Chapter Twenty-One. Tuesday afternoon, Chase sat on the deck having a beer

Tuesday afternoon, Chase sat on the deck having a beer. She'd sent her finished manuscript to Ariana. The wave of relief that finishing a book produced was like floodwaters seeping into her house of creation and washing it clean, leaving only clear space.

The dogs napped at her feet. Life felt calm. Gitana was at an orchid show in Santa Fe. Late September had arrived bringing its fine colors. The poplars that lined the driveway crackled with their brilliant yellow leaves. Chase planned to take the dogs and Addison up to Fourth of July canyon for a hike to see the changing of the leaves. Gitana was past hiking. She had trouble getting up the stairs.

Now that she had finished her moist-mound saga, her mystery novel popped up in her head like a bagel in a toaster. She'd realized that she needed to do more research on straight people. This turning out a viable straight character had proved more difficult than she'd anticipated and something still wasn't right.

Her ruminations were broken by the rumblings of a large truck and the dogs barking their brains out. Chase paid no attention. The propane trucks, the garbage truck and the UPS guy all came up the rutted dirt road, their engines and shocks making horrible noises and the dogs always barked.

A white truck with Lowe's in huge blue letters on the side panel pulled up in their drive. The dogs were beside themselves. Chase shooed them into the gated side yard. They could still see but not attack the driver. This was important. Annie had almost bitten the county sheriff when he was making inquiries about a neighbor's wife gone missing.

The driver was a large Hispanic man. "Hola, are you Chase Banter?"

"Yes. I don't remember ordering anything."

He frowned and studied his clipboard. "I'm making an appliance drop. You need to sign here indicating you received the delivery."

"Is this about the toaster oven?" Chase said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Seems like an awfully long way for a toaster oven. Couldn't you have just shipped it?"

He dropped down the lift and swung open the back door. "I don't think so. The invoice says a toaster oven, a stainless steel fridge, a dishwasher and a glass top stove. You remodeling?"

"Not that I was aware of. Who bought all this stuff?" Chase hoped Gitana hadn't slipped over the edge about the state of the appliances because the dishwasher still leaked and the fridge had developed an odd buzz. This was not in the budget.

"All the note says is "Love Lacey, don't even think about returning it." There's a lot of exclamation points."

"I see."

"You've got to sign for it." He handed Chase the clipboard.

"What happened to your fingers?" he inquired.

Chase had two Band-Aids on her fingers and black electrical tape around the rest, giving her no access to her cuticles. Her

ten-step program was going badly. "I'm supposed to stop biting my cuticles," she said as she signed her name. She hoped this wasn't going to turn into a speech on weakness—how she needed to harness her inner strength. She'd had enough of those. Non-cuticle biters just didn't understand the complexity of the issue.

"I know what you mean. I can't stop." The driver held up his hands. They looked like a war zone. "Does that tape thing work?"

Chase handed the clipboard back. "Kind of. Pulling off the tape to chew makes you feel guilty, but it doesn't always stop you."

"Guilt is a powerful motivator."

"Went to Catholic school, did you?"

He smiled. "Yep. I better get this out of the truck or the boss will have my ass."

Chase had him put the stuff in the sunroom until they sorted out the kitchen. When he finished Chase got him an iced tea. "Here sit down and take a rest, that was hard work."

"Thanks."

"It's beautiful out here," Raul said, for he had introduced himself.

The mountains still clung to the greenery of summer, but the aspen groves were starting to turn.

"Yes, it is." Chase looked at scenery she forgot to see until a stranger mentioned it.

"What do you do?" Raul asked. He sipped his iced tea with the gratitude of the truly thirsty.

Chase topped it off with the glass pitcher she'd brought out. "I'm a writer."

"Really? That's great. I'm a reader. I love to read. I know that seems kind of strange for a delivery driver—antithetical. I've never met a writer."

"You're not your job, Raul. Raul is intelligent, gregarious and a reader." Chase finished her iced tea and refilled it. They were sitting on the loading gate which Raul had lifted to the perfect height.

"You're right. You know why I like this job? It pays well and I get out and about. I'm not stuck in an office. I talk to people that I want to and not to people I have to."

"That's how to look at life," Chase said.

"What about you? Do you love to write?"

"I do. I can't imagine my life without it." Chase topped off his glass. A beautiful rufus hummingbird buzzed in at them and then off to the feeder in the front yard.

"So what do you write?"

"Lesbian romance novels." Chase cringed every time she was asked. Somehow, romance coupled with lesbian was the ghetto of all ghettos, genre-hell where the world scorned her efforts.

"What's wrong with that? My wife's a lesbian. I'm sure she'd love your work. How many books have you written?"

"Eleven."

"Hell, that's something to be proud of."

"Did you mean your ex-wife's a lesbian?"

"No. We're still married. Going on fifteen years now. She was a lesbian when I married her." Raul leaned down and tightened the laces of his work boots.

"I'm missing something. I have to be."

Raul laughed. "Yeah, it's kind of weird but it works."

"But how?" Chase asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

Raul picked at his thumb. Chase dug the roll of black electrical tape out of her pant's pocket. "Here use some of this."

He pulled off a piece and wrapped it around his thumb.

"The arrangement," Chase prodded. Her curiosity piqued, propriety couldn't stop her.

"Oh, yeah, well, Marisa's a little different."

"Obviously."

"She pretends I'm a woman."

Had Chase been drinking her tea she would have spewed it all over at this revelation. "This is the weirdest fucking story I've ever heard."

Raul chuckled. "I don't tell it to many people." He wrapped

some more electrical tape around the pinky and ring finger of his left hand.

Chase noticed he was wearing a simple gold wedding ring. "No, I suppose not. So it works in the sack? I mean that's got to be the testing ground." She found it difficult to ask this question, but it was the most crucial one.

"Sure, I let my hair down, shave my legs, wear a silk robe and you know." He demonstrated by taking his hair out of the rubber band. He shook it out.

He was a handsome man with his long black hair and his smooth olive skin and dark, almost black almond-shaped eyes.

"You're a lesbian with a real strap-on?"

"Exactly."

Chase studied his features. He could pass in a darkened room like a bar or bedroom. She supposed it was no different than her being a father. Oh, hell, the world was a strange place. At least it's not boring. "You know, Raul, you're all right."

"I was wondering..." He stopped and blushed. "If I sent you one of your books, would you autograph it for Marisa? She'd be so excited."

"I've got promo copies. Let me get one and you can take it home."

"That'd be great. She's going to be flabbergasted that I met you. She's very proud of our community."

Chase ran up to the studio and rummaged in her closet for the box of books. She knew she should be more reverent with her novels, but once the editing was complete she was so sick of it that she never wanted to see the book again. It was only times like this—making Raul's—day that those copies had meaning.

Chase autographed the tide page using her best most legible scrawl.

"I'm going to read it to her tonight. She loves me to read to her. She says I have a sonorous voice."

"You two sound perfect for each other."

"I better get going. I might be considered tardy."

He pulled out a small black notebook from his front pocket and studied it. "Perfect. I haven't used that one in six months. The old flat tire routine."

"Especially on our road. So you keep notes."

"We call it the The Black Book of Excuses." He winked at her.

"That's a great idea. Maybe I could make up one for my editor."

"You could call it The Writer's Book of Editorial Excuses," he suggested.

Chase laughed. "I like that."

Raul dug in his front pocket again. This time he pulled out a business card. "Here's my number. You need anything—or want to go out to dinner sometime just give me a call."

"I will," she said, and actually meant it.

Raul started the diesel. The dogs barked and Gitana came up the drive. She pulled the Land Rover off into the wild grasses so the delivery truck could pass.

She drove up to the house, honking at the dogs in the daily ritual of "Mama's home" and they danced gleefully at the gate on their hind legs like furry can-can dancers.

No one except a fur kid could make you feel so loved and needed, Chase thought, probably not even Bud.

"So what was that about?" Gitana asked as she walked up the drive from the garage.

"It was the toaster oven."

"They sent out a truck for that?" She opened the front gate and gave Chase a peck on her cheek.

Chase wanted to see her reaction to Lacey's surprise gift to see if it differed from her own.

Gitana walked into the sunroom, which now resembled an appliance warehouse. "What on earth?"

"Lacey."

"We can't take this. What all is it?" Gitana said, peering at the boxes.

"Stove, fridge, dishwasher and a toaster oven. All stainless

steel."

"Must have been quite the conversion," Gitana said, stroking the fridge box.

"I tried. She won't take it back. She said something about saving her life."

"Still." Gitana bent over and studied the picture of the dishwasher on the front of the box.

"Enjoy it. It's pocket change for Lacey. Besides we should get a payoff for putting up with her ass."

Gitana smiled. "She'd say the same thing about you."

Chase flicked open the silver box cutter. "Sticks and stones and a new stove."

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