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PAMELA
Posted On 04/28/2015 06:17:26 by JBMorrisAuthor

April 28

PAMELA

FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE

“Slow down, young lady. Listen to what I said. I said I want to move. I did not say we are moving. We’ll talk about it before we make a final decision. And after what happened last night, I’ve had it with my quote, friends. I don’t want to have a thing to do with them. Now that Seth is gone. I need to get out of the city and get a fresh start.”

“But, Mom, this is home,” Dusty pleaded.

“I know this is home. I want a new home.”

“What could be better than here?”

“I made a few phone calls today. How about we buy us a horse farm near Asheville, North Carolina?”

****

“Wait a minute,” Moses said, “I can’t hear.”

The loudspeaker blared, “Will all passengers for Delta Air Lines, flight 9932 to Atlanta, Georgia, please report to terminal 4, gate B32 for departure?”

Standing next to the JFK loud speaker, Moses added, “Was that loud enough for you, Seth?”

“Then some.” Seth stepped aside for a man running down the corridor, his strapped, carry-on bag bouncing off his hip.

“Moses, you didn’t have to come all the way down here to see me off. I’m a big boy. I can do this.”

Moses put his scarred hand on Seth’s shoulder. “I know you can do it. The question is, should I let you do it? Abuja, Nigeria is 5,300 miles from here and here is Pamela.”

Frustrated with his life and all that had happened to him, Seth snapped, “The rebels have three hostages we want back. You pay me the big bucks. Now let me go get them.”

Moses threw up his hands in protest, “Slow down, bro. Don’t get upset with me. I’m not the guy you decked at the party.”

Seth sagged against a post. “Sorry.”

“How long has it been since the two of you broke up?”

Seth looked at the calendar on his wristwatch. “Fifteen days, and. . .I don’t know some hours.”

“Do you still love her?”

“To the bone, Moses. To the bloody bone.”

“Then what are you, a wuss? Call her. Tell her you’re sorry.”

“Oh,” Seth mocked. “That’s one outstanding plan. Just call her up, huh? Tell her I’m sorry I ruined her life. Then ask her if we could pick up where we left off.” Seth moved his carry-on bag closer to allow three flight attendants, with serious expressions, to continue scurrying down the corridor. “She must hate me with a passion.”

“Okay,” Moses said, resigned. “Enough of that plan. So, what are you doing about your problem?”

“Losing it at the party?” Seth said.

“Yeah.”

“I had my first session with a PTSD psychologist. I like her. We’re on the same wavelength. I know she can help me.”

“So you can blow off the next person who calls you ‘a baby killer?’”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Do you still have the edge?”

“Do you mean can I go over there and do my job?”

“You know, Seth Collins, I do not authorize you to go over there and get yourself killed.”

Seth laughed. The first one since that fateful night at the ball. “Don’t worry Moses, I’ll be fine.”

“And as for Pamela,” Moses grinned, “You two kids belong together. And I’m going to help make it happen.”

 

Eleven hours.

Despite the amenities during the flight, sitting in the business elite section had become uncomfortable and boring beyond reasonable endurance. The first hours passed with little notice as Seth reviewed again his plans to rescue three Chevron oil workers kidnapped near Warri, Nigeria, by rebels from the Niger Delta People’s Volunteer Force. Satisfied with the details of the plan, only one subject remained to fill the long hours.

Pamela.

Seeing the introspection consuming Seth, the surrounding passengers had broken off their attempts to engage him in mindless chatter. The flight attendants also joined with the passengers in dropping their smiles and attempts to engage in pleasant inquires. Only the flight attendant, Monica refused to surrender to Seth’s mood. She was aware men appreciated that she was unmarried, attractive, and endowed. She achieved whatever goal she set for herself when she showed an interest in a man.

She admitted defeat when Seth looked at her with cold eyes. “Please.”

He was what he was. A man who had served six combat tours. Death was routine. Survival was the exception. Maybe he was an animal. A mindless animal that moved from one killing field to another. He admitted it. He was dead standing up. Death had consumed his soul. Nothing left. Nothing left for Pamela.

But was that true? Was he beyond salvageable? Or was there hope for him? Could he recover, become human again.

Maybe Alice Bellingscourt, the PTSD psychologist could save him. He felt a connection with her. And her words, “There’s hope for you, Seth, You know you have a problem, and you want to lick it. I am confident I can help you.”

Magic words.

So there was hope for him. And a new world would open up for him. He’d work with other veterans who had suffered the same hell that almost consumed him. Hug them, tell them, “I love you, bro. I want to help you to become whole again. I beat it. So can you.”

Could it fill his life? Replace Pamela?

Seth felt it. The wetness in his eyes.

Pamela. She was gone—forever.

Seth covered his eyes to shield his pain.

 

It was what Pamela had expected when she returned home from the office.

Quiet.

The only sound was Dusty sitting at the breakfast table tapping a pen on her schoolbook.

Pamela missed the sounds of life that had once surrounded her. In constant crisis mode, Victoria was often on the telephone heading off serious social gaffes and reviewing expectations on who would rise and fall in her social universe. Gone too were Dusty and Cyndi giggling at a decibel level of a lawnmower. A frequent visitor to the home, the girls’ conversations seldom strayed from preteen fashions, TV, especially Degrassi: The Next Generation, and with growing importance, boys. Cyndi had remained in her own apartment since the catastrophic events of two weeks earlier. Dusty needed her space.

But it was Seth she missed to the core of her soul. The smell and taste of him. His words that he loved her. Their banter on shopping at Walmart. Who would be the boss in their new family? She had recovered enough to maintain some semblance of emotional self-control at work. She disintegrated when alone in the blackness of night. She had found the love of a man. There would be no other.

In frustration, Dusty said, “Can you help me for a minute?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Let me finish making my tea, and I’ll be right with you.”

Teacup in hand, Pamela joined Dusty at the table. “What can I do to help you?”

Dusty rested her head in the palm of her hand. Her grandmother’s influences were rapidly leaving her. “I have to give a report in two days in my Greek philosophy class. Do you know anything about The Intellectual Adventure of Ancient Man?”

Pamela bit her lip to stifle a smile and a subtle suggestion of laughter. Her knowledge of Greece was limited to several visits including a month on the island of Santorini. “I don’t know anything about it. Tell you what. You and I will tackle supper, and then we’ll go online and see what we can find.

Dusty’s frustration had slipped into intellectual exhaustion “Okay,” she moaned. Pamela had retreated to the refrigerator when Dusty added, “Grandmother called me today. She wants to get together for lunch on Saturday. I told her yes, but I said I was still mad at her for what she had done to Seth.”

“Dusty,” Pamela admonished.

“Well, I am.” She joined Pamela at the refrigerator to review the dinner options.

“Has he called you?”

“No.”

“I miss him,” Dusty said, surprised at her own admission.

Salmon steaks in hand, Pamela leaned against the refrigerator, closed her eyes. She bit her lip again, this time to keep from crying. “Me too.” She wondered how much longer it would be when the thought of him didn’t devastate her.

Recovered, preparing to broil the steaks, Pamela said, “Sweetheart. I know you don’t want to move and you know I need to move. You and I are going to spend a lot of time talking about it before we make a final decision. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Dusty said hesitantly.

Knowing Dusty’s love of horses and her dream to be a veterinarian, Pamela knew the secret for securing Dusty’s approval to move. Horses—and more horses. She said, “I received a phone call today from a realtor in Asheville. There is a horse farm estate for sale. The farm is on 95 acres and includes horse boarding and training, riding lessons, and breeding. It will be ours if I say yes. You could ride every day and help train the horses. I told her I didn’t think my daughter wanted to move from living in New York City and riding subways.”

Eyes wide-opened, Dusty yelled, “Mother!” She was already riding a Hanoverian horse in a dressage competition at the Olympics.

TO BE CONTINUED



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Viewing 1 - 1 out of 1 Comments

04/28/2015 17:08:01


winterdog wrote:

It must get better..

It has no where to go but up. Lets see if I can do it,

JB





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