Moving On

by Bower, Annette

  His legs pushed the pedals faster. Molly ran beside him. She always barked wildly when he dressed in his riding gear, knowing she was going for a good run. He was months away from a desk job unless he could pass the physical endurance trials. Titanium and good robotics provided a limb that could do almost everything he needed it to do.

  When he came back to Regina Beach, it was a temporary stay. His orders were to build up his endurance. Continued success of his adolescent dream of leaving his hometown and building a career away from his father would be in jeopardy if he didn’t stay focused.

  He could help set up water filtration systems for Afghan villages. He knew he was capable of the day-to-day responsibilities, but the crunch would be during emergencies. He had to try. There were guys that didn’t have his chance.

  When the pieces of metal from the explosion tore through his pant leg he had felt the burning pain. He realized later, after surgery, he had only lost his left lower leg. He wouldn’t allow half a missing leg and foot and five toes badger his resolve to be back with his troop.

  But a different war stormed at the back of his mind. The longer he lived with the challenge, the more he realized the problem wouldn’t be only the mechanics of his prosthetic leg but his skin, too. With the fine sand that seemed to be everywhere on the Kandahar base, he knew it would infiltrate his careful cleaning that kept irritants away from breaking down his skin or clogging up the intricate mechanisms in his ankle joint.

  His grandfather, Henry, had gone away to WWII and then regaled Nick with tales of comradeship, love of country and pranks among the troops. Grandfather Henry was a hero. Nick had since learned his hero neglected to mention the living conditions and the smell of death.

  His dad, Jack Donnelly, was just a dull old farmer, constantly worried about the weather. Grandfather Henry paid for summer camps, sport camps and computer camps and refused to allow Nick to spend the long hours required to seed the crop or harvest the grain. It shouldn’t have surprised anyone that Nick gave up his scholarship to university to study agriculture and joined the Canadian Army instead. He wanted to be a peacekeeper but the Taliban changed the job description.

  Nick liked the community living and teamwork of the army. He enjoyed being in the action, not just on the sidelines like the farmer, constantly waiting for the uncontrollable to control his life.

  Ha! What did he know? His wheel hit a bump. He shifted his weight, leaned and kept the bicycle from toppling. Molly, of course, had recognized the danger and she sidestepped into the short grass. This recreation path he rode on had been made without fights over language or religion. Each day as he rode, he indulged in imagining his life if he couldn’t return to active duty.

  Could he return to the land? Was the gene for affinity of land ownership somewhere dormant in his personality? Before his father’s sudden departure, he informed Nick the River Basin Hutterite colony would plant and harvest the crops this year. Jack had it all organized. There was nothing Nick had to be concerned about, except to take in any guest that came by.

  Magdalena, a member of the colony, would do the laundry and keep the rooms tidy as she had for his father. Jack Donnelly would return after his vacation. If Nick hadn’t seen his father leave his all-consuming land with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.

  Nick stopped his bike at the pier and allowed Molly her free run. She quickly scattered a flock of seagulls into flight. Another movement caught his attention to full adrenalin alert when Molly, giving friendly yelps, jumped toward the person standing on the top of a picnic table.

  “Molly. Down.” Nick dropped his bike and ran across the sand to the table.

  Anna stood on the table surface, her eyes measuring Molly’s excited movements, a bouquet of lilacs clutched above her head.

  “Molly won’t eat your flowers,” he said softly.

  “She’s not getting them and she’s not getting me.”

  He knew from her tense body if she could have disappeared into the air, she’d be gone. A dark smear across her cheek was evidence she had scrubbed away tears. Her chest rose and fell in short quick intakes of breath. If she didn’t breathe soon, she could possibly faint from lack of oxygen.

  “Take a deep breath.” He gripped Molly’s collar.

  “Take her away.”

  “I’ll tie her to a tree. Don’t move.” His fingers were all thumbs as he worked the latch on the lead to the collar. “Come.” Molly didn’t mean any harm, but another dog must have done a number on this woman’s psyche. Nick wound the lead around a tree. “Stay.” He gave her a treat. He couldn’t scold Molly because she wouldn’t understand.

  When he turned back to Anna, her bottom was on the tabletop, her feet on the bench, and her head cradled in her hands. The scattered lilacs lay on the tabletop.

  Nick placed a hand on her shoulder. “Care to tell me why you’re so frightened?”

  “You should keep her on a lead.” Anna’s eyes flashed.

  He gathered the flowers and held them to his nose. There wasn’t anything like this fragrance in spring. “The lilacs will brighten up your space.” He handed them to her.

  She raised her head and stretched out her hand. “Yes, they will. Would you just go? I’d like to take them home and put them in water before they start to wilt.”

  “Sure.” He turned and walked toward Molly and his bicycle. Sometimes, the best action was retreat.

  He mounted his bike and kept Molly’s lead in hand. When he was parallel to the picnic table, Anna’s back remained straight as she faced the lake and the sun dipped behind the hills. If it had been any other place than Regina Beach, he would have insisted on taking her home. Here, he knew she could walk home safely without encountering any unsavory characters. He hoped other dogs wouldn’t bother her or she wouldn’t startle the skunks that meandered on the trails at dusk.

  “Molly,” he said to the dog, “this lady may look all put together with her button down blouses and tight curled hair, but her glue is definitely a little cracked.”

  She must have looked like the Statue of Liberty with her fist in the air, clutching the bouquet. Just because of a silly dog. The black head and warm brown eyes and lolling tongue and happy yelps weren’t threatening. A giggle started at the back of Anna’s throat. She quickly swallowed it until she no longer heard the bicycle tires crunch on the paved path. Then the chuckles bubbled and floated like ripples on the lake.

  She stood up, and with her hand on her heart, promised herself no dog would push her to such embarrassing heights ever again. She walked along the path and streets with her bouquet held high above her head, chuckling all the way home. It was possible Nick would stay far away from her in the future and tell the town folk to be cautious when approaching this particular stranger.

  At the cottage, each time she passed the vase with the mauve and purple blossoms, she smiled. Welcome to your new home, Anna. Maybe she really should be an Annie. Didn’t Annie sound more carefree?

  After scrunching beneath her freshly laundered comforter, in her bed that squeaked if she turned too quickly, she began to replay the episode in her mind. That man was agile. He dashed across the sand and later bicycled away as if he had two fully functioning legs. His right leg must have a rock hard muscled thigh and calf and a strong left thigh with a great mechanism to articulate his artificial ankle. One advantage of her exhibition was how she could admire him all she wanted to now because he wouldn’t be coming around any time soon.

  The crisp night air fluttered through her open window. Anticipating a deep, refreshing slumber, she counted stars rather than sheep.

  Chapter 4

  In the morning Anna woke long after the sun had risen in the sky. She turned on the coffeemaker, brushed her teeth and then sat at her kitchen table with her coffee. Out over the lake, she watched the pelicans swoop and glide, counting thirteen o
f them.

  Margaret sang through the screen door, “Good morning. Can I come in?”

  “Of course. Would you like coffee on this beautiful day?”

  “No, thank you. Just a glass of water.” Margaret opened the summer door and walked to the sink. “Stay where you are. I’ll get it.” She opened cupboard doors. “You’ve moved the glasses.”

  “They’re over the sink.”

  “I’m glad. I could not understand why John kept the glasses all the way across the room.”

  Anna wrapped her plush housecoat around her legs while Margaret ran the water, filled a glass and plopped down on the other country chair. “Patricia set the walking pace this morning and I swear she has legs up to here. I was glad when the end of the trail came into view.” Margaret tipped the glass and gulped down more water. “During our walk and coffee I told the group about you. No one remembers Mr. Good having a niece, distant or not.” Her penciled eyebrows lifted in question.

  Anna sputtered, “I’m here and the papers are in order.”

  “Our memories might be fuzzy but among us, one usually gets it right in the end.” She chuckled. “I’ll bet Alice pulls out her history book today. She was a teacher so she has a good memory for names and faces.”

  “These women must have more important chores to accomplish in their day than thinking about where I fit into the scheme of things.” Anna clutched at her lapels of her bathrobe and pulled them tight around her neck.

  “I’m glad you’re not divulging all your details. It’s not like we are Dr. Phil or anything.” The leftover lipstick on the corners of Margaret’s mouth was evident when she smiled. “Our little group likes puzzles. So while they’re busy raking, weeding, and fertilizing they’ll mull it over. Then on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays we’ll pool our information.” She leaned forward and whispered, “How about giving me a little clue?”

  Anna jumped to her feet and paced. “No. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

  “No one remembers you at John’s funeral,” Margaret pointed out.

  Both women turned toward the rap at the door. “Margaret, are you giving Annie—sorry, Anna—the third degree?” Herman’s face was distorted by shadows caused by the brilliant sun at his back.

  “No, we’re just having a little gossip.”

  Herman came into the kitchen, his teeth firmly in place. “Margaret, Bonnie phoned. We need to pick up Jenny.”

  Margaret jumped as if a bee had stung her on the backside. “Got to go. Jenny is such a little dear. We love having her in our house. Talk later,” she called over her shoulder as she shooed Herman out the door.

  Alone, Anna watched the pelicans. One of those poor couples was broken; the species mated for life. She could be open about her relationship, but she didn’t want the pity given to a young widow. Technically, she wasn’t a widow, but she and Murray couldn’t have loved each other more if they’d had the license and the ceremony. Just because they hadn’t stood in a white gown and tux hadn’t made the gut-wrenching grief any less. The grief counselor suggested her sorrow was intense because she hadn’t expected their dreams wouldn’t reach fruition. Just one more week and Murray would have stood in his tuxedo while waiting for her at the front of the church rather than lying in the casket while she sobbed in the front pew.

  Even with all of her trauma nursing experience and all her love, she couldn’t help save him from the injuries he had sustained when the burning building collapsed. She covered her mouth and breathed deeply through her open fingers, expanding her rib cage. Breathing from her abdomen reduced her lightheadedness, and her rapid heartbeats disappeared.

  She focused on the screened, shuttered sunroom with its north and west exposure. One end could be a great workstation for her tools and paintbrushes, and on the other side she’d create a small, comfortable seating area for reading. Books could be stored on shelves under the windows.

  Her future would be creating homes for doll people. She had perfected her skills during the past months as she focused her mind and hands on creating a passion out of a hobby. No sick people. No one needed her. Just happy thoughts.

  Anna wanted her dollhouses to be works of art. She had recreated her grandmother’s house as a gift for her mother, then her family home, then her dream home. Through word of mouth, a prominent businessman emailed her and asked for an appointment. He hired her to copy their home for a gift to his wife before they downsized.

  Now, with a place to live and Murray’s insurance money, she’d survive until she had her business plan in place. She would hire an inspector and determine if the cottage would be warm enough during the winter. Until then, she could get started. If her plan worked, she could be one of those lucky women who made a living at her passion. She’d be an artist.

  While she showered, she expanded her idea to include child friendly houses. Delighted faces floated through her mind as she wrapped the fresh scented towel around her hair. Then a darker thought sliced into her mind. Would she build a house so the purchaser could destroy a symbol of sadness and harm? When she ran a business, she’d have to be impartial. Unfortunately her years as a trauma nurse provided many examples of houses where ugly things happened. Anna hugged the towel to her chest and hoped such a request was not made for a very long time.

  The town had a post office, a combined hardware and lumber store, and the city of Regina was only forty-five minutes away. As soon as she was dressed tomorrow morning, she’d go to the town office and ask J. Kipfer for the names of contractors and Internet providers in the area. She would make calls on her cell phone and set up appointments. So many details would keep her busy. Nick couldn’t be a temporary contractor in the area, too.

  Her heart skipped at the thought.

  While Nick performed his early morning inspection on his stump, Molly nudged his thigh. Last evening he had inspected the area after his swim and then again after his shower. By the time he had peddled home, he could feel the grains rubbing against the protective stocking in the socket of his prosthesis. He used a handheld magnified mirror to inspect for any little missed grains of sand that could be an irritant and cause skin breakdown.

  Last night, he dreamt about the desert. Slowly, it came to him the doctors could be right. It wasn’t only the physical endurance, but also the living conditions on the base would present a problem. Here, he showered and swam whenever he needed, but the base was in the middle of another kind of environment.

  Nick scratched Molly’s ears, then slipped the artificial leg into place. If he came into contact with a bomb again, the fragments would have to penetrate titanium.

  The day passed quickly. The cottage owners’ requests were pages long. He watched for a woman with tightly curled hair whenever he drove down Center Street, Green Avenue or Green Lane. By the end of the day, his stump needed relief from the pressure. A swim would help. He must have been in and out of his truck five hundred times. Today, he didn’t question his father’s reasons for building the pool.

  As Nick wrapped his robe around him and gripped the walker, he realized he hadn’t had sex since his injury left him with only one foot, and one whole leg to tangle with a woman. Might break a bit of sexual tension if I hop into a bed containing one who’s willing.

  The doorbell rang. Not again. He clutched his walker and hopped to the door.

  Magdalena stood on the porch. “Hi Nick, can I come in?”

  “Sure, Magdalena. I’m running a little late. Please set up your books in the dining room. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t hurry. I’ll dust until you’re ready.”

  On occasion, Magdalena saw Nick without his prosthesis when she dusted and vacuumed the house and B&B. During her visits he had mentioned the library literacy program he’d enrolled in to fill the hours while in rehab. He found students trusted him because of his disability and gradually they had rev
ealed their own life challenges.

  After his casual conversations, Magdalena had asked if he would help her learn to read. She’d grown up in the colony and hadn’t grasped the concept of reading, but she wanted to be able to read to her future children. Together they had read books for toddlers and progressed to books that would be enjoyed by a preschool child. Magdalena practiced at home and brought a new book to every tutor session.

  Nick remembered being read to and hoped one day he would read to his child.

  Anna unlocked her car door and then paused, considering. It was three blocks to Center Street and the town office and the informative finger-on-the-pulse of the town, J. Kipfer. Might as well walk. She relocked her car and her sneakers crunched on the gravel before she stepped on to the paved roadway. Without concrete sidewalks, everyone shared the road.

  Facing the traffic, she strolled past her neighboring houses, no two alike. However, each one had windows facing the lake. Hedges were trimmed and trees planted that allowed unobstructed water views. Many homes on the valley side were situated higher than others and provided picturesque scenes of sailboats and fishers casting lines into the water.

  The trees glowed with brilliant new green leaves. Bushy-tailed squirrels jumped from tree to tree. For an urban woman, this was high nature. She looked both ways at the intersection and one car stopped to allow her safe crossing.

  On Center Street, cars were parked next to the community building. Here was the street that led from the middle of town, straight to the lake. When she turned around there it went, up the hill and out of Regina Beach.