The Blossoming: The Third book in The Green Man Series

by Sharon Brubaker

  “Are you coming over for the Fourth of July picnic at Bayside?” Sylvia asked, “If so, maybe we can scoot over to Marian’s to take a look.”

  Carol sighed, “I’m learning what’s it’s like to be in a relationship with a cop,” she told her friend, “I’m still not sure of Joe’s schedule for the weekend.”

  “Just come yourself, if he can’t make it,” Sylvia told Carol. “It’s casual and fun. It’s potluck.”

  “Okay, okay,” Carol said, “Mom’s going to the beach, but I guess I can hang here with Joe or without.”

  They entered the cafeteria that was getting crowded with the lunch hour. Fortunately, Owen had arrived before them and had saved them a table. Both women stopped talking about the wedding dress. Owen stood up, gave Sylvia a quick kiss, and waited until they sat.

  “How are your plans coming?” Carol asked Owen.

  “Plans?” he asked, looking puzzled.

  “For your part of the wedding planning,” Carol asked, “Best man, tuxedos, rehearsal dinner, you know…that stuff for wedding planning.”

  Owen laughed. “Carol,” he said, “you actually lost your calling. You definitely should be a wedding planner,” he chuckled. “My best man is my friend from college, Scott. We spent many years together as roommates. We don’t get together too often because he’s all over the country for his job. He’ll be here for the wedding. Sylvia hasn’t had a chance to meet him yet, either.”

  “Good,” Carol said, “and…”

  Owen sighed, “Marian is insisting on the rehearsal dinner. Mom and Dad and I are arguing with her that we’ll only agree if she has it catered.” He looked at Sylvia and said with a sardonic tone, “you can imagine how well that’s going, but Jon agrees, and I think he’ll talk her into it. Mom’s been looking up caterers by the dozens. Regarding the tuxedoes, what do you want me to wear?”

  Sylvia looked at him and smiled, “Well, I loved you wearing the tux with the tails when you proposed, but I think it will be much too hot for that at the wedding. Since it’s a waterfront and sort of a beach wedding, do you just want to wear a suit or just a dress shirt and pants?” she asked.

  He pondered this for a minute, before he answered, “I think I would like to wear a tux,” Owen said and smiled at her before he continued. “How would a light gray tuxedo be with a tie or cummerbund to match Carol and Gwen’s dresses?” he asked.

  “Ooh!,” Carol agreed, “the light gray would look fabulous with the sage green dresses.”

  “And if you want to keep it more casual,” Sylvia suggested, “you, Scotty and Joe could get light gray suits. I’m sure you could find a sage green tie. Maybe you could purchase it as their groomsman’s gift?” Sylvia suggested.

  Owen nodded, thinking about it. “Okay, I get it. No tuxedo is your wish. Keep it a little casual. I guess we’ll have to have a ‘boys’ shopping date soon. I’ll get in touch with both of them.”

  “Where’s Scotty now?” Sylvia asked.

  “I think he’s in Canada this week,” Owen said, “he’s taken his geeky self and created an empire with his Geeky Conventions. Being a geek has made him a lot of money and he’s guest geek at the Star Trek museum in Vulcan, Canada.”

  “Lucky him,” Carol said, “The suit idea is great. Cake decisions this week and flowers next week.”

  “Yes, Commandant,” Owen saluted Carol.

  She laughed, “Back to the grindstone,” she reminded Sylvia before she said to Owen, “See you this afternoon for cakes.”

  Sylvia and Owen followed Carol to the bakery in Newark, Delaware. It was an old building and Sylvia suspected it dated to the nineteen fifties or early nineteen sixties. When they walked into the bakery, the aroma of sweet baked goods wafted out to them in a wave. They all sniffed appreciatively. They introduced themselves at the counter and were asked to sit at the decorative white iron table and chairs at the front of the bakery. In a moment, two young women arrived, one with binders and a clipboard and the other one with a tray. The young lady with the binders and clipboard put them down on the table and held out her hand.

  “Hello, I’m Lauren Hirsch,” she introduced herself, “and I’m the bridal coordinator at the bakery.”

  The other young woman put the tray down on an adjacent white, wrought iron table and went back to the kitchen. She returned a moment later with plates, forks, and napkins. Lauren had them fill out an informational sheet with their personal information, wedding date, and the number of guests. Sylvia did this while Carol and Owen browsed through the books with photographs of beautiful cakes. After Sylvia had finished the paperwork, Lauren discussed the various cakes and fillings.

  They tried eight different kinds of cake and ten different fillings. Lauren looked hopefully at Owen and Sylvia after they tried the various combinations. Carol voted for chocolate cake with a pineapple filling. This was no surprise to Sylvia, as she knew Carol had a penchant for tropical drinks. Carol and her mother, Amber, visited the islands nearly each year. Carol loves Pina Coladas and other fruity, tropical drinks. It was a surprise to Sylvia that Owen liked the red velvet. Sylvia couldn’t decide on her favorite.

  “I think we need to think about this before we make a decision,” Sylvia said. She turned to Owen, “I think a smaller cake would be sufficient, don’t you?”

  He nodded and answered, “The cakes are stunning,” he said as he gestured to the book of photographs of cakes baked and decorated by the bakery, “we’ll need to talk about what type of designs we like as well.”

  “Thank you so much,” Sylvia said to Lauren, “you have given us a lot to think about and decisions to make.”

  They left the bakery and walked to their cars. Sylvia looked wistfully at one of her favorite restaurants across the street. It was a Thai restaurant that catered to the University in town. It would be nice to be able to go to dinner, but they needed to get home to Percy.

  Owen caught her wistful glance and suggested take out. She agreed by nodding enthusiastically and asked Carol if she wanted to join them.

  “Thanks, but no,” Carol said. “I need to get home too. Do you want to go to Costco tomorrow to check on cakes?”

  “Honestly, Carol,” Sylvia told her, “I’m not sure I can do cake tastings each night. I know it’s a holiday, but maybe we could go somewhere on Sunday?”

  “Sure,” Carol agreed, “but, you really need to make a decision very soon,” she pushed.

  “I know, I know, I know,” Sylvia said slightly petulantly, “Next week cake and flowers. Mom and Anne will be here over the weekend, so I’m sure they’ll have a lot of suggestions as well.”

  “You’re right there,” Carol agreed. She yawned her response, “Time to go home. Here comes Owen with your food.” Carol nodded in the direction of the restaurant across the street where Owen emerged with a small box and a bag.

  Owen and Sylvia were quiet on their ride home. Just on the outskirts of North Bay, they both started a conversation simultaneously and then laughed.

  “You first,” Sylvia told Owen.

  “No, you go ahead,” he replied.

  Sylvia was going to argue and decided against it, “I wasn’t impressed at the bakery,” she told Owen. “It just didn’t feel right,” she said with a shrug.

  “I was going to tell you the same thing,” he admitted. “Although, I’m really not sure what we’re looking for. Those cakes were too ostentatious.”

  “That’s it, exactly,” Sylvia said. “I don’t know what we want either, so, I think I’ll take Marian’s suggestion and contact that bakery near Havre de Grace and look at the list from Beverly - next week.”

  They arrived home and a grateful Percy ran outside to the yard. Sylvia set their dinner out on the deck and lit some candles to keep the insects away. She watched Percy gambol like a lamb in their front yard. He went down to the beach to lap at the water and yap at a wave that came in and surprised him. Owen laughed a deep laugh at this and Sylvia couldn’t help but laugh as well. She went inside to prepare Percy�
��s dinner and brought it to the deck as well.

  Once again, the feeling of connectedness filled Sylvia. She could almost envision the invisible cords that connected her to Owen, to Percy and all that was around her. In her mind’s eye, they seemed to glimmer until the connections had so many ties that the world appeared to be brighter. It was a golden light in her mind. Deeply, Sylvia knew Bayside always had that effect on her. The place was in her blood, her bones, and her soul. Perhaps it was that siren song that called to her when she saw the edge where the water met the sky. Perhaps it was the peacefulness of the community itself. She didn’t know. She also knew she was deeply connected to Owen. She loved him, but it was deeper. It was a much deeper connection that she couldn’t put a name to it. She stared dreamily beyond where Percy and Owen were playing, imagining once again, and the brilliant, golden ties that bound them to her. She did not realize they had come up from the beach until Percy’s wet nose bumped her hand and Owen’s footstep on the stairs to the deck broke her out of her daydream.

  Owen laughed, “Syl, where were you?” he queried, joining her at the deck railing.

  She nodded at the glorious vista before them as she snuggled into his shoulder. His arm tightened around her.

  “Aren’t we lucky?” he murmured into her hair.

  “Oh, yes!” Sylvia whispered back softly and huskily with an almost imperceptible nod.

  They stood mesmerized as they watched the sunset paint the sky.

  Chapter 12

  ‘A good neighbor increases the value of your property.” An old Czech proverb.

  Her mother returned to their house on July third for the annual Bayside Fourth of July picnic. Each year the community had a Fourth of July picnic where friends and family of community members gathered for a potluck smorgasbord of dishes, grilled burgers, and hot dogs. There were games for the children and fireworks afterward.

  Sylvia had often participated in the festivities when her grandmother was alive. She had fond memories of the children’s games, and probably still had one of the coveted prizes from the three-legged race or “egg on a spoon” relay stashed somewhere. Her Gran had vehemently vetoed her participating in the turtle races, and so each year she wistfully watched as people cheered on box turtles they had found in the woods. Gran staged a protest when members hot glued tchotchke baubles, silk flowers or painted on the turtle shells. Sylvia understood, but part of her still wanted to participate in the race. She had always likened the Fourth of July picnic at Bayside to a Norman Rockwell painting. It was a slice of Americana that didn’t exist in many places today.

  Last year, they had declined to participate since they were in the throes of Owen’s indictment for Anna’s murder. He had been released on bail, but their stress level had hit a pinnacle and community events were not a priority.

  Though preparations had been in the works for weeks, the morning of the Fourth was the culmination of the community’s efforts. Owen joined the men of the community and assisted in hauling and setting up long tables created from sawhorses and plywood that had been stored for the last year. Other crews gathered grills, encircled like a wagon train from the old west, with the gas and charcoal grills in the middle and the serving tables all around. An area for the children’s games was cordoned off, and community members staked out favorite spots in the open space for their group. Mary had given Owen strict instructions where to set their folding chairs, and a small card table for their relatively large circle of friends to gather.

  Mary and Sylvia helped cover the food tables and decorate with bright bunting in red, white and blue. Sylvia rolled a few hundred bundles of plastic silverware while her mother tied gay, patriotic ribbons around the bundles. When Sylvia finished with her bundles of plastic silverware, she left her mother to chat and catch up with the neighbors.

  Sylvia had dithered on what potluck dish to take. The request and unspoken rule was to bring a quantity of food that would feed those you invited and more. In the end, Owen had decided on the dish, requesting an herbal vinaigrette potato salad. She would need to prepare it this morning so that the flavors had a chance to meld before the picnic at five o’clock.

  The day was hot, but not overly oppressive. Sylvia pulled out the largest pot in her cache and washed off ten pounds of red, white and blue tiny potatoes. She then set them to boil with a good amount of kosher salt. She went out to her flower pots on the deck where she snipped a handful of herbs and went inside to create vinaigrette from fresh lemon juice, mustard, olive oil, herbs, and spices. Once the potatoes were done, she drained them in a whoosh of steam and put them back in the warm pot and stirred in the vinaigrette. It would need to cool a little before she placed it in the refrigerator. Sylvia poked at a piece of potato with a fork and taste tested the salad. It was delicious. She went into the living room to wait for her mom and Owen to return. She settled with a book to wait until she heard a sound in the kitchen and went to investigate. Percy had been a little too quiet for her comfort. Usually, he didn’t surf the counter, but she didn’t want to take the chance with food for the picnic. She stood up and went stealthily to the kitchen only to see Owen poking a finger into the potato salad and filching a couple of potatoes.

  “You!” she said accusingly, surprising him enough to have Owen jump a little. “That’s for tonight,” she scolded him.

  “But, it’s so good,” he pleaded. “Maybe, I can have just a little?”

  “No, no and no,” she scolded lightly.

  “Okay,” he said slyly, “so, you’ll need to distract me from the food,” he said as he pushed her up against the refrigerator and started nibbling at her throat. His hands roamed her pleasurably.

  Sylvia closed her eyes, she thought she moaned out loud, but their reverie was broken by a loud knock on the kitchen door.

  “Oh, my,” she breathed, straightening her blouse. “Look at the time.” Sylvia flashed Owen a grin.

  He groaned this time. He pulled away from her as his parents came through the door along with Jon and Marian. Phil and Jon carried a large bag and box. Anne and Marian followed, chatting amiably, and carrying bottles of wine. Hugs and kisses went around, and Sylvia stowed the food and drink, as Owen led everyone to the deck. Sylvia pulled glasses and pitchers of iced tea, and lemonade from the refrigerator. The afternoon passed by languidly. Percy was in his element, trotting to all of his favorite people for treats and pets. He finally settled down at Sylvia’s feet. Carol had texted her earlier, and when she arrived with Joe, their jovial group loaded the garden wagon with their potluck dishes. They carried the bottles of wine. Percy whined at the door when they all exited. Sylvia gave him a last pat on the head and told him to guard the house. His huge, brown eyes followed her every movement, and he put his paws up on the door so that he could watch them walk down the road. Their next door neighbors, Kim, and Craig, as well as Maureen and Skip, had beaten them to their picnic site. Almost immediately, the men of the group, along with Carol, went to fill plastic cups from the chilled kegs of beer temporarily housed in a canoe that had been filled with ice, soda, and kegs. Mary passed around the wine to the remaining group. They sat together and talked for a short time until Mary noticed the lines to the myriad of dishes getting longer and longer. They went to join the picnic attendees and fill their plates as well.

  Part of the community of the picnic was the catching up and co-mingling of everyone’s lives, as well as the intermingling of the summer and year round folks. Sylvia greeted people that she knew, and nodded and smiled, but was surprised when the efforts were not easily returned.

  As they took their filled plates back to their circle of chairs, Carol asked acerbically, “I thought this was a friendly community.”

  “Oh, Carol!” Sylvia said, giggling. “What are you thinking?”

  Carol shrugged nonchalantly, and sat beside Joe and dug into her food. But, Sylvia ate slowly and watched the people at the picnic. It was common for people to mingle, and go from circle to circle, with their drinks and to share ap
petizers. Their circle stood as an island, and people did not approach them. Sylvia had never experienced this before. She remembered the previous years when there was a steady stream of people visiting their circle when Gran was alive. Today it was very evident, that people averted their eyes as they walked past, or rushed by their circle without greeting.

  Sylvia turned to Carol saying, “Carol,” and she paused, “as usual, your instincts seem to be correct.”

  “What are you talking about?” Owen asked her.

  “Carol was noticing that people were not overly friendly to us this year,” Sylvia explained to him, and to the group at large.

  Puzzled looks met her eyes. Carol raised her eyebrows to Sylvia and nodded in agreement. Everyone stopped eating for a moment.

  Craig, Kim’s husband, broke the silence, “It’s because you are sort of a black widow to the community,” he said.

  “Craig!” Kim expostulated.

  “Well, it’s true…sort of,” Craig said, looking sheepish. “Sylvia and Owen brought murder and mayhem last year, and this year,” he nodded to Maureen and Skip, “Maureen and Skip brought the murder and mayhem. You are the flies in the ointment, so to speak, or possibly jinxes to this private, quiet, little haven along the bay.”

  “That’s a little harsh,” Kim admonished her husband.

  “True,” Craig returned, looking a little sheepish. He raked his hand through his hair, as a guilty look settled on his face.

  “But, you are likely correct,” Jon added in his lawyerly tone.

  Suddenly, the food in Sylvia’s stomach turned into one giant boulder. Craig’s comments had struck a chord, and she silently agreed with Jon that the murders were why they were being shunned. Their neighborhood was usually peaceful and almost seemed to exist outside of the anarchy of the rest of the world. That was one of the reasons why she loved it so much. But, what could she do about it? The encroaching violence sickened her as well. Other than minor burglary, that happened on rare occasion, particularly to the seasonal homeowners, crime was non-existent in their community. Was she a jinx? That thought was uncomfortable. She would need to ask the Green Man.