Serpent's Trail

It was perched on a concrete pad next to the large garage. Rhonda looked at the neatly manicured lawn, the lively flowers in the cute wooden wheelbarrow in the center of the yard, the gay flowers along the walkway from driveway to front door.

She did smirk at the flowers. Mike had never cared one bit about such things. He had said on more than one occasion that flowers were nothing but desirable weeds.

Steeling herself, Rhonda approached the front door and pushed the lighted button.

"Yes?" a disembodied female voice called out.

Rhonda looked at the small speaker and saw now that she was on camera; a small lens sat at the top of the metal grill.

"I uh, hi, I'm, Mike? Mike Morrison live here," Rhonda said, flustered.

"And you are...?" the female voice asked.

It wasn't an unfriendly voice. It wasn't a welcoming voice either. Rhonda grew agitated. This wasn't how this had played out in her mind.

She had splurged on her travel outfit. The jersey material clung to her 36D breasts. The push up bra lifted them nicely. The same clinging material did, unfortunately, highlight her paunch, but she was thirty nine years old; that couldn't be helped. The jeans did encase her ass nicely. There were a few extra pounds on the ass, and the hips, and the thighs. Her backside was a little wider than she would have liked, but the jeans did squeeze all of her flesh into a somewhat more attractive display.

Now, standing on his door stoop, the Texas sun beating down on her, the jeans were sodden with sweat and now chafed her plump thighs, her prominent waistline. The blouse was sticking to her more than it was clinging to her.

"I, uh, I'm his, I'm Rhonda. Rhonda Morrison, his wife. His ex-wife," Rhonda said.

"Oh!" the voice exclaimed. "He didn't, does he know you, did he know you were coming?"

"Uh, no," Rhonda admitted.

For several moments she stood. Just when she was about to ring the bell again, the door opened.

It wasn't fair. Seven and a half years later, he wasn't supposed to be looking even better than he had looked when she left him. But he did look good, better. His blond hair had streaks of silver. His face was bronzed by the sun, his chest and arms bulged in the tank top he wore.

He was wearing swim trunks and his legs were thick, bulging with muscles and his waist looked slim.

"Yes?" he demanded.

"Hello Mike," Rhonda said, then smirked. "Long time no see."

"Yes?" Mike demanded again.

"I uh, I, Mike there somewhere we can talk?" Rhonda stammered.

"Right here's fine," Mike said.

"Michael," a beautiful young blonde said gently.

Rhonda looked from Mike's hard face to the blonde woman. The young woman had long blonde hair, beautiful green eyes and a gentle expression on her face. Mike and whoever this woman was had most likely been swimming; the young blonde had a small wrap covering her from just under her armpits to just below her crotch. Her arms were slim, her legs sleek, and the wrap jutted substantially away from her chest.

"Michael, y'all go to the sun room," the young woman said, voice soft but rich with her Texas twang.

"Precious, I don't want her in my house," Mike said, voice hard.

"Michael," the woman said, peering into his brown eyes. "Five minutes?"

"Fine. Come on," Mike ordered Rhonda.

When the young blonde turned, the bottom of her wrap flipped up and Rhonda was looking at a pert little bottom with a light pink scrap of material separating her buttocks. The woman scampered toward what Rhonda presumed was the sun room, then opened the atrium doors and stepped outside.

Through the large glass window, Rhonda could see a large swimming pool, and in the swimming pool was a Hispanic looking girl and a young girl and two young boys.

Rhonda watched as the blonde removed her wrap and stepped down into the pool. Her mouth opened at the sight of the blonde's breasts. They were two melon halves on such a small frame. The pink and black bikini was just a strap across the two large breasts and the bottom was just a belt of fabric across her slim hips, with a scrap of pink going between her legs.

"Five minutes, let's go, Rhonda, start talking," Mike ordered, tearing Rhonda's attention from the attractive blonde that now sat on the steps and played with the three children.

"Really?" Rhonda spat bitterly now. "We were together for fourteen years; can't be a little nicer to me?"

"Oh! I'm sorry! Would you like a glass of champagne? Some caviar? Golly gosh, where are my manners?" Mike snapped sarcastically. "Come on, Rhonda, came all the way out here, let's get to it."

"I uh, I don't know if you heard, uh, but uh, Michelle's getting married next month. The ninth," Rhonda said.

"Yeah? How far along is she?" Mike asked.

Rhonda colored at Mike's blunt question. She looked toward the swimming pool again.

"Four and a half months," she finally admitted.

"Hmm," was Mike's response.

"I uh, she'd really, it would mean so much if her daddy would walk her down the aisle," Rhonda said.

"God! Do I have to?" Mike spat bitterly.

"Well, I uh, I mean, she'd really..." Rhonda stammered, puzzled at his statement.

"Wanted go to Benny's Burger Bar," Mike explained his snipe. "Hey, it's my birthday, wanted spend a little time with my kids. And what do I hear? 'God! Do I have to?' So, no, Rhonda, I won't be walking Michelle down the aisle. Tell her to get John Piercy do that, all right? What else you got?"

"I uh, John Piercy's no longer a part of our lives," Rhonda snapped, pretty face becoming twisted, ugly.

"Hmm," Mike responded.

Mike turned in time to see the little girl bravely jump from the diving board into the swimming pool. He smiled as the two women applauded the girl's achievement.

The girl swam from the deep end of the pool to the ladder.

Before either woman could stop the small girl, she ran to the atrium doors.

"Daddy! You seen me?" the girl shrieked, dripping water everywhere.

"Yeah, I seen you. You jumped from the board, right into the deep end, just like a big girl," Mike said, picking the wet child up and hugging her.

"I'm Audrey, I'm four," the girl said to Rhonda.

"Hello," Rhonda said.

"Michael, I'm sorry, she ran in here before I could stop her," the blonde woman said, entering the room.

"My mommy's a teacher," Audrey said proudly.

"Oh," Rhonda said.

"Precious, it's fine; she didn't disturb anything," Mike smiled and gave his daughter a big squeeze.

"Come on, Sweetheart, show Mommy that big old jump again, okay?" the woman cajoled.

"Daddy, you need watch," Audrey demanded.

"Like I could ever take my eyes off of you?" Mike smiled and gave her another squeeze.

"So, why can't Mickey walk his sister down the aisle?" Mike asked, watching as Audrey stepped out onto the diving board again.

"I, he..." Rhonda stammered.

"I mean, I know he's out of the treatment center; just how crappy is your insurance anyway? Didn't pay penny one for his CDU?" Mike asked, smiling as Audrey did jump into the water again.

"What insurance?" Rhonda spat bitterly.

"Because I know, paid twenty eight thousand first time, and that was just my half, paid thirty one second time, and this one was what? Thirty eight five, my half," Mike said.

Rhonda looked pointedly around the sun room, at the rattan furniture, the Spanish tiles, the large backyard with swimming pool.

"Quit sending him to country clubs," Mike demanded. "Frankie's boy? Got clean and sober at the Charity Ward. And has been clean and sober coming up on nine years now."

Rhonda glared angrily at Mike. He obviously had no idea of the guilt she'd been carrying around for the past four years.

Rhonda Piercy had come home, thoroughly humiliated when the snotty bitch at her Spin class had let her know that she'd not received the payment. Rhonda knew she'd typed all the information, knew she'd hit 'send' and had confirmation from the on-line banking site that the payment had been sent.

Rhonda had stormed up the stairs to find John, to complain about the snafu.

Entering her, their bedroom, Rhonda saw John, and she saw her thirteen year old son in the bedroom with John.

Mickey told the police that it had been going on since the second night that they'd moved into John's house. Mickey also told the police that John had told him that Rhonda knew all about it.

Shortly after the discovery, shortly after John's arrest, shortly after the divorce, Mickey started skipping school, started staying out late, started coming home with glassy eyes, alcohol on his breath.

The first treatment center was after Rhonda came home to the shitty little two bedroom apartment, and found Mickey unconscious, needle still sticking in his arm. Her job at Myra's Boutique was strictly commission versus base; she couldn't afford the insurance and rent and utilities and groceries. Three years later, she was still paying off her half of the bill from that treatment center.

"He uh, Mickey's in jail," Rhonda admitted.

"Hmm. Wonder if I still have to pay you child support if he's in jail," Mike wondered aloud as he watched his wife, the maid, and the three children toweling off.

"He's still a minor," Rhonda snapped.

"Uh huh, but you don't have him in your custody, do you?" Mike said, getting to his feet. "Five minutes is up, Rhonda. See you."

"Really? Really? I flew all this way, beg you be a part of your daughter's wedding? And you're just going shit all over me?" Rhonda shrilled.

"Uh, I ask you come here?" Mike asked.

"No, Michelle did," Rhonda snarled.

"Then maybe Michelle should have come," Mike said and opened the door of the sun room. "Hey guys, you all waterlogged?"

"Uh huh; my fingers are all bumpy," Audrey announced.

"Oh, that's terrible!" Mike said.

"Well, you seem to have done all right for yourself," Rhonda snarled bitterly at Mike.

"Uh huh. No thanks to you," Mike smiled.

Mike ushered Rhonda to the front door of the home. Neither one said a word as he closed the heavy door behind her.

Walking from door to car, Rhonda again felt the sweat begin around her waist, underneath her armpits.

Inside the home, Mike was entering the kitchen where there was a mild riot going on. His wife and their maid were trying to decipher what the children wanted for dinner.

"Boogers and toes?" Mike suggested.

"Don't get them started," the blonde smiled.

"Daddy, I want hot dogs," Russel said.

"Yeah, hot dogs," Bertrand, Russell's twin brother echoed.

"Now, wait a minute!" Carmen, the housekeeper laughed. "I thought you said you wanted hamburgers?"

"I changed my mind," the boy stated.

"How about, spaghetti. With. Hot dogs cut up in it?" Mike suggested.

"Yeah!" three children agreed.

"Daddy, you the best," his wife smiled as she dug out the pot for the pasta.

After dinner, after baths, even though Russell, and then Bertrand stated, they'd already been in the pool, that should count as a bath, after praying, and reading bedtime stories, Mike walked into his bedroom.

"Hey Precious," Mike said as his wife came out of the closet, dressed in a simple tee shirt.

"Now, what did your ex-wife want?" she asked, kissing him.

"Wanted know how you can look so good, even after being stuck with an old man all this time," Mike smiled.

"Plenty of protein," she smiled and crawled onto the bed. "Now, come on, really. What did she want?"

"Wanted me walk my daughter down the aisle; Michelle's getting married next month. On the ninth," Mike said, following her into the bed.

"So we going up to Raquel Falls?" she asked, smiling happily. "It snowing up there yet?"

"In August? No, Precious, despite what you Southerners might think, Colorado's nowhere near the North Pole." Mike smiled. "And, no. We're not going."

"You think you going up there by yourself? That's not happening," she snapped.

"Not going," Mike said.

"Michael, your daughter? You, you're not going walk her..." she sputtered.

She put her blonde head on his chest. Her fingers gently rubbed his muscled chest. He wrapped his right arm around her.

"Baby, I know, I know what happened, I know it hurt, but..." she whispered.

She picked her head up, her green eyes searching his eyes. He moved to kiss her but she backed up.

Mike remembered the first time he had seen her. She had been a beautiful girl then. Six, almost seven years later, she was still beautiful.

He and Toni had gone on a few dates. The girl was beautiful and her body was pleasingly plump. She was intelligent, thoughtful, exuberant and fun. He cared for her, cared for her very much, but there simply was no spark, no real chemistry.

The sex was terrific, exhausting. Toni loved it all; oral, vaginal, anal. Once, buried balls deep in Toni's tightly squeezing rectum, Mike and she were thrusting against each other so hard they knocked the front of the trailer off it's mooring. The resulting tumble from the bed had her riding on top of him, bouncing to an energetic climax.

But again, there was no real connection, other than two lonely people using each other. Thankfully, it had been Toni to bring up the painful truth.

"Michael," she said as they walked around Kennedy Park, along Oxbow Lake.

"Uh huh?" he asked, watching a woman with one of those ankle biter dogs.

The woman had a nice, tight looking backside. She was wearing boy shorts, strutting and showing off that tight looking rear end.

The Yorkie was on a retractable leash. Mike was fascinated, watching the dog scampering around, leash line zipping in and out of the clunky looking handle the woman gripped.

"Michael, I love you," Toni said.

Mike felt his guts knot up. He knew he was not in love with the girl. He cared for her, but not enough to see any real future with her.

"I uh, but, I'm just not in love with you," she admitted.

"Kind of how I'm feeling too," Mike admitted. "I mean, good golly, I care a lot about you, but do I see any long term romance here? Probably not."

"Oh," Toni said.

"But I know we'll always be friends," Mike said. "I mean, I know I owe you one thing. You kept me from just running off, just because things got a little hard."

She smiled up at him. He put his arm around her chubby body and gave her a squeeze.

"Come on, let's get you home, huh?" he said.

Just then, the Yorkie started yapping and squealing. The woman yelled the animal's name. Mike looked over and saw the small dog charging at a jogger. The jogger apparently did not see the retractable line, the dog's leash because the jogger suddenly found herself wrapped up in the thin, strong line.

The jogger went down, hard. The dog started squealing and screeching, trapped underneath the jogger's prone body. The woman started screaming at the hapless jogger.

Mike rushed over and gently assisted the jogger. He then grabbed the now snarling six pound dog, unhooked the leash and thrust the annoying dog at the dog's annoying owner.

"Hold your damned animal and drop the stupid leash," Mike ordered.

He managed to work the line loose. The entire time, the jogger had not moved. Mike could see the swelling knot on the woman's forehead. He could also see the break in the woman's ankle.

"Concussion, broken leg," Mike said. "Toni, get her name and address."

"I'm not giving you..." the woman shrilled.

Mike pulled his cell phone out, snapped two pictures of the woman, then called 911.

"Yes, got a jogger here, broken ankle, looks like a possible concussion. Woman's dog tripped her, caused the..."

"My Dawson didn't trip her; she just fell," the woman loudly protested.

"Bitch, please," Mike spat at the woman.

"Okay, sir, I can get an ambulance; it'll be about forty minutes," the operator intoned.

She's unconscious," Mike protested.

"I'm sorry, sir, the nearest vehicle is in Wakulla," the operator said.

"Never mind, I'll get her there myself," Mike snapped.

He picked the young woman up and carried her to his truck. Toni followed behind, glaring at the woman and the woman's dog. The woman made a hasty retreat.

"Don't worry, got her picture; she'll be back," Mike told Toni as he strapped the woman into his truck.

Toni ran and picked up a cup of ice from a vendor and Mike gave Toni his handkerchief. Toni sat in the jump seat behind the young woman and held the improvised ice pack to the woman's head as Mike drove rapidly, hazard lights flashing, to Lowridge's hospital.

The woman moaned softly a few times, but was still unconscious when Mike screeched to a halt outside of the ER. A nurse and an orderly came outside, rapidly pushing a gurney. Mike told them what had happened as they loaded the young woman onto the gurney.

Then he drove Toni home. They hugged one more time, Then Toni wiped a tear from her eye and went into her parents' home.

Mike debated with himself on whether he should go back to the hospital, or just go on home. The lateness of the hour made the decision for him. He had a full day tomorrow; work the day for Scandurro, and work on his latest foreclosure tomorrow evening.

The night they had Chicken Cacciatore, the night Toni begged Mike to stay, he decided he needed to find more permanent lodgings than his travel trailer. While Mike waited for Scandurro Construction to complete the Adams Office Suites and begin work on the Great Oak First National Bank, Mike came across a foreclosure in a modest neighborhood and purchased the property. The owners had left food to rot, had smeared feces on the walls, had broken all the windows and dumped dry concrete into the toilets. Mike did much of the work himself, using his position with Scandurro's to get the materials at a good price.

While he was working on that home, the home next door was also seized. Mike bought that home as well.

Then two homes on Roberts Drive, a gated community also went into foreclosure. The owners had overextended their credit, had used their homes as collateral. The collapsing market had caught them unaware.

Mike was able to unload three of the four properties at a reasonable return. He decided he would move into the fourth home, 1809 Roberts Drive.

He worked for Scandurro Construction during the day, Morrison Renovation and Reconstruction in the evenings and on the weekends.

His latest project was inside of the same gated community, on Simpson Way. The story was the same; the owner had overextended themselves on a speculation that did not pan out and had lost the home. The man's final act had been to hang himself in the home. That had been the man's trophy wife's first indication that anything was wrong in her idyllic life.

Nora Sanford first emptied her husband's wall safe, grabbing all of her jewelry. She made sure she also had the keys to the three safe deposit boxes, then she called 911 to report Jack's suicide.

In the morning, the moment Jack Sanford's bank opened, Nora emptied the three safe deposit boxes, and disappeared.

The bank had been slow to seize all other assets, but seize them they did. The house was the last piece of the estate and Mike picked it up at a fifth of the estimated value.

The only thing he really needed to do was change the carpet and the paint. Either Jack, or more likely Nora had very loud, very gaudy taste in color schemes, color combinations. The electric blue carpet and the magenta carpet were first to be yanked out. It took three coats of kiltz to cover the gold enamel paint on the bathroom walls.

But after Joe called an end to the work day, Mike found himself driving out to Lowridge instead of to the Simpson Way property. He parked and entered the hospital, then realized, he did not even know the young woman's name.

A nurse typed into a keyboard, looked at mike, looked at his driver's license, then looked again.

"Far way to drive, huh?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, only been in Oakleaf a few months," Mike admitted.