Deep breath. I am getting ready to give you a sneak preview of what I have been writing the past couple of months. This, by far, will be my longest, bravest and "most "naked" post. I am asking you to be just as brave (and heavens to Betsy, not naked) by reading my rough, rough draft of a story that has lived in my head and traveled down to the keys on my lap top. Please send me your thoughts, edits, suggestions, critiques and the hard truth of yes, I would continue to read this book or um, seriously, I would put in my Yard Sale pile. If for whatever reason I end up in the "yes" category and you know of an editor that would be interested in helping me, I would be grateful. At some point in all of our lives, someone was gracious enough to pass our name along. Sometimes that road became a dead end, but sometimes, just sometimes, that road lead to an amazing journey. Thank you for your time. Cheers!
Her
face was contorted, sweaty and red. Tear trails marked the passage of a tantrum
that had lasted longer than the peppermint quickly dissolving in my mouth. I
blew air upward and felt my damp hair struggle to remove itself from the edges
of my face. I bent down and placed my hands on Grace’s heaving shoulders.
“Shhhhh,” I whispered as I tried to bring calmness to us both. The trip had
been long, hot and exhausting. I could not fault her for losing her composure,
but I sure wish I had the key that could get us off the porch and away from the
prying eyes of neighbors we had yet to meet. I doubted anyone would be bringing
us fresh baked banana bread in the morning.
I
kept one hand on Grace as the other hand dug deep into my purse, searching for
the flimsy tag and string that held the key that would open the door to our new
life. I pulled out gas and fast food receipts and hastily scripted lists and
tossed them on the wooden planks of thedust covered porch. A gust of wind
whistled through sweeping up the receipts and my last bit of patience into the
neglected yard. Grace sneezed, wiped the nose goo across her cheeks and took
her wail to the likes of Janis Joplin. I felt the coldness of the molded metal
against my sweating fingers. I yanked the key out quickly, spilling lip gloss,
tissues and half sucked peppermints onto the porch. A peppermint stuck to
Grace’s toe and the wailing reached unspeakable volumes. Shakily, I stuck the
key into the lock and slammed the door open, leaving a mark on the wall as a
reminder of our arrival to 203 Mimosa Lane.
“NO!
NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” shrieked the defiant voice, followed by quick,
successive breaths. “I want,” four quick inhales, “to go”, another four quick
inhales, “hooooooooome!”. The foot stomp punctuated the last request. “Grace,”
I soothed, “we are home. Let’s go inside and see your new room.”.
“This
is NOT my home. Not going inside.” The breathing was returning to normal. The
free flow of tears was drying up and the arms were folded tight, like a
military bed. I leaned against the door frame, head tilted to one side and
shoulders slumped in defeat. “Ok, Grace, ok. You can sleep out here on the
porch tonight. But Mommy? She is sleeping inside – I remember things that
slithered and popped in the night when I slept here as a child. But I know you
are brave, my Gracie girl.” I sighed, looked into her bloodshot blue eyes and
realized I would never win an argument against this stubborn, headstrong child
who had the face of a father she had never met. I cursed silently and headed
inside.
“Do
I at least get a sleeping bag?” Grace asked as she smushed her face against the
screen door. “I should at least get a sleeping bag.”
I
kept walking looking for a made bed and praying for a stocked refrigerator. I
heard the squeak and slam, followed by unsure footsteps. “Oh this place STINKS!
You should have brought Bessie.” The footsteps quickened and soon I heard them
over my head. “My room has a window seat and I can see the water. Mom. Mom.
MOM! Come here.” Followed by a bloodcurdling scream. I smiled. She found
Buster, I thought. Well, maybe not Buster, but one of her great, great, great
grandchildren with eight long legs and a fuzzy round body. The footsteps
slammed downward and again, I heard the squeak, slam of a departure. “MOOOOOOOMMMMMM!
Sadie is gone!” followed by another Janis Joplin epic wail.
“No.
No. No. NO!” I screamed in my head. Sadie, our new furever pup, was almost
one-year-old, completely untrained, speedier than the Looney Tune’s road runner
and Grace had thrown Sadie’s name tag out the window in Tennessee because I
would not let her have another Coke. I slammed open the door and scanned the
street for my daughter and my dog, neither of whom would listen to any of my
commands.
“Saaaaaaa-dieeeeeeee!
Graaaaaaaaaace!” I yelled. I listened to the silence and tried to figure out
where a dog and child would run. Toward the water. I made a beeline down the
street to the nearest beach path. The sand spurs stuck to my ankle socks and
dug their points into my skin as I occasionally jumped up trying to see over
the sea grass. Finally, I hit the wooden walkway only to catch my pants on an exposed
nail. Bam. I lie sprawled out on the aged planks, splinters inviting themselves
into skin on my palms and finger pads. I unhooked my pants from the nail,
quickly surveyed for people doubled over in laughter, clapped my hands together
and continued forward. My hands and my head began to pound in sync with my
heartbeat. I hustled down the five steps to the soft, cold sand, kicked off my
shoes and ran toward the crashing waves. I squinted and held my throbbing hand
over my eyes as I desperately searched for Sadie and Grace. For a moment I
thought I caught glimpse of them, but then my heart sank as I noticed an older
lady attached to the end of the leash, laughing and splashing as the Atlantic
Ocean gurgled over her feet. Grace would never talk to a stranger and there is
no way a human being could catch Sadie. Unless, the human had a treat.
I
started to walk in their direction. As my eyes caught Grace’s, she bee lined
towards me, hands clasped tightly together forming a small circle. “Mom!” she
squealed, “I caught a sand crab. I’ve named her Sandy. Can I keep her? Please,
Mom.”. I stopped and folded my arms in
front of me. Just as I was about to unload a litany of the rules broken within
the last five minutes, the lady with wavy salt and pepper hair, dressed in a
faded salmon colored tshirt and tattered cargo pants stretched out her hand
toward me. “I am guessing these two belong to you?” she asked. She spoke in the
soft southern lilt that gave away her age and the fact that she most likely was
a local. I nodded. “Might I apologize and thank you at the same time?” I
reached out to take Sadie’s leash. Sadie boldly jumped up, sand stuck to her
nose, her paws and her belly as a long, pink tongue lagged out the side of her
mouth. Not a scent of remorse but a whole handful of happy.
“Aw,
no trouble. Just out for afternoon stroll before I begin the evening shift at
the café. These two won’t tell you, but they were scared. Never seen two
creatures shaking like Autumn leaves in a tree on a windy day.” She chuckled,
contagious and content. “Well, I have to be going. My name is Lucy. I hope to
meet you all again, under different circumstances. You should come down for
breakfast – we have the best food on the beach.” As she passed me, I quickly
asked, “Excuse me, but how did you catch Sadie?”
Lucy
winked and said, “I keep treats in my trousers.” She held up her hand in a wave
and strolled on past. Lucy, I decided, was someone I was going to need to know
on the island.
“So,
Mom, can I keep Sandy? Huh, can I?” Grace was jumping excitedly up and down
beside me. My anger dissolved, I tugged on Sadie’s leash to remind her who was
in control and asked Grace if it was fair to keep a sand crab in a fake beach
when there was a perfectly good beach for this captured crustacean to live. “Of
course it is. A sandpiper can’t get Sandy if she is in our house.” I acquiesced
and said we would have to keep her in the sink for tonight but first thing
tomorrow we would build a little terrarium for our new found pet. “Thanks, Mom.
You’re the best!”. Yup, for the next five minutes anyway. And I said a silent
prayer that Sadie would not eat Sandy during the next twelve hours.
After
a dinner of stale Doritos and putrid tasting tap water, I tucked Grace into her
freshly made bed with promises that Buster would not come down and sit beside
her tonight. Spiders were extremely afraid of dogs. As always, Grace’s prayers
reminded me that her childhood is not ideal but she is here with me and “we
love chother”. I kissed her forehead, patted Sadie’s head, turned on the fan
and tiredly headed downstairs.
I
poured a large glass of wine and headed out to the back porch. The frogs were
chirping and burping. The lullaby of waves could be heard in the distance and
the salty breeze tinkled the wind chimes that hung lopsided from a rusted plant
hanger. I looked up toward the multitude of stars wondering if an answer was
written in the night sky. “Lord,” I murmured. “I have leaned on you hard these
last six years and you have always held me up. I hope your arms aren’t getting
tired. And Lord I know I am supposed to rejoice, but I will just be thankful
that Sadie and Grace are safe upstairs. I hope I listened to your voice and not
mine when I came back to Aunt Lydia’s.” I eased back into the Adirondack chair
that used to hold my mother and me in the summer evenings. Back when life was
simple. When the hardest decision I had to make was whether to have a popsicle
or a creamsicle. I took a long sip of the Pinot Grigio, closed my eyes and felt
the day slip away.
Aunt
Lydia, I thought to myself, never in a million years will I understand why you
left The Dreamscape to me. I am deep in the bowels of the longest living
nightmare and the last thing I need is to refurbish a house that holds so many
stories I am not ready to recall. You made a mistake, Aunt Lydia. Tomorrow
morning, I call the lawyer. Tomorrow afternoon, I begin searching for a
realtor.
#
I
could feel her eyes upon me, still caked with the remnants of sleep, but
intently searching my face for any signs of an awake human. I was the great
pretender and lulled myself back to sleep, hoping I would soon hear retreating
footsteps. Instead I heard a fast scratching noise followed by an indescribable
tickle across my face. My eyes jerked open to see a sand crab skittering down
my chest and into the crevices of my nightshirt. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” erupted from
my mouth as Sandy was flung from my body and my bed. I watched in horror as our
newly acquired sand crab landed swiftly in Sadie’s open mouth, followed by a
sickening crunching sound. Within seconds the sand crab, unrecognizable and
pummeled by dog teeth, was spit upon my bedroom floor in a slobbery mess. I
tried not to retch and I tried to avoid Grace’s unforgivable gaze, knowing that
as a Mother, I had just committed the most heinous of crimes. “So, Gracie
girl,” I slowly stated as I stretched last night’s aches out of my body, “want
to give Lucy’s café a try? She said they have the best breakfast which must
mean yummylicious pancakes!”. I glanced at my five-and-a-half-year-old daughter
out of the corner of my eye, hair mussed, pajamas wrinkled and eyes brimming.
“I bet they have homemade whipped cream. And sprinkles.” I quickly added. The
tears retreated. “Ok” Grace sighed. “But afterwards, we build our testy-arium
and THEN go get another Sandy.” She quickly turned to Sadie with a pointed
finger and said, “No more sand crabs for you, Sadie. You are a bad, bad girl.”
She turned to walk away and then spun around and hugged Sadie’s neck. “I
forgive you, Silly Sadie. I’m giving you grace.”. Grace turned towards me and
giggled, “I’m giving her me, Mommy!” and she skipped out of the room with the
forgiven mutt trailing behind, tail wagging.
I
pulled a wrinkled polo dress out of my suitcase and headed toward the laundry
room. If I remembered correctly, there was an old iron and ironing board built
into the left wall. I opened the door and smiled. At least I had one thing
right this morning. I noticed the sink to the right and decided to wet a
washcloth and throw it into the dryer with my dress. Lazy ladies iron – a trick
I had learned in college. Twenty minutes later, dressed in a reasonably
unwrinkled dress and leather flip flops, I held Grace’s hand as we skipped
toward Lucy’s.
“What
the heck are rutabaga pancakes with a lemon glaze?” demanded Grace. I forgot my
little girl could read. Written in yellow chalk, this morning's specials
included the pancakes, shrimp and grits with a pork sausage gravy and a
spinach-tomato frittata with star fruit. “Fri-tater? What is that? Like a Frito?”
Grace asked. I walked over to the cauldron of hot coffee and poured myself a
styrofoam cup full. I added a splash of cream and quick shot of sugar and
prayed for a Kid’s Menu. Otherwise, Lucy and I were about to have words. I had
already murdered a sand crab this morning. I could not commit another crime
against my daughter without being sent to the parenthood slammer.
“Let’s
take a look at the menu, honey, and then we will figure out the rest.”. Grace
skeptically looked at me but to my relief, kept my stride as I headed to the
hostess and the pile of newly printed menus. "Oh great,” I thought to
myself, “not only does the menu not cater to kids, I probably cannot afford
this breakfast.” I kept walking forward, checked my hastily pinned bun and
smiled at the sun kissed teen who did not have a name tag. “Hi!” I squeaked.
“Might I see a menu?”.
“Ab-so-toot-leeeee!”
she sang as I cringed. “And for the little princess,” she continued, “we have
this adoooooooorable Le Petit menu.” Seriously? Did she just wink at me as she
handed me a triangle rainbow crayon and a tiny piece of paper rolled up and
tied with a delicate ribbon? Oh good grief. I slurped my coffee, raised the cup
and sputtered a quiet thank you. I. Am. Doomed.
Grace
scampered in front of me finding a sea shell backed metal chair and quickly
hopped up and unrolled her menu. “Mommeeeeeeeee! Chocolate chip pancakes with
homemade whipped cream and a Berry special fruit cup! I am so IN!”. She flung
the menu at me and headed toward to the outdoor game station I had earlier ignored.
“Call me” she yelled with the thumb and pinky hand signal held up to her
smiling, twinkling face. I took another swig of coffee and noticed there were
no prices on the Le Petit menu. Great. Boutique Dining.
I
glanced at the regular menu and noticed they offered a shrimp, pepper and
homemade salsa omelette with fruit and biscuits and homemade jam. I am so IN! I
returned to the hostess, added our name to the list, returned to metal chair
and prayed they had Bloody Mary’s to give me the courage to order when our name
was called.
As
Grace gobbled up her pancakes with wild abandon and I savored the best omelette
I had ever tasted, a familiar voice asked if I needed more coffee. I looked up
and met Lucy’s warm brown eyes that signaled she was happy we had made the trek
to the best breakfast on the beach.
“Please,
top me off,” I said.
“How
is everything? Good, I hope.”
“Did
you make these pancakes ‘specially for me, Miss Lucy?” asked Grace with a
mouthful of breakfast. “These are soooooooooooo good!”. She shoveled in another
forkful.
“Well,
the recipe comes from my family, but Lionel does all of the cooking. He adds a
special ingredient to each order that makes it special just for that person.”
Lucy glanced at me and then back at Grace. “I’m glad you like it.” She topped
off my coffee and headed to the next table. As Grace and I soaked up the last
delicious bites of our breakfast, I started looking around for our waitress to
signal for the check and noticed other diners heading toward the front where
indiscriminately a cashier checked people out of the restaurant. Grace and I
headed to the restroom to wash off the remnants of her best breakfast ever and
then glided toward to the front of the restaurant. I sheepishly looked at the
cashier and muttered, “First Timers”. She laughed and replied, “Special first
timers enjoy their first breakfast on us. Have a nice day.” And she reached her
hand past me to the next person in line. I quickly scanned the room before I
was rudely reminded by the next person they were not special and I needed to
move Grace and myself toward the exit sign. I ushered us out with an extremely
nervous stomach and prayed we did not hear sirens as we took the boardwalk down
to the beach to hunt for Sandy II. “Aunt Lydia,” I whispered, “I am still
calling the lawyer and the realtor.”
#
“I
think Sandy II loves her testy-arium, Mom!” Grace declared as she excitedly
clapped her hands while jumping up and down. She quickly gave Sadie a stern
warning, “No eating Sandy II, Sadie. I can’t forgive you twice.” I smiled and
agreed that our sand crab appeared content. And I said a silent prayer that
Sandy II lasted longer than the original.
I
looked down at my lengthening to do list and sighed. “Well, Grace, what shall
we do first. Attack the refrigerator or the pantry?” Just as she was about to
answer, my phone quacked. “Hello?”
“Mrs.
Howard, this is Fred Roberts, your Aunt’s lawyer returning your call. How may I
help you?”
“Oh,
thank you so much for calling me back. I have a few questions regarding her
will and I am hoping you can provide me with some much needed and hopefully
easy answers.”
“Ok,
shoot!” Mr. Roberts responded. I immediately liked his laid back style.
“Well,
I was wondering if I was allowed to put Aunt Lydia’s house on the market and
who would be the best realtor in this area to handle the sale?” I looked down
at Grace’s pouting face. She hugged the terrarium to her chest and stomped out
of the room. I blew my bangs off my forehead and rolled my eyes upward.
“Well,
Mrs. Howard,” he replied.
“Please,
call me Hannah” I interrupted.
“Ok,
Hannah, well, um, your Aunt had specific guidelines written into her will about
the house and you and,” I heard a deep breath within the pause and all the
sudden I was changing my likable impression of Mr. Roberts. “Lydia has stated
you must reside in the house one full year before you can make any decisions
regarding renting or selling. Now, you are certainly welcome to..”
“WHAT?!?”
I screamed into the phone. “What? Wait. What? No, no, no, that cannot be
correct OR legal. I made plans to only stay here for the summer. I can’t, we
can’t, oh, no, no, no, - she can’t do this.” Sadie whimpered out of the room. I
began frantically pacing. I heard the shuffling of papers over the phone.
“I’m
sorry, Hannah. She can and she did. In fact, I really need you to come down to
my office sometime this week so I can review all the stipulations with you.
Lydia worked on this for many months – she has a definite plan for you.” I
heard a soft laugh in his voice.
“I
am sorry, Mr. Roberts. I do not find any of this amusing. And I can’t meet with
you this week. I don’t know if I can meet with you at all!” I hung up and threw
the phone into the sofa. “Aunt Lydia, you were a thorn in life and you are a
thorn in death.” I sighed as I crumpled to the floor knowing eventually I would
be sitting across from Mr. Roberts, listening to another one of my Aunt’s
notorious but well-crafted plans.
Sadie
sauntered back in wagging her tail and carrying a stuffed duck in her mouth,
the head barely hanging on and placed it in my lap. She slumped next to me and
let out a long, lonely sigh. “Get used to this place, Sadie. We might be here a
while.” I stroked her head and hoped the duck was not a sign of things to come.
#
“I
don’t understand why I have to go Camp Carousel. That just sounds stupid. And
for preschoolers!!!” Grace whined as I tried to braid her unkept, slept on
hair.
“Grace
Anne Ashenfelter Howard. Stop pulling away from me – it’s only going to hurt more. And
stupid is a lazy word. We don’t use the word stupid in any form. You are a much
more imaginative and smart girl.” Ha! Battle won, I thought to myself.
“Fine.”
Grace said. “It’s utterly ridiculous with a capital R!”.
Sigh.
Time to wave the white flag. “Grace, I have a lot of adult things to do this
week that would bore you out of your guord. This way, you get to explore the
island, make new friends and learn how to catch a crab or oysters or…”
“Admit it - you just need a break from
me, Mom. Just say it.” Grace interrupted. For the millionth time since we had
uprooted our semi-stable lives, my heart shattered into pieces that would never
fit correctly again.
“Do you just want to wear a ponytail?” I
asked quietly.
“Sure,” replied Grace, her eyes
brimming. I turned her around, gently wiped the tears with my thumbs and kissed
her forehead. “You are my Sunshine Girl and I love you very much. Without you I
would always be in the dark and I will miss you while you gone during the day.
But I can’t wait to hear about your adventures over dinner.” Sadie barked in
agreement and that brought a small smile from Grace. Another emotional weather
pattern averted but I knew it was only a matter of time before Grace’s
hurricane hit land. And I had no emergency kit prepared to handle the
aftermath. I quietly prayed for guidance…again.
As we headed out the door, Grace gently
reminded Sadie not to eat Sandy II. Sadie whimpered and headed to her kennel as
I watched Grace hop down the steps, ponytail bouncing and shimmering in the
morning sun. “Lord, we both need you. Please stay with us today, hold our hands
and show us the way. Amen.” I locked our door and followed Grace to our car
wishing once again for an easy answer to the mess at 203 Mimosa Lane.
After I dropped Grace off without
incident at her day camp, I entered the sparsely decorated offices of Mr.
Roberts that smelled of burnt coffee and Febreeze. As I shut the door, I heard
a voice yell from the back office, “Be right with ya!”. I tried to make myself
comfortable which was the second biggest feat of the day. “You must be Mrs.
Ashenfelter,” said Mr. Roberts as he brushed away the morning’s breakfast from
his mouth. He brushed his hands together and reached one towards me. “Please,
let’s talk in my office. My secretary quit this morning. Well, I guess really
at 2am. Seems she took to a fella at Ophelia’s Oyster Bar last night and up and
got married.” Mr. Roberts started laughing. “I guess my office is not honeymoon
material nor am I someone to whom you give notice. Need a job?” He winked as he
led me to a chair seated at the edge of an insanely disorganized desk.
“Would you like some coffee? I promise
it tastes better than it smells.”
“Uh, no thank you and please, call me
Hannah,” I replied. “I really just want to get on with the matter at hand.”
“Ok, well, like I said over the phone,”
Mr. Roberts began as he deftly pulled a file from under the paper rubble, “your
Aunt has some very specific instructions for Dreamscape. And a hefty allowance
to help you with repairs, plus a list of people who she thinks would do a bang
up dandified job. Her words, not mine, mind you. Now, I know you have a lot of
questions and probably more than we can discuss at this meeting, but….”
“Mr. Roberts, yoooooooo hoooooooooo, Mr.
Roberts, Mrs. Stagnally here. I just have to talk to you about suing Mr.
Stinkpants immediately. He just refuses to….oh my, please excuse my rudeness. I
did not know you had company!” Mrs. Stagnally stopped just inside the doorway
and gave Hannah a full up and down. “Well, you are new, aren’t you darlin’? Oh
and pretty. Isn’t she pretty Mr. Roberts?” She turned to Hannah again and said,
“Mr. Roberts here is the most eligible man on the island. Oh, if only I was
even five years younger I would give you a run for your money. He is just the
hottest tomato we have here and just waiting to be plucked from the vine. Um.
Um. Um.” She turned on her expensive heel and flung her wrist in a finger wave.
“Toodle loo, young lovers. I will leave you to, uh, your business for now.
William, I expect to see you at Lucy’s for our Hump Day Cocktail. Bernie has a
new recipe for us and we can discuss the disastrous manner in which my neighbor
has taken to treating me. Cioa!” The door slammed but the heavy scent of Chanel
No. 5 hung in the air like a cartoon cloud telling me I had just encountered
someone who had given Aunt Lydia a run for her money. “Who was that?” I asked
Mr. Roberts.
“That,” he said quietly and without
making eye contact, “was one of your relatives.” He let out a deep sigh and
pushed his wavy blonde hair to the left with his fingers.
“Oh you must be mistaken – I don’t have
any other Aunts. It was just my Mom and Lydia.”
“Mrs. Ashenfelter, um, excuse me, Hannah,
I believe you and I should have that coffee now. With a splash of Bourbon.” And
with that, Mr. Roberts exited the room, following the scent that lingered a
little too long for my liking.
#
