Turning from the fireplace, Diane finally noticed a glimpse of life on the coffee table, a stack of National Geographics and a Stephen King novel—items that could’ve been anyone’s, really. Diane sighed. The bare walls and lack of personal knickknacks gave Diane the sense Michelle didn’t take time for herself very often. For someone who literally wore their art and vibrant personality so outwardly on their sleeve, Michelle’s house simply felt unused and incomplete. Blank.
And honestly, sad.
Stepping into the adjacent room, Diane entered the spacious kitchen and found Michelle closing the pantry door with a stack of napkins in her hand, a tense expression straining her face. Diane eased her way closer. The kitchen was simple, like the rest of the house, with white appliances and a checkered tile floor, matching the black-and-white valance above the sink. A small rectangle table sat in the center, covered with unopened letters and junk mail, and an empty vase waiting for flowers.
“Where are your drinking glasses?” Diane asked.
“To the left of the sink,” Michelle said, setting two plates on the counter. “I don’t mind getting it for you.”
“I’ve got it. It’s not for me, anyway,” Diane said. She opened the door and grabbed a cup, filling it with water from the tap. “Your plant’s seen better days.”
Michelle laughed. “Yes, well, Audrey’s weathered my neglect before,” she said. “She always comes back.”
Diane turned off the water with a smirk. “You’ve named your plant?”
Michelle stopped what she was doing. “God, you’ve never seen Little Shop of Horrors, have you?”
“No. I have not.”
“Shocking,” Michelle said sarcastically, shaking her head in disappointment. “Audrey’s the name of the flesh-eating plant in the movie.”
“How delightful.” Diane grimaced. “Accompanying your reading material, I noticed in the other room, I take it you like blood and guts and all that creepy nonsense?”
“That movie is a musical comedy, actually. But we—I watched it a lot as a kid, and it kinda grew on me.” Michelle smiled solemnly, returning her attention to the dessert. She pulled a knife from the drawer and cut into the pie. “But yes, to answer your question, I love horror movies. I don’t think there’re any I haven’t seen.”
“I don’t think there’re any that I have,” Diane chuckled.
“I can change that.”
“No thank you. Concentrate your efforts elsewhere.” Patting Michelle’s shoulder on her way by, Diane returned to the living room and watered Audrey, spinning its wilted side towards the window and deadheading its browning leaves. She returned to the kitchen and tossed the leaves in the trash, and leaned against the counter. “I’ll stick with my cheesy, tear-jerking dramas.”
Michelle made a gagging face, and Diane laughed.
“I was thinking, since it’s a pleasant night,” Michelle said, pulling the first messy slice of pie out carefully, “I thought we could eat outside?”
Diane glanced out the window above the sink, overlooking the spacious property in the back. “Fresh air sounds nice.”
“I have a few chairs and a firepit out there,” Michelle said. “Though I’m not sure how much firewood I have on hand. As Shawn informed you, I don’t have guests very often…or ever.”
“Whatever you have is fine,” Diane said. Watching Michelle cut another slice, she was interrupted by Asher brushing up against her leg, adding a soft mew of affection. She bent down and ran her hand across its back, its fluffy, gray tail flickering with approval. “Your cat seems to like me.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.” She handed Diane a plate of pie with a fork and napkin. “He doesn’t even like my company most days,” Michelle said, grabbing her own pie plate. “You ready?”
Diane gave Asher another loving pat on its head and followed Michelle out the back door. The small set of steps lead to a narrow pathway, the worn dirt winding through two large rock gardens full of black-eyed Susans, violet asters, and tall, golden sunflowers. A few fluttering monarchs floated by.
“Wow,” Diane said, her stride faltering slightly as she witnessed the open landscape ahead of her, “this is all yours?”
“Yep. All the way to the tree line.”
Diane hadn’t realized the extensive land Michelle owned, and as she slid into one of the Adirondack chairs by the edge of the garden, she scanned the spread of land around her. The trees. The sweet smell of hay sweeping through the air. It was peaceful and quiet with only the swish of the tall grass sounding beside them, their golden tops swaying rhythmically in the wind. Closing her eyes, Diane drew in a full breath and released it, sinking into the surroundings.
“It’ll just be a second,” Michelle said, “and I’ll have the fire going.”
Placing her pie down on the overturned crate between the chairs, Michelle gathered a few logs and kindling, and worked the fire, until the flames were steady. The fire popped, glowing ashes climbed towards the sky, and Michelle stood there for a moment, keeping an eye on it. Satisfied, she turned around and eased into the seat next to Diane, just as a brisk breeze swirled around them, and a shot of shivers rolled up Diane’s spine. She pulled her shoulders in, trying to get warm until the fire grew.
“Here,” Michelle said. She stood again and shrugged off her jean jacket, draping it across Diane’s shoulders. “Take my jacket.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Diane said.
“You’re cold,” Michelle said, returning to her seat. “I insist.”
The denim was soft and weighted, and well-worn, evident by its pale blue color. The cold vanished, and Diane pulled the jacket tighter. The fabric still held Michelle’s body heat. Her smell. The curves of her shoulders and arms. The intimacy of wearing her clothes, smelling her smell, and feeling her warmth was electrifying, as if Michelle was pressed up against her. Touching her. Feeling her. Everywhere. The thought made Diane’s heart race. Skin break out into a cold sweat. Thankfully, Diane maintained her composure, and she cleared her throat softly, focusing on her dessert as she scooped a forkful of apples and cranberries and buttery, flaky crust.
“This is much better.” Diane forced a smile. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Michelle snatched up her pie and crossed her legs, relaxing into her seat, seemingly content with the chilly evening.
Diane scanned Michelle’s camisole top and her bare arms, watching for goosebumps. “You’re not going to be too cold?” she asked. “I don’t want you getting sick for my benefit.”
“I’m fine,” Michelle said. “After spending all day in the heat, being out here is refreshing.”
“As long as you’re comfortable.”
“I am. Promise.”
They cut into their slices and watched the scenery for a while. The soft hum of crickets chirping and fire crackling broke up the mundane silence between them, giving Diane a moment to settle in and tame her feral nerves.
“God, you make amazing pies,” Michelle moaned, taking another bite. “Seriously, how do you do this?”
“It has your approval then?”
“Absolutely,” Michelle leaned her head back and closed her eyes with a sigh, shoveling more pie into her mouth. “I should plant an orchard and hire you to bake nothing but apple pies for me all the time.”
“Your own personal pie producer?”
Pointing her fork at Diane, Michelle turned to her and laughed. “Yes. Exactly.”
“You do have enough land for it.”
“I do,” Michelle said. “Not that I use it much myself. I let a local farmer use the back acres for baling, and Sawyer has his garden over there. He also takes care of the perennial beds for me, too. I don’t have time for landscaping, nor do I have a green thumb. It’s probably a waste owning so much, but I like the space. I couldn’t imagine living somewhere else.”
Diane looked at the patch of vegetables growing, rows of corn leaning over the smaller crops, waiting for the fall harvest. “It is beautiful here.”
“Mm,” Michelle nodded.
“Have you lived in Vermont your whole life?” Diane asked.
“More or less,” Michelle said. “I’ve moved around some, to various places and states. But I consider Grand Isle my home since my aunt and uncle raised me here. It made sense to settle down here permanently.”
“It’s nice to have a place to call home.”
“It can be.” Michelle drew in a long breath, and released it slowly. “Sometimes.”
Sensing they were treading on a delicate topic, the last thing Diane wanted was to provoke painful memories and ruin everything. They were in such a good place. If someone had asked Diane to spend time with Michelle a month ago, she would have laughed at the absurdity. But now? The whole day together was eye-opening. Indulging in a deep inhale of savory wood smoke and fresh country air, Diane looked at Michelle beside her. Her chest flooded with warmth. For the first time since her divorce, Diane didn’t feel like hiding. Or pretending. Pretending she didn’t feel so alone and lost and sad. Afraid. Michelle made her feel seen and heard, her company appreciated without expecting anything more in return. Tonight was the spark she was looking for between them, a flash of light, and Diane wanted to keep it, capture it and hold it safe to her chest like a lightning bug in a jar.
Finishing the last of the pie, Diane set her plate down delicately and turned herself towards Michelle. “Can I be honest with you?” Diane asked.
“Yeah. Of course.”
“I was nervous coming over here today.”
“Why’s that?”
Diane crossed her legs and paused for a moment, planning her words carefully. “I didn’t think you appreciated having me as your neighbor these last several weeks, let alone collaborating on a project together.”
Michelle nodded, poking her pie with her fork, before putting it aside.
“I’m sorry,” Diane said. “Genuinely. For how things started between us. At first, it was easier blaming all our hostility on you,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t all you. I didn’t make it easy for you to like me, and I apologize.”
“I’ve had better first impressions of people, yes,” Michelle said. She dropped her eyes on Diane. “But it wasn’t entirely your fault, either.”
“Are you sure?” Diane asked. “Gawking at you at the food truck and then trying to assault you on my front lawn, didn’t exactly scream, ‘it’s nice to meet you, neighbor.’”
Michelle chuckled. “No. It didn’t.”
“I am truly sorry.”
Michelle looked at her. “Apology accepted,” she said. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Especially if what Shawn said about you not being a very social person,” Diane said. “I see how my behavior didn’t help our relationship any.”
Pursing her lips, Michelle’s eyes dropped into her lap.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you by mentioning that.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” Michelle shook her head and laughed softly. “Really. He’s right. I’m a workaholic, for sure. I don’t make time for a social life, or girlfriends. Or anyone outside of family. I was taken aback by your forwardness, because I don’t warm up to strangers easily.”
“Particularly strangers with staring problems.” Diane grinned.
“Yes. Especially those,” Michelle smiled. “Though, it’s nice when someone appreciates my tattoos.”
“There’s a lot to appreciate.”
“That’s true.”
Diane smiled. “Either way, I was hoping all these pies would smooth things over between us.”
Michelle laughed. “I’ve noticed.”
“Is it working?”
Michelle shrugged playfully. “Not sure yet. You might have to keep trying.”
Diane laughed and rested her hands in her lap, looking softly at Michelle. “I know it doesn’t excuse my behavior, but I’ve had a rather exhausting year, and I’m sure that stirred up my emotions more than usual when I first arrived and we met.”
“Why?” Michelle tilted her head. “What happened this year?”
Diane paused and scratched the side of her mouth nervously. “I divorced.”
Michelle’s eyes grew wide. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine,” Diane said, trying to dampen the feelings of failure that always accompanied that admission. “It was a short marriage and a long overdue separation.”
“How long were you together?” Michelle asked.
“Twenty years.”
“Wow,” Michelle chuckled. She swept her hand through her hair. “I don’t think my last date made it twenty minutes.”
“It’s been an adjustment,” Diane nodded, “for the better. But an adjustment nonetheless.”
“I would imagine,” Michelle said. “So, is that why you’re here? Are you getting away from them? From that experience? Like an Eat, Pray, Love, situation?”
“No. Not exactly like that,” Diane said, smiling. “And it was a woman I was married to, by the way.”
“Really?” Michelle blinked. “Hm. Wow.”
“You’re surprised.”
“Actually…no,” Michelle laughed. “I was only trying to be polite. I knew you weren’t just admiring my tattoos when we first met.”
Heat spread up Diane’s neck, and she ducked her head with embarrassment.
Michelle leaned forward and whispered, “I know the face of gay panic when I see it.”
Clearing her throat, Diane paused for a moment, collecting herself, before continuing. “But yes, getting back to your question, that’s why I’m here,” she said. “I’m on sabbatical, working on my first novel. Collecting myself, before getting back into my life. Or resurrecting whatever’s left of it.”
“Is it working?”
Diane took a moment and considered Michelle’s question. Vermont wasn’t exactly going along the straight, productive path she planned on. But nothing else in her life did so either. Surprisingly though, things felt as if they were changing, her life turning a new leaf, along with the seasons.
“Yes,” Diane said, nodding with a smile. “I think it is.”
“I’m glad,” Michelle said. “Vermont is special. It’s a perfect place to start over.”
“I’m sensing that. I grew up in a small, rural town in South Carolina,” Diane said. “Being here is stirring up a lot of emotions and memories.”
Michelle curled her legs towards herself and hugged her knees. She rested her head on the back of the chair. “Such as?”
“When I was little girl,” Diane spoke softly, holding their eye contact, “there was a huge Southern oak in our front yard. I mean this tree was massive. Probably hundreds of years old. Its branches stretched out across the whole lawn like long, protective arms of a giant. I’d always imagined it’d sweep its branches around the house in a big hug, and defend it from ghosts and thunderstorms and bad guys.”
Michelle smiled wide, her eyes crinkling with amusement.
“The tree was close to the house, and in the evenings after dinner, with the porch light on, its glow would spread across the yard, just enough to see clearly,” Diane said. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the memory in her mind. “My father would read to me under that tree. Every night. The first book was A Wrinkle in Time” Diane smiled. “I’ll never forget that.”
“I love that book,” Michelle whispered.
“Do you?”
“One of my favorites.”
“Mine too.” Diane held her gaze, before continuing, “Sitting under the tree, I’d rest my head on his lap, and he’d read with his deep, enchanting voice and push his fingers through my hair, and I’d look up at the snarl of branches, and the dangling moss, filled with tiny freckles of light from the porch. I never felt so safe and loved as I did under that tree. It was magical.”
Michelle’s head dipped and she stared the ground. “Sounds it.”
“But is it strange?” Diane sighed.
“What?”
“Is it odd, I still want that? Eve
n as a middle-aged woman, I’d give anything to be under that tree, hearing my father’s voice, and looking up into the curls of moss sprinkled with light?”
“No,” Michelle swallowed hard and met Diane’s eyes again. “No, I don’t think that’s strange at all.”
Hours passed. By the time their pie slices were long gone and darkness settled in, the fire was sizzling down to a smoky ash and the air was crisp and cold. Diane had no idea how time flew by. But she knew to blame their enjoyable conversations. Moments of laughter. Connection. Today was a glimpse into Michelle’s softer side, the secret side that lay beneath her hardened surface. A side, Diane guessed, Michelle didn’t offer to many people, and she felt grateful for the chance. Getting deeper into the night, Diane knew she’d probably worn out her welcome long ago, as they yawned simultaneously, padding quietly through the farmhouse, towards the front door.
“Again, I really appreciate you helping me with the piece today,” Diane said, standing at the entrance, Asher returned curling his friendly tail around her pant leg. “I think we work really well together.”
“You’re welcome, and I agree,” Michelle said. “Thank you again for the pie. It’s one of my favorite desserts, but I hate making them myself.”
“Blaspheme.” Diane’s jaw dropped. “How can you hate making pie?”
Michelle shrugged and leaned against the wall. “I hate it because I’m not good at it.”
“You can love something even if you’re not good at it.”
“I can’t,” Michelle laughed.
“You make glass for a living,” Diane said. “You create things with your hands. With fire. Do you know how impressive that is?”
Crossing her arms, Michelle bit into her bottom lip and looked down with a blush.
“I am amazed by what you create,” Diane said as she touched Michelle’s chin and made Michelle look her in the eyes. “Of what you do. Yet, you’re telling me you’re intimidated by a little flour and butter and filling?”
“Yes,” Michelle confessed with a coy smirk. “But glass is easy.”
“You’d think pie is as well,” Diane said, snatching her bag off the hook, “if someone showed you properly.”
Fire and Water Page 13