by Dana Taylor
He rose, too full of nervous energy to stay seated very long. He leaned against a post. “It was a disaster. Christina took off with my law partner, John, and left me with an angry, motherless daughter and a financial nightmare."
I lifted an eyebrow. “I suppose the break-up was all her fault?"
He crossed his arms, gazing down at me. “No, I'm not that obtuse. I was too busy to give her the attention she needed. John was always better at playing prince charming."
He'd surprised me. In my experience, people rarely saw the role they played in the demise of a relationship. “So they're off seeing the world on your money. You don't seem terribly bitter about it."
He sighed and resumed his seat next to me on the swing. “I've been bitter. But as my sweet mother always says, ‘You can be bitter or you can be better.’ I'm working on it. It's dealing with a smart-mouthed twelve-year-old that gets to me."
My heart went out to him. He took care of everybody-mother, daughter, clients. Who took care of him?
We looked at each other for a minute and something passed between us. I felt myself falling into him, even though I was sitting perfectly still. He took my hand. His warmth seeped across fingers and palms. So nice, so right.
"Do you like to fly?” he asked, his voice lowered, husky.
His question surprised me. “It's okay. Like a big bus in the sky."
"No.” He laughed. “How would you like to fly with me Sunday afternoon in my biplane?"
I gulped down the rest of the wine and set the glass aside. “In your toy plane? Gosh, I don't know."
He squeezed my hand. “Chicken?"
"Cautious."
His thumb stroked little circles over my hand, his pulse blending into mine. Did I trust this guy with my life in a flimsy little plane? I glanced at his face. Had he suddenly become more handsome? Was I drunk?
Now he had hold of both my hands and gave a friendly tug. “It will be fine. I promise."
What the heck, I threw caution to the wind. “Okay ... Sure, why not? It might be fun. But no loop the loops."
He stood up, pulling me along. “We'll just take a nice sightseeing tour."
Maybe the wine had given me a little buzz, but the moment had taken on a peaceful, hazy glow. We stood inches apart, well within each other's aura. He tipped my chin up with his finger and bent toward me with a gentle kiss. He nibbled my lips and my temperature shot up a couple of degrees. I leaned into him without conscious thought, but he pulled back.
He put his hands on my upper arms, slowly moving them up and down. He smiled. “Smells sweet, tastes good, feels soft ... I like it."
I stood stock still, trying to breathe, held in place by his touch and mesmerizing eyes. His hands moved around to my back and pulled me gently to his chest as his mouth took mine in a real kiss. My arms automatically wound around his waist. This was a man's kiss, possessive and provocative. He seemed to grow larger as I melted into his embrace. He smelled like expensive cologne, beer, and something uniquely him, making me weak in the knees. Evening breezes swirled around us, cocooning us our in own world of sensations and scents. His lips leisurely explored my mouth and I loved every minute of it.
The Spinster Jones wasn't exactly playing hard-to-get.
Suddenly the front screen banged open. We jumped apart. Valerie stormed out onto the porch. “Okay, it better be a short lecture, because I feel like crap."
Chapter Four
-
The next day I might have lingered on the memory of that kiss if Mavis hadn't been in such a snit.
She was wiping down the juice bar with great vigor. “I tell you I'm not going to let them get away with this. Our property value will go straight down the toilet."
"I think they call them lagoons-the hog waste pools.” We were talking about a small article in the local newspaper about the upcoming city council meeting. Some corporation had bought up the land adjoining Mavis and Charles’ acreage and now the word was out that a hog farm was in the works. The City council planned to vote on zoning changes at the next meeting.
"I was over to Guymon last year and we drove by a hog farm and you could smell it for miles. We can't have that stink next door."
"What are you going to do about it?” I said while setting up a new display of Chinese herbs in front of a yin/yang banner, the Oriental symbol of balance.
"I'm going to march over to that meeting on Tuesday night and I'm going to raise a big stink.” She slapped the counter with her hand.
"I'll tell you what. I'll go on-line tonight and get information on hog farming. Maybe you can put a lid on this thing."
"Well, they better put a lid on it or they're going to see pigs fly!"
At that moment a floral delivery truck pulled in front of the shop and a beer-bellied deliveryman came to my door with a gorgeous bouquet of exotic lilies in purples and pinks. Who in the world ... ?
Mavis crooned with excitement. “Oh my, that's at least a hundred dollars of admiration."
I stared at the card, nonplussed. Thanks. J. Brooks. Thanks for the kiss? Thanks for helping with Valerie? Thanks for the memory?
Mavis pounced. “Okay, girl, what is he thanking you for?"
I told her about Valerie and gave her an edited version of my visit on the porch with Brooks. The flowers bothered me. My easy surrender to his charms bothered me. He was bothersome.
And I'd committed to an airplane ride, for heaven's sake. Why had he asked me, anyway? Surely “the weed lady” wasn't his type. The flowers were probably a polite kiss-off. He'd call and cancel. Any minute now.
Fortunately between impending pig farms and dealing with customers, I was able to put Mr. J. Brooks into the recesses of my mind. Ethel Barry came in needing something to help with hot flashes. She also took some Saw Palmetto for her husband's prostate. The Raleigh sisters arrived, two spinsters in their sixties who still dressed exactly alike and lived in a dilapidated mansion downtown. They purchased psyllium to add fiber to their diet and dog vitamins for their pets. They also brought me some of their homegrown vegetables.
"Here's some okra and green tomatoes. There's far too much for us,” explained Agatha.
"Dear Gussie, yes. Sister and I have enough frozen to last us two winters. If you can't eat it all, pass some on to your customers,” Martha added.
"And when you fry the okra, be sure to use a cast iron skillet.” Agatha's bobbed her head, bouncing little grey spit-curls in the process.
"Those aluminum and Teflon pans people cook with today just don't do justice to a good batch of fried okra.” Martha plopped a grocery sack full of okra on the counter.
Agatha glanced at her watch. “Sister, we gotta git. General Hospital will be starting soon."
They made their good-byes as the Ross family entered the store.
"Hello. How are you all today?” I said.
Rachel and Jeremiah looked grimmer than usual and little Isaac appeared downright puny.
Rachel stepped forward, her big brown eyes wide with worry. “Isaac just hasn't been getting any better, Miss Jones. I've tried home remedies and the herbs you sent, but he's still complaining about his stomach."
Jeremiah pushed her aside. “We've heard you have a special healing gift. We would like to join you for a laying on of hands, as it says in the Bible."
"Well, of course, I'll be happy to pray with you for Isaac, but I strongly recommend you take him to a doctor as well."
"No doctors.” Jeremiah remained adamant.
I sighed. “Let's go back to a massage room for a little privacy."
Soon Isaac sat in a chair in the small room as I stood behind him and his parents knelt on each side.
I asked Jeremiah to lead us in a prayer as my hands floated above Isaac's head, just inside his energy field. I closed my eyes, only half-listening to Jeremiah's long-winded prayer as I honed in on Isaac's energy level. My hands passed over his body seeking holes in his aura. I sensed his overall weakness and distress in his abdomen. A rush of heat ro
se in my hands, sending healing power to bolster his natural healing abilities. But I was troubled when the session ended.
Ruffling Isaac's hair, I suggested he ask Mavis for a bottle of the apricot nectar he loved. Basking in the healing session afterglow, he smiled and strolled out of the room. Still, the lack of boyish bounce in his step concerned me.
With unspoken consent, his parents and I waited until he was out of earshot.
"Will he get better?” Rachel touched my arm.
I covered her hand with mine. “Listen, I'm not a miracle worker or a fortune teller. It's true I've learned how to channel some healing power, but there are many paths to healing. Modern medicine is one of them. You need to use the diagnostic tools of a doctor to learn if Isaac has a virus or something more serious like appendicitis."
Jeremiah grabbed Rachel's hand away from me. “We'll not take our son to the devil's workshop. Prayers and the plants of the field shall be our medicine. After that, it's in the Lord's hands. Thank you kindly, Spinster Jones, for using your gift for our son. If it's God's will, he will be well."
He whisked his family out of the shop. I sent up a little prayer of my own for Isaac's healing. And one to help me forgive Jeremiah for calling me a spinster. The truth hurts.
* * * *
I spent Saturday night on the web looking up information about hog farms. The more I learned, the more concerned I became about having one in our own back yard. Air pollution, water pollution, swine diseases, foul odors-it was not encouraging. I knew Mavis was going to blow her top when I gave her the details.
I'd arranged to pick Ruth and Valerie up for church on Sunday morning. When I arrived, Jason strolled over to my side of the truck to talk to me. He had a cup of coffee in hand and appeared definitely rumpled, unshaven, uncombed, wearing a bar association T-shirt and shorts.
Could the man never look bad?
He leaned an elbow on the window opening. “Still willing to brave the skies with me today?"
He hadn't forgotten; he hadn't cancelled. Guess my goose was cooked.
"I paid up my life insurance yesterday. Orion's going to be a very wealthy cat. What time?"
"Three o'clock?"
Valerie overheard the conversation. “What's at three o'clock?"
I answered, “Your Dad's going to take me up in his toy plane."
"I want to come! You haven't taken me in a long time."
Jason's eyes widened in surprise. “I thought you said it was ‘dumb’ and ‘just for dweebs'.” Then his lips turned up in a soft smile. “But sure, you can come if you want to. Of course you have to get your room straightened up before you can go."
Ah, the art of parental negotiation.
Valerie answered smugly, “I was gonna clean my room today anyway."
I put the truck in gear. “It's a date,” I said and drove off.
The sanctuary was filling up as we took our place in a center pew next to Mavis’ clan. The organist played “How Great Thou Art,” while people visited about family and the upcoming holiday season. It's funny how people stake out their claim on church pews, especially the ones toward the front.
Charlene and her crew always sat on the third pew on the left. Cowboy Bill wore his string tie and big belt buckle and sat on the aisle with a leg sticking out that everyone had learned to avoid. He did trip a guest pastor one time. Next to him the two Foster offspring squirmed, held captive by their parents. I'd seen the boy, Billie, shoot a paper airplane now and again when he could get away with it. Melinda made toothy faces to girls behind her. And then there was Charlene, dressed in a suit with zebra markings, very much in style, I'm sure. Still, when she stood up to sing a hymn I thought those zebra stripes unflattering to her girth.
Ethel Barry and her husband, Arthur, marked the pages in the hymnal with little slips of paper, so they wouldn't have to flip pages too much during the service. The Raleigh sisters were dressed like a couple of antique china dolls and whispered important comments to each other.
The junior acolytes walked slowly down the aisle with long flame-tipped poles to start the service by lighting the candelabras. This was always a time of quiet apprehension. Would the candles all light? Will the kids knock the candleholder down? Will one get done too soon? The congregation gave a collective sigh of relief when another successful lighting had occurred and the pair raced back up the aisle, having forgotten the dignity of a stately procession. Pastor Martin entered from a side door by the Baptistery and took his seat in the throne-like chair behind the altar.
The music leaders bounded up the three steps to the front platform and the praise songs began. The congregation took to their feet and started clapping to the first upbeat number. I spied Val and Ruth out of the corner of my eye. Ruth had a sweet smile on her face as she gently joined in on the rhythmic clapping. Val was another story. She was not too sure whether it was cool for her to let loose. I nudged her and motioned for her to go stand next to Alisha, who was definitely in the groove. Val joined her friend and eventually let herself go with the beat.
I closed my eyes, felt the music wash over me and fill me with joy. As the songs wound down and the music took on a more reverent tone, my emotion surged with the flow of the melody. The simple praise songs offered redemption, love, hope-I need to get my share every week.
I looked around at the full congregation. Many had their eyes closed and their hands raised in a vulnerable display of group worship. We all swayed to the music, caught in a moment of mass consciousness. It's a beautiful experience to feel that unity with the body of believers.
And it's a terrible thing when you're the reason it gets torn apart.
* * * *
The afternoon turned into a gorgeous fall day for a plane ride. An earlier rain had scrubbed the air clean. Big cumulous clouds floated in the bright blue background. A gentle breeze fluttered golden leaves to the ground.
I couldn't think of a good excuse to back out of the excursion besides cowardice. Unsure of the latest in bi-plane flying apparel, I chose a loose teal cotton blouse and tan slacks.
Jason, Val, and Ruth met me at the airstrip. Val took off with her Dad first, while Ruth and I chatted on the ground. She was dressed in slacks and a fall sweater that had pumpkins and cats on it. She rested her arms on her poochy stomach as we watched them take off. Val and Jason looked like the Red Baron twins with their headgear, goggles, and red scarves to wrap around their necks.
"Does it make you nervous to have them flying off like that?” I asked Ruth.
"Honey,” she said in her bird-like voice, “from the time your child turns sixteen and takes off in a car, you stay nervous. A plane isn't much different. But, Jason has to have his escape. There's no telephone up there. No clients, partners, ex-wives, or I even suppose, mothers, to deal with. He's as free as the birds."
I thought of his penetrating eyes. “He does rather remind me of a hawk."
She chuckled. “Yes, dear, a good lawyer is a predatory creature."
"You must be proud of everything he's accomplished.” We watched the plane bank and turn.
"Oh, I suppose so. I just wish he'd enjoy life a little more. He's always rushing off, on the phone, dealing with a crisis. Even his idea of relaxing in his airplane is a stressful pastime. I'm afraid my boy doesn't know how to stop and smell the roses. His father was the same way. Always pushing, always working.” She put her hand on my forearm and said confidentially, “Sometimes I'd seduce him on a Sunday morning just to make him stay in bed and rest."
Well, that was more information than I needed to know.
"Jason's father put too much emphasis on the intellectual and denied the emotional. When Jason was a little boy and fell off his bike or took a bad fall, he knew he'd better not cry. ‘A Brooks doesn't cry,’ his father would say. Jason has a good heart, he just had a father who taught him to hide it. Looking back, I wish I'd told my husband to shove it.” Her little mouth pursed at the memory.
Ah, dysfunctional families-don't you love ‘em?
The plane came in for a smooth landing, bouncing to a stop like a good old-fashion barnstormer. Val and Jason returned to earth in good spirits. He had an arm over her shoulder as they walked up to us.
"Dad,” she said with a sparkle in her eye, “I think I want to learn how to fly."
Jason grimaced as if to say, in your dreams. “I'll think about it."
"How old do you have to be?"
"Thirty."
"You do not."
I couldn't resist needling him. “Wasn't there a story in the news last year of a twelve year old year old who flew across the country by herself?"
He cocked an irritated eyebrow at me. “You're a big help."
She jumped on it. “See!"
I gave her a little sideways hug. “Yeah, most girls earn extra money by baby-sitting, but you could be a crop duster."
She rolled her eyes as I continued. “Why don't you and your Grandma walk over to my house? You can camp out there while your Dad scares the living daylights out of me in the air. I rented a Julia Roberts movie and,” I gave Brooks a significant look, “I baked chocolate chip cookies."
Val led Ruth away. “Come on, Gramma, they want to be alone."
Jason grasped my hand and led me to the plane. Is this how it feels to walk to a guillotine? He strapped on my earphones attached to a small microphone, leather helmet, and dark goggles. Next I donned a jacket, finishing the ensemble with the long red scarf wrapped around my neck and tucked into the jacket. He had to give my rear end a hoist as I maneuvered into the back seat of the plane. He spoke the whole time, telling me the history of biplanes and what a fine beauty of wire and metal we had before us. It still looked like a toy to me.
"Just sit back and enjoy the ride. It will be noisy, but you can talk to me through the microphone. This is safer than driving your car down the expressway."
Yeah, right.
He buckled me tightly in my seat, flashed his killer grin, then hopped into the front cockpit, and started her up.
Noise and exhaust wind blasted from the engine. It was impossible to see what Jason was doing with the controls, but we started moving forward on the plane's big wheels. He explained that biplanes have larger wheels than other planes because they had originally been designed for take-offs and landings in fields, not nice, smooth runways. The tail engaged for flight almost immediately and the surrounding red dirt and grass soon became a blur as the plane picked up speed and suddenly stopped bouncing on the ground as it lifted into the sky. The wind whistled through the wires attached to the wings, making a strangely exhilarating song of the air.