbye. Pepper was by her side, wagging his tail and adding more zigzag nose prints to the window, but Lena never felt so alone.

  She watched, perched on the seat of her car, as a stranger in coveralls moved his heat gun repeatedly across her sign. As he labored to remove the paint, Lena smiled--it was as stubborn as she had been, resisting all efforts to remove it. She fought hard for that sign and imagined her ex-landlord was, at that moment, knocking glasses at a local bar in celebration of its removal. He found the sign offensive. Lena found it appropriate.

  Dead People’s Stuff

  Antiques and Collectibles

  (Because you can’t take it with you!)

 

  The man placed the heat gun back into the holster, pulled out a metal tool and began scraping at the paint. The chips of paint wafting down onto the sidewalk reminded Lena of colorful tears soon to be swept into obscurity. Such was Lena’s own fate so it was sadly fitting. They had a symbiotic relationship--Lena worked hard to give life to Dead People’s Stuff and in return the store gave Lena the life she loved. She had a steady stream of customers, a good relationship with other dealers, good neighbors and a group of old folks who came to the store more to reminisce and chat than to shop. They were like family, her extended family, and like with family some were closer to her heart than others but she savored them all and they kept life interesting. She was never bored and that was important in Lena’s life. The constant array of anomalous characters, the conversations and the unpredictability, all gave Dead People’s Stuff the kind of life that suited Lena perfectly.

  Now, the symbol of years of work and a grand part of her life was dissolving before her. She closed her eyes, hoping some reassuring flash of wisdom would make all the pieces fall brightly into place and help her to make sense of it all. She needed to come to peace with her decision and move on as planned. But there was no enlightenment, no flash of wisdom or sense of peace. Changing her life, moving away in particular, had never been so much as a fleeting thought much less an option she would seriously entertain. With the small convertible fully packed and the keys to the cottage returned, Lena was saying goodbye to it all. The deadly consequences of staying gave her no other choice. Lena took a deep breath before opening her eyes. She saw the two women leaving the bakery, as they had every Friday. They held tight to their cups of coffee and chatted continuously while rushing down the sidewalk, just like every other Friday. They never failed to make a brief stop to tap a spirited good morning on the store window. Lena watched as they stopped at the foot of the worker’s ladder. The smiles dropped from their faces. Each peered through the unadorned window into the vacant store. The two women, whose names were a mystery to Lena, proceeded to hound the man in coveralls for answers. He was just there to remove the sign and knew nothing else, was his defense to the interrogation. They were persistent with the disinterested sign killer; they wanted answers, he had to know “something!” He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders then proceeded to ignore them altogether as he went back to scraping the sign. They walked on, visibly concerned, and repeatedly looked back at the empty store. They touched Lena’s heart and further reminded her of all she was losing. A few more scrapes and Dead People’s Stuff disappeared; Lena needed to follow suit.

  The sudden death of Dead People’s Stuff seemed disrespectful. That store deserved a festive farewell, not a solitary salute goodbye.

  Lena rolled the window down to let the cool sea air engulf her one last time before she left, not knowing when or if she would be back. She wanted to take in all the signatures of the coastal town--the smells, the distinct sounds: seals called out from the rocky shore, the bell on the bakery door rang its welcome, lively voices poured from the open doors to Leka’s Tavern and the seagulls, the natural born party crashers, squawked their arrival. Then a sharp quick cry from Pepper grabbed Lena’s attention. Pepper saw Sam. It was a cruel jolt of reality--two were attending Dead People’s funeral.

  Sam stood alone at the edge of the sidewalk staring up at the decimated symbol of his home away from home. He was a kind-hearted, reliable, well-lived old gentleman and a good friend to Lena. He treated her as if she were his granddaughter not a shopkeeper. Her heart ached at the sight of Sam as did Pepper’s and his tail wagged furiously, beating the window like a drum. To see Sam at that moment was both a blessing and a curse. There was no one she would rather have seen during her last moments in Monterey than Sam and no one harder to leave behind.

  Sam was wearing his usual attire: semiformal shoes, button down sweater over a high button shirt, baggy pants riding high on his waist and cinched by a thin worn leather belt. Like always, his hands were hidden in the pockets of his baggy trousers to conceal their uncontrollable quivering. Sam was wearing a tie. Sam always said that a gentleman should wear a tie when dining at Oliver’s By the Bay. With all the chaos, Lena had forgotten their lunch date. But Sam hadn’t.

  Lena feared for Sam’s safety. He would have insisted on being a hero, otherwise she would have explained everything to him and kept him informed from the beginning. The less he knew the better, at least for now. There he stood, bewildered and due an explanation--something she couldn’t give him. Lena prayed that there would be a future where Sam would again be a part of her daily life.

  With a silent promise to write Sam a letter of explanation as soon as she settled into her new home, Lena started the car. Sam’s presence was challenging her stoic effort at a composed and private farewell; she had planned to reserve the tears and anger for the long drive into her unknown future. The journey awaited and Pepper’s low-pitch whining was nearing a full bark for Sam’s attention. Lena pulled out onto Pacific Avenue, tilting her rearview mirror so that she would not see Sam, or her soon to be past. Sam watched as the little car disappeared through the tunnel exiting Cannery Row with Pepper hanging half out the window, watching him back.

  Three years later…