Chapter 12

Lilly

There was magic in my new life. I hadn’t realized until she was gone the enormous weight Natalie represented to me. I had become her caretaker in some senses, but even when she was functioning healthily, I still had to be vigilant. That “walking on eggs” environment had hiked me up to a level of anxiety that had begun to show itself. I had felt myself retreating and knew I’d even been somewhat depressed. Only when I slept, was I free from Natalie.

That had changed now. I was no longer alone. Bolt lay in the bed next to me at three in the morning when I’d had just enough sleep to give fuel to worries. He felt my movements and soon, his arms were around me, and his kisses began stimulating the pleasure sources of my body and mind. He made gentle love to me at those times, as though he sensed I needed a comforting, secure reassurance—a definite contrast to the passion-filled encounters we often exchanged that lasted well into the morning’s early hours.

Bolt introduced me to riding. One morning after breakfast, he took me down to the rows of horse barns at the back of his property. There was a separate road that led to these and it allowed the farm business vehicles to travel without interference from our security system. That was the morning I met Mr. Fred.

Mr. Fred, according to Bolt, had endeared himself to Bolt’s mother. She had been riding dressage and her horse missed a vault, landing badly. In pain, she’d begun crying, as she knew the animal would have to be put down. Mr. Fred had come from the audience and begged her to let him heal the animal. She had reluctantly agreed, and Mr. Fred had come daily to the Symington farm and worked with the animal until its leg healed. Although it would never jump again, she took long pleasure rides on the creature she’d so loved. Mr. Fred, who was not fond of Dallas, had readily accepted when Bolt offered for him to work on his own farm. Leila had joyously encouraged the arrangement, and Mr. Fred had been with Bolt ever since.

Mr. Fred didn’t speak often, but when he did, people around him listened. He seemed to take a shine to me; perhaps he saw another wounded animal, and it made him stick closely by, to heal me. Then again, perhaps he was protecting me from something—Bolt seemed unusually suspicious of his father’s intent. Mr. Fred wore a face filled with wrinkles. His hair was completely gray and was worn pulled back into a short braid against his tanned neck. There was something instantly familiar to me about him and although we never talked about it, I knew he felt it too, and he was never far from me. Bolt told me one evening, as we sat in the dark on the patio and looked at the stars ,that he believed Mr. Fred had a special sort of spirit. He said that when he was away, and I felt fear, I should never hesitate to call or text Mr. Fred, and for that reason, his phone number was on my “favorites” list. It seemed a little odd to text him. It would have felt more natural to just focus my thoughts on his face so he would feel my energy and know I needed him, but the phone was more reliable.

I was lucky because it didn’t take me long to become accustomed to riding. It was the most exhilarating, free feeling I had ever experienced. Fast cars were nice, but a horse could take you where cars couldn’t go, and every foot you traveled on their backs felt like an adventure. When Bolt was in town working, I often wandered out to the barns and found Mr. Fred already holding the reins to a horse he’d saddled for me. He just knew I was coming, and for some reason, it seemed perfectly natural that we would have that connection between us.

Sometimes Mr. Fred would ride with me, pointing out plants and explaining their medicinal values, or teaching me how to fish in the rushing waters of the creek that formed one boundary of Bolt’s property. He became like a wise old uncle to me, and I could totally be myself with him. He’d heard about Natalie and in his way, taught me to be at peace with myself despite the havoc upon which she seemed to thrive.

Bolt loved to dine out, or so I learned. I’d never had the money for that luxury, so I let him pick the restaurants and order my meals. This seemed to give him pleasure, and for my part, I dressed up in the beautiful wardrobe I was given. The more I let him spoil me, the happier he seemed to be. I suppose I should have tried to be a little less dependent, but it felt like I’d been on watch for so long that it felt good to be coddled.

Then, there were the less happy times, when Bolt traveled. Not only did I miss him, but it was during these times that he closed himself off to me. I could sense their approach. He would become quiet, almost sullen, and he would snap at me if I asked what was wrong. Then one morning I’d wake up to find his side of the bed empty, and any joy we’d had the day before was spoiled with a feeling of abandonment. Since my parents had died far away from me, abandonment seemed to be a particular issue of mine. I assumed Bolt understood that, as he did everything else, but the trips continued to roll over our happy life.

During these periods, I became anxious, and anger and jealousy came quick. I’d walk down to the barns, and even Mr. Fred couldn’t cheer me up. Coincidentally, these were times when Natalie would call, and her voice was always the same—mocking and a little in-my-face. “Oh, Bolt is travelling again? Where do you suppose he goes and who is he with?” She loved to needle me, and that did nothing to help my disposition. I would go into savior mode and talk about the apartment and how happy she would be when she came home and found her new life. Natalie seemed pleased, but far happier to make me feel miserable. Sometimes, I wondered whether she cared about anyone other than herself, or if maybe she just hated me.

Whether by chance or design, Kenny often dropped by the house while Bolt was away. Although he wouldn’t admit it, I challenged him, asking whether Bolt had ordered him to keep me company.

“Why would I need an excuse to spend an evening with a beautiful, charming companion such as yourself?” He’d shrug off my inquiries. I responded with a smile and a half-hearted blush, just to make him feel good. He wouldn’t answer direct questions, ever. I asked if he knew where Bolt had gone. No response. I asked if he knew when Bolt would return, and he’d ask about the weather. He was the master of avoiding my questions, which also added to my frustration.

I came to know Kenny as having a very empathetic heart. I told him of my past and my frustrations with Natalie, and instead of feeling sorry for me, as most people did, he felt sorry for Natalie. Maybe there was something in his own past he could relate to, but more and more often he’d ask after her. One evening I was shocked when he told me that the previous weekend, he’d flown to Savannah and visited her.

“Really? Did Bolt tell you to?” I’d asked, amazed.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Then why did you go? You don’t even know her,” I’d poked at him.

“From all you’ve told me, it sounded like she needs a friend. Don’t we all, from time to time?” he’d added, as if to explain why he was showing up at the house when Bolt was away.

I’d nodded and felt selfish for being suspicious, but as the weeks went by, I came to learn that he and Natalie had developed a long-distance relationship. There were texts and phone calls, and he flew down regularly to visit her. Natalie never said a thing about it. She wanted me to feel sorry for her because it was how she manipulated me into giving her what she wanted.

Natalie ultimately always got what she wanted.