The Way To A Man’s Heart

by Charlene Sands

  Her outline and proposal lay on her kitchen table. These, she planned on keeping in her carry-on luggage for revisions as the spirit moved her. She was an anthropologist and a decent writer. This opportunity would prove her to the university community. The word “professor” came before her name and the letters MBA after it; however, she still did not feel comfortable in her office. She related more easily to her anxious young students than to her burned-out co-workers.

  A gust of wind blew across the porch and into the wooden wind chime hanging in front of her window. It rang with warm, hollow tones, filling her with memories of the summer she first moved in. She felt so excited, so independent. Inside, the comfortable scent of wood smoke permeated the cottage. She was warm, and happy not to be outside. Seven years ago, the rough cottage had been a steal, well within her budget, and Sera couldn’t turn it down. With her job at the university, it hadn’t been hard to make it work. Now, the property value was substantially higher, but Sera had no reason to sell.

  Her home overlooked Lake Glory, a poetic name to say the least, but it really did suit. The red pines surrounding her home and the birch trees on the horizon were often a stark shade of black as the sun descended directly in front of her verandah.

  In the summer, she often walked down to the shore where she would sit on her favorite rock, one that kept her feet out of the water, and watch the sunset. It never ceased to bring her contentment. This time of year, however, the lake was covered in dull, gray ice. Beyond, she could make out the pressure cracks that snapped and boomed to make her think it was thundering in the night. This time of year, she did not want to be alone on Lake Glory.

  Her train of thought disrupted by the wind, she stood, picked up an almost empty roll of packing tape from the end table, and proceeded to seal more boxes. Her stomach rumbled a request, but Sera had not been shopping in two weeks in order to avoid discarding food before she left. Efficient as she was, she had eaten the last piece of toast with butter for breakfast. Lunch would be slim, perhaps a few crackers, but she planned to stop at a fast-food chain before meeting her plane. In the meantime, Fiona would be coming to help load boxes into Sera’s half-ton pickup for delivery to Fiona’s basement.

  The wind chime flew into frenzy, and Sera jumped. Rain was coming. That would make loading and unloading fairly miserable. She rose and taped the last box just as Fiona’s truck rumbled down the laneway. Sera finished with the final box, straightened, and looked out over the lake. The ice was mottled gray and silver. The January thaw was just beginning, and Sera was glad she would miss it. She opened the door to find Fiona, huddled deep in a navy parka and about to knock.

  ”A little overdressed Fiona?”

  “Overdressed?”

  “It’s not going to snow anytime soon.”

  “But the damp…”

  “I don’t know about it. I don’t go out in this weather.”

  “I wish I was going with you Sera.”

  “What? You aren’t coming?” Sera teased and Fiona laughed.

  “Don’t be funny, dear. I might take you up on any offers.” Fiona looked down. “Where are your socks?”

  “I told you, I don’t go out in this weather.”

  Fiona rolled her eyes at Sera in a motherly gesture as she shrugged out of her parka and hung it gently on the coat hanger on the back of the door. Tiny raindrops fell from her parka, forming a delicate pattern across the hardwood. She wore jeans, but with a striking red turtleneck and boots, warm yet fashionably high-heeled. Five years older than Sera, Fiona was married with children, but never looked the part of the stereotypical housewife. She was determined not to let the fact that she stayed home affect how she looked to others. Long, beaded earrings loaded with plastic crystals framed her face, and her deep pink lipstick gave it focus.

  The rain had come, a sudden driving sleet. Sera padded into the kitchen and pulled an earthenware teapot from the upper cupboard. She filled the kettle on the counter and pulled two teabags from the pocket of her jeans. These she waved to Fiona.

  “Last ones!”

  “Well done,” said Fiona as she sat at the picnic table that doubled as a dining area.

  Teacups in hand, the two friends indulged themselves before getting to work.

  “You’ll need rubber boots and some sort of jacket Sera. You’d hate to get sick for your first week away.”

  “Fiona, I keep telling you the cold and damp doesn’t make you sick. And besides, if I do, there’s too much saline humidity there. I wouldn’t be sick for long. It’s too good for you.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Of course, I have boots. I’m leaving them in the closet when I go, but I did hear the weather forecast on the radio last night. I have everything ready, Fi. Don’t be such a mom. The boxes are packed, and most of the kitchen stuff is staying for the renters, and for you when you come to check on Molly.”

  “I’m going to miss you, Sera.”

  “I know, I’ll miss you too, but the time will fly.”

  “I’ll miss having someone to just drop in on.”

  “Come visit, then. Catch a plane to Cayo Pequeсo. Mark can handle the kids.”

  “Yeah, he can, but not for long. Besides, I really don’t have the money.”

  “You’d just have to pay for a flight.”

  “Hmm, maybe next time.”

  “Okay, next time.” Sera knew it wouldn’t happen, but it was nice to think of her and her best friend on vacation in the Caribbean. She’d met Fiona at the university bookstore. They were both in the South American history section of musty, used textbooks. Sera took the initiative and asked Fiona if she was a student. Fiona answered no, she just enjoyed reading, and sometimes textbooks fit the bill. They were just as interesting as the novels on the upper level, plus she learned more from them. Sera explained that she was a newly hired professor and the two began chatting. Having a mutual interest in history bonded them, and they met the next week for lunch. Fiona brought her two children, ages three and five, who did their mother proud by sitting still and attempting to contribute to the conversation when possible.

  Sera was smitten with Fiona’s children, having none of her own. She quickly became the “favorite aunt”. In a university town full of cliques, it was important to have stable friendships.

  Silence, save for the driving rain, enveloped them. Sera had not been content for some time, and Fiona had commented on it. Sera was about to make a change in her life that would hopefully end that feeling of malcontent.

  Sera was a competent anthropologist with a gift for making people open up, and share thoughts they might not otherwise have revealed. She was a listener, and was able to empathize with most people. Because she was uncomfortable with walking directly up to strangers and introducing herself, she was grateful that people often seemed to find her. There seemed to be something about her manner that drew people to her. That made it easy for Sera to find a close friend, a confidante wherever she was. At home, that was Fiona.

  If Sera were able to create a book that was a hit, she would quickly have a life much different from Fiona’s. She wondered if that could possibly change their friendship.

  Teacups drained and the faint, exotic scent of Earl Grey left in the air, Sera and Fiona shrugged themselves into their coats and each picked up a box. They spent the morning loading boxes from Sera’s living room into the pickup, then unloading them from the pickup, through Fiona’s back door and down a dozen stairs to the back corner of her basement. It was dry, clean and empty. Fiona’s suggestion to store the boxes in her basement allowed Sera to save money that otherwise would have been spent on a storage facility.

  They sat in Fiona’s immaculate kitchen, so different from Sera’s rustic cottage. The women were wet and cold, but Sera’s boxes were neatly stacked in Fiona’s basement by lunchtime. Since Sera’s cottage was now empty of everything except furniture and her cat, locked, and a key left under the front pansy planter for the renters, Fiona made a lunch of tomato sou
p and grilled cheese. It was comfort food for both of them, and Sera appreciated the thought. Fiona’s children had been shipped to her in-laws for the day, and Sera savored the time Fiona could spend with her before she left.

  “What’s your horoscope say for the next month?” Sera asked.

  “I haven’t read it. Why?”

  “It’ll give me an idea how things are going here while I’m away.”

  “Sera…”

  “It probably says, ‘home is where the heart is’, or something to that effect.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The weather.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s the time of year for hibernating, and you have that man of yours to keep your bed warm.”

  “You could have one, too, if you wanted one.”

  “One to keep the bed warm isn’t a bad idea, but they’re so much work.”

  “What are your plans then?” Fiona asked.

  “Plans?” Sera feigned confusion, but was only half-teasing.

  “You have a plan for when you arrive don’t you? You’re not just going to get on the plane hoping you will find someone who’ll take you in, are you?”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “Sort of?” Fiona’s forehead began to crease.

  “I’ll get off the plane and take a taxi to Puerto Pescado. It’ll still be early enough that I can get a room, or make a friend.”

  “Pretty risky, don’t you think?”

  “It’s not January there.”

  “Pardon, but yes, it is!” Fiona was becoming exasperated.

  “I mean it’s not cold. I know it’s January. I meant it’s not January weather as we know it.” Sera was smiling. “Worse comes to worst, I’ll find an empty beach.”

  “I don’t think they allow that.”

  “I doubt they’ll find me.”

  “You’d risk that?”

  “It will work out, Fi. Don’t worry so much.”

  Fiona sighed. “You know I’m going to worry the entire time you’re gone.”

  “I know.” Sera put her hand on Fiona’s across the table. “I’ll call. Often, if I can.” Sera gazed out the window. “I can’t wait to see the sun.”

  ”Maybe you’ll see a decent man,” Fiona muttered half to herself with a smirk on her face.

  “Well, there it is.”

  “What?” Fiona feigned ignorance.

  “It’s been just under your breath the whole time.”

  “You know I hope that for you, Sera. You’re not meant to be alone. You’re a Gemini, remember?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being alone.”

  “No, there isn’t, unless you count the fact that it’s lonely. What about sex Sera? Just go sleep with someone. Safely of course, but have fun. You just need someone to worship you for once.”

  “I have too much to do to be distracted by a man. I don’t want that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just told you why not. I have to get the book done.” Another sigh from Fiona. “Fiona, they’re just too much trouble. I don’t want to find someone and end up apart. We’re done with this subject. I have to get to the airport anyway.”

  “Okay, but you know my thoughts. Have fun while you’re away.”

  Sera picked up her bowl, plate and utensils, then set them in the sink. She began to run the water, but Fiona stopped her.

  “You don’t have time. Is your luggage in the truck?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’d better head out. It’s a bit of a drive, and the traffic at lunch hour will slow you down.”

  *****

  Sera checked her bags and boarded the plane without delay. For the first time since she’d had the idea and her research began, she felt a tightening of anxiety in her stomach. She had had no appetite to stop for a snack, and knew she would not be able to eat the chicken and potatoes the airline would undoubtedly serve. Too many flights to exotic locations as a working anthropologist had resigned her to the fact that this was the meal most often served. She thought she might be able to swallow the brownie for dessert and she anticipated its creamy frosting. If they threw her for a loop and served something else, she could handle it, but not without that brownie.

  Sera sat just behind the wing, thankfully in a window seat. Knowing she had a good view, she could relax somewhat. If she had a view of the horizon, she wouldn’t be plagued by airsickness. She quickly combed through her red curls with a pick from her pocket. The curls were badly knotted from the wind, and she hadn’t thought about her hair since leaving Fiona’s.

  Upon learning there would be no movie on the relatively short three and a half hour flight, she pulled out a heavy textbook on basic anthropology and a package of red licorice. On her last day of school, she’d made notes in the margins on ideas for where to start, and now thought it would be a good idea to review her plans before she stepped off the plane. She opened the licorice and nibbled as she perused her notes.

  The artisans of Puerto Pescado were becoming renowned throughout the northern hemisphere. The clothing, pottery and paintings they designed were exceptional in their detail, and Sera intended to record and study the culture of the village, as well as their way of life.

  The people were friendly and hospitable. She knew that going in, having visited the island for a week last year on a familiarization tour. She planned to visit a public place and converse with the people until someone suggested a place to stay or invited her home. It wasn’t a common tool in her trade, but Sera preferred to stay with locals or to feel around for accommodations. It provided her with a stable foundation to work from and showed her how the culture viewed strangers and foreigners. The island of Cayo Pequeсo was particularly well known for its hospitality and the willingness of its inhabitants to invite guests into their homes. It was a risky venture, as Fiona had warned her many times, but Sera was confident she would fit in. She had a good command of the Spanish language, and knew that would increase exponentially during her stay. She knew she could spend years studying this particular community, but she would always have to return home, back to the gray buildings and pervasive conceit of the university.

  Sera planned to begin with a family, learning their history, stories and friendships. She would learn their favorite foods, and how they spent their time when they were not working. She would learn their thoughts on religion, politics, and how the elders and children were viewed, their place in the world and much, much more.

  The airplane leaned as it made its approach to Cayo Pequeсo, the island home of the artisans of Puerto Pescado. The sudden change in balance forced Sera to stash her books, her thoughts and the licorice in order to find the horizon. Her stomach lurched dangerously. Below, she could see the faint green outline of the reef. Seeing only the blue of the sea and the blurry smudge of the reef, it was difficult to imagine how many colors of teeming life were actually under the surface. A completely separate world, yet wholly disrupted and disgraced by ours with pollution, noise and murder, she thought. Despite the fact that she intended to be working all the time, she hoped she would get a chance to go snorkeling at some point during her trip.

  Roofs of buildings became clear and more detailed, as did narrow roads previously obscured by distance. The plane leaned again, and before long, the small paved runway was closing in fast below the plane. With only a small bump, rubber met asphalt. Suddenly, Sera and the surrounding passengers were thrown into their seatbelts as the pilot expertly hit the brakes to accommodate the short runway.

  Sera breezed through customs, showing passport and other required papers. She picked up her luggage from a pile by the outer wall and held the handles tightly as she politely brushed off offers of help. She had no extra cash for tipping.

  She breathed the wonderfully heady interfusion of salt on the breeze. Her face turned to the sun, and she felt its warmth go all the way to her bones. She was home. Not literally, but that was definitely the feeling deep inside whenever she visited th
is particular part of the world.

  The majority of passengers who disembarked were rounded up by boisterous guides and herded onto waiting air-conditioned buses. Sera sat on her piece of luggage by a curb with her carry-on strap around her neck. She surveyed throngs of people, feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

  As she flicked a stray hair out of her eyes, she reached into an outer pocket of her luggage with her other hand. She pulled out a rather battered pair of sunglasses. At that moment, she caught site of a taxi parked behind one of the buses. The taxi driver wasn’t jockeying for a position close to the airport doors as they did back home. He leaned against the outside of the vehicle with his arms crossed over his chest. Sera understood why when she saw the lines of people in front of her boarding the buses parked by the sidewalk. He didn’t need to fight with the buses for business.

  She stood up and waved her glasses in an attempt to grab the driver’s attention. The roar of the bus’s diesel engines prevented any productive yelling, so hand gestures were all that worked. As she waved, a group of young men and boys surrounded her, politely but aggressively trying to carry her luggage to the taxi. Sera was suddenly very tired as if the noise and people had drained the energy from her. She longed to give in to the self-proclaimed porters and avoid the sound of them all talking at once, but knew she must save the few pesos she had as a tip for the taxi driver.

  She took hold of her bags and walked with purpose, back straight and eyes forward, to the little car with the English word Taxi across the door. All the while she quietly muttered, “ No, gracias. No, gracias,” to the men who followed her. The men finally relented halfway across the road, and she was granted free passage.

  The driver stood by the trunk of the car and raised the hatch as she approached. “Nice day,” he said in confident English, with only a hint of accent.

  Wow, she thought, unable to pull her eyes from him. Tall, lean and more than a little intoxicating. She chastised herself and answered him. “Yes, well, nice weather anyway.” Feeling flustered, Sera heaved her luggage in the trunk as he gave her a quizzical look.