by James, Anne
If she could free her spinning brain of all past events and allow her thinker to daydream, to embrace the present, much of the stress and tension would melt away. Before the accident, she would jump out of bed at 5:00 a.m., pour a cup of strong, black coffee into a hot mug of milk and settle down for ten minutes of meditating. A time when her mind would empty and she could quiet her thoughts for the day ahead.
The image of a great blue heron standing on the edge of the shore as the waves surged and receded came into her mind. Letting go of the tension, she visualized the sea. Water. Living softly. The softness of water and its ability to enter anywhere, flowing in and around rocks.
Her breathing slowed as she relaxed. She had begun to notice that life changed as she changed the way she looked at it. So many lessons over the last several years. Lessons that taught her to live in the present and let go of anger. So much anger had consumed her. Feelings of betrayal. She had found energy to survive in being fueled or driven by anger. A very taxing way to live, stealing joy, energy, peace—all ingredients that lead to happiness.
As the topic of the conversation of the night before stole into her thoughts, she knew that a change had happened when she learned to notice without judging. A substitution of words. An enormous benefit for living life more in harmony. Free from anger. Pitting herself against people whom she thought of as “them” dissolved into love. The many categories that she’d placed people in became superfluous.
Her brother, Andrew, popped into her mind. He prided himself on being able to judge right and wrong. Years and years of conditioning had developed this fixed mind. Being conditioned by religion, the country where he was born, family, culture—all of these shaped Andrew into being inflexible—many prejudices.
She knew that she had carried all of these prejudices with her until she entered the Florida Park Service and been pushed into living a different life. Meeting Brodie helped remove the scales from her eyes, as she began to notice that she was living a life that demanded constant judging from herself towards others.
Half-dozing, the sounds of the pine forest tiptoed into her ears. Statistics from programs she had presented for Timucuan Springs flitted through her mind. Fire. She had been tried by fire and come through. These longleaf pine communities had to have fire sweep through them to maintain the upland-savanna like ecosystem typified by wire grass, low-growing shrubs, and wildflowers.
William Bartram, a noted botanist who explored the southeast in the years 1773-1776, had called Florida’s high pine areas “grass plains” because they stretched as far north as Virginia, as far west as Texas. These grassy plains once covered over 70 million acres. Florida was covered by a fifth of this natural habitat which is 97-98 percent gone today, having been converted to agriculture, pine plantations, and urban areas. Conservation of the remaining longleaf pine habitat is critical to wildlife, such as the endangered red-cockaded woodpecker and the Sherman’s fox squirrel, which is a species of special concern.
Florida’s state wildflower, coreopsis (tickseed), was as important as the seven pine trees that are native. The eastern indigo snake is North America’s largest non-venomous snake. The Florida panther, an endangered species, is dependent on the dry-prairie habitat. The longleaf pine habitat covered most of the southeastern U.S. when the Europeans arrived.
Her thoughts cascading, she noticed an insulated white plastic carafe on the bedside table. A large pottery mug sat beside it.
Rising onto her right elbow, she peered into the cup. Poking her finger into the tepid milk that half-filled the cup, she glanced at the clock—6:45 a.m. Brodie had been gone to work for a good hour or more. She never even heard her leave.
A smile slid across Laurel’s face. How she appreciated this kind of attention!
Gingerly pushing herself upright in bed, she reached for the carafe. A note was propped in front of the pitcher. See you at six. Be careful. I love you. Brodie.
Pouring the steaming black liquid into the mug, she reflected on her day. There would be visitors arriving. Before the day took on a momentum of its own, she wanted to treasure the tranquility of the moment. A black leather journal lay beside her cell phone on the bedside table.
She opened the journal and saw the words she had written ten days previous. “Set aside ego, which you’ve constructed, and allow yourself to be in the world by changing how you look at the world.” She couldn’t remember if those were her words or words she had read and then copied.
Mulling over these thoughts, she sipped the delicious hot liquid. The caffeine would help wake her. She treasured this time alone in peace, after all the turmoil that had accompanied the fatal afternoon of being tortured by Ernie.
Jackson gave a snort in his sleep. Stretched out on his side, he lay beside the bed.
Laurel leaned over to stroke his soft ear.
Jackson opened a saggy eye and gave a mighty stretch.
She turned so she could see out her window. Several fat robins were hopping around on the grass. Migrants from the north. A gray squirrel chattered in the middle of the migrating birds as he picked up a seed to nibble on. Tranquility!
The tinkle of her cell broke the bucolic spell.
“Hello?” The words came out with a raspy sound.
“Hey, girlfriend! I didn’t call too early did I?” Mary Helen’s bubbly voice filled the quiet room.
“Course not, you nut!”
“I know, I know. You get up with the sun and all that kind of weirdness. Hey! I baked some cinnamon rolls last night and I wondered if I could drop them by on my way to work?”
Laurel grunted. “Way to work, my foot! You are twenty miles from here.” She took a fortifying sip of coffee. “And what the heck are you doing up so early?” Swallowing she answered her own question as she nodded her head. “Ah, I get it. Brodie set you up to this, didn’t she?”
“Chill, girl. Chill.” A trill of laughter followed these words. “You think we’re not going to take care of you?” Different odd sounds came through the phone before she shouted a faint, “Shit!”
Laurel waited.
Quite out of breath, Mary Helen said, “Scuse me. Just dropped the phone, trying to get my jacket on. It’s darn chilly out at this ungodly hour! I’ll be over in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
She disconnected.
Laurel stared at the black Droid in her hand. It vibrated and began to chime. The screen read Mary Helen, along with her friend’s phone number.
“Yes?”
“What’s the combo to get in the gate?”
Laurel gave her a four-digit number.
“Got it. See you in a few.”
The thought of Mary Helen’s voluptuous breakfast rolls caused the saliva to run. Her stomach growled. Mary Helen’s Greek heritage gave evidence of her innate love of cooking and baking.
Time to get moving. She slid her legs from the warm sanctuary of the covers and massaged Jackson’s furry middle with her bare feet.
He turned his humongous St. Bernard head to study her.
“That’s right big dog. Time to get on with livin’.”
Chapter 17
Unlocking all the doors, Laurel prepared for Mary Helen’s arrival. The beeping of the electric gate announced a vehicle. Zooming up the slight incline of the sandy road was a bright red Mustang convertible—Mary Helen, arriving with flair!
Puffin fled to the bedroom, while Jackson woofed his welcome.
The fragrance of the rolls preceded Mary Helen’s hurried self through the front door.
Shrinking to be as small as possible, Laurel, held the door open. “Oh! Those smell delicious!”
“Whoopsie-daisy!” Mary Helen balanced the nine by twelve pan covered in aluminum foil in front of her and leaned sideways to kiss Laurel on the cheek. She gave Laurel a going-over with her eyes. “You’re not looking half-bad for a woman that was a hair’s brea
dth from being a corpse!”
In a voice as dry as the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, Laurel said, “Now that’s heartfelt sympathy.”
Sailing into the kitchen, she deposited the rolls on the counter with a clatter. Hands on hips, Mary Helen scowled at Laurel. “Girlfriend, you know I’ve said at least fifty-six Hail Marys for you a day!”
“Hail Marys? I thought you were Greek Orthodox!”
Mary Helen waved her hands as the light caught her red lacquered nails. “Whatever! Catholic, Greek, Baptist. The point is, I was praying. Praying for you, Ranger Grey!” She glanced around the kitchen then fastened her gaze back on Laurel. “What exactly is a Hail Mary anyway? Don’t I need beads or something?”
Jackson was leaning his torso against her hip. His huge head was lifted, begging the woman to give him some attention.
Without acknowledging the dog, Mary Helen sagged against the kitchen counter.
Laurel pulled out a sturdy antique oak chair, gesturing for her to sit down. A chuckle escaped her mouth. “It’s a prayer of intercession to the Virgin Mary used by the Roman Catholics. On the other hand, in football it’s a long pass thrown in desperation, usually at the end of the game.” She giggled as she thought about her description.
“Perfect! I’ll take both of those. I was interceding on your behalf in desperation.” She pushed Jackson’s big head. “Get away from me you big oaf!” She swiped an elegant hand down her black pant leg. “You’re making me look like a shedding bear!”
Jackson plodded to the front door and collapsed with a whoomph.
“Come on. Sit down with me and have one of those cinnamon buns.”
Peeling back the aluminum foil, Mary Helen winked at Laurel. Smothered in cream cheese frosting, the buns were about six inches high, oozing a cinnamon, sugary mixture through the swirls and cracks.
Laurel almost swooned.
Opening various kitchen cupboards, Mary Helen said, “Isn’t there a plate around here?”
“The door to your left and the knives are in the drawer in front of you.”
“We don’t need a knife. A fork will pop these babies out!”
As Mary Helen sank into the chair, she propped her elbows on the kitchen table with her chin in her hands. Sunbeams danced on the old oak table, warming the wood. She shook her head no when Laurel handed her a plate with the mouthwatering carbohydrate. “Not for me. Those are for you and the visiting gang today. Brodie told me that you might have company later. I barely squeezed in these pants this morning. Had to practically stand on my head to zip them.”
Laurel bit into the luscious comfort food. She didn’t give a fig for the pain that chewing brought to her throat area. With her mouth full, she said, “How’s your dashing Ty? The Irishman.”
“Ah, you know.”
“You mean that he’s a prominent weather forecaster? Or that he was hit while driving a motorcycle?” She lightly punched Mary Helen on her upper arm and winced. A jagged pain shot through her back. She’d forgotten her injuries for a moment.
“Yes, well, there is that. Being quite famous and all.” Her brown eyes were huge as she cast a doleful look at Laurel. “He was only in intensive care for one day. He was released from the hospital one day later. Cracked ribs, broken arm. His wife took him home.”
“Wife? That jerk! I like him when he’s on TV delivering the weather. Damn, Mary Helen, I’m sorry.”
Placing both hands on the table, she pushed herself up as she gave a loud sigh. “I sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t I? What is it with me and men? Are they all one big species of liars and slime balls? Or is it my age? If men are in their thirties or forties and available, they’re either gay, divorced with major kid problems or cheating on their wives.”
“I didn’t see a wedding ring that night at St. John’s. I specifically looked as he killed my hand in an iron-grip handshake and kept his left hand on my truck ‘til I demanded he remove it.” She took another big bite. These things were the best thing she’d eaten in years!
As she leaned to place a kiss on Laurel’s cheek, with manufactured nonchalance, Mary Helen said, “Course not. Takes it off when the devil goes out. I’m the sap. He can have any woman he wants. Doesn’t give a flying you-know-what about his wife.” She slapped the table with her hand. “He had the gall to laugh as he told me his wife doesn’t care. Do you believe it?”
Laurel stood and wrapped her good arm around her friend. “Oh, Mary. I’ve seen pictures of them together. His wife’s a trophy to be sure. Maybe that’s all their marriage is—an agreement for her to be blonde and beautiful, while he makes all the money.”
Tears gathered in Mary Helen’s sad eyes. She simply said, “I liked him.” Then added with more force. “Chump that I am. I’m an easy target for any good-looking man. Just give a howdy-do and spread my legs.”
“Stop it, Mary. He’s the skank—not you. Don’t let his low, skuzzy self bring you down.” She gave her a slight shake. “You are a prize for any man. Just hang in there. When the time is right, he’ll show up!”
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so. Brodie showed up, didn’t she?”
Wiping the tears with the back of her hand, Mary Helen walked to the front door. “Sometimes I’m so envious … no, jealous, is the right word. I’m jealous of what the two of you have. You both radiate happiness. What you have together makes others happy, just to be in your presence. That’s what I’m looking for. That old-fashioned thing called love. Love that brings joy and peace.”
“Then stop looking for it in bars! Unless a guy is with his wife, chances are he’s not the most sterling character if he’s behaving the way Ty Murphy did that night. The man was a sucky spectacle!”
“Then where do I look? Match.com and Plenty of Fish have brought me nothing but egotistical weirdos. Most of them, no, all of them have problems getting it up. They want me to do it for them. I tell them to go live in an active retirement community. I hear they have open season on partners there!”
Laurel chuckled as she had heard the same thing. “Have you heard that the place is also a haven for STDs? Senior citizens in these places seem to have a very good time in their social and sexual life!”
Mary Helen placed a gentle hand on Laurel’s arm. “Yes, I’ve heard the stories. Talking to you always straightens my head out. Thank you, dear friend. Give a hug to Brodie and tell her she’s got a keeper! Now, stay on the porch. I’ll see myself out.”
Laurel almost blushed. Her phone jingled snagging her attention. Hurrying to grab it, she answered as she scurried back to the porch to wave Mary Helen off.
“Hello?”
Mary Helen’s extended arm out the window gave an exuberant wave as she tore down the drive to the gate.
“Laurel, this is Bill. Mind if Lawrence and I stop in for a minute?”
“I’d love it, Bill. But you’ll have to stay longer than a minute. A friend just dropped off some cinnamon rolls that are to-die-for delicious!” An uncomfortable feeling swamped her the minute she said the word, die. She made an awkward noise and corrected her statement. “What I really mean is that they will make you feel as if they are the best thing you’ve ever eaten in your entire life! Come on!”
“Lawrence has to finish stacking some firewood. He has two community service workers so he should be done in about fifteen minutes. That okay?”
“More than okay! I look forward to it.”
She wouldn’t have been quite so happy if she knew what she was about to hear.
Chapter 18
Bill and Lawrence sat at the kitchen table munching the rolls, dressed in their Class B uniform for work, which today consisted of the required white socks with white tennis shoes when wearing the green shorts. Laurel had never figured out why the uniform committee placed this ridiculous combination on field workers. For rangers, boots, such as hiking boots,
would be much more appropriate when working in the field and look a-heck-of-a-lot-better, in her opinion. The white footwear combo was only appropriate if a ranger was working on one of the 100 miles of beach that the Florida Park Service managed.
Lawrence made a fist with his right hand and thumped the middle of his chest. “Damn, these things are good! Is this friend of yours a single lady?”
“You’re in luck, Lawrence! Mary Helen is a stunning looker and she’s looking for a man.”
He stopped chewing and looked at her in disbelief. “Aw, go on, Ms. Laurel. You’re joshin’ me.” He patted Jackson’s head that was resting on his thigh. “A lady that bakes this here good is a lady I can cotton to! She’d make my mama’s bakin’ look bad.”
Grinning, Laurel leaned back into the goose down pillow she’d placed on the oak chair to cushion her back. She stroked Puffin who was sitting in her lap. “How old are you?”
Bill elbowed Lawrence. “I think there might be an age gap, buddy. Just an idea.”
“How old is this baker?” Lawrence had a skeptical look on his face.
Stifling a yawn, Laurel, turned it into a smile. “She’s a very gorgeous, very voluptuous, very fun, forty-year-old.”
Bill chuckled and in a low voice sang the words. “Older women are beautiful lovers. They understand, and, and … I get around some but I have discovered, an older woman knows just how to please a man.”
“Hey, man!” Lawrence kicked Bill under the table. “You never know. I can dig that.” The twinkle in his dark eyes belied his words. “Course, I would like to have some little tykes someday.”
Laughter filled the room.
“Stay away from her, Lawrence. She’d gobble you up.” Laurel cleared her throat and looked at Bill. The intensity of her gaze was such that Bill finished his cinnamon bun and returned her gaze.
“How do I thank you?”
He pushed back his chair and placed his elbows on his knees. Shaking his head slowly, he said, “That was the most awful thing I’ve ever seen. I thought you were dead. I wanted to kill that bastard.” He took on a sheepish look. “Did you know that I tossed my cookies at the scene?”