“Hi Syl,” Owen’s warm baritone of a voice came over the line.
“Hi,” she replied a little breathlessly. His voice always had a way of finding its way right down through her center.
“I wanted to let you know I made it home all right,” he told her. “No snow and no crazed drivers.”
“Good,” Sylvia answered. “Thanks. We’re starting to have some snow here,” she told him. “Just a dusting, but it’s beautiful. I hope we get more.”
“Just as long as it melts by the 26th, okay?” Owen said. “I’m not looking forward to traveling on slick roads.”
“You’re right,” she said. “It’s too bad it can’t fall just on the grass and trees to look pretty.” Sylvia changed the subject. “How are your Mom and Dad?” she asked.
“They’re fine,” he said, “Happy I’m here. They send their best.” He yawned loudly in the phone.
“Sorry,” he said. “I think I’m tired. I’ll miss curling up with you,” he told her wistfully.
“Same here,” Sylvia said. “I’ll be thinking of you.”
They said their good nights and promised to talk in the next couple of days. Sylvia returned to the study to hang up the phone. Her mother was sleeping more deeply and Sylvia banked the fire quietly and put a warm throw over her mom before cleaning up the wine glasses and going to bed. She was glad Owen would miss her. His absence left an empty space in her heart. The bed seemed cold without him and she shivered. Sylvia got up and rummaged through Owen’s drawers. Finally she found what she was looking for and put on a pair of Owen’s hiking socks against the chill and snuggled deeply into the soft flannel sheets, pulling over Owen’s pillow to hug close to her body.
Chapter 2
“Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time.” -- Laura Ingalls Wilder
Christmas Eve morning broke bright and crisp with the thin skim of snow sparkling in the sunshine. The water on the bay was a deep dusky blue gray and snow edged the sand and rocks like a bit of hand crocheted lace. Sylvia was up long before her mother, not able to get out of her work mode arousal time. She made coffee and took it into the living room to assess the world. The sun was so sparkly on the thin blanket of snow that it made her eyes hurt. She looked back at the Christmas tree that stood near the French doors. She and Owen had gone to a tree farm a couple of weeks ago. He had been very patient with her as she searched and searched through the trees until she found a bird’s nest nestled among the branches insisting it would bring them luck and prosperity for the year. They cut down the tree and laughing like children and dragged it to Marian’s ancient Volvo wagon where Owen tied it on to the roof. Marian had come over later to have eggnog and cookies while they decorated the tree.
Sylvia had scoured the attic to find all of the boxes of Christmas ornaments. Gran, who was generally not a pack rat, had kept all of the ornaments that Sylvia had given to her over the years. It was very emotional to take them out along with other family ornaments. They all had a story and although she thoroughly enjoyed decorating the tree, it was also a pensive time for her. To Sylvia, the tree looked wonderful even though it was crowded. It certainly wouldn’t pass an interior designer’s test, but she liked seeing the memories hanging on the branches. Sylvia turned on its white twinkle lights and admired it from the couch. She was hoping her mother wouldn’t say it was tacky being crowded with all of the ornaments.
Feeling somewhat chilled, Sylvia had returned to the kitchen to get a second cup of café au lait when her mother came downstairs. Sylvia poured her mother a cup and handed it to her when she entered the kitchen.
“Good morning,” she greeted her mom.
“Morning, Syl,” her mother said. “Lovely to sleep in a bit,” she commented.
They both headed to the living room and sat on opposite ends of the couch. Sylvia tucked her legs beneath her.
Her mother looked at the tree and Sylvia held her breath awaiting comments. She was a little surprised when her mother nodded acquiescently at all of the family ornaments on the tree.
“Looks nice,” her mother commented. “I haven’t seen some of those ornaments in years. It’s a nice way to remember Gran,” she said softly.
“That’s what I thought too,” Sylvia agreed with her.
“What are your plans for the day?” asked her mother.
“I really don’t have any,” Sylvia said. “I have no desire to head out to the stores in all of the last minute shopping. It was wonderful Thurmont gave us this day as a gift.”
“It’s quite generous,” her mother agreed. “So, I guess your division wasn’t sold after all,” she commented.
“No,” Sylvia said, “The interim director, Mr. Charles was made director in October. Management is thrilled with Owen for discovering the organism and he’s working harder than ever to clean up the problems caused by Mr. Headley and Anna.”
“You need to give yourself some credit too,” her mother chastised her gently.
“Oh, I know,” Sylvia answered. “They are pleased with our outreach projects and the general improvement of the public’s perception of Thurmont, but Owen is definitely the golden boy.”
“Are you jealous?” her mother asked.
That comment took Sylvia by surprise. She had never considered jealousy in their relationship struggles. It gave her pause.
“No, I don’t think so,” she answered her mother slowly, “I honestly hadn’t thought about it. It’s an interesting thought.”
“Well, right now I’m thinking of a second cup of coffee and going for a walk,” her mother said. “Will you join me?” she asked.
“Sure,” Sylvia answered wondering what had come over her mother. She had never gone on walks with her before.
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen with sweats on,” her mother said, briskly getting up and going upstairs.
Sylvia followed more slowly. She dressed in old sweats and went downstairs to grab her polar fleece hat, gloves and scarf. Her mother appeared in a sweatpants outfit that matched her coat and had coordinating gloves and hat. She looked stylish in a suburban sporty kind of way.
“Ready?” her mother asked.
Sylvia nodded.
“Let’s go!” her mother said with the enthusiasm of a drill sergeant.
Her mother went out the door and Sylvia turned to lock it and put on lip balm. Her mom was waiting impatiently by the road at the end of their driveway. She turned the opposite way from Sylvia’s usual walking direction, turning away from the marina and heading through the neighborhood along the shore. Her mom walked briskly, but not so quickly that they couldn’t talk.
Finally Sylvia asked, “Uh, Mom?”
“Yes,” her mother answered.
“I’m astonished,” she admitted.
“About what?” her mother asked.
“You, Mom!” Sylvia exclaimed. “You’ve changed.”
“Well,” her mother returned. “I need to get healthier and there’s no time like the present.”
“What brought this about?” Sylvia asked.
All of a sudden her mother slowed her pace and led her to the right of way for the non-waterfront residents to access the bay. It was a grassy area that led to a small beach. The sun was cutting large swaths through the clouds and turning the water golden in large, glittering expanses. Sylvia never tired of looking at the water. She sighed contentedly and smiled up at her mother, but was surprised at the tense look on her mother’s face.
“Mom?” Sylvia questioned her. “What’s wrong?”
Her mother took a couple of deep breaths, that were white clouds in the frosty air, as she stopped and put a hand on Sylvia’s arm.
“Syl,” she told her. “I haven’t been honest with you,” her mother admitted.
Totally puzzled, she looked questioningly at her mother. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“I-I – I’ve learned I have a h
eart condition,” she told Sylvia. “I didn’t want to worry you, but I had a mild ‘episode’ a couple of months ago.”
“What?” Sylvia exclaimed.
“I knew this would be a shock to you,” her mother told her as she started strolling along now. “I’ve had a high blood pressure problem for a couple of years now and have been controlling it with medication. At the beginning of October I experienced a minor myocardial infarction,” she said seriously.
Sylvia was beyond stunned. “What?” she asked aghast? “Isn’t that a heart attack?”
Her mother nodded, “Yes, a mild one. They did an angioplasty –you know the balloon thing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sylvia said, trying to quell her shifting emotions and growing anger.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” her mother said. “You were just starting to pull out of everything that happened this past summer with the murder and all…” she paused, “and I’m fine,” she told her trying to sound convincing. “I take the baby aspirin each day, I’m exercising and eating properly and I’ve cut back on my work hours.”
“Oh my God!” Sylvia said. “I just can’t believe this!”
“Believe it,” her mother said dryly, “it was quite a shock to me too. I think everything this past year with Gran’s illness and death, the murder this summer and your issues with Mr. Headley…they just led up to this warning. I’m trying to take it seriously,” she admitted.
“I just wish you had told me,” Sylvia said angrily. “What good does it do to keep me in the dark? Mom, you’re my Mother! I have a right to know these things.”
“I’m fine!” her mother insisted. “Bob and Donna have taken good care of me. I’ve been telecommuting part time and working part time and now I’m back to work full-time. I am fine,” she insisted. “In fact, I’m in better shape now than I’ve been in years.”
Sylvia strode back towards the house a little more quickly than she meant too and her mother hurried to catch up, panting a bit.
“Slow down,” she said.
“I’m trying to take this all in,” Sylvia said, stopping in the middle of the road.
Another person from the development was walking their dog. Sylvia and her mother nodded and said hello as they passed and Sylvia continued, “Mom,” she stated with resolve, “I am stunned, shocked and angry,” she scolded her mother. Sylvia stated only a few of the adjectives of the plethora swimming in her head. Only a couple of adjectives, and polite ones at that, made it through her lips. “Honestly, Mom, I’m glad Bob and Donna were there for you, but you should have called me!”
Her mother wilted. “I know,” she told Sylvia meekly. “Bob and Donna are not family, but they’re pretty darn close to it,” she said to Sylvia.
Bob and Donna were family friends for as long as Sylvia could remember. They used to play cards with her Mom and Dad when her Dad was still alive. She had vague memories of happy Saturday evenings with them and many dinners at both their home and hers. Sylvia’s family even vacationed with Bob and Donna at the Jersey shore several times. Often, Sylvia and her parents joined with Donnas’ large, noisy, extended family when they would invade Bob and Donna during the holidays.
“I truly didn’t want to worry you,” her mother told her. “Look, I’m in better shape than I’ve been in years. I’m thinking this is a good thing – this warning.”
Sylvia had noticed her mom was in better shape, but never dreamed the reason why. They walked on in companionable silence to the end of the road where a large house sat on a sizeable estate on a small cove. Sylvia remembered being frightened to go trick-or-treating there as a child. She had been surprised how kind the owners were and they always gave out full sized candy bars which delighted her. She glanced up at the dark windows wondering if those owners were still there, or, if it had been passed on to the children. She didn’t remember Gran mentioning them.
They paused for a moment at the fence and stared out at the bay. Their breath was frosty. Shivering, her mom tugged at her arm to turn back and walk past the gated entrance. More dog walkers passed by and they greeted them amiably.
Her mother broke the silence, “Look, Syl,” she said. “Truly, I didn’t want to worry you. I’m just fine,” she said convincingly.
“Okay,” Sylvia replied. Controlling her anger and emotions she continued, “You need to realize I’m an adult. You’re all the family I have now. I need to know things like this. Springing them on me is worse than not know or finding out…” she stopped.
“You’re right,” her mother agreed. She gave Sylvia a hug with one arm.
Sylvia held back tears and fumbled with her keys to unlock the kitchen door. They stepped into the warm kitchen. Sylvia peeled off her hat, scarf and gloves and laid them on the end of the counter and started to make more coffee.
“Decaf, please,” her mom said. “I really need to watch my caffeine intake,” she told Sylvia.
“Are you on a special diet?” asked Sylvia.
“Actually, I am,” her mother admitted. “It’s not too bad, but I need to watch my fat intake, low salt, watching my carbs, you know—we hear about it on television all the time.”
“I have turkey breast for Christmas dinner,” Sylvia told her. “Do we need to go to the grocery store?”
Her mom surveyed the refrigerator as she sipped a cup of the fresh decaf.
“I think I’ll head up the road and pick up a few things so that you’ll have them on hand when I visit,” she said. “I want to get some of my bran cereal and a few other things.”
“Okay,” Sylvia said. “Do you mind if I don’t go? I can’t bear the grocery store when it’s crowded. ”
“Of course not,” her mother told her. She took her coffee upstairs to change her clothes and put on some make-up. Sylvia made a third cup of café au lait and picked up a handful of Christmas cookies, made by her friend Carol’s mom, and went back to the living room. She nibbled at the cookies and mindlessly watched the water. Her eyes drifted up to the trees and unconsciously she watched the trees’ auras. She watched the whitish blue light above the trees pulse in the cold morning air. The Green Man had helped her remember how to see the tree auras. She had seen them as a child, but had forgotten them until this past year. She mostly saw plant auras, but with concentration she could pick out a person’s aura and often see colors in it. She thought she should check her mother’s aura when she came to say goodbye.
Her mother interrupted her thoughts. “Is there anything you want from the store?” she asked Sylvia.
Sylvia jerked her head, her mother’s voice breaking into her thoughts. “Umm…” Sylvia thought for a moment and her mother shook her keys impatiently. Sylvia couldn’t focus on the aura at first.
“No-o, I don’t think so,” she told her mother. She turned her head and tried not to laugh at her mother’s impatient shake of the keys. It was a typical habit of hers. She wasn’t as calm as she had appeared to Sylvia earlier. Her aura looked as it always had. Sylvia breathed an inner sigh of relief.
“All right,” her mother said, “I think I’ll pick up some lunch too.”
“Okay, thanks,” Sylvia replied.
While her mother was gone Sylvia brought out the gifts for her mother as well as the gifts from Marian, Owen and his parents for her mom. They made a tidy, yet brightly colored pile under the tree. She added fresh water to tree’s base, too.
The day passed slothfully. Sylvia’s mom brought home Chinese take-out and rented DVD’s. They both sat in the den in front of the fireplace watching old favorites of the original and new “Affair to Remember” and “Sleepless in Seattle.” As evening approached, her Mom broached the subject of going to a Christmas Eve church service. Surprised by her mother’s suggestion, Sylvia agreed. She went to get the paper from recycling to check the listing of services and times.
“We should go to St. Margaret’s,” her mother decided. “It’s where we have gone to church off and on for years,” she told Sylvia.
Sylv
ia checked the listing in the newspaper. “The services are at 7:00 and 11:30,” she announced to her mother.
“Is it all right with you if we go to the earlier service?” her Mom asked. “I don’t think I want to stay up until midnight.”
“Fine with me,” Sylvia said, “but we’ll need to get ready to go as soon as possible.” She bent down and picked up the fleece blanket that had fallen to the floor and groaned. “I definitely ate too much today. It’s too bad we can’t walk to church,” she said.
Her mother agreed. They both picked up the empty Chinese food containers, ice cream bowls and empty glasses they had collected over the course of the day, banked the fire and returned the DVD’s to their cases.
“Let’s take my car,” her Mom insisted.
Sylvia, who had already pulled her car out of the garage, acquiesced to her Mom.
“Don’t bother putting it back in. We’re late enough as it is,” she said to Sylvia.
They maneuvered through town on slightly slick roads and ended up parking at a small restaurant a couple of blocks away. They hurried along to the church that was obviously filling up.
“We may have to sit in the balcony,” Sylvia whispered to her mother as they followed the choir and priest through the door.
The church was packed to the gills and the usher motioned them to head up the stairs to the balcony. Sylvia’s mother breathed a relieved sigh when she saw the balcony wasn’t too crowded.
Sylvia sat down and looked around. It had been years since she had been in this church. Her grandmother attended sporadically and sent Sylvia to Bible School at St. Margaret’s during her summer visits. It was a beautiful old Episcopal church that looked as though it had been transported from England in the 17th century. It was one of the town’s oldest landmarks. The walls were creamy white and strong dark wooden beams that stretched along the ceiling.
The Leafing: the 2nd book in The Green Man series Page 2