Chapter 3 -- Finding the Glade

The next morning Connie decided to get away from Willow Brook for a while and go to the library in Bridgeport. She needed to be reminded that the world was larger than Willow Brook and its parochial concerns. She also wanted to get away from her novel. In fact, she considered what she had written to be more of writing exercise and less of something with a plot, setting, characters, and theme. The kind of novel she wanted to write was something serious and historical. If she wanted to write a historical novel, she had to do research.

At the back, or perhaps even front, of her mind was the thought that if she had a boyfriend, Dan might turn his attention elsewhere — perhaps even in Elaine’s direction. On the other hand, if a boyfriend started squiring her around Willow Brook, that might make Elaine feel worse. Anyway, she was more likely to find someone congenial in the library than anywhere else.

Visiting the library in Bridgeport had been a weekend treat when she was a child. It had been a Carnegie library, a 19th century Gothic castle in red sandstone, hideously ugly but filled with such delights as the Oz books and all of the “Little Maid” series, which had been about 10-year-old girls performing acts of heroism during the Revolutionary War. Connie’s favorite had been the one in which a brave little girl helped guide Francis Marion through the swamps of South Carolina.

Connie didn’t remember how to get to the library, but there were signs in downtown Bridgeport which she could follow. It seemed to her a bit odd that the signs would show a picture of someone reading a book when it was obvious that anyone who wanted to find the library would be able to read the word “library,” but she guessed that the fashion in sign design was for icons rather than words. The signs led her to a building marked “P” for parking, and she found a spot for her green compact hybrid. Inside, there were more arrows showing how to reach the walkway to the library. She didn’t remember having to take a walkway, but the signs were quite clear.

Connie didn’t know how this glass and concrete walkway would join to the red sandstone building of her memory, and she soon found out that it didn’t. Bridgeport’s current library was a featureless concrete box. It didn’t even have a card catalog inside but instead a bank of computer terminals. Connie typed “Silk Road” into the search box and pulled up a list of books. She jotted down call numbers and then went in search of the stacks. Most of the books she wanted were on the third floor. Thanks to the walkway, she was already on the second floor so she decided to take the stairs rather than the elevator.

No one was in the stairwell when she entered, but a man was coming down as she climbed. To her astonishment, it was Dan.

“What, you think fishermen don’t know how to read?” he teased.

Connie shrugged. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, “but I wouldn’t go so far as that.”

“I’ve reached the limit on my fishing license for the month,” said Dan, “so I have a few days off. What say we go have lunch together?”

“That’s not a good idea,” said Connie. “It would hurt Elaine’s feelings if we got involved.”

“As long as we stayed in the city, she wouldn’t have to know,” said Dan. “What happens in Bridgeport stays in Bridgeport.”

Connie raised her eyebrows. “No,” she said.

“Well, let’s re-visit the topic when Dexter shows up.”

“Dexter?”

“My college roommate. He says as long as he has his computer, he can work anywhere, so he’ll get here in a day or two. Once we get him and Elaine hooked up, they won’t care what we do.”

Connie took a deep breath. “Dan, you have to understand that I’m not looking for a long-term relationship. And I’m pretty sure that what you feel for me is just an infatuation.”

“I know,” said Dan. “But who says we can’t enjoy the infatuation while it lasts? By the way, those blue jeans look a lot better on you than that old lady skirt did yesterday.” As he passed her on the stairs, he gave her rear end a pat.

“You —!” Connie whirled around, but Dan just laughed up at her as he opened the door.

Connie gathered up her books and sat down at a carrel to work. She began reading one of the books about the Silk Road, but her mind soon wandered from the discussion of trading practices and coinage of China and Central Asia in the 2nd century C.E. She set up her laptop, planning to take some notes.

 

Don threw the frisbee too high, and Eileen leaped to grab it. He whistled appreciatively at the sight of her lean, lithe body stretched out in the air. She might not have all the padding he usually looked for in a woman, but who would criticize a greyhound for not being a St. Bernard? He began tossing the frisbee just out of her reach for the pleasure of seeing her scramble for it.

“You’re. Not. Playing. Fair,” she panted.

“Tired?” he inquired sympathetically.

“Yes,” she said defiantly. “I’m going to go wash my hands.”

“Fine,” said Don. “I’ll go keep Caroline company.”

He sat down next to her at the picnic table. “You know, there’s one good thing about that oversized sweater you’re wearing,” he said. “There’s plenty of room for me to do this —” he slid his arm up her back — “and this —” he unhooked her bra.

“Don!” Caroline pulled away, but his fingers gripped her side.

“I wouldn’t mind bedding our little friend if you were willing to join us,” he leered. “What would you say to a threesome?”

“You’re disgusting,” said Caroline.

 

Connie stopped typing. Was that what she wanted? She really didn’t think so. Maybe it was a mistake trying to write from Don’s point of view. In fact, the whole passage was a mistake. She thought about deleting it, but it was a good example of showing, not telling, which was what everyone said was the hallmark of good writing. It occurred to her that the type of writing extolled in creative writing classes was the type of writing that made for good porn. But hadn’t James Joyce said that art that tried to make a person feel something wasn’t art but pornography? Connie didn’t want to make anyone feel anything, and she certainly didn’t want to make herself feel hot and bothered. Maybe she should forget about writing a novel and write about the coinage of the Ch’in dynasty instead.

 

Elaine was still feeling cross when Connie called her. Norman had asked her whether she really felt like she needed more “space” when she was talking to a young man. It had taken her the better part of an hour to assure her father that he didn’t need to change his habits at all, to remind him that Dan — and everyone else — really enjoyed talking to him. And besides, she thought bitterly, it wasn’t as if anyone ever said anything that couldn’t be said in his presence.

“Well, it’s just that Connie said that if I wanted you to get married, I shouldn’t interrupt when you’re talking to someone,” Norman said as she came inside from the garden.

“Connie doesn’t know everything, Dad,” said Elaine. “And anyone I married would have to get along with you, too, so it would make sense for you to get to know him.”

The phone rang, and Elaine picked it up. “Jays’ Garden and Wood-working,” she answered automatically.

“It’s Connie. Look, I’m sorry about yesterday…”

“Well, you should be,” said Elaine. “You might as well have pinned a note to my shirt that said ‘Desperate.’”

“I thought you looked very nice,” said Connie.

“Can you make this quick?” said Elaine. “I do have some work to do.” She laid extra stress on the word “work.”

“I just wanted to say I was sorry,” said Connie. “Give me a call when you’re free to get together.”

Elaine set the phone down slowly. She probably would call Connie eventually even though late spring and early summer were the busiest times of the year for her. “Why couldn’t you have come for a visit in November?” she said to the phone. Although if she never wanted to see Connie again, it really didn’t matter when she paid a visit to Willow Brook.

The sound of her father’s drill told her that he was back at work on his latest garden gnome. Elaine felt angry all over again. It wasn’t any business of Connie’s what her father did, and she certainly didn’t have any right to criticize his behavior. But that was the way Connie had always been. She was so sure she knew best that she trampled over everybody else. She’d been that way when they were children, assigning roles to Elaine and Dan in the games and stories she’d devised. Elaine vividly remembered being made to walk the plank when they played pirates. The scrape she’d gotten on her knee when she landed had meant that she couldn’t go swimming in the lake for a month. And while Dan and Connie hadn’t actually set fire to her when they burned her at the stake as a witch, the smell of burning leaves still made her shudder. “I am not a character in your book,” she said firmly to the phone.

Unfortunately, the truth was that Willow Brook had become a very dull place once Connie and her mother left. Connie had written to her, and Elaine had written back, and Connie had written again. But Elaine hadn’t answered because there wasn’t any news to report until her mother died, and she didn’t particularly want to write about that.

The annoying thing was that she probably could benefit from Connie’s sophistication and advice, and yes, she was right that having Norman around did cramp her style. Elaine hadn’t dated in high school. She’d gone to parties, of course, but none of the boys from school had ever suggested that they go to the river to watch submarine races. And in college, by the time she’d driven to Bridgeport, taken her classes, done her school work, and driven home to take care of the garden and fix dinner, she’d been too tired for socializing. Dating was more dangerous in college anyway — you never knew whether a guy expected you to go all the way. Elaine still didn’t know what was expected. She didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but at the ripe old age of 25, she was still a virgin.

Elaine put her produce in the rusting pick-up truck that she and her dad drove and took it over to the grocery store she regularly supplied. Because she grew so many different types of plants, she needed only one outlet. Other people might think it practical to grow only one crop, but Elaine knew if she did that, she’d have to take her fruits, vegetables, and flowers to dozens of stores instead of just the one.

Once she dropped off the produce, she usually took what the store didn’t want over to Dan Steele, for him to use as bait when fishing. In return, he gave her the fish that he couldn’t sell to add to her compost heap. Today Elaine hesitated, but only for a few minutes. She would have to see Dan again eventually; Willow Brook was too small a town for her to avoid him completely. It would be awkward, of course, but the awkwardness would only get worse the longer she waited. And besides, she needed the compost.

He was washing his car when she drove up. It didn’t help that he was stripped to the waist, offering a good lesson in the anatomy of deltoids, pectorals, and abs. Elaine tried not to stare, but really there was no place else to look.

“I’ve got some wilted lettuce for you,” she called.

“I’m sorry,” said Dan. “I hit my limit yesterday, so I have to wait until the first of the month before I can fish again. But if you wait a minute, I’ll give you directions to that place I told you about.”

He turned off the water and opened the passenger-side door to get at the glove compartment. He emerged with a map. Wiping the roof of the car with his discarded t-shirt, he spread out the map for Elaine to look at. “You take Highway 78 to County Road 356,” he said. “Make a left and go two miles. There should be a good gravel road on your right. Turn there and go eight-tenths of a mile and pull off the road — there should be a flat spot where you can park. Once you get out of the car, go down a bit of a hill and you should come to a little stream. If you follow the wash upstream, you’ll come to the waterfall I told you about.

“Do you think you can find it on your own, or should I take you there?”

“I think I can find it,” Elaine said quickly. Too quickly, she realized. If she’d feigned helplessness, she might have been able to spend some quality time with Dan. On the other hand, after last night, she didn’t know what they’d talk about.

“Yeah, you’re pretty good at finding your way around without getting lost,” said Dan. “Um, Elaine?”

“Yes?” Anxiety made her mouth go dry.

“Don’t be too hard on Connie. I’m sure she meant well.”

Elaine shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Dan gripped her shoulder for a second. “Whatever happens, we’ll always be friends, right? I’d hate to lose my little bait-supplier.”

“Right.” Elaine choked the word out. There was nothing she wanted more than to get in her car and drive far, far away.

“Oh, I forgot,” Dan called as she was leaving. “My buddy Dexter from college is coming to stay for a few days. Maybe he and I and you and Connie can go to the movies or something?”

Something smelled a little fishy to Elaine, and it wasn’t Dan’s t-shirt, but she agreed, before driving off.

 

Once she was away from Dan’s house, Elaine felt her vision beginning to blur with tears. What she wanted was a good cry, but she couldn’t have it at home. And she certainly couldn’t have it here on the road, although at the moment there weren’t any other cars around. Stopping her truck, she blotted her eyes with the hem of her t-shirt and decided to go and check out Dan’s “fairyland.” What had the directions been? Highway 78 to 326, left 2 miles, then right eight/tenths on a gravel road. Elaine opened her glove compartment and took out the little notebook she used for figuring gas mileage. She wrote down the directions at the back, and started the truck up again.

Walking along the stream, Elaine felt her embarrassment and resentment begin to melt. It was impossible to feel aggrieved when sunlight was making diamonds on the stream, impossible to remain hurt when a robin was trilling to the drumbeat a woodpecker made on a hollow log. Nature always had the power to soothe Elaine. Even if Dan’s “fairyland” wasn’t much, she still felt better for having walked out to see it.

A large bush, festooned with poison ivy, blocked her path, but the stream was shallow. Elaine took off her shoes and socks and waded into the water. Once past the bush, she could see the waterfall. It was the wrong time of day for a rainbow, but the sight was still spectacular. Crabapple trees in blossom flanked the pool where Dan caught his fish, and the waterfall fell from a ten-foot high cliff to splash on dark, flat-topped ledges of shale below. Tall elms walled the glade, and bees were busy among the sweet-smelling phlox at their roots.

The ground was a mix of cobblestone, gravel, and tiny plants. Dan had referred to the place as a wash, and Elaine realized that she was standing in the floodplain of the pool. She put her shoes and socks on and walked up to the pool’s edge, where a flat outcropping was bathed in sunlight. She felt like crying again, but these were healing tears of gratitude. She sat down on the rock and watched the waterfall for a while. Except for the splash of water and the buzz of the bees, the place was quiet, separate from the bustle of traffic and civilization. Elaine lay on her back and looked up into the cloudless blue sky. There weren’t any answers in the sky, but she felt a release from the heaviness of her questions. It didn’t matter if Dan wasn’t her Mr. Right; it didn’t even matter if she never married; Elaine was at peace here.

Turning to go back to her truck, Elaine spotted a clump of wild dwarf iris at the edge of the stream. Would it be all right to take one of the plants back with her, to see if she could get it to grow at home? She asked the glade. After a moment, she felt as if permission had been given. Deftly, her fingers separated a plant from its fellows. She dampened one of her socks in the stream and wrapped it around the plant’s root stalk. Putting on her shoes, she walked out of the glade, turning by the large bush to bow to the glade’s unseen presences.

She would have to thank Dan for making the place known to her. An hour earlier she would have felt cross and anxious at the thought of talking to him about something other than bait, but now she knew that she could share her delight without feeling self-conscious.

Chapter 2 -- A Disastrous Picnic

It was dark by the time Connie left the convenience store. Besides Elaine’s lettuce and snow peas, Connie had 2 frozen dinners, a box of cereal, a quart of milk, a loaf of bread, and a jar of peanut butter. She also had an idea for her novel — a romance, set in a small town, involving Eileen Dee and Don Silver. She didn’t think Elaine would be amenable to much advice, but perhaps if she couched her suggestions in the form of a story, they would be more acceptable.

It wasn’t as if Connie hadn’t had any ideas for her novel before she talked to Elaine. The problem was that she’d had too many — a science fiction novel in which some deadly disease swept across the planet, a mystery about a teenager who disappeared on a field trip, a fantasy about knights and unicorns, and even another romance, set in the Middle Ages. But this was the first idea that seemed capable of taking root. Perhaps her character Eileen would have an over-bearing and disapproving mother?

Connie shifted her two sacks so that their weight was more evenly distributed. It really was quite dark, and Willow Brook didn’t seem to spend much on streetlights. Once you got away from downtown — a block containing the grocery store, the bank, a diner, and an abandoned department store, the only light came from houses and the moon, which was half full. The sidewalk was uneven, too, here and there broken and lumpy because of a tree root. Connie had to watch where she was going, if she didn’t want to fall. Even so, the inevitable happened. Her toe caught on a bit of pavement; her sacks threw her off balance; she stumbled and twisted to land on grass rather than concrete.

“Are you all right?”

Connie looked up into the face of a handsome young man, auburn-haired with bright blue eyes. Lamentably, he smelled of fish.

“Let me take your bags. As soon as you’re sure that no bones are broken, I’ll help you up,” he said.

Connie relinquished her hold on the plastic bags. “I’m fine,” she said.

A strong hand gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. “You’re sure you’re all right?” the young man inquired anxiously.

“Positive,” said Connie. “I think you must be Danny Steele, whom I used to play with.”

“It’s Dan now, and you’re Connie, come to take care of your grandmother’s affairs.”

Connie looked at him in surprise.

“Word travels fast in Willow Brook,” said Dan. “Old Mr Frank saw your car in the driveway, and mentioned it to Janey Holliday — she was a couple of years behind us at school — when she was out running, and she told her boyfriend Travis, who told me when I ran into him at the hardware store in Bridgeport. Of course, none of us were sure it was you — it might have been a lawyer or real estate agent or something. It’s good to see you again, even if you do throw around words like ‘whom.’”

“I was an English major,” Connie said with a laugh.

Dan had a flashlight with him, and he turned it on as he walked her home. “You need one of these if you’re going to go out walking at night,” he said. “Not that I’d recommend making a habit of that, because Willow Brook’s safer than the city but you never know. Anyway, these big old trees look nice, but they tend to block out the moonlight.”

By the time they reached her front door, Connie was wondering if she might get used to the smell of fish — but no, she couldn’t be disloyal to Elaine.

“There’s not much to do in Willow Brook,” Dan said hesitantly, “but would you like to hang out at the park tomorrow evening? We could talk, throw a frisbee around, maybe grill some fish if I catch any.”

“That sounds nice,” said Connie, “but I already promised to do something with Elaine. Would it be okay if I brought her along?”

“Sure,” said Dan. “You can bring Norman, too, if you want.”

They agreed to meet in the park at 4 p.m. “It is good to see you again,” Dan said earnestly, looking into her eyes.

Connie was tempted to say something flirtatious, but she didn’t want to encourage Dan. “Good to see you, too,” she said brightly.

“Here, take my flashlight,” he said.

Connie pushed it away. “No, I’ve got one in my grandmother’s junk drawer,” she said. “You’ll need it for your walk home.”

Dan turned away sadly.

“See you tomorrow!” Connie couldn’t help calling.

He waved and disappeared into the gloom.

Inside, Connie let out a deep breath. It would be so easy to have a fling with Dan — fish smell aside — and maybe he would turn to Elaine on the rebound when she left, but that wasn’t a solution that Connie wanted. She put away the groceries and then phoned Elaine.

“No,” said Elaine, when Connie told her that she’d run into Dan and suggested the three of them get together then next afternoon.

“It will give you a chance to get to know each other,” said Connie.

“We’ve known each other all our lives,” said Elaine. “No, if he wants to go out with you, that’s fine. I’d just be in the way.”

“But I don’t want to go out with him,” said Connie.

“Not good enough for you?” There was a dangerous note in Elaine’s voice.

“He’s gorgeous,” said Connie, “but it wouldn’t be right. Oh, do say you’ll come, Elaine.”

“Oh, all right,” said Elaine, “but I think it’s a mistake.”

The next morning Connie sat and stared at her computer for about an hour. She wrote a paragraph about Cottonwood Creek, then highlighted it and deleted it. The big question was, should she write herself into the novel as Eileen and Don’s old school chum?

Caroline tripped on a tree root as she tried to navigate a path beneath the dark overhanging branches. Her groceries scattered as she fell to the ground.

“Need some help?” The inquiry came from a deep-voiced man behind her. Strong hands circled her narrow waist and pulled her easily to her feet.

“Oh!” A cry of pain escaped her as she tried to put her weight on her ankle. “I think I twisted it in the fall.”

“No problem.” The man scooped her into his arms as easily as if she was a child.

Caroline looked up into his face and saw that it was Don Silver, the red-haired, turquoise-eyed hunk that her dearest friend Eileen was in love with. “No,” she protested softly. “Put me down.”

“It’s only a block to your house,” said Don. “Yes, I know who you are. Little Carrie Slate, the dark-haired beauty who broke my heart back in grade school when she left Cottonwood Creek for the big city.”

“But I had to go,” said Caroline. “My dad got out of the Navy and took a job in another state.”

“And now you’ve come back to break my heart again,” Don growled. “Haven’t you.”

“No, no, I don’t want to break anyone’s heart,” wept Caroline.

“Then you’ll let me love you — a little? As long as you’re here?”

“I can’t,” Caroline sobbed, her breast heaving. “Eileen is in love with you. It would break her heart.”

“Then it will have to be our little secret,” said Don as he covered her mouth with his own.

Connie read the words in dismay. She doubted very much that a secret romance with Dan Steele was the answer. And Elaine would be furious if she told Dan how Elaine felt. She highlighted the passage but she couldn’t quite bring herself to delete it.

On the other hand, perhaps she could sublimate her own feelings by writing about Eileen and Don — and Caroline. She clicked on “save” instead.

But what happened with the groceries? Connie couldn’t help wondering.

 

“My groceries!” Caroline exclaimed, pulling away from Don’s hungry lips. “I won’t have a thing to eat tomorrow.”

“You could come to my place.” Sandpaper stubble scratched her soft cheek as Don nibbled her ear. “I’d be happy to fix you breakfast.”

 

Should she have “stubble” and “nibble” in the same sentence? Connie questioned. And strictly speaking, she should omit “soft” since she was writing from Caroline’s point of view.

“No!” Caroline ordered fiercely. “Put me down and help me gather up my things.”

“I’m yours to command, milady,” Don said with a sardonic smile. “At least, for now.” He quirked an eyebrow.

Connie couldn’t help giggling. She had never expected to have a character with a sardonic smile, let alone one who quirked an eyebrow, but here he was, come to life on the page. And, despite the fact that he regularly wrestled hundred-pound marlins out of the sea, Don never smelled of fish but of fresh ocean breezes. She hadn’t meant for Cottonwood Creek to be close to the ocean, but a beach certainly offered possibilities.

She sat back and considered her work. Writing a porn novel had never been her intention, but that was what this was rapidly becoming. Oh, well, her writing group had always said that she needed to work on her sex scenes. Could she flirt with Dan and call it research? Well, not if she wanted to keep Elaine as a friend, that was for sure.

Connie saved everything, including the quirked eyebrow, and shut down her computer. She still had to drive to the supermarket to do the rest of her grocery shopping and pick up some batteries for her grandmother’s flashlight.

More important, she had to figure out what she and Elaine should wear when they went to the park. It would probably be best if she over-dressed — would high heels be too much? And she definitely thought Elaine should wear shorts. Connie recollected a top that her mother had worn only once because her grandmother had objected to it. She went and rummaged in the chest of drawers in her mother’s old room until she found it. Yellow seersucker — Elaine would look good in yellow, she thought — with tiny puffed sleeves, it tied at the midriff. Even if Elaine insisted on wearing blue jeans, she’d still get Dan’s attention. Connie put the top in the washing machine along with her clothes from her trip and then set off for the store.

“I’ll look like a trollop,” Elaine protested several hours later. Connie was ready to shake her. Elaine had protested when Connie told her she’d have to wear the top without a bra. Now she was upset because Connie wanted to turn her Bermuda shorts into cut-offs.

“There’s nothing more dowdy than Bermuda shorts,” said Connie. “And old-fashioned. Don’t you have any short shorts?”

“They make my knees look knobby,” said Elaine.

Connie looked at her knees. She couldn’t help agreeing that they were not Elaine’s most attractive feature. “I know what,” she exclaimed. “Do you have any Capri pants?”

“What?”

“Pedal-pushers,” said Connie.

“No,” said Elaine.

“Well, let’s see what we can find.”

The chest of drawers in Connie’s mother’s room was proving to be a treasure trove of vintage clothing. Connie found a pair of pedal-pushers that actually matched the top, being made of yellow canvas with little ties just below the knee. Best of all they fit Elaine perfectly.

“They’re a little tight,” Elaine complained.

“You have to make the most of what you’ve got,” Connie pointed out.

“Don’t you think you’ll be a bit too warm?” Elaine asked.

Connie was wearing a knee-length grey skirt, a baggy grey sweater and black pumps. With her hair swept into a French chignon, she thought that she looked about 35, at least.

“And you’ll have a hard time playing frisbee in high heels,” Elaine continued.

“That’s kind of the idea,” said Connie. “You and Dan will have to play frisbee without me, while I talk to your father.”

Hearing of the outing, Norman had insisted on coming, too. Connie intended to have a chat with him, focusing on the desirability of him making himself scarce when Elaine was talking to Dan.

As they entered the Willow Brook Community Park, Elaine felt like she was going to be sick and said so. “It’s okay if you faint,” Connie answered. “I’m sure Dan will be very solicitous.”

This was not a comforting thought. Elaine only wished she could faint; it would be much less embarrassing than throwing up.

“Straighten up,” Connie added. “Good posture creates good energy.”

Just then they spotted Dan. He was at a grill over near the creek. He waved and pointed to a picnic table under a tree where his stuff was.

Connie wrested Elaine’s bag from her nervous clutch. “I’ll set up,” she said. “You go and talk to Dan.”

“But I don’t know what to say,” Elaine moaned.

“Ask him what kind of fish it is,” said Connie. “I don’t know. Talk about the weather.”

It was stupid to ask Dan what kind of fish it was, Elaine thought rebelliously as she walked across the grass. Trout was the only thing legal to catch this time of year, and Dan was no scofflaw. Still, Connie’s suggestion did help.

“Nice fish,” she said, after a cursory glance at the grill. “Where did you catch it?”

“It’s a secret place,” said Dan. “Don’t laugh, but I call it fairyland.”

Elaine was surprised enough to forget some of her nervousness. “Why?” she asked.

“I think I saw a fairy there early one morning,” said Dan. “It was probably a dragonfly, but it really did look like a fairy in the mist.”

“That sounds pretty,” said Elaine.

“Oh, it’s a gorgeous place,” said Dan. “There’s a little waterfall running into the pool, and at daybreak, the light’s just right to make a rainbow. There are some unusual mushrooms there, too — I’ll give you directions, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, not even your father.”

“I’d like to see the rainbow,” said Elaine. “Maybe I’ll skip going to the market one morning and come to your fairyland instead.”

    Dan turned the fish over with his spatula. “How’s the garden doing?” he asked.

“Great!” said Elaine. “I brought some strawberries for our picnic.” She wished suddenly that she hadn’t surrendered her bag to Connie. She could have done something daring like feed a strawberry to Dan.

“Howdy, Dan.”

Elaine turned and saw that her father had come up next to her.

“Norman!” Connie called. “I could use your help over here!”

But Norman didn’t budge, and Elaine knew why. Setting the table was women’s work. She turned and rejoined Connie.

“I didn’t want you to come,” Connie fussed. “I wanted your father to leave you and Dan alone.”

“I know,” said Elaine, “but he wouldn’t think of that.”

The trout was soon cooked and brought to the table. Elaine had brought a small jar of mixed dried herbs — parsley, sage, and tarragon — and everyone agreed that it added a certain something to the fish. “And the herbs are healthier than salt,” Connie said approvingly. Compliments were paid to the fish, the strawberries, and the rolls that Connie had brought, although she demurred at the last, saying she had just picked them up at the store.

Connie had also brought a bottle of white wine and four plastic wineglasses. “To old friends!” she said, making a toast. “Now you two young’uns run off and play frisbee,” she said. “I want to catch up on the gossip with Norman.”

“Elaine probably knows more about what’s going on in Willow Brook than I do,” he grumbled.

Elaine almost sat down at the table again, but the look Connie gave her was so fierce that she picked up the frisbee instead and headed for the open field with Dan following.

Her first throw was not very good. Instead of sailing through the air horizontally, the frisbee flew up and crashed about five feet from her. Dan picked it up and flipped it — perfectly — back to her. On her second attempt the frisbee made a smooth arc and landed some distance away from both of them. Dan retrieved it and came back to her.

“Look,” he said, “this is how you’re supposed to hold it. It’s all in the wrist.” He handed the frisbee to Elaine. She tried to hold it the same way Dan did, but he shook his head. “Make it flatter,” he said. He adjusted her grip. “Now throw.” To her delight, the frisbee traveled twenty feet in a nice straight line. “Perfect!” Dan congratulated her.

He started to go after the frisbee, but then turned back. “Um, Elaine?” he said. “That top you’re wearing is kind of suggestive, you know. I mean, you’re okay with me, but some other guy might take advantage.”

Elaine knew she was blushing. Her face and even her midriff felt like they were on fire.

“It was Connie’s idea, right?” said Dan.

Elaine nodded. “She’s kind of a matchmaker.”

Dan patted her hand kindly. “She doesn’t understand that it’s like you’re my little sister. It would be like incest, you know?”

No it wouldn’t, Elaine objected inwardly, as Dan trotted after the frisbee. They tossed it back and forth until Elaine missed a catch because she had to slap a mosquito.

“I win!” Dan called.

Connie overheard him as she joined them. “What’s the winner’s prize?” she asked.

“A kiss,” said Dan.

“From the loser,” Connie interpolated.

Elaine shook her head. She knew that wasn’t what Dan had meant. Nevertheless, when he came up to her, she reached up to give him a peck on the cheek. To her surprise, he turned his head so that her kiss landed on his lips. Elaine couldn’t figure out why he did that until she heard him say, “And now another kiss from the referee.” Without a doubt, this had been the worst evening of her life.

Connie gave him a swift peck and darted away before he could grab her. Elaine felt uncomfortable. She knew her father would disapprove of all this romping, as he’d call it. She looked around, and saw that he was gone.

“I told him we’d get you home safely,” said Connie.

As they left the park they passed the mock pirate ship that had been set up for children to play on. “Do you remember when we played pirates together?” Connie reminisced.

“Yes, I was the captain,” said Dan, “and the two of you were my mates.”

“I seem to recall that I was the captain,” said Connie, “and you were my mate and Elaine was our captive.”

“Connie, don’t,” said Elaine. “Dan knows you’re trying to hook us up together. It won’t work. He told me it would be like incest.”

With that, she turned and hurried home, not caring whether they followed her; indeed, hoping they would leave her to cry in peace.

Connie stared after her blankly for a moment, then stepped forward. “I should go with her,” she said.

Dan grabbed her arm. “No, I think she would rather be alone. She’s not a little kid any more, doing whatever you tell her.”

Connie pulled away from him. “I know that,” she said crossly. “I just — “

“You just thought you’d amuse yourself by starting a romance?” said Dan. “Elaine hasn’t had it easy since her mother died. She had to grow up fast, and she did, taking care of her father and the garden, and making a business from her flowers and fruits. She and I are good friends, and the last thing she needs is somebody interfering in her life.”

“I’m not interfering,” Connie said hotly. “It’s Norman, telling her it’s high time she got married and started having children.”

Dan shook his head. “Poor kid,” he said. “She’s not ready for marriage and children yet; she’s like a child herself.”

“She’s the same age we are,” Connie reminded him.

“Chronologically,” said Dan. “So what do you want me to do? Go out and catch some eligible bachelors? Because there aren’t too many fish in Willow Brook’s sea.”

“I suppose that’s an idea,” said Connie. “Do you have an old college roommate you can invite for a visit?”

“Actually, I do,” Dan said with a laugh. “But I don’t know whether you’d consider him ‘eligible.’ He’s a computer geek, spends all his time in virtual reality.”

“It’s worth a shot,” said Connie. “Give him a call.”

Chapter 1 -- A Return to Willow Brook

The hallway was smaller than Connie remembered it, and the ceiling lower. For a moment she felt like a giant in a dollhouse, or Alice after eating something in Wonderland, but then she took a step forward, and she and the hallway regained their correct proportions. The last time she had been in her grandmother’s house, she had been eight years older; small wonder that she should expect the front hall to be more cavernous, the stairs to be steeper, than they actually were.

Connie’s grandmother had died several months ago, leaving her the house in Willow Brook and what money she had. Mr and Mrs Shale thought that she should sell the house and invest the money, but Connie had a better idea. She needed a place to stay while she wrote her first novel, and what could be better than the house where she had spent several years of her childhood? Besides, she pointed out to her parents, it was unlikely that she could find a buyer for the place, Willow Creek not being close enough to a major city to attract newcomers. The house was fully furnished, if a trifle old-fashioned, and within walking distance of a grocery store and library — what more could she want? And her grandmother’s money would tide her over until she sold her first novel.

“But what if you don’t sell your first novel?” her father had objected, and “It’s not likely you’ll meet anyone suitable,” her mother had sighed, but Mr Shale was eventually persuaded that it was better for Connie to get this foolish idea of becoming a novelist out of her head while she was still young rather than going through a mid-life crisis in her forties. Her mother remained patiently resigned to having her wishes ignored.

Through the archway on her right was the parlor. Connie had been allowed to spend an hour in there three times a week to practice her scales on the grand piano. She had been given strict admonitions not to touch anything else in there — not the glass bell over the stuffed pair of bluebirds, not the china shepherdess on the tallboy, and certainly not the grandfather clock that chimed the hour when she had to leave this realm of cabriolet legs and tufted wine-colored upholstery with its thick oriental rug and heavy drapes that protected the interior from the sun. Connie could remember only one occasion when the parlor had been in use — the day they had celebrated Christmas because her father was on leave from the Navy.

Behind the parlor was the television room, which was where Connie and her mother and grandmother had spent their evenings. It was a small dark room, crowded with bookcases and comfortable furniture. Connie’s grandmother’s television set stood on an end table, its flat screen and cable hook-up incongruously modern in a room where nothing else had been changed in years.

Connie went back into the hallway and through the arch on her right into the dining room — more cabriolet legs, another oriental carpet and heavy drapes — and into the kitchen. This was where she had found her mother and grandmother when she came home from school, sitting at the round oak table and having a cup of tea. The kitchen had been large and warm and filled with the smell of cinnamon and freshly baked bread. Connie had done her homework at the kitchen table, had helped decorate cookies there, and had drawn countless pictures, the best of which her grandmother had taken to adorn the refrigerator. She considered setting up her computer there, because the kitchen really was the most comfortable room downstairs, but rejected the idea. If she tried to write in the kitchen, she would gain twenty pounds in no time. Besides, there was a better place upstairs: the sitting-room, an unused bedroom upstairs which had been the repository for everything too shabby for downstairs. As a child, Connie had loved investigating the drawers of its old desk and looking at encyclopedias and coffee-table books from the 1950s. It was dusty now, and even more of a junk room than it had been in her childhood, but the window with its view of the river and the park was still there, and her grandfather’s roll-top desk still stood next to it. She would set up her computer here, Connie decided, even though she knew that the old books would be as tempting a distraction as the food downstairs.

Her next task was to pick a bedroom. Connie decided to be practical rather than sentimental and opt for the most comfortable mattress, even if it turned out to be the one in the room that had belonged to her grandmother. As it happened, though, the least saggy mattress in the house was the one in the guest room. This contained only a large double bed, a suitcase stand, and a small closet. More important for Connie, it didn’t contain any memories. She hadn’t been allowed in the room at all when she was a child, but it didn’t give her that sense of forbidden territory which she got from the rooms that had been used by her mother and grandmother. When she was a child, the guest room had simply been uninteresting, and she understood that her grandmother didn’t want her playing in there because she wanted to keep the place nice for a visitor. The one place Connie wanted to avoid was the room where she had slept as a child. She was an adult now, with a B.A. in English and an M.F.A. in creative writing and two years’ experience as a fund-raiser for her alma mater. Her main fear in returning to her grandmother’s house had been that she would feel like a child again, and Connie was very glad to discover that this wasn’t the case. Living here wouldn’t at all be like staying in her room at her parents’ house; she could be as independent as she wanted.

As she went down the steep stairs, Connie began to formulate a list of things to do: Unpack. Get groceries (She’d been glad to see that her grandmother had succumbed to the conveniences of the 21st century and acquired a microwave. Frozen food wouldn’t provide any wonderful smells, but it would certainly be easier to fix). Set up her computer. Find out if any of her friends from grade school were still around. Start going through her grandmother’s stuff and figuring out what to keep and what to give or throw away.

Her grandmother’s stuff would wait. Connie decided that her first priority was neither unpacking nor setting up her computer, but getting some food in the house. She debated briefly over whether she should take the car and stock up for the summer or walk to the store and bring back just enough for dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast. It was a nice day, so the walk won. And on the way, she could check stop at the Jays’ house and find out what had become of her old buddy Elaine. They had sworn to be best friends forever when Connie and her mother had left Willow Brook 15 years ago. Connie felt a little guilty when she realized that she hadn’t written to Elaine since she was about 12, but then Elaine hadn’t written to her, either.

Willow Brook had always been a pretty town, its streets lined with trees and the yards of its old houses filled with flowerbeds. Connie was sad to see that several of the old houses she passed appeared to have been uninhabited for year; indeed one was a burned-out shell, its flowerbeds tangles of weeds. As she neared Elaine’s house, she was relieved to see a woman working in the garden. “Mrs Jay?” she called.

The woman stood up. Her hair was darker than Mrs Jay’s had been, and she was younger, closer to Connie’s age than that of her mother.

“Miss Jay, actually,” she said.

“Elaine?” said Connie.

The woman moved closer to the fence. “Yes?” she said hesitantly.

“It’s Connie, Connie Shale from grade school. I don’t know if you remember me…”

“Connie!” Elaine stripped off her gardening gloves and grabbed her by the shoulders for a quick half-hug. “Look at you, quite the picture of elegance. Come on in, Dad will be happy to see you. Oh, just so you know — my mom died quite a few years ago, it was cancer.” Elaine opened the gate and came out to the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Connie. “You should have told me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Elaine, “but I didn’t know what to say, and I hadn’t heard from you in a while. I guess I thought your grandmother would pass on the news.”

Connie was silent. Now that she thought about it, she did remember her grandmother saying something, her mother saying she should write to Elaine. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess she did tell me, but I didn’t know what to say, either.”

“Well, don’t stand there apologizing,” said Elaine. “Come in and say hi to Dad and tell us what you’ve been doing. Are you here to settle your grandmother’s affairs?”

“Yes and no,” said Connie. “I plan to live in her house for a while and write a novel.” As soon as she’d said the word “novel,” she regretted it. It seemed like such an immense, even grandiose idea, like announcing that she was planning to scale Mt. Everest.

“Wow,” said Elaine. “I’m impressed. But then you always did have a good imagination. Remember our flower dolls?”

“Sure,” said Connie, who did remember, now that she had been reminded. “Daisy was happy; Bluebell was sad; and Chrysanthemum was bossy. And you said that Rose was dramatic, just like me, and I said you were ethereal, like Lily.”

“And I had to go and look up ‘ethereal’ in the dictionary,” said Elaine. “Oh, it is good to see you again. I’d give you another hug, but I’m all dirty from gardening.”

“As if that mattered,” said Connie, pulling Elaine to her. “You’re still nothing but skin and bones,” she scolded. “Doesn’t your father feed you?”

Elaine laughed. “I’ve been doing the cooking since I was 13,” she said. “And since I was afraid of the stove, I mostly made us salad. And then when I got older, Dad read an article saying that raw vegetables were really good for you, so we’ve pretty much lived on salad ever since.”

“Something I should do,” said Connie. “I need to go on a diet.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Elaine. “You’ve got curves in all the right places, which is more than I can say for myself.”

 

Norman Jay was watching television when the two girls entered the house. “There’s a cold front entering Kansas,” he announced. His back was to them, so Elaine raised her voice a bit.

“Well, it’s nice and warm here,” she said. “Look who’s showed up.”

“Hello, Mr Jay,” said Connie.

“Please, call me Norman,” he said, getting up.

Mr Jay — Norman — hadn’t changed much in the past 15 years. His hair was greyer, his face more wrinkled, and the lenses of his glasses were a bit thicker, but otherwise he was much as Connie remembered him.

“It’s Connie Shale,” said Elaine.

“Well, well, well, haven’t you turned out to be the fine young lady,” said Norman. “You could give some pointers to Elaine here, show her what to do with her hair and how to dress.”

Connie felt embarrassed. “Elaine looks quite nice just as she is,” she protested. “And she wouldn’t wear her good clothes to garden anyway. But how have you been?” It was a lame question, but Connie wanted to change the subject somehow.

“Oh, fine, fine,” Norman said airily. “Can’t complain.” He turned his attention back to the television, and Elaine pulled Connie into the kitchen.

“There isn’t anything wrong with the way you look,” Connie muttered. “Why would your dad make a thing out of it?”

“He’s got this idea that it’s time for me to get married and have a baby,” said Elaine. “He thinks I’m not trying hard enough.”

Connie looked at her friend anew. Elaine had inner beauty certainly, a warm light shining out of her brown eyes. But her nose was a bit too long, her chin too sharp, and her figure too angular. Nor was she dressed to attract male attention: blue jeans and a denim jacket over a grey t-shirt might be fine for gardening, but they wouldn’t turn any heads.

“I suppose you could wear short shorts and a halter top,” Connie said slowly, “but I don’t think you’d get any marriage proposals.”

“Wolf whistles, maybe,” Elaine said with a giggle.

“Is there anyone in Willow Brook that you want to marry?” asked Connie.

“No, not really,” said Elaine. “It’s not like it’s a hotbed of eligible bachelors.”

“So who’s the ‘not really?’”

Elaine hesitated and looked out the window. “Do you remember Dan Steele?”

Connie thought for a moment. “Danny?” she said. “Reddish hair and blue eyes?”

“Yes,” said Elaine. “He turned out to be quite good-looking. But he’s a bit remote; he spends all his time fishing.”

Connie wrinkled her nose; she didn’t much like the smell of fish. “If your dad’s serious about wanting you to get married, what he should do is let you move to a bigger city on your own, someplace like Bridgeport. You’re never going to meet anyone here.”

“I know,” said Elaine. “But we really can’t afford for me to get a place of my own — we’re not struggling financially,” she added quickly, “I make a fair amount of money from my garden, and Dad sells his wood-working projects on the Internet to augment his pension, but it wouldn’t extend to an apartment in Bridgeport, at least not one that wasn’t in a slum.”

“College?” asked Connie.

“I went to Bridgeport Community College for two years,” said Elaine, “but I didn’t want to go farther away.”

“Is it your father’s idea that he’ll live with you and your husband and this new baby?”

Elaine rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s hopeless, isn’t it?”

“No,” said Connie. “You just need someone to fall madly in love with you, that’s all.”

Elaine laughed. “Hopeless, just like I said.”

Connie patted her hand. “Now, now, we’ll think of something. If we can’t bring Dan Steele up to scratch, maybe you can come and visit me when I finish my novel and move back east.” Even as she said the words, though, Connie felt some doubt. She couldn’t think of any young men in her circle of acquaintances who would want to live in Willow Brook, and it didn’t look like Elaine would be willing to leave her father. Plan A would have to work, that was all.

“And what about you?” Elaine asked. “What have you been up to?”

“Right now, I’m here to work on a novel,” said Connie. “I’m not sure that I ever want to get married — at least, not until I’ve traveled a bit. I suppose I could find someone if I wanted to settle down, but I’m not ready yet.”

“Hopeless,” said Elaine.

All the time they’d been talking, Elaine had been putting together a bag of vegetables for Connie. “There’s leaf lettuce and snow peas,” she said. “You can cook the peas if you want, but they’re really good raw.”

Connie protested. “I was going to walk up to the grocery store.”

“It’s a convenience store now,” said Elaine, “But not very convenient. It’s fine if you want over-priced bread and milk and snacks — and beer, but if you want real food, you have to drive to the supermarket in Bridgeport.”

“I’ve been driving all day,” Connie sighed. “I will accept your gift then and maybe get some over-priced bread and peanut butter from the store.”

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” Elaine offered.

“That’s kind of you, but I need to get something for breakfast tomorrow, too. Why don’t you call me in the morning and we’ll set a date?” Connie copied down her cell phone number and gave it to Elaine.

“I don’t have a cell,” said Elaine, “but our number’s the same as it’s always been.”

Connie said good-bye to Norman in the living-room and continued her walk to the grocery — no, convenience — store.

Once Connie was gone, Elaine sat down in the kitchen. She didn’t know how she felt — happy at seeing her friend again, fearful of what might be her plans for the future, even a little angry that Connie had lived quite contentedly without her for so long. Not that Elaine had missed Connie that much — she had lived quite contentedly, too, she reminded herself. Very contentedly, she thought, with a sudden grin. When they were children, Connie had always taken the lead, deciding what games they would play. She had been the princess and Elaine the lady-in-waiting. Which is not to say that Elaine had become the princess once Connie left. Indeed, her mother’s death had thrust her into adulthood at an early age, causing her to leave princesses behind.

Elaine hoped that Connie wouldn’t come up with any ideas that were too outrageous. She wished that she hadn’t mentioned Dan Steele at all. Connie would be sure to want her to develop their friendship into something more romantic. And what if Connie said something to Dan about how she felt. Elaine suddenly felt a cold chill. She wouldn’t, surely Connie wouldn’t, she was a grown-up now, too, not a teenager.

As for the prospect of a makeover — well, Elaine knew that wild horses couldn’t make her twist her hair into a French chignon like Connie’s. Even if she could accomplish the task, her hair would find ways to slip out of its fastenings. And she didn’t have time to put it up every day. Pulling it back into a ponytail at the base of her neck really was the most sensible solution. When it came to dressing like Connie, Elaine didn’t think that was likely either. Although Connie looked very nice in her pink sweater and grey straight skirt, with her pink and grey argyle knee-socks, Elaine knew that knee-socks would just slide down her own legs, and the skirt would get wrinkled. No matter what her father said, she was better off dressing like herself rather than trying to emulate someone else.

Did she wish that Connie hadn’t returned to Willow Brook? No, she really was glad to see her. It was easy to stagnate in a small town. While her life was a pleasant round of work in the garden and trips to the supermarkets she supplied, Elaine had to admit it was a bit dull. As for Dan, she had a working relationship with him in that she gave him leftover produce to use as bait and he gave her inferior fish to use for fertilizer. If Connie could suggest a way to kick that up a notch, more power to her.

Elaine finished putting together the salad, buttered some bread, and took dinner to her father.

“That cold front might cause some storms in Kansas,” Norman told her.

“Really?” said Elaine. “Do they think we’ll get rain here?”

“In another day or two,” said her father. “It’s moving east.”

Commercials for painkillers, cleaning products, and some drug that had terrible side effects flickered on the screen while they ate.

“It was nice to see Connie again,” Elaine ventured.

“She turned out to be a looker,” said Norman, “but in a ladylike way. You could learn a thing or two from her.”

“Yes, Dad,” said Elaine. “I suppose I could.”