The Leafing: the 2nd book in The Green Man series

by Sharon Brubaker

  “Mmm,” Sylvia murmured. “This is good. It brings back lots of memories.”

  “Why did we started making this, do you remember?” her mother asked Sylvia.

  “Gran came up with the idea from a story, I think,” Sylvia mused. “It was a story about melted snowmen or clouds or snowflakes. I think Gran invented the drink for me after we read the story. I wish I could remember.”

  Sylvia added another log to the fire in the study and sat back to enjoy its flaring warmth.

  “Will you be down next weekend and for New Years?” she asked her mother.

  “No, I don’t think so,” her mother told her. “I promised Jon and Donna that I would spend the time with them. They’re having a small get together.” She paused and then asked, “How about you?”

  “Just Owen and I, I think,” Sylvia said. “Everyone is traveling this year – Marian and Jon are in Europe, Carol and her Mom are in the islands and I think Owen’s friend Bill is on a ski vacation.”

  They settled back watching the fire and lost in thought until Sylvia gave a small yelp.

  “What’s wrong?” her mother asked sitting up quickly.

  “Marian’s house,” Sylvia said, “I promised I would check on it.” She stood up and stretched.

  “Okay if I just stay here?” her mother asked. “I’ll put dinner on and keep an eye on the fire.”

  “No problem,” Sylvia laughed. “I’m thinking you’ll be doing some watching from behind your eyelids.”

  “Possibly,” her mother mused with a smile, “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

  Sylvia took her mug to the kitchen and bundled into her coat. She picked up the keys to her new car. She climbed in and turned it on, waiting for it to warm up on this chilly day, and inspected all of the buttons. She turned on the radio and found Christmas carols and hummed along as she backed out of the driveway and headed towards Marian’s house.

  It was only a few minutes until she pulled into the gravel parking area at Marian’s home. Set back through the woods, Marian’s 18th century house sat on the edge of a forest in a clearing with a meadow on one side. More forest gilded the edge of the meadow in the distance.

  Sylvia got out of the car, and looked at the spot where the bonfire had been a week ago. It seemed like years at this point. Sighing, she touched the Green Man door knocker gently as she pulled out a huge old key and opened the heavy oak front door of Marian’s. How she missed him. There were reminders of the Green Man all over Marian’s home – in the carvings of the dining room chairs, and various sculptures around the house. Sylvia wondered how Marian could rattle around in the large house by herself for so long. She checked windows and doors, pausing in Owen’s room for a moment or two. He only had a half-life in this room now since he had pretty much moved in with Sylvia. She looked through his CDS and borrowed a couple to try out in the car’s CD player, and then headed to Marian’s library to look for a good book to borrow.

  The oak paneled and shelved library was full with the warm glow from the wood as the winter sunshine streamed through the tall windows. Sylvia poked around. The bulk of the library was devoted to the books of Marian’s late husband, Bran, a professor of the American Revolution. Marian’s tastes were eclectic and comprised about a third of the library. Sylvia poked through novels, gardening, poetry and biographies and she settled on a mystery novel by an author she did not recognize.

  She double checked the back doors and windows on the first floor before locking the big front door with its massive key, ready to head back home. She laughed to herself for lugging this huge key around each day to open and shut the house. She knew Marian didn’t usually lock the door unless she was away for a significant period of time. Owen had the spare key to the back door, so Sylvia was stuck with the large front door key. She was always amazed at the innate sense of peace and trust in Marian and usually hung the heavy key on a small, decorative iron hook next to the front door which left the front door open to all who came to it.

  Sylvia popped in the CD as she turned on the car. It was Jethro Tull’s Songs from the Wood. She loved it from the moment she first heard it five to six months ago when Owen was playing it. She had been surprised that she had never heard it, but then thought of Gran, who tailored her musical tastes and raised her on a rich variety of folk music from the Kingston trio; Judy Collins; Peter, Paul and Mary as well as classic rock from the 50’s and 60’s. She also had a strong liking for Celtic music, and pretty much ignored many of the contemporary artists with the exception of the ethereal music of Enya and Loreena McKennit and the ballads of the Indigo girls and Sara McLachlan.

  The rich sounds of flute, piano and electric guitar filled her car. Sylvia turned up the volume until the car reverberated with “Songs from the Wood” and then “Jack in the Green” before turning down the sound and flipping ahead to “Fire at Midnight.” She thought that it was very romantic and very sexy. She sighed briefly as she thought of Owen and the look in his eyes and how that stray lock of curly hair fell over his forehead when he looked at her. She sighed again and turned her attention to the sun glinting on the water as she turned down Bayside Drive to her home.

  Her mother had followed her own directions, putting the turkey breast in the oven and falling asleep. Sylvia tiptoed into the room where her mother was asleep, covered her with a velvety fleece throw and peeked at the turkey roast. Its savory smell made her stomach rumble. She put on water for tea and ate a few more Christmas cookies vowing to exercise after the holidays, before peeling the potatoes and adding milk to the water so they could sit without browning until it was time to cook them. She wasn’t sure what else her mother had planned for dinner even after peeking into the refrigerator, so she went into the living room to begin reading the mystery she had borrowed from Marian’s library. She had a different view of murder mysteries after discovering Anna’s body the previous summer, but still was fascinated with the delicious horror of them and how it was resolved in the end.

  They had a quiet dinner a few hours later and her mother retired early to bed. Sylvia put on Christmas carols, turned off the lights, and looked at the Christmas tree twinkling against the dark night. It was clear and cold. The stars came out over the water and glittered brightly. There was no peripheral light in the winter from boats and bonfires. Owen liked to call it ‘spelunking dark’ here on the bay. Sylvia relaxed.

  After her mother left the next day she settled on the couch to read more of the murder mystery. She did not hear the door open or Owen stepping quietly over to the couch. She shrieked when he swooped down and kissed her lightly on the back of her neck.

  “My God, you scared me!” she said turning around totally surprised. The book fell to the floor as she reached around to give him a full kiss on the mouth.

  “You were certainly engaged in your reading,” he said.

  “They were about to reveal who the murderer was,” she said. “I didn’t hear you at all.”

  “I noticed,” he said teasingly. He kissed her again, more deeply this time.

  “I’m not sure I care,” she said huskily, “now.”

  “Good,” he whispered as he touched her tenderly.

  “It’s good to see you,” she whispered.

  “Same here,” he told her, holding her tightly against him. “I never thought I could miss anyone so much.”

  She sighed contentedly as they snuggled on the couch not caring a whit about the conclusion of her book.

  Chapter 4

  The truth is you don't know what is going to happen tomorrow. Life is a crazy ride, and nothing is guaranteed.

  Eminem

  “Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Owen said in a sultry whisper in Sylvia’s ear. “Back to the salt mines.”

  “Ugh,” she replied and pulled the covers tightly around her and snuggled into the pillows.

  “It’s no use,” he said. “Here’s some coffee and we’re back to the grind.”

  “Okay, okay,” Sylvia murmured trying to catch the last
vestige of a dream. She looked up at Owen sleepily.

  “Wherever did the night go?” she whispered to him.

  “I could give a hands on example,” he said, with a silly grin pasted on his face. “But, we would be very late to work and besides it’s past time to get up.”

  She scowled at him, but not seriously and took the coffee and headed for the bathroom.

  They got ready for work and stopped at a drive thru for breakfast falling into an old and comfortable routine.

  “It’s going to be a quiet week, I think,” Sylvia remarked as they pulled into the Thurmont parking lot where a minimal number of cars were parked.

  “Yup,” Owen replied. “No need to fight for a parking space today. I’m looking forward to catching up on some work and doing some prep for the class I’m teaching at State.”

  “Ahh,” Sylvia murmured. Now, she understood his impatience to get into work.

  He dropped her at her office door and gave her a brief kiss before heading down the hallway towards his lab.

  Sylvia opened the office door balancing her breakfast sandwich on top of the large cup of coffee, turned on the lights and sat down at her desk. It seemed as though the bulk of the employees took vacation this week. She and Owen were so new to the company that they didn’t have the vacation time built up yet. She opened her sandwich and took a bite as she turned on her computer. She had work, but nothing pressing. It was going to be a dull week, especially if Owen was caught up in his work at the lab.

  Since last summer when he discovered the organism that was causing an environmental crisis for the area, he was given more of a lead in researching his original goal, mapping the environmental issues associated with the company. Owen wanted to resolve Thurmont’s issues with the EPA Superfund project and provide new environmental safety controls for the products the company was currently manufacturing. He spent a lot of time looking at the population of microorganisms that were relevant to the Thurmont environmental systems. It was something Sylvia really, really didn’t understand – only the barest thread of understanding would glimmer through on occasion.

  Thurmont was well known as a polluter and also the cause of several EPA superfund projects in the area. Now that “green” was popular, they were trying their best to come out on top, marketing their products as “green” products for the environment and proving to consumers that they had changed. Sylvia was on the small end of the large company’s marketing group. Her job was to work with the local division and the neighboring community to keep the company in a positive light, since their involvement with the area superfund projects. Many people were still very angry with Thurmont and the subsequent pollution problems. Sylvia’s grandmother and her friend Marian had protested the company’s apathy towards pollution in the 1960’s. Now the company was paying the price for their earlier actions. A large part of Sylvia’s job was working to change the local negative perception.

  Sylvia sighed as she finished her breakfast and caught up on her email. She was working on pulling together a community relations board as well as small grants for educators working on environmental projects. She drafted a letter to potential board members and researched some grant applications before creating one of her own for Thurmont. Both documents she emailed to her boss and those above her in the corporate structure. Then she emailed Owen asking if he wanted to meet for lunch.

  They met in the near empty cafeteria.

  “Slim pickings this week, I think,” Owen said staring glumly at the selection of sandwiches they offered.

  “I know,” Sylvia said, “I should have thought to pack something.”

  “Tomorrow,” he said firmly. “I’m always good with PB & J.”

  “Okay,” Sylvia said, “But, let’s stop at the grocery store after work and pick up a couple of things.”

  He agreed and they headed to a table near the windows. It was chilly outside and most of the skim of snow had blown away. It lay in eddies at the trees and around the bushes making it look cold.

  They caught up on their respective holiday time with their parents. Sylvia went into more detail about her mother’s new heart condition and Mary’s new outlook on life. Owen told her his parents were off on a trip during their University’s winter break.

  “It’s the first time in years that they’ve taken this time for themselves,” he said. “Usually they both teach a crunch course during the winter session. I don’t know if they’re hooking up with Jon and Marian or not on their European tour or not.”

  Their lunch hour passed quickly and both returned to their areas. Owen had grumbled about his research and the pressure the company was placing on him. He seemed frustrated and distracted underneath all of their holiday banter. She was a little concerned about Owen and wondered if he was taking on too many projects.

  Sylvia worked doggedly on a few other projects hoping the afternoon would pass quickly as she did so. Owen popped his head round the corner of her office late in the afternoon.

  “Ready to head home?” he asked.

  “You bet!” she said and happily powered down the computer and locked the door behind her.

  As they walked to the parking lot, Sylvia reminded Owen, “We need to go to the grocery store first,” she mentioned, “Remember?”

  They stopped to pick up things for lunches and argued amiably about what to have for dinner.

  “We have leftover turkey from Christmas,” Sylvia told Owen. “I’m not sure I want it for dinner, though.”

  “Hmmm,” Owen said, “Hot turkey sandwiches and left over mashed potatoes sound pretty good to me,” he said.

  “How about having that for tomorrow night?” she asked, feeling like an old married couple, “and have something else tonight. How do hamburgers and French fries sound for dinner tonight?”

  “Deal,” he said and they went off in separate directions to pick up the last few items and then met at the checkout.

  Owen had one more thing in his hands, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

  “We forgot dessert,” he said grinning at her.

  Sylvia grinned back. He knew it was one of her favorites.

  They went home and Sylvia put the food away while Owen went out for the mail. She had popped the oven fries into the oven and was pulling a frying pan out of the cabinet when Owen came back in. He had an odd expression on his face.

  “What’s up?” she queried, not understanding his look.

  “Maybe I should ask you that?” he said, not smiling at all.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked puzzled.

  He burst out at her, “Look, Sylvia. I feel like a horse someone’s trying to break,” he spat out. “Between my Mom and your Mom and now you…” he stopped.

  “What are you talking about?” she persisted, completely clueless.

  “This!” he exclaimed and showed her a bridal magazine addressed to her in the mail.

  Sylvia’s mouth was agape.

  “That’s not mine!” she cried out.

  “Yeah?” he returned accusingly. “Well, it’s addressed to you!” he said in a tone she didn’t like. “If you didn’t order it, who did?”

  Sylvia had never heard Owen speak in this way before except when they had the fight when they were trying to solve parts of Anna’s murder. He had frightened her in his vehemence then. Now it just made her anger begin to simmer and grow to boiling. She was too surprised at his outburst to really be angry…yet. She counted to ten in her head, as her mother used to drum into her to do and felt a sense of calmness in answering.

  “Honestly, Owen, I didn’t order a bridal magazine. I have no idea why it came here or was addressed to me,” she told him in a level tone.

  He looked at her disbelievingly. “Really?” he sneered in a sarcastic tone.

  “Really,” she said, insistently, her voice still calm and steady.

  He looked at her again. “You know, you and Gwen were both wedding crazy when she came a couple of months ago. My
Mom has been pushing and pushing and pushing for us to get engaged, and I told her I wasn’t and that we weren’t ready,” he said. “She didn’t let up all weekend, wondering why I didn’t get you a diamond for Christmas.”

  “Funny,” she returned quietly, “I told my mother the same thing.”

  “How can I believe you?” he asked. “When something like this comes in the mail? Look, Sylvia, things have been good between us, but we’ve had,” he stopped before going on, “I don’t know, a good run, but I’m not sure where we’re going with this relationship. You say you’re not ready for marriage and I know I’m not! So much is happening at work and with my classes at State; I don’t want to take on anything else.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, still trying to remain calm, but a knot of discomfort was growing in her stomach. She didn’t like the statement ‘things have been good between us.’ He was putting all the good part of the relationship in the past. What about last night, she wondered?

  “So what do you want to do about this?” she asked. “Can we talk about this?”

  “I think I want to move back to Marian’s and take a break from ‘us’,” he said quietly.

  Sylvia looked at him in shock. She was reticent to say anything and she could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She took a deep breath and then another.