When she woke up for the second time that day, Sylvia thought she had become the queen of naps. The sunlight poured onto the brilliantly sparkling water of the bay and the light was nearly blinding. She poured another cup of tea and was surprised that the tea cozy had kept the tea decently hot as it burned down her throat as she drank it. She still felt badly, but was restless. She bundled up to get a bit of fresh air. Gran had always sent her outside all the time to ‘get the stink off her’ as she would comment, firmly believing that some fresh air would hasten some of the germs away. Pockets full of Kleenex, Sylvia walked down the road toward the marina. She sneezed loudly in the sunshine and pulled the scarf in more tightly around her throat. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all, she thought, her eyes streaming and squinting in the bright sunlight.
“Damn, that cashier! This cold surely came from her.” she muttered in a grumble under her breath.
She barely saw that someone was walking towards her. The neighborhood had a variety of dogs - bouviers, retrievers, poodles, shelties, and other dogs, large and small. Sylvia learned the trick to keep a small bag of dog treats in her pocket and to hand out a treat to each pooch. Now they all loved her. Coming towards her was a perky walker and a large standard poodle. It was Joyce. Sylvia wished she could melt into the side of the road.
“Good morning,” Joyce greeted Sylvia in a happy, almost sing-song voice.
Sylvia nodded her head in response not wanting to sneeze or cough on Joyce. It was clear neither woman wanted to stop and chat, but the dog had other ideas. It put on the brakes sniffing at Sylvia.
“Percy!” Joyce scolded her large coiffed poodle gently. “Let the nice lady be.”
“Wait a sec,” Sylvia croaked in her cold clogged voice. “He can smell the dog treats in my pocket.”
Sylvia had not given treats to this dog in the past, but he must have smelled them. He sat stock still, staring as she reached into her pockets. He wasn’t drooling, like some of the larger dogs, but his eyes were trained on Sylvia with a hopeful expression. Sylvia rifled through her pockets pulling out a large wad of tissues that Joyce looked at disdainfully. She managed to pull out the bag of dog treats and gave Percy one. He licked her hand appreciatively before she put it back in her mitten.
“Thank you,” Joyce said exaggeratedly. “Come, Percy.” She tugged at the leash and continued her walk with a little hum.
Sylvia wondered how Joyce could walk so jauntily in her high heeled boots, as she continued to walk in her bedraggled sneakers. Joyce’s heavy perfume had caught in in Sylvia’s throat when Joyce walked causing Sylvia cough. Finally she gave up on the walk and turned towards home so that she could get something to drink.
The coughing exhausted her and her chest ached. She stumbled into the kitchen and poured a glass of water and drank it quickly, stemming more coughing. Afterwards Sylvia plopped down in a kitchen chair and put her head on her arms. She felt like shit. After a few minutes she got up and took the second cold medicine she had purchased, just in case the first one didn’t work and headed back to bed.
Zoning out on the cold medication Sylvia was in and out of a dream-like consciousness. She fell asleep and dreamed bright vivid dreams of Owen. Some of the dreams were of their argument, but now with her screaming back at him, and heated dreams of making up with him. Somewhere in her subconscious she heard the phone ringing and ringing. She would wake, but only slightly and then fall back to sleep. This time she dreamed of the Green Man, of walking with him. He placed his hand of living wood, and his arm of brocaded leaves around her shoulders. She leaned against him, comforted.
The persistent ringing of the phone eventually woke her.
“Hello,” she croaked.
“Sylvia?” her mother’s voice came over the phone. “Are you all right? I’ve been calling and calling your office, your cell phone and the house.”
“Hi, Mom,” Sylvia returned. “I’m sick. Just a cold, I think.” She covered the mouth piece and cleared her throat.
“Where’s Owen?” her mother asked. “Is he taking care of you?”
Here it was. Sylvia swallowed hard and winced as her sore throat blazed in pain.
“He’s not here,” she said. “He’s gone.”
“What do you mean?” her mother persisted.
“Gone,” Sylvia said bluntly and in a monotone. “We broke up.”
“What?” her mother was aghast. “What happened? Why?”
“It’s not so long of a story, but I’m not awake yet. Can I talk to you later?” Sylvia asked.
“Of course,” said her mother. “Do you need anything? Do you need me to come down?” she asked her daughter.
“No, I’ll be ok,” Sylvia replied. “I’m taking some cold meds.”
“Call me later, all right?” her mother sounded worried.
“Okay,” Sylvia said, the cold medications sucking her back to dreamland. She hung up the phone.
Hours later she woke up realizing, with a start, that she was feeling a bit better. She showered and put on fresh clothes and felt slightly hungry. It was an improvement over the last two days. She micro waved chicken noodle soup, blew on it gently to cool it, then called her mother.
Her mother answered on the first ring. “Sylvia? How are you?” her mother queried in a worried tone.
“Hi, Mom,” Sylvia replied, her voice croaking less than the day before. “I’m actually a little bit better. I’m still tired.”
She filled her mother in on the circumstances of the break up with Owen as briefly as possible.
“Sylvia,” her mother interrupted, guilt edging her voice, “Anne and I are the culprits regarding the magazine. I’m so sorry. We were sure you two would be getting engaged this Christmas. Owen had talked about it this fall. He was working on surprising you.”
“He did surprise me,” Sylvia said caustically. “Just not in the way we expected. He said he felt like he was a horse to be broken between you, Anne and now me.”
Her mother was quiet for a few minutes. Sylvia took a tentative sip at the hot soup in her mug.
“Sylvia, I don’t know what to say except how sorry I am,” she said. “I’ll call Anne and fill her in.”
“Okay,” Sylvia replied. Her burst of energy was now fading quickly. She wanted to get back to bed.
“It’s good you have a long weekend to recoup from your cold,” her mother told her. “Call me when you’re up to it. Go back to bed.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Sylvia said tiredly. “I will.”
Fire crackers and shouting woke her at midnight with neighbors reveling the New Year.
“Happy New Year,” Sylvia muttered sarcastically to herself and fell into a deep sleep.
She woke suddenly less than an hour later, positive she had slept through the night. More wide awake than she had been in days Sylvia toddled downstairs. She opened the refrigerator to look for something to eat. She closed the door to the refrigerator and peered in the pantry. After scanning the shelves Sylvia pulled out a box of crackers, made herself a hot toddy in the microwave with a more than generous dollop of whiskey and went to sit in the living room. Curled up in her usual spot she stared at the dark water of the bay. Sylvia blew on the toddy to cool it before taking a sip and coughed hard. She held the mug high trying not to spill, but her eyes watered from the whiskey that she wasn’t used to drinking. She sipped more and eventually after a few sips, it had cooled and her head was swimming. She stared out at the bay and the twinkling lights on the other shore. Parties must be going on everywhere, she thought. Other than the fireworks an hour ago, the neighborhood seemed to have returned to its sleepy state. All was quiet. She wondered, if she went outside, could she hear the revels from the distant shore as she did in the summer? But, it was too cold and she shivered at the thought. Sylvia continued to sit in a daze not really thinking of anything. Suddenly she squinted. Her head was still muzzy and her vision blurry from the cold meds. The hot toddy was making the lights on the opposite shore seem to move
and dance before her eyes. She blinked and looked again. The lights that seemed closer were now gone. She blamed her cold and the generous amount of whiskey in her toddy paired with the lack of food over the past few days. She blinked and looked again carefully. Thankfully, nothing moved, but she didn’t want to try standing up at the moment. The lights once again twinkled as they were supposed to in the cold night air far across the bay. She moved to the study and turned on the television. Each channel shared different revelers and musicians across the country. Bored Sylvia drained the last of the hot toddy and dropped the dirty mug in the sink. A bit unsteady she felt her way back up the stairs in the dark and settled into bed with a sigh.
Chapter 7
“Petting, scratching, and cuddling a dog could be as soothing to the mind and heart as deep meditation and almost as good for the soul as prayer.”
― Dean Koontz, False Memory
New Year’s Day was bright and cold. Sylvia stretched, feeling more energetic than she had in days and headed outside for a morning walk. She had slept in that New Year’s Day morning. She didn’t often sleep in, unless she and Owen had reveled in each other during the night. Quickly she pushed that thought away and focused on the luxury of being able to wake up mid-morning without responsibilities for the day. The morning air was crisp. She shivered as she tightened the scarf around her head and neck.
The neighborhood was quiet. The bay was pale and more ice was forming along the shoreline. It creaked eerily with the tide moving in. Far above in the sky a hawk circled lazily. Sylvia missed some of the summer birds. She loved to watch the Pterodactyl like blue herons fly overhead in the warmer months. They were her favorite. Winter songbirds twittered in the hedgerows. Cardinals played tag. The world seemed at peace.
Ahead of her a dog walker was coming in the opposite direction. Percy the standard poodle trotted obediently beside his owner. Sylvia squinted in the bright winter sunshine. It wasn’t Joyce this time, but Tony.
“Good Morning, Percy,” she greeted the dog. “Happy New Year,” she said to Tony as Percy stopped to sniff her pockets for a treat.
Sylvia chuckled and removed her mitten so that she could get out the small bag of milk bones that she carried for the local dogs. Percy sat obediently as soon as she pulled it out and then nuzzled her hand for a pat.
Tony stared for a moment. He seemed to be in a daze. “Thanks,” he said belatedly. “C’mon, Percy,” he ordered the dog and pulled him away from where Sylvia was standing.
Sylvia shrugged. He certainly wasn’t very sociable, but he had looked deep in thought when Percy stopped short for his treat. She walked briskly to the Marina. The majority of the boats were out of the water and were swathed in white plastic shrink wrap. It was colder at the marina as it jutted out into the bay in a little point and the boats were inside a small cove. There was always a breeze at the marina. Sylvia tugged at her scarf and pulled it over her mouth. The cold air began to incite her cough. She turned to head back home.
Sylvia had neglected to pop her cell phone in her pocket and she heard it as she opened the door. With a bleep, she knew she had missed the call and went to investigate. It was Anne, Owen’s mother who had called. Sylvia called back right away.
“Hi, Anne,” Sylvia greeted, “Happy New Year,” in a still slightly croaky voice.
“Hi, Sylvia,” Anne greeted, “You don’t sound too well.”
“I have a cold,” Sylvia replied. “Actually, I’m a lot better today,” she said. “I’ve been sleeping a lot.”
“Good,” Anne said. Anne paused for a moment before continuing, “Look, Sylvia, I owe you a huge apology. Mary and I thought it would be great if you had the gift of a bridal magazine after Owen proposed. I had no idea Owen had changed his mind or what is going on in his mind right now. I feel terrible about this.”
Sylvia wasn’t sure how to respond. Finally she said, “Thank you for explaining, Anne, but I’m not the one you need to explain to,” she said gently. “Owen completely freaked out when he saw the magazine.”
“I am so sorry,” Anne said sadly.
Sylvia could picture Anne shaking her head of long graying black hair slowly. She always reminded Sylvia of an aging flower child.
Anne continued, “I talked to that hard headed son of mine,” she said with a bitter note. “Sylvia, I do not know what is wrong with him! He only half believed me that Mary and I cooked up the idea of the bridal magazine. This is quite a different tune from couple of months ago!”
“Anne,” Sylvia tried to keep her emotions at bay, “I don’t even know what to say. I thought things were cooling down a little, but he really threw me on this. I don’t even know how to analyze it.”
“I know, dear,” Anne went on. “I want you to know that we love you – despite what Owen is thinking or doing. I just want to shake him!” she cried in a frustrated voice.
“Thanks,” Sylvia said.
“I’ll keep trying, Syl,” Anne said. “He’s as obstinate as his grandfather, though. Bull headed in fact.”
This made Sylvia giggle slightly, but she sobered up quickly.
“I think we should leave him alone on this, Anne,” Sylvia told her. “He’ll figure it out if he wants too.”
“All right,” Anne sighed. “Just remember we love you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to Owen. Don’t be a stranger, all right?”
“Okay,” Sylvia assured her. “Love you too,” she said and hung up the phone.
Sylvia sat with her cell phone closed, staring at it. She was very fond of Owen’s parents, but this was the first time they disclosed their feelings about the relationship between their son and Sylvia. Sylvia knew that she liked them, but her heart swelled with fondness and love thinking about the conversation.
She thought of Owen. She was still so puzzled and now angry at his pulling away from her so abruptly without an explanation. She sat without thinking for several minutes and realized she was hungry—very hungry from not eating the past few days. Not wanting to cook, she pulled out a menu from their favorite Chinese restaurant that delivered. After phoning in the order Sylvia put on hot water for tea and went to sit in the study.
News channels were heavy with retrospection of the past year and guesses on how the New Year would unfold with respect to the current political climate, there were marathons of cartoons, James Bond movies and re-runs of television shows from the sixties. Once again Sylvia flipped through the channels. The doorbell rang and she went to pay for the delivery of food and pour the boiling water into the pot for her tea.
Settled into the high back lazy boy, she propped up her feet and spooned hot sour soup. It felt wonderful , burning her still slightly sore throat and chest, and cleared her sinuses as well. She moved on, to a pint of garlic shrimp with vegetables, mixing them with the steamed white rice. Full to bursting, she let her eyes go half-mast.
She mused about the New Year and resolutions. Her life and lifestyle without Owen would be different. With a shock she realized she had never lived alone with the exception of the few months after Gran’s death before Owen moved in. On one hand she felt an incredible sense of freedom, but there was the fear of being alone and being lonely. Perhaps she would get a pet – a cat or a dog, maybe. She had always wanted a pet that was soft and furry when she was growing up, but her mother forbade it due to allergies, fur and messes. Gran let her keep a turtle and some fish at her house, but it wasn’t the same as something soft and cuddly. Perhaps she should learn a new hobby or take a class in something. All of the possibilities were inspiring. Sylvia got up to logon to the internet to surf when the doorbell rang. Startled she went to see who was at the back door. No one ever used it with the exception of delivery people. Strangers were always confused that the “back door” was at the roadside and the front door faced the water. Curious, she opened the door with a fleeting thought it, maybe Owen was coming over humbly to apologize.
To Sylvia’s surprise it was Tony standing on her stoop with Percy and looking chil
led.
“Hi,” Sylvia said with surprise.
“Hi,” Tony answered his voice a little hesitant.
They both stood there a moment until Sylvia remembered her manners.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked.
A look of relief passed over Tony’s face which puzzled Sylvia more.
“Thanks,” he said, “I’ll only be a couple of minutes. Is it okay if Percy comes in too?” he asked.
“Of course,” Sylvia answered. “Please come in,” she said and opened the door wider gesturing for Tony and Percy to go down the hallway.”
“Down the hallway to the last door on the right,” Sylvia instructed, “That will take us to the living room.”
She followed Tony and Percy. Tony stood looking out at the bay. Percy was fixated on it as well.
“Won’t you sit down?” she asked, “and can I get you something to drink -- beer, wine, coffee?” she offered.
“Sure,” Tony answered, “Thanks. I would love a glass of wine.”
“Is a shiraz okay?” Sylvia asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Tony answered faintly. He had finally sat, choosing a chair between the couch and the French doors that led outside. Percy sat and looked out at the bay. Sylvia wondered what he could see.
“Be back in a sec,” she said as she hurried to the kitchen.
She opened a bottle of Shiraz and poured a generous amount into two balloon glasses and returned to the living room. Tony accepted his with thanks.
Sylvia raised her glass and said, “Happy New Year.”
Tony raised his with her and they both drank rather solemnly.
He paused and gave a cough and said, “My apologies if I was rude to you this morning.”
The Leafing: the 2nd book in The Green Man series Page 6