by Patricia Fry
Dawna sighed. "But how does someone know it when they see it? I believe with my whole heart that this is where I should be, so why aren't I as happy as I should be?"
"I don't know. That's something you'll have to figure out within yourself." Savannah paused and then asked, "Do you meditate or reflect?"
Dawna laughed. "Not really. I'm pretty much all wound up most of the time." She held up her coffee drink. "This probably doesn't help."
"Ever try yoga?"
Dawna shook her head.
"Well, you have to be open in order to find your true path and you can't be open if your mind is always busy—always working. It helps me to make better decisions if I slow down a little. Take time out. You could walk on the beach late in the day or early in the morning when it's quiet. Shove all conscious thoughts—you know, of work, what to fix for dinner, and stuff like that—out of your mind. Free up your mind and see what comes to you naturally. I've been told that everything we need to know in order to make the best choices for ourselves is inside us somewhere. It's just a matter of being quiet long enough to release it and then trust it."
"Prayer," Dawna said.
Savannah smiled. "Bingo." She spoke more quietly, "…only rather than asking for something, we need to listen to what He wants us to know." Suddenly, Savannah frowned. "What's wrong, Dawna?" She turned to see what seemed to frighten the woman and saw an unkempt man staring in from outside the patio. Savannah's heart began to race. She asked, her voice strained, "Do you know him?"
Dawna shook her head, then looked down at her coffee. "Uh, no. I don't know him. He just looked a little scary, that's all. The homeless freak me out. You know, they think it was a homeless guy who broke in that night and stabbed me."
"Really?" Savannah said, lowering her brows. "I didn't hear that."
"Yes, I just wish they'd go to Duluth, or Chicago, or somewhere. I hate them," she said.
Savannah stared at her tablemate for a few moments and decided to change the subject. "Dawna do you have an outlet at all? You said you used to paint."
"Oh boy, did I," she said. "I painted nonstop for a few years after I met Peter." She spoke in a hushed voice. "I was a closet painter, you see."
Savannah noticed Dawna's demeanor shift. She relaxed a little. "You were happy then, weren't you?" she asked.
Dawna started to speak, but stopped. She tilted her head and looked at Savannah. "Yes, I was happy then." She spoke more slowly and quietly. "I have a lot of paintings in storage. Not too long ago, I spent nearly an entire day at my storage unit, just looking at all my work and dreaming of the day when I could paint seriously again. Yes, I miss my art terribly."
"Really?" Savannah said. "That's great. Creative endeavors do feed our soul, don't you think?"
"I'm beginning to believe that. Yes."
"So are you going to quit working for Peter and pursue your own art? Is that what you're thinking?"
Dawna pulled away from the table and looked at Savannah through eye slits.
"Hey," Savannah said, "it's just you and me here. I'm only prying because I'm interested," she laughed, "…and nosy."
Dawna smiled weakly and leaned closer to Savannah. "Well, I have the opportunity to start painting again. Recently, someone saw one of my pieces and offered me a partnership."
Savannah tilted her head. "Partnership? You mean you produce the art and he or she promotes it—like what you do for Peter?"
"Yeah, kinda."
"Well, I think that's wonderful. I'm sure Peter would be behind you one-hundred percent. If he's the kind of human being I think he is, he'll be happy to see you sprout your own wings of success."
"I guess," she said. "…only…"
"Only what?"
"I'm not sure I've handled the situation well. I think I've blown it." She dropped her head and began fidgeting with the remnants of her baklava, then looked at her watch. "I'd better get back to work," she said, as she picked up the bill and stood, lifting her purse and slinging it over one shoulder. Without looking at Savannah, she said, "Thanks for lending an ear. You gave me some things to think about. I just hope it's not too late for me."
"What are you talking about, Dawna? What are you, forty-something? A lot of artists get their big break late in life."
"Yeah, yeah, Monet, Van Gogh…I know. But I want it big and I want it now. I'm probably more ambitious than most." She looked at Savannah. "I will make it happen…one way or another," she said, turning and walking toward the bakery counter. "I'll be right back. Want to pick up a few things." Dawna returned carrying a pink box presumably filled with bakery treats. "Ready?" she asked, as she headed quickly out through the patio gate onto the sidewalk.
Savannah caught up with her and said, "I have no doubt that you can do it. I hope it all works out for you. But don't forget to breathe."
"Uh, oh, sure. I can do that. Thanks, Savannah."
"For what?" she asked.
"For listening. It means a lot. I don't have many friends. Don't have time." She looked at her watch again. "Gotta go. Let's chat later, shall we?"
Before Savannah could respond, Dawna was off like a shot, heading toward the gallery.
****
"Well, there you are," Michael said when Savannah walked out to the deck later that morning. "So how was your chat with Dawna…with a W?" he asked.
"Downright weird," she said, lowering herself into a deck chair and turning it to face him. "I'm still reeling from the experience."
Michael raised the back on his lounge chair. "What happened?"
Savannah was quiet for a moment then she tilted her head and asked, "Have you ever seen someone's face change right before your eyes?"
"What?" he said. "Do you mean like when Lily is crying and I tickle her and she starts laughing?"
Savannah shook her head. "No. I mean like from…well, pretty to grotesque."
"What? Where have you been—to a wax museum with a hot blow dryer?"
Savannah laughed. "No."
"To see a rubber man at the circus?"
"No, Michael. You're being silly."
"Well, what do you mean, then? Did you see some woman's facelift fall?"
"No, it's Dawna."
"Dawna? What happened, did she burn herself lighting a cigar?"
"Michael, stop it and let me tell you," she insisted. "I was listening to her talk about something. She looked…you know…attractive. She's basically an attractive woman. She has nice eyes, her brows have a good arch, her skin is pretty."
"Was she smiling?" he asked.
"Not exactly. She was just telling me a story. But as she talked, her face changed. Her eyes grew kinda dark and lifeless, her skin tone was dull. It was as if her whole facial structure changed and she became someone else right there in front of me."
Michael frowned. "Do you mean visually? She actually looked that different to you?"
Savannah nodded. "Yes!" she exclaimed.
"Had the lighting changed or something?" he asked.
No," she said. "It's just that the more she talked about her life and how basically unhappy and unfulfilled she is, the more unattractive she became. Her features changed. I'm not kidding, Michael. Her features changed right before my eyes." She paused; looked down at her hands. "It was not a pretty picture." When Savannah finished speaking, she noticed that Michael was quiet, as if he were trying to digest what she'd just told him. "Ever have something like that happen before?" she asked.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Can't say as I have. Good lord, it must have been a weird experience. I can't imagine."
"I'll bet Iris could imagine. I can't wait to talk to her about this." She looked at her watch. "They could be coming in just about any time."
****
"Aunt RisRis! Uncle Craig!" Savannah shouted when the couple appeared with Michael on the deck later that day. "I'm so happy to see you two."
"Long drive, but worth it," Iris said. "This is gorgeous. Can't wait to get out of my clothes and into the sun."
>
"This isn't a nudey beach, babe," Craig said.
"I know; I have my suit."
"Well, come on, we'll show you to your room and you can change." Savannah slipped into her light-weight cover-up and then hugged both Iris and Craig. "Do you want a beautiful room with a mountain view or a plain room with an ocean view?" she asked.
The couple looked at each other.
"Show them both," Michael suggested, "then they can decide."
"Okay, come on, girlfriend," Savannah said, looping one arm through Iris's and leading the couple toward the staircase. "Here's the beautiful room," she said as they stepped into the first room at the top of the stairs.
Iris twirled around slowly and spoke almost reverently. "Oh, this is so nice. I love it." She looked at Savannah. "…but let us see the ocean view room.
When they walked into the room downstairs and Iris saw the large windows leading to a deck overlooking the beach, she swooned. "Oh yes. Let's take this one. I love this one, don't you, Craig?"
"Sure, whatever you want."
"You could sleep in one tonight and the other the next night," Michael suggested when he caught up with the trio.
"Sure could," Iris said, considering the idea. She then said, "Naw, I want to hear the ocean all night long. Yes, this is the one."
"Let's bring your things in, then," Michael said, heading out through the door.
"We'll meet you on the deck in a few," Savannah said, turning to leave.
"Can I get you an iced tea or lemonade?" Savannah offered when the couple returned to the deck in their beach attire. Iris wore a large floppy pink hat over her red hair, a matching pink floral one-piece swimsuit with a lace cover-up, and pink flip-flops with a plastic flower across her perfectly manicured toes.
"Well, I guess you have worn board shorts before, Craig," Michael said. "You've got a bit of a tan going on there."
"Yeah, we've been to the mountain cabin a few times lately, and I worked around the place without my shirt. Got a little color," he said, examining his arms and legs.
"You still need your sunscreen," Iris said. She then asked Savannah, "Where's the sweet baby patooty? Napping?"
"Yes, she and Mom usually nap this time of day, if we aren't dragging them to Disneyland or someplace."
"Oh, did you take her to Disneyland? How did she like it?"
"Yes, and Adam, too. I'll show you my pictures in a minute. We all had such a good time."
Once they had settled on the deck with beverages and an assortment of veggies, fruit, and dip, Craig asked, "So you've been having fun, huh?"
"Yes," Savannah said, "except…"
"There's your cat!" Iris exclaimed. "Oh my God, you brought him with you?"
"Sure did," Michael said, laughing. "And the dog, Buffy, and Walter. Everyone's here."
"That's just plain crazy," Iris said. "Who travels with their cats?"
"Veterinarians, that's who," Craig said. "I travel with my gun."
Both Michael and Savannah looked at him. "You do?" she said.
"Well, yeah."
Iris jumped into the conversation. "There must have been hundreds of guns at the conference Craig attended in Vegas. Law-enforcement people carry guns on and off duty."
Savannah shivered a little. "Oh. I never thought about it. So there's a gun in this house?"
"I can leave it in the car if it bothers you," Craig offered.
"Rags wants out," Iris said. "Do you let him out?"
"Yeah, he's been out," Michael said. "Sometimes because we let him out and sometimes not."
"He saved a life last week," Savannah said.
Iris raised her sunglasses. "What?"
Craig chuckled. "Did he pull someone from a riptide?"
"No," Savannah said. "He brought home a bloody necklace and we found out who it belonged to. She had been stabbed and we called an ambulance."
Michael chuckled. "He also stole a gal's bathing-suit top."
Craig's eyes lit up. "Now that, I'd like to see."
Iris quickly put her hand protectively against her chest. "Well, he'd better not try that with me."
Everyone laughed.
"Oh," Savannah said, putting her hand on Iris's arm, "he has a reputation."
Iris scoffed. "Well, yeah."
"But I mean, it's wider than we thought. The gal whose top he took—well—she had read about Rags on the Internet."
"Really?" Iris said, glancing at the cat, who continued to peer out through the sliding glass doors.
"Tell us more about the gal who got stabbed," Craig said.
"Oh, she's Peter's gallery manager," Savannah started.
"Peter's the owner of this house," Michael explained. "He's an old friend of mine from college and he's an artist with a gallery along the beach. I'm sure you'll get a chance to meet him."
"So someone broke in and attacked her?" Craig asked.
"We think so. It's all rather vague. In fact, she's kind of hard to read. Iris, I actually wanted to talk to you about her."
"Me? Why?"
"I thought maybe you could give us a perspective. I guess you'd have to meet her first, but I can tell you, she's a puzzle."
"Oh, look who's up from her nap," Iris said, smiling, when Gladys appeared on the deck with Lily in her arms. "Hello, Mrs. Jordan," Iris said, approaching her. "Hi, Miss Lily. How's the little mermaid? You look so cute in your sundress." She looked at Gladys. "Can I hold her?"
"Yes. She's ready for a bottle; want to give it to her?"
"Sure do," Iris said. "Come to Aunt RisRis, little angel," she cooed. "Can we take her down to the beach after she eats?" she asked.
Savannah nodded. "Yeah, we can do that."
"But she can't go in the water," Michael said, sternly.
"Why?" Craig asked. "Waves too big?"
"Well, that, too, I guess," Michael responded. "But she got stung by a jellyfish a few days ago. Don't want a repeat visit to the ER."
"Oh, poor baby," Iris said, cuddling her close.
Craig encouraged Lily to grip his finger with her little hand. "A jellyfish? That's not good." He looked at Michael. "She's okay?"
"Oh yes, but Savannah and I are still recovering from the ordeal."
****
"So did you have a powwow with Iris yesterday?" Michael asked Savannah as they prepared to go down for breakfast the next day.
"Yes," Savannah said, taking a t-shirt out of the closet and pulling it on over her bathing-suit top. She lifted her wet hair off her neck and said, "Rochelle joined us."
"Really?" Michael asked. "When?"
"When you and Craig took Lily down to get those groceries, Iris and I were walking on the beach and ran into Rochelle. She lives across town, but drives down here to walk on the beach when she can." Savannah entered the bathroom and began blow-drying her blond hair.
Michael followed her. "So did you bring up Dawna's odd behavior—that face-change thing?" he asked, while lathering up to shave.
"What?" she asked, shutting off the dryer.
"Did you talk about Dawna?"
"Yeah. Let me dry my hair a little and I'll tell you about it." She started to turn the dryer back on, but stopped and said, "Hey Michael, go get us some coffee and let's enjoy it on our lanai, shall we?"
He frowned. "Lanai?"
"Yes, that's what they call a small balcony in Hawaii."
"You're not in Hawaii, Savannah."
She winked. "I can be if I want to be."
"Let me shave first, okay?"
She looked at him and said, "Why don't you leave some stubble? We're on vacation and I think you're sexy with that unshaven look."
Michael thought about his wife's comments for a few seconds. "Sexy, huh?" He caught Savannah's eye in the mirror, grinned his sideways grin and began wiping the shaving cream off his face. "Be back in a hot minute," he said, as he dashed out the bathroom door. When he returned carrying two cups of coffee and two blueberry muffins on a small tray, he found Savannah sitting on the balcony stari
ng out over the ocean. "Your daughter says 'good morning.'"
"What's she doing?" Savannah asked, smiling.
"Well," he cleared his throat, "when I left, she was wiping strained peaches on Rags's tail."
"What?"
"Your mom was feeding her and she put her hand in the bowl. Before Gladys could wipe it off, Rags walked by and Lily grabbed his tail," he said, chuckling.
"Well, he probably loved licking the cereal and peaches off. He likes fruit, you know. I used to share my morning fruit with him when he was a kitten."
"Yeah, he was licking his tail vigorously when I left."
"Ahhh, this is the life," isn't it, Michael?" Savannah said. "Look how the water sparkles this morning. Ever notice how the water changes color and texture? The view is ever-changing. I just love it here, don't you?"
"Yes. It's been great. But we have a pretty nice life in Hammond, don't you think?"
"Sure. I love our life, our home, our friends. But I've really enjoyed this respite—this totally different way of living." She thought for a moment. "I guess this is how the rich and famous live—they play all the time, and they probably don't appreciate it nearly as much as we do."
"You don't think so?" he asked.
"Well, no, because it's their lifestyle. It's what they do. It's special to us, but probably not so much to those who live this way all the time."
Michael took a bite of his muffin. After washing it down with a swig of coffee, he said, "So, tell me about your visit with Rochelle and Iris."
Savannah set her coffee cup down. "Oh yes. Very interesting, actually. Rochelle said she met Dawna when she stopped at the gallery one night to pick up Peter for an early dinner. She said she's concerned about her."
"Does she think Dawna's in danger?"
"Yes, although probably not from outside herself—but inside."
"Huh?"
"She's a danger to herself, Michael. At least that's what Rochelle picked up from meeting her. When I told her and Iris some of my impressions, Iris said that Dawna may have some deep issues that are close to the surface. She could be close to losing it—as in having a nervous breakdown or something."