by Phil Wohl
Kayla were working on separate houses on the other outskirts of Beach Haven, Belinda was in the knitting room and Emily was spread out in the chi room, as the quilts required as much space as possible for each woman. The last matchup of the day was taking place at Beach Haven Arcade, where Aaron was trying to establish a new record in the video game Centipede and Maxwell was trying to go there with him.
Just about the time the seven match-ups were moving into the full heat of the battle, energy was swirling around Claire Vinson. This force was guiding the necessary elements to converge on Beach Haven and bring the young women and the group out of the darkness and into the light.
It had been 18 years since Linda Vinson saw her mother, yet the two women had only aged about five years apiece. Brenda Vinson could feel the energy surrounding her house building all day, so she made her favorite beef stew in anticipation of a call-in order. She knew exactly what would happen before the events of the day unfolded and wanted to remain on track to fulfilling the pre-meditated prophecy.
Brenda took the large black top off her ancient cooking pot and set it next to the sink. Steam from the chunky stew spread from the pot to the ceiling, leaving only some condensation behind to signal of its arrival. She searched through a few drawers for her favorite ladle, stopping for a brief moment to gather the anxious thoughts that appeared to be precluding her from completing the task. After Brenda located the ladle, she grabbed a large bowl with her left hand and then scooped three or four heaping ladles full of stew and gently placed them in the bowl. She then left the ladle in the pot and walked slowly with the hot bowl over to the table and placed it down in the middle of a green and yellow-colored fabric place mat. Brenda then duplicated the process on the second bowl and placed it across the table on a similar mat, and finished the dishes off with some fresh rosemary, which always had guided her daughter home.
Linda Vinson’s road home was a windy path that started in Australia and ended in what seemed like a blink of an eye. She managed to get on a private jet headed for the United States without knowing the actual destination of the plane. All she could get out of the wealthy business man’s thoughts was that he had to make a meeting in just under 20 hours, so she jumbled his brain a bit and slept for most of the trip in the lap of luxury. She had lived in Australia for the past 12 years feeling safe in the knowledge that Lowery stopped traveling great distances and was limiting his siring mostly to the contiguous United States.
She had fallen in love with a rugged Aussie a few years earlier and had been living a relatively happy existence despite being unable to fill the void left by living without her mother and her daughter for many years. When she left Australia, she rearranged Dave Bentley’s thoughts so he wouldn’t even realize that she was gone. Linda wasn’t sure that she would return to Australia because of the uncertainties of what awaited her when she returned to The States, so she did what she could to cushion the blow of the loss for both she and Dave.
The businessman’s flight landed in Arizona, which meant that Linda was still a significant distance away from home but a lot closer than she was the previous day. She caught a few more flights and still a couple of more lifts before she could smell home, and then she let her scent guide her steps the last few miles, up the windy path to her mother’s property and the acreage of the old family farm. Brenda Vinson had poured a few glasses of water and was now sitting in front of her place setting. She picked up her fork and lifted her napkin off the table before placing it gently in her lap. The front door opened and Linda walked through the foyer and into the kitchen where she sat down before acknowledging her mother.
“I’m famished,” she said as she also picked up her fork and placed the cloth napkin on her lap.
The both started eating until Brenda Vinson looked up and a tear streamed out of her eye and rolled down the left side of her face. She was able to talk through her obvious joy, wrapped around a blanket of sadness, “It’s good to have you home, dear.
Linda stopped shoveling for a moment and it appeared that the spell was broken. She fell to the floor on her knees and then crawled over to her mother’s side of the table sobbing, “It’s good to be home, mom,” she said as the two women hugged each other like they had no intention of ever letting go.
TWENTY-SEVEN
A similar, yet less emotional, gathering was taking place in the Winters’ kitchen in Portland, Oregon.
“We need to get in motion,” Joe Winters said to his wife as they looked at their granddaughter Ariel, who was now a full-blown teenager. He was luckily passing through the kitchen and was spared the scintillating conversation that was about to take place.
“You know, like, when we get to New York, like will we by staying anywhere?” Ariel said in her best Valley Girl accent.
Katherine Winters was at a loss for words, because it had been years since she was confronted with a tween turned teen. She looked over at her previous attempt to survive the teenage years, her daughter Valerie, and deferred to her knowledge and wisdom for the first time.
“Yes, Ariel. We will, like, be staying with some people in a really large house.”
Ariel was undaunted in her pursuit to get every self-centered question she had – and all of the inquiries she had were me-based – answered so she could obsess over the minute details for hours on end.
“Will I be getting my own, like, room?”
Valerie looked at her mother and could tell that her mother’s head would explode if she used the word “like” in a sentence again.
“Yes, Ariel. We could arrange that.”
“With a window?”
“Yes, with a window,” Valerie replied, trying to keep it light and avoid raising her blood pressure and voice. That was, until, she could see Ariel loading up another insignificant question, the answer of which she would probably grow out of in the next 12 hours, or so.
“I have to talk to your grandmother, so why don’t you go to your room and pack all of your clothes up…” she said and then continued when Ariel left the room, “that won’t fit you in a few hours and then you’ll have to repack an entirely different wardrobe.”
“Are we flying or swimming?” Katherine Winters asked her husband as he came back through the kitchen.
Joe looked at his daughter and then asked, “Are you up for a swim?”
“Sure, but will Ariel be up for the long swim?” Valerie replied.
Katherine finally dove back into the shallow end of the conversation, “It will probably be the only way we can get her to stop talking.”
Father and daughter nodded in agreement, “Good point.”
“Then we leave first thing tomorrow morning, which means we should get there just after sundown,” Joe stated as Brandon walked into the kitchen.
“What did I miss?” he asked.
His wife replied, “A whole lot of likes, and we are swimming back to Beach Haven first thing.”
Mom laughed and dad and Brandon wondered what she meant, but had learned over time not to ask.
“So, let’s just be clear about the rules,” Garrison said to Thaddeus as he sat in his Mustang.
“Are you going to drive with the top up? I bet you can get an extra five to 10 miles per hour with the top down,” Thad stated.
“Even though that’s completely untrue, and an obvious attempt to get any advantage you can on me because you know that Ford is far superior to GM, I’m still going to grant your request and drop the top on this baby,” Gary replied and then lowered the black convertible top on his Wimbledon white Mustang with burgundy interior.
“First one back and forth from the waste processing plant on the other side of town?”
“That’s the rules,’ Gary concurred.
Thad sat in his car and put on his sunglasses, “Maybe when we get back we can work on adding some horse power to that Smart Car your daughter bought a few weeks ago.
; Gary put his sunglasses on, “Or that underpowered Prius your daughter has?”
“See you in the rear view,” Thad said.
“Not if I see you first,” Gary replied as they both started their roaring engines, thus putting an end to any additional banter.
Thad looked over at Gary, who held his fist up and then counted down, 3-2-1, and then the fist reemerged as both men skidded out of the driveway and onto the street.
About the same time the race got underway, Max played the initial Centipede game after lunch and shattered Aaron’s all-time record. It was also about the time that the Beach Haven Arcade displayed their games on the big screen for everyone to see.
“Wow, you are getting better with each passing game. Well, I guess it’s time to step up my game,” Aaron confidently stated.
Aaron might have been the tallest in height and size in the group, but he usually was more of a follower than a leader due to his relatively inexperienced status within the tribe. But his demeanor was so much different when at the controls of Centipede, or flicking the ball back time and time again at pong. He slid four quarters into the machine and then proceeded to obliterate screen by screen of Centipede nation, changing colors and patterns and shuffling through various levels with tremendous ease until he passed his own record and then surpassed Max’s last game, much to the delight of the few socially-challenged enthusiasts that had