CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
The closer I got to my sanctuary, the calmer I became.
Sure, I took anxiety medication every day, but I still felt things.
I still felt the sensations of panic, worry, frustration, and fear.
I didn’t want to be so medicated that I was numb to life.
And even then, the medication didn’t always work.
It helped me recover quicker; it helped me hit the pause button so I could get myself somewhere safe, so I could talk myself down, or do some breathing exercises, but it wasn’t a bandage.
It was a clotting agent. I would still bleed, just not as heavily. Just not fatally. Just not for as long.
I turned down my driveway and caught a glimpse of the purple and red tulips in the passenger footwell and smiled.
But that smile faded faster than my adoration for Pinata, when I saw five vehicles parked in my driveway and people standing along the outside of the fence, petting and trying to get the attention of the horses and donkeys.
I slowed my roll, all sense of peace and calm vanishing from my body like a tofu fart in the wind.
They were even parked in my normal parking spot, so I had to adapt and park further away from my own house.
Portia knew the sound of my truck engine, so it was no surprise that she came barreling out of the dog door and I nearly tripped over her as I climbed out from behind the steering wheel.
“There’s a pig,” someone exclaimed, running toward Portia and me.
Now that I was home, Portia soaked up the attention, her curly tail wagging as she allowed the growing crowd to pet her.
“Is this your place?” a woman with denim overalls and a baggy mustard-yellow cardigan asked.
I nodded. “Why are you here?”
“We came to see all the animals. We had no idea this place even existed on the island.”
Her friend, another woman around the same age—early thirties—and with a red, messy bun on top of her head, came over wearing a baby in a sling on her hip. “Can we go in the barn now? It was locked when we got here.”
“No,” I replied. “This is private property.”
“But Jolene Dandy said—” the woman in overalls started, looking confused.
“This is my home. I rescue animals. This is not a petting farm.”
Both women frowned.
From around the corner in the direction of the duck pond, three more women, and five small children—toddler age—all came wandering over. Two of the women also wore babies in carriers. And there were two men and three children still at the fence feeding something to Pinata and Galahad.
“We couldn’t find the baby horse,” said a blonde woman with dreadlocks piled high on her head. “Is this guy the owner?”
Her friends nodded.
“Why are you wandering around my property?” I asked as tingles raced down my arms into my fingers. I spread them wide at my sides, then bunched them into fists. My body grew warmer, and a nauseous feeling spread throughout my stomach. “This is private property. A child could fall in the pond.”
“Yeah, we noticed. You should really fence that off,” said another woman, bouncing a fussy baby in her sling, her other child was in gumboots, overalls, and no shirt, and he was currently pulling on Portia’s tail and laughing when she grunted and tried to move away from him.
“Stop that. She doesn’t like it,” I scolded.
The kid glanced up at me with wide, stunned eyes. Then he started to scream.
“We don’t like to tell Thunder no,” said his mother. “He’s learning about the world through natural consequences.”
“The consequence would be my pig biting him,” I exclaimed. “Portia, in casa, dai!”
Tired of being tormented by these rude creatures, my pig was all too happy to scamper up the porch steps, through her door, and into the safety of our home.
“Oh my god, she’s like a little dog,” the blonde woman in overalls exclaimed. “How cute.”
Two children, who could not have been over three, were now on my porch, on their hands and knees, snorting like pigs and trying to get through the door. I stomped up the steps and stood in front of the dog door so they couldn’t get inside my home.
“Please. Leave,” I articulated.
They all gave me a look like I’d just told them their children were most definitely going to grow up to be felons.
“Sharplyn, Steffanire, come on,” ordered the redheaded woman.
The boy and girl, who I should have known belonged to her, given their matching hair, stood up and raced to her side where they each reached into her pocket and pulled out pacifiers and popped them into their mouths.
“This isn’t very islander of you,” said another woman who, now that I looked, didn’t have shoes on. Her feet were filthy, and so were her children’s since they also didn’t have shoes. “We’re a tight-knit community. Nobody’s land is really theirs. If you know what I mean?”
“I know that I was not expecting company. My property is private, and you do not come onto someone’s property, try to enter their buildings, or feed their animals without their permission.
You don’t know whether my horses have allergies or dietary restrictions.
What are you feeding them? I don’t care how the island does things.
This is not how I do things. Now, please leave. ”
The stinky, dirty hippies and their stinky, dirty hippy children all glanced at each other, making faces of contempt and disbelief. But I stood my ground, in front of the dog door, and waited until every last one of their filthy feet was in a vehicle and heading off my property.
I was just getting the groceries out of my truck—the last of the trespasser’s vehicles at the top of the driveway—when another car turned down, heading toward my house.
Who the fuck was it now?
And of course, the redheaded woman, who had clearly suffered a brain injury right before she decided to name her children, opened her car door. “You’ll let this guy in, but not us?” she yelled at me before shaking her head.
Then they were gone, and my wife’s cousin Vincent parked his silver Chrysler Sebring at the base of my porch steps.
Portia was back out through her door, but she didn’t approach Vincent the way she normally approached visitors. She stayed on the top step, watching him warily to see how I greeted him.
My pig was really fucking smart.
“Hey, Tommy,” Vincent said, flashing me a big fake smile as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
Then he proceeded to light the thing and take a deep inhale as he made his way over to me, eyes scanning the property like a hungry snake eyed a wounded rabbit.
Even though I’d asked him several times to call me Tom or Tommaso, he always called me Tommy.
“Vinny, what are you doing here?” I asked, dishing right back to him a nickname he hated.
His pale-gray eyes flared as he blew out a thick cloud of smoke.
“Just came to see why you haven’t responded to my lawyers.
” He took another drag off the cigarette, then flicked some of the ash into the gravel as he sauntered away from the house and me toward the trail that led down to the beach.
“God, this is a beautiful chunk of property. Isn’t it?
So much untapped potential. So much possibility ignored. ”
Portia grunted and trotted down the stairs, then over to me, where I still stood beside my truck. She practically sat on my feet, then glanced up at me, basically to say, “Papa, are you okay?”
She was a princess all right, but she was also very in tune with my emotional state and, much like an emotional support dog, she knew when I was getting anxious and brought me comfort exactly when I needed it most. I reached down and scratched her ears, needing that physical connection, that reassurance that I could handle this.
I had two lawyers who said they could help me, not to mention the truth on my side.
And the truth was, this land belonged to my son. His name was on the deed.
I wouldn’t let this cheap suit wearing bastardo take it from him.
“You came all the way to the island to ask me a question?” I asked.
He shrugged and turned back to face me. “I mean, I came over to take some pictures, get the idea juices flowing, you know?”
I bunched my fists at my sides and clenched my molars. “This is private property. We will do this through the lawyers, Vinny. Please leave.”
Vincent scoffed and rolled his eyes. His black hair was so heavily gelled that I doubted a hurricane would move a strand. The poor breeze coming off the water didn’t stand a chance against his Dippity Douchebag wax. “You really want to drag this out? Spend all that money on lawyers?”
I smirked. “Which one of us is the retired professional footballer with millions of dollars in their bank account?”
Unease crept into his eyes, but it wasn’t there for long.
“Exactly. Go somewhere else. Tahiti. Hawaii. Uzbekistan. You can buy anything anywhere. Why do you, a millionaire, need free land? Why not take care of the little guy for once, huh? We’re family.
Everyone deserves a home, don’t you think, Tommy? ”
Why was he speaking to me like some New Jersey Italian low-level gangster? He was from Vancouver, Washington.
“How about you one percenter, help out me and my ma? The other ninety-nine, you know?”
Was he mocking me? Did he think appealing to me—a real Italian—with his put-on East Coast Jersey Italian accent was going to help his cause? How many brain cells remained in his skull? Was the gel eating them?
“I don’t know what you are saying with that accent,” I finally said. “So let’s let the lawyers handle this.”
“Accent?”
I pointed to his car just as he dropped the cigarette into the gravel and crushed it with the toe of his cheap wingtip. “Your car, Vinny. Get into it and drive away, please.”
His top lip curled into an angry sneer, then he glanced over at the barn. “Be a shame if something happened to that barn, huh?” He flicked the lighter in his hand until a little flame emerged on the tip, then shook his head. “A real shame.”
This guy watched way too many mob movies.
Not moving away from Portia, I just stood my ground and waited until the cousin from Hell completely vacated my property.
I glanced down at Portia, who looked up at me with those soulful, knowing eyes. “You heard that too, right?”
She snorted.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and brought up Michelle Price’s number. Normally, I didn’t call people if I could help it, but I didn’t know what else to do at this point.
She answered it on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Ms. Price, this is Tommaso Barone.”
“Mr. Barone, so nice to hear from you.”
“I need your help. I need all the help I can get.” Portia rested one of her feet on mine for support. “My wife’s cousin just threatened to burn down my barn.”