All Because She Trusted

June, 1979 Sun kissed, stinging slightly from the burn, but feeling refreshed, Kat relaxed with her second glass of wine. Or was it her third? Did it matter, she wasn’t counting. The Indian food Di promised lived up to its rep, she thought. “What is this sweet, sticky rice stuff?” she asked. “Oh, I don’t have a clue. But I tell them to get me the sweet, sticky rice and they nod and bring it. It’s great, but I can’t say what it is they call it. They tell me every time, but I still can’t say it.” Laughing, Kat just enjoyed the night. It had been too long since she just relaxed and hit a reset button. She thought it must have been broken for a while, there, or misplaced, at least. Today was a good beginning at starting over, though. Head cleared, well, except for the wine. Good company, great food, excellent beach weather. She’d sleep over at Di’s and drive back Sunday sometime. Maybe hit the beach nightclub scene tomorrow after another day sunning either on the shore or outside Di’s place. It was a good weekend for some sun, live music, and just plain girl time to talk things through. Maybe Di’s friend, Mac, was playing at the club near the Strand. Now that would be a real treat. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, another crowd began to gather as the sun went down. Not many of them, but they didn’t need many. They shed their street wear, changed into their garments for nights like tonight. Clad only in their special cloaks, bathed in candlelight, they formed a small circle. They were silent as lambs, hardly a breath could be heard. A neighbor’s kitten was never to be seen again, brought in, its throat cleanly slit, blood spurted momentarily, as an offering. Then the chanting began as a low hum, steady, rhythmic, increasing in tempo. Hands joined, the group slowly unified, spirit, soul, and finally in body, sharing those things which are fully spiritual, as well as those which are fully carnal. Until all had been brought to the pinnacle of climax. Monday, another day, back at it, Kat thought. James was late getting Darcy home last night, again. What was so hard about being punctual? She had made a point to be home from Di’s in plenty of time, cleaned her place, finished the laundry. And not just a few minutes, either. We’re talking two hours, here! Again, they fought over schedules, and again, James gave a lame excuse about being at a family dinner or some such thing and losing track of time. But he should have called, she argued. She loved her job, what she worked at, with the legal field. She really thought about enlisting and going to law school, but she would have to appoint a guardian in case she got deployed. She and James just ended a ferocious custody battle, and something just ate at her gut thinking about giving him guardianship in case she got called away. After all, it was peace time, no thought of war in sight. Viet Nam was a thing of the past, so what was the big deal? Still, it was a requirement. And since Darcy’s dad was right there, she couldn’t appoint her parents. So she nixed the whole law degree and stayed a typist. What a dumb move, she would think in later years. But her gut wasn’t usually wrong, and her gut was screaming about this. Maybe she was just raw about the way things ended and she was taking it personally, he was probably a great dad. Still, there was something not right. She had this, this feeling.