by Denise Daisy
Karley interrupted Walt’s story. “Can you fix it?”
Larry spit out the tobacco juice that had been pooling under his bottom lip for some time. “I can fix it. It’ll be a full day’s work.”
“That’s great.” Karley stared at the black gooey substance hiding under Larry’s bottom lip. “That shouldn’t put us too far behind.”
“Full day’s work if I had the parts. I’m gonna have to order ‘em. You’re lookin’ at seven to eight business days.”
“Oh,” was all a stunned Karley could muster. “You’re serious?”
Wilbur, who had been resting on the bus steps during Larry’s diagnostics, suddenly jumped to his portly feet. “That will not do! We have an extremely important engagement three days from now and we cannot afford to miss it!”
Larry shrugged. “Lookin’ like you’ll have to go without your bus. Cause it ain’t movin’.”
“Just rig something up to get us on the road! We’ll make the needed repairs when we get to where we‘re going.”
Karley was exasperated. “Now that’s what got us stranded here in the first place, Mister Procrastinator! We’ve done all the rigging we can do. Now it’s time for some fixing! Walt and I warned you this was going to happen!”
“You should’ve listened to ‘em,” Larry spat once again, this time barely missing Wilbur’s swollen feet with the brown juice. “Prevention is a heck of a lot cheaper than replacing. ‘Fraid this one’s gonna cost you a pretty penny.”
Wilbur’s brow furrowed deeper at the threat of losing money. “Are you even sure you know what you’re talking about? I bet a country hick like you has never seen an engine this big. I, for one, would like a second opinion!”
Larry removed the rolled-up ball cap from his back pocket and placed it on his head as he climbed into the cab of his truck. “Good luck with that, seeing I’m the only mechanic in town.” He spat once more before starting his engine.
Karley ran to the truck and peered into the window. “Just go ahead and order whatever you need to fix it.”
Larry put his truck into drive. “Alright, but first thing we need to do is get your bus to my garage.”
“How the hell we gonna do that?” Her inquiry remained unanswered, as Larry’s truck disappeared around the corner.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Downstairs in the kitchen, Mavis was busily pouring more batter into the waffle iron as she hummed a happy tune. A bowl of brown eggs sat next to a sizzling cast iron skillet, along with a platter of diced potatoes waiting to be cooked. Fresh strawberries and various types of melons lay on a tray, peeled and sliced. Glass pitchers full of orange juice and iced water sat on the massive wooden table near an open kitchen window. The morning air wafted inside, swirling about the room with the aid of a large ceiling fan.
Mavis closed the waffle iron, grabbed a pot of fresh brewed coffee and headed to the table to replenish the empty mugs; it was then Bronwyn noticed Mavis used a walking stick for assistance.
Bethany refilled her glass with orange juice, marveling that it was indeed the best juice she had ever tasted. She asked Mavis an onslaught of questions from what brand of juice she was drinking, to why the eggs were brown instead of white, and was delighted to learn everything was homegrown, including the orange juice in her glass along with the organic eggs in the bowl. Mavis even claimed that the two children who had stormed into the kitchen with their own barrage of questions were homegrown as well.
Carla Jo, the eldest of the two, zeroed in on Trent as she bit into her fluffy waffle. “Are y’all really famous actors from California?”
Mavis eyed her daughter as she stirred the cooking potatoes. The girl was only twelve and already boy crazy. “Carla Jo, you know the rules about bothering the guests.”
“Momma!” Carla Jo was quick to defend her actions. “Actors are used to this. It comes with being famous. They actually love it!”
“You’re beautiful!” Molly’s small voice rang out as she stared in awe at Lillian. Lillian smiled, pleased with the adoration. “And so are you, dear. Come sit here, next to me.”
“Is it alright momma?” Molly asked, wide-eyed. Mavis smiled as she cracked another egg, sending the yolk into the sizzling hot skillet. “I reckon so dear, but mind your manners.”
Molly eagerly climbed up into her chair and took her seat beside the famous guest.
Sipping her coffee, Bronwyn stared out of the open window, while ignoring the idle chatter at the table. She preferred the sound of birds chirping, the low honk of the geese out on the water and the wooden wind chimes playing their lazy tune as they hung on the porch. The cool morning breeze floated through the window, touching her tenderly on the face while bringing in the many scents of the outdoor gardens. She welcomed the aromas; they were much different from the musty, stale air of the touring bus.
She wasn’t certain, but she thought she sensed a bit of inspiration - a feeling foreign of late. The sudden stimulation made her want to venture outdoors, fall into the soft green grass, inhale all the scents and sounds and lay there for hours and dream. She predicted her dreams in the inn’s gardens would be peaceful and untroubled, nothing like the nightmarish haunts that accompanied her nights. She hoped she would get the chance to tour the inn’s grounds before the bus was ready for departure. It would be a shame to miss such an opportunity.
“Bronwyn!” Bethany annoyingly nudged her in the ribs, bringing her attention from the outdoors and back into the busy room. Travis was in the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink. Bethany shoved her hip into Bronwyn’s with the intention to have her move down the table to make room for him. Bronwyn fumed inside and suddenly found the food on her plate interesting.
“Thank you,” Travis took the offered seat. Mavis hobbled over to the table, handing him a plate and patted him lovingly on the cheek before limping back to the stove. He poured himself a glass of water and then dished only fruit and eggs onto his plate.
“You know Ryan Reese?” Carla Jo fairly screamed with delight.
The name brought Bronwyn’s attention away from her eggs and to the trivial banter. It was as if someone had tossed the pitcher of ice water right into her face.
“Ryan is my absolute favorite actor in the world!” Carla Jo gushed on about her crush. “I‘ve seen his movie so many times! Tell me everything you know about him!”
Bronwyn searched the faces of her comrades, wondering who had betrayed her secrecy.
“Sorry, Bronwyn.” Daniel offered his lame excuse. “The kid wanted to know if any of us knew Ryan.”
Carla Jo sat wide-eyed. “So you really know him?”
Bronwyn tried to hide a grimace. She wanted to say no; and if she did, she didn’t think it would be a total lie because his actions of late made her feel like she really didn’t know him.
She met Ryan six years ago, when they were cast in the same show. He loved reading all of her stories and his genuine interest in her writing was one of the things that drew her to him. One evening, after attending a movie, the two sat in a coffee shop critiquing the shallowness of the story and the predictability of its characters. It was then and there they decided to write their own screenplay, the beginnings of which were formed on napkins. After all, if Keats could write the immortal, “Ode to a Nightingale,” on a napkin, well then, they could start their masterpiece on one too.
The months that followed were thrilling. Together they created the story, developed the characters, and fabricated amazing twists and plots. Bronwyn thoroughly enjoyed their late-night writing capers. Whenever the two experienced writer’s block, they would venture out into the night, and find a run-down donut shop that stayed open until the wee hours of morning. They would feast on sugary donuts and black coffee until an idea broke though. The night they completed the script, Ryan suggested they celebrate by dressing up in their most elegant attire and treat themselves to a nice dinner at an overly expensive restaurant. It was at the end of that dinner that Ryan got on his knees, presented Bronwyn with
a beautiful ring, and proposed. They set the date that night, and she immediately began making wedding arrangements.
It so happened that on the day she found the perfect wedding gown, Ryan’s agent called with the phenomenal news that one of his auditions had paid off. He landed a substantial role in a feature film. Thrilled for his good fortune, they agreed to move the wedding date back to accommodate his shooting schedule. The movie was a remarkable success, skyrocketing him to instant fame. He was immediately signed to do the sequel. This time, the shooting took place in Australia. Again, Bronwyn changed the wedding date.
He was gone for months and his calls became scarce. She was faced daily with pictures of Ryan and his alluring co-star Gabriella Mendez, plastered on the cover of every magazine. Each one full of articles was accompanied with scandalous pictures, all insinuating a brewing relationship. None of the articles mentioned a fiancé back home. She refused to read anymore. Besides, Ryan was never quoted in any of them. The reports were merely speculation. She loved him and was certain of his love for her, so she continued on with the wedding plans.
With Ryan’s birthday approaching, she decided to fly to Australia to surprise him. The visit was different than she had envisioned. His schedule allowed them no time together and as much as she hated to admit it, she sensed a noticeable distance from him. Her heart ached when he introduced her as his good friend instead of his fiancé. She forced a smile and good humor throughout the remainder of the week and was actually relieved when it was time to board the plane and return home. It was only a few days after her return when she received an email from Ryan. The letter broke off their relationship, along with her heart and optimistic spirit.
She sighed. When would the memory stop being so fresh? “Sore subject, hon.”
Mavis immediately came to Bronwyn’s rescue. “That’s enough kids; your breakfast is more than done. Y’all got chores to do.”
“Aww, momma.”
“You heard me. Now scoot!”
Carla Jo gave a pleading look at Travis, whose mouth melted into a sympathetic smile, “You heard your mother.”
Carla Jo removed herself from the table along with her sibling; with slumped shoulders, she left the room to do her chores.
“I’m sorry,” Bronwyn apologized to Mavis. “She didn’t know….”
“It’s all right honey. That Carla Jo could pester the horns off a Mulley cow.”
Trent nudged Daniel, “What the hell is a Mulley cow?” Once again Mavis had left Trent mesmerized by her strange choice of words.
Daniel didn’t hear Trent’s comments. “What the….” His words fell flat as he gazed out of the window. Bronwyn turned to see what could have possibly stunned Daniel into speechlessness. Simultaneous gasps erupted around the table as the troupe saw their beloved tour bus towed by a small green tractor. A man in a baseball cap and overalls drove while Karley sat perched on the back.
“Bloody hell!” Trent burst into laughter. “Where’s my camera when I need it?”
The tractor continued towing the enormous bus past the inn and down the highway. Anna stood, “Marcus, I think it’s time we hook up with Karley and see what’s going on.”
Marcus pushed away from the table and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Looks like Larry‘s towing you to his garage,” Mavis said.
“And where might we find Larry’s garage?” Anna asked.
“In town.”
“And where would town be?”
“A mile down the highway. Just follow the road; it’ll take you right to it.”
Anna tried one more time for a definite location. “Could I please have a business address for the garage?”
“Don’t need one. You’ll see it when you get there and iffin’ by chance you miss it, ask anyone they’ll point it out to you.”
There was no other choice than to follow Mavis’ simplistic advice. Bronwyn could see that Anna was irritated and befuddled by Mavis’ nonchalant nature. As always, though, Anna kept her very professional and agreeable disposition, thanking Mavis for the information as she and Marcus left the kitchen.
Trent and Daniel agreed it would be an experience of a lifetime to venture into this mysterious and yet-unseen town of Moonshine. After eating more than they should, they left to scout out the town. Lillian also left the table to shower, and Mavis exited to retrieve freshly laundered towels for her use. The once populated kitchen cleared instantly, leaving only Bethany, Bronwyn and Travis at the table. Much to Bronwyn’s dismay, Bethany, who thrived on chatting, quickly tried to drum up a conversation with him.
“So, lived here all your life?”
“Pretty much,” he responded.
Bethany’s upper lip curled at the thought of it. “Why?”
Bethany irritated Bronwyn. Why did she feel the need to talk to Travis? Why couldn’t she just leave things alone? Bronwyn purposely avoided looking at him the entire time he had been sitting at the table, not wanting another uneasy gaze from his direction. Her frustration with Bethany turned into a quick reprimand. “Bethany, Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not being rude. I’m just curious as to why someone would want to spend their entire life in such a small, secluded place when there is a whole world out there to enjoy. It’s an honest question.”
“Well, it sounds rude.” Bronwyn’s voice was scolding.
Bethany tried sounding innocent.
“Did you think I was being rude?”
Travis shrugged, “I just figured that’s how you big city folk are, or maybe it’s just the theater types. I’ve heard they’re strange like that. On the other hand, it could be that you didn’t have proper raisin’ and are lackin’ in manners. But no, I didn’t think you were being rude, a bit ignorant maybe, but not rude.”
Bronwyn suppressed her laugh; it was rare to see Bethany embarrassed. Travis remained stoic, cutting his eyes over to Bronwyn. Bethany didn’t give up.
“Okay. I’ll try re-wording my question.” She spoke slowly, as if there were a language barrier. “Have you ever considered that there might be a better, more fulfilling life for you someplace else? And how would you know if this is all you want, if you have nothing to compare it to?”
Satisfied with her question, Bethany sat back in her chair, awaiting his reply.
Travis took the last bite of his fruit and finished off his water before answering her. “I’m not sure you can define a fulfilled life by a location. I think the best life you can have is contentment, no matter what your circumstances. You can live in paradise and not be at peace. You make your happiness.”
Standing, he took his and Bronwyn’s empty plates to the sink. “As far as missing something,” he said, looking directly into Bronwyn’s eyes, “Who knows? You might find what you’ve been searching for right here.”
The heat sensation began again in the soles of her feet; rising upward thru the rest of her body, making her dizzy. She knew this was not the reaction of a giddy infatuation, or the result of nervousness. This sensation was something she was certain she had never experienced before, and it frightened her. She desired to look away, fearful he would notice her discomfort. Giving her a slight nod, he left the room.
“Now there’s someone to write about,” Bethany gushed. “If that man doesn’t inspire torrid thoughts inside of you then you’re brain dead. You see what I mean about him and Mavis not going together?”
Bronwyn had enough. “Be quiet, Beth! She might hear you!”
Bethany pouted. “You’re beginning to sound like Anna: proper, diplomatic, and boring! I want the old Bronwyn back. I miss her so much. I have no one to have fun with.” She sighed melodramatically, “I guess I’ll have to train up Lillian.”
Bronwyn smiled at the thought. Pampered Princess Lillian; her partner in crime? Bethany’s threat went undaunted. “Tell you what,” Bronwyn suggested. “Why don’t we venture into this metropolis of a town and see what we can find.”
“Will you be fun
?”
Bronwyn smiled at her friend. “I’ll be a blast.”
Soon, the girls were headed across the Inn’s lawn to the main highway, accompanied by Lillian, who eagerly invited herself on their quest. The scents from the garden filled their lungs as the girls followed the cobblestone path that wound its way to the main road. Bronwyn was amazed at the variety of plants. Foliage literally covered every inch of ground.
“Sandalwood Inn.” Bethany enlightened them by reading aloud the words on the beautifully hand-painted sign near the property’s edge. The girls came to a stop when they reached the narrow highway. It was unnecessary, for there was not a single car traveling this forgotten, winding road.
CHAPTER NINE
Larry’s garage was easy to find; it was one of the first businesses when entering Moonshine. The place resembled an old time service station. Soda and vending machines stood out front, offering refreshment to anyone with pocket change. A large work bay housed several vehicles awaiting repairs, along with a very large tour bus that Larry proudly displayed out front.
Larry thumbed through a parts catalogue at his rustic desk that doubled as a workbench. During the past hour, he’d placed several calls; all responses were the same. There was no other way of looking at it; the troupe would have to remain in Moonshine for at least a week.
Anna sipped the cold drink she purchased from the machine and sat the bottle down hard on the table. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe we’re actually stranded. How could this have happened?”