The drive down the two-mile dirt road kicked up a whirlwind of dust so thick it created a zero-visibility wall behind us. I loved the dirt, as it gave the illusion that we were separated from the frustrations of the city just by the few dusty particles that detached us from that world. Like a magic trick, poof, and we were transported to a whole new place.

"I'm proud of the As you got on your report card." Dad nudged me with his elbow from the driver's seat and shot me a smile when I glanced at him. "Checked the mail when I got home from work. Now we have something to celebrate this weekend, huh?"

I elbowed back. "I thought we were supposed to leave all the real world stuff behind us, huh?"

"We are. We will. Just wanted you to know how proud of you I am." The smile never left his face. My heart warmed. "I just wished I knew sooner. I would've bragged to the guys at the office."

As we approached the fence, my heart sped up. It had been a couple years since our last getaway together and the thought of beating my dad in the amount of fish I would catch kept racing through my mind.

"Who's bringing in the luggage?" He eyed me, a smirk curled his lips.

I presented my hand in the familiar game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. "Winner gets to kick their feet up the whole weekend. No cleaning dishes, no cooking, and no bringing in luggage."

He chuckled. "Deal. On three."

I hit the palm of my hand with my fist. "One ... Two ... Three!" On three he took his hands from the steering wheel to slap his palms together. I slammed my fist to my palm with my thumb extended. "I win!"

"What ... how so?" His eyes moved from the road to me and back again. "You got Rock."

"Nope, this is Lighter."

"What?" He laughed, his body convulsing with each uneven chuckle. "A lighter? Cheating is what it is."

He reached over and pulled my ponytail, playfully. "Cheater."

I pinched his forearm. "Loser."

He came to a stop at the fence and snickered, throwing the truck into park. "Come here." He opened his arms, gesturing for a welcoming hug, but stopped short. "What the fuck!" he said, looking out of the passenger-side window toward the cottage. He jumped out of the truck so quickly he left the engine running and the keys in the ignition. What had happened? I looked out of my window toward the cottage.

A scantily clad woman staggered from the porch, tripping on the last step and stumbling to get away. The door to our home away from home was left wide open, due to her leaving in such a hurry.

I'd never heard Dad curse like that before, and the way he vaulted over the fence like a sprint runner over a hurdle surprised me too.

"Where do you think you're going?" his words squeezed from his throat in a growl.

Her frantic shrieks caused my stomach to jump to my throat, as did the horrified expression on her face.

What was happening? A sense of displacement overcame me as I watched in horror. Like a member of an audience, I stared, stunned.

Had we just caught a burglar in the act? She must be some sort of drug addict looking for something of value to sell for her next hit? We'd become quite accustomed to people like her near our neighborhood in the city. Or was she a squatter, using the cottage as her own while we were gone? Did it matter who she was? She ran and he chased.

The woman quickly turned the corner just as Dad neared her. He continued on her heels toward the back of the cottage. And even through she seemed to not have stolen anything, her very presence was suspect. We never kept anything of much value in the cottage anyway. So how essential was it to keep her from getting away?

I turned off the engine and removed the keys, carrying them by the keychain strap. I left the door to the truck open as I followed the sounds of commotion behind the cottage to where Dad straddled the kicking and flailing woman, struggling to pin her arms to the dirt below them.

The woman's screams of "No, no, no," were drowned out by Dad's growls of "Stop it. Stop fighting." My pulse drummed in my ears and soon the noise and chaos were snuffed out by the rapid thump, thump, thump in my head.

The woman's arms slipped from Dad's grip and her fingernails scratched down his face, leaving deep red grooves on his baby smooth skin. A couple fingers hooked inside the lower socket of his eye and he howled, one of his handsome gray eyes now bulged and bloodshot.

"Mesa!" he managed. "Mesa."

I dropped to my knees before I realized I had done it. I leaned over the woman and pulled her hands from his face, causing her to scratch at the air. Catching a few glimpses of her wide eyes and gaping mouth, I knew she wasn't going to stop fighting.

Her fingernails caught the skin behind my ear and a different type of panic rushed me, the kind that alerted me to fear for my own life and wellbeing.

"Stop ... struggling." Dad's angry eyes moved from the woman's to mine. "Mesa." The way he growled my name forced me into action.

I pressed the woman down by the neck with the twelve-inch strap of the keychain. Her fingernails nicked at my flesh, like hot stings from an annoying wasp. I gripped both ends of the strap in each hand and used my body weight to pin her to the ground. She coughed so hard, saliva and phlegm misted from her lips.

"Stop moving, damn it!" Dad ordered and I immediately observed his eyes. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his injured eye and rested on his cheekbone. But through the anger, he nodded.

I twisted the strap around her neck.

He nodded.

I pulled it taut, squeezing.

He nodded.

The keys jingled until I fisted them tighter.

Eyes still locked on mine, he nodded.

With all my weight, I pulled, pulled, pulled.

Her arms dropped to the dirt beneath us, limp, but I didn't let go. I continued to pull the strap until Dad broke eye contact and the anger disappeared from his face.

I couldn't help but wonder...

Did I just make him proud?

"I'll fix this, honey," he said through heavy breathing. "You go on inside now."

I stumbled through the door like the drunks who roam the alley back in the city. My toxin? Disbelief. Did I really just do that? I looked down at my trembling hands, the outline of the keys stenciled into my palm. My body ached from the struggle so I dropped to the couch and stared into nothingness; all the while the sounds of a shovel hitting hard, compact dirt and a woman's screams bounced around in my head. No more than an hour pass when in walked Dad coated in dust.

No words were exchanged, not even a glance. He only paused by the coffee table, picked up a puzzle piece, placed it in its proper position, and moved on.

That's a hell of a thing to experience. How's has this incident influenced Mesa? We'll soon find out. Don't forget to add this story to your library. Thanks. :)