Fire and Water

by Amanda Kayhart

“Or,” Maureen continued, leaning back in her chair, “if you want us to spit our drinks all over Beth Mastroianni again, we’re good for that, too.”

  Diane chuckled and shook her head. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Diane placed the pruning shears to the bending tree branch and, at a precise angle, clipped the crooked culprit in one quick nip. The canopy opened. The tree took on a healthy form. And the branch—green leaves, green lemons, and all—fell into her hand. She stood back, holding a satisfactory smile. It was early. The sun was beginning to stretch its rays across the sky, yet the air was already hot and muggy. Heavy. Pruning was detrimental if done in the wrong light, and when the time came, Diane always chose the cooler temperatures of morning to groom her lemon trees. But clearly, she underestimated the Florida heat. It was not even seven o’clock, and dots of sweat worked their way down Diane’s spine and clustered across her brow as she snipped.

  Retreating to the shade of her screened-in porch, Diane wiped the sweat and dirt from her face with the bottom of her shirt and reached for her glass of iced tea. She took a healthy gulp and admired the small back patio. Her two story, heather gray townhouse was one of many in Lakeshore Estates—a quiet, waterfront community in North Tampa. The collection of semi-detached homes offered peaceful views of the large freshwater lake, stretches of its sandy beaches, and a jogging trail that traced around the water’s edge. Usually, Diane could hear the rhythmic pulse of running shoes hitting the gravel loop, but that Sunday morning was particularly quiet. Aside from the songbirds chirping close by, a stillness fell across Diane’s home like a blanket, offering her comfort and the softness of solitude.

  And she cherished it.

  Because if Diane learned anything those last few years, it was tranquility was an elusive creature. As her relationship fell apart and reached an unsalvageable point, moving out of their house in Gulfport only made the situation worse. It was one thing knowing her marriage to Nora had reached its end, but actively searching for another place to live was another. It was all too real. Thank God for Kevin and Maureen, who kept her going, helped her search for a new home, and convinced her it was exactly what she needed.

  A house of her own.

  Space to move forward.

  A place to start anew.

  The adjustment wasn’t easy. That first night was hell. When the movers left, and the door closed, and Diane was alone in an empty house full of cardboard boxes, she fell to the floor and sobbed. For weeks, she cried and pitied herself. Diane never thought she’d recover. But slowly, day by day, Diane unpacked, arranged her furniture, rearranged her life, and made herself a new home—including a backyard full of fresh lemon trees. Diane knew nothing about horticulture, but instead of spending her spare time searching where her life went wrong, she researched a new hobby. She googled Meyer lemons. Watched YouTube videos and read gardening blogs about the sweet citrus fruit. After several months, her hopefulness flowered, and by the end of winter, her marble countertops were full of bright, ripened lemons, the bountiful fruit of all her emotional labor.

  Then came the divorce papers.

  Despite leaving Delinda’s house in high spirits, she returned home with her good mood soured. Diane sighed. She stared at the yellow sun heating her lemons in large barrels across the herringbone bricks. There were so many troubled branches to prune. Leaves to inspect. At least she had all morning—and the rest of summer and fall, come to think of it. Her sabbatical officially began at the end of August, and it was a relief not selecting textbooks, gathering supplemental readings, or revising her syllabi for the upcoming semester at the University of South Florida. With her absence until January, Diane could focus on herself and writing, and finally put everything behind her.

  Which was what everyone—her colleagues, Maureen and Kelly Ann—suggested from the beginning, pushing Diane to apply for sabbatical last year as her marriage reached its breaking point. Diane was adamant she didn’t need it. She had control. She always kept control. And she could manage her professional life, the courses, departmental demands, even the deadline she put on herself to complete her manuscript, amid the firestorm of her separation. Even her goal of landing a literary agent before her reappointment evaluation the following spring seemed feasible. Diane could handle it all—or so she thought. The last twelve months burned every last one of her nerves. Diane was relieved she listened to her friends, and happy the department chair and faculty advisement board approved her leave, since as much as she tried to deny it, she was emotionally and mentally exhausted.

  “Good morning, Diane,” Joyce sang out across their shared fence.

  Her neighbor’s sweet voice planted a smile on Diane’s face, and she set her drink on the table, stepping into the sunlight to greet her. Joyce Marshall was a pleasant surprise. Decades since Diane had close neighbors, she didn’t know what to expect, sharing a wall with a stranger. Living close to the university, she almost expected delinquent undergrads. Parties. Or worse, one of her students, renting off-campus. But when Joyce welcomed Diane to the community, with a strong smile tucked between her deep set wrinkles and russet brown cheeks, Diane breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Morning, Joyce,” Diane said, stepping around her trees, she rested her hands on the white fence between them. The older woman shuffled across the patio with her walking cane, wearing her usual sun hat, pink polo shirt and khaki trousers. The gold cross dangling around her neck glistened in the sun. “You think it’s going to be another hot one?”

  Joyce chuckled at Diane’s snarky comment, a running joke between them, and arrived at the fence, breathing heavily from her trip across the yard.

  “How’s your hip feeling today?” Diane asked, tilting her head sympathetically.

  “Getting stronger each day,” she said. “I’m kicking some serious behind at physical therapy.”

  “I bet you are.”

  Diane laughed, seeing a flicker of pride flash in Joyce’s brown eyes. Hip replacement surgery was difficult for anyone, let alone someone in their eighties, living independently. Being right next door, Diane offered to help. But between Joyce’s daughter staying the last several weeks, and the stream of drop-ins from members of her church’s choir and various community and prayer groups, nothing more was needed from Diane other than delivering her famous lemon sponge pies to keep her spirits up—and treat her entourage of loving and devoted caretakers.

  Diane swept her eyes over Joyce’s greenery, tall banana plants, red cannas, and pots of vibrant yellow hibiscus. “Your plants are looking well.”

  “Love and sunshine does wonders.”

  “Indeed.” Diane panicked as Joyce bent and turned on her garden hose. “No, no. Stop. Let me help you.”

  “Nonsense.” Joyce waved her off. “Movement helps the healing. I saw you pruning earlier, use your energy growing those gorgeous lemons.”

  Diane hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

  “Yes, dear. I—”

  Diane’s doorbell sounded through her house. She turned with a frown and glanced at the time on her fitness tracker she sported on her wrist. Who could that be? So early? And on a Sunday?

  “Besides,” Joyce squeezed the nozzle and sprayed her arrangement of colorful annuals, “you’ve got other company it seems. We’ll catch up later.”

  Diane slunk backwards towards her house. “I’ll have a fresh pie for you when we do.”

  “I can’t wait!”

  And neither could the person at the door. The bell rang again, and Diane jogged down the hallway towards the front entrance, cleaning her hands on her shorts. Another ring filled the house, and when Diane reached the knob, she flung the door open with a flare of annoyance.

  “Can I help y—”

  “Morning, gorgeous,” Kelly Ann said. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  Diane released an exasperated breath and leaned on the door frame. Kelly Ann flashed her stunning smile, and Diane eyed her impeccable look—white ca
pris, a flowy shirt, and fashionable wedge sandals. She groaned internally as she stood there covered in dirt, sweat, and her grubby Aerosmith t-shirt.

  “No, no,” Diane said, blowing a loose hair out of her face. She quickly readjusted her ponytail. “Come in. Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, stepping into the foyer. She removed her sunglasses and tucked them into her oversized purse. “I’ve got a flight to Atlanta for some business matters, but I thought I’d drop by to see you.”

  “Welcome,” Diane said. She closed the door and led her guest inside. “Please ignore my unkempt appearance. I was gardening.”

  “Nonsense. You’re beautiful,” Kelly Ann said. “And so is your home. It’s been a while since I’ve made it over here. I forgot how charming it is.”

  “Thank you.” Diane set her hands on her hips and admired the open living space.

  In the winter, Maureen and Diane hit up the local flea markets until the built-in bookshelves around the fireplace glistened with carnival glass, antique trinkets, and collectible books with worn pages and golden spines. The townhouse was nothing extravagant, but Diane preferred it that way. She didn’t need much. A garage for her Mustang. An outdoor space. A location closer to work—she’d paid her dues living in Gulfport, battling morning traffic on 275, and she was so over it.

  “Can I offer you some coffee?” Diane asked. Kelly Ann made herself at home on the sofa, and Diane pulled a fresh mug from the cabinet. “I made some a short time ago.”

  “A cup sounds lovely.” Kelly Ann flipped through Diane’s stack of New Yorkers and Writer’s Digests on the coffee table. “Two Sweet ‘N Lows, if you have it.”

  Fixing her drink quickly, Diane joined Kelly Ann in the living room. She sat in her favorite Barcalounger—her father’s old reading chair—and set the steaming drink down. “Tell me if you need more sweetener,” she said.

  “It’s perfect,” Kelly Ann said, taking her first sip. “I see your notes here. How’s the book coming?”

  Diane glared at the yellow legal pad on the table. The pages were a tsunami of scribbles, countless lines of messy paragraphs and scratched out sentences. And the margins fared no better- a hopeless catastrophe of cold coffee stains.

  “The book is coming…slowly,” Diane sighed.

  “But surely?” Kelly Ann crossed her legs, sipping her coffee with a hopeful smile.

  “Inspiration is lackluster.”

  “You’ve been through a lot, Diane. That’s to be expected.”

  “Doesn’t make it any less frustrating.”

  “Something brilliant will come along and crank your passion up again.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so,” Kelly Ann said, lifting the mug to her mischievous smirk and taking a long drink. “Especially with that wretched ex out of your life.”

  Diane dropped her eyes to the floor, restraining a smile.

  “I don’t like being unkind towards anyone,” she said, “but it’s the God’s honest truth. That woman was toxic, and she was a damn fool for discouraging your writing. Nora was scared, that’s what I think. She was terrified you’d become a household name, make an assload of money, and outshine her.” Kelly Ann shrugged. “An uptight, insecure twit is what she is.”

  Diane’s brows lifted to her hairline. “And how long have you been biting your tongue with this?”

  “I’m only speaking the truth, and now that you’re single,” Kelly Ann nodded, “you’ll be amazed at what you can accomplish once you find the right person to have in your corner.”

  Diane laughed outright. “That’s certainly not on my agenda.”

  “A broken heart can only heal if you leave it open to possibility.”

  “Perhaps,” Diane said, a slice of disbelief flavoring her tone. “But enough about me, please. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

  Placing her coffee down, Kelly Ann folded her hands in her lap and gazed out across the back yard. “There’s a problem at the restaurant. The old one. Not the new one.”

  “Oh no.” Diane frowned. “What happened?”

  “There was a mix up with one of my seafood vendors. Long story short, I’ve got tons of missing shrimp to track down before our seafood shindig next weekend, not to mention contractors to lock down before the end of the following week, financing and permits to secure—” Kelly Ann took a gulp of air.

  “That’s a lot of things happening at once.”

  “My head feels like it’s trapped in a tornado.”

  Diane placed her hand on her good friend’s arm and gave her a comforting squeeze.

  “Usually, this time of year, Carlton and I retreat to our lake house in Vermont and get away for a couple of months. But we’re so stressed with the new restaurant, neither one of us can imagine leaving in the middle of all this hoopla.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No. I’m sorry.” Kelly Ann looked at Diane, tears clouding her eyes. “Look at me. I didn’t mean to barge in with my emotional baggage and ruin your peaceful Sunday morning.”

  “You’re not ruining anything,” Diane said softly. “I promise. I’m sorry you’re stressed. Is there something I can do?”

  “That’s the thing,” Kelly Ann said, plucking a tissue from her purse and wiping her eyes, “I came here thinking maybe I could help you.”

  Diane’s forehead pinched. “Me? How?”

  “You put on a strong façade Friday night at the party,” Kelly Ann said, throwing a knowing glance at Diane, “but I could see it in your eyes, honey. You’re emotionally spent, and I don’t blame you. You’ve been through a lot with the divorce, and now you’re working on completing your first novel. It’s a lot to handle.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I promise I’ll be fine.” Diane cleared her throat. “I am fine.”

  “I’m not buying it,” Kelly Ann chuckled. “And so now, I’ve got a beautiful lakefront property just going to waste, waiting for you.”

  Diane frowned. “What?”

  “A little vacation after the divorce is finalized would do you good.”

  “You think so?”

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

  Diane leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “You want me to go to Vermont?”

  “Isn’t it a writer’s dream to have a quiet place in the country to pen the next Great American Novel?” Kelly Ann asked, arching a perfect brow.

  Diane side-eyed her friend.

  When Diane said she needed a break, she certainly didn’t mean that instant or that morning. She couldn’t drop everything and leave. Could I? She eyed Kelly Ann again, finishing her coffee with a peculiar expression on her face. There’d be several weeks before the court hearing to officially dissolve her marriage, plenty of time to plan, prepare, organize, and…chicken out and reconsider. Diane laughed at herself. But getting away would be nice. The last time Diane went anywhere was a frustrating trip to Hilton Head five years ago when she read books on the beach alone, while Nora spent the week attached to her phone, handling “important business clients.” Diane groaned with the memory. She’d definitely earned an extended escape somewhere, and what better excuse to finally finish her novel than a writer’s retreat in New England.

  “Even if you only stayed a couple of weeks, wouldn’t it be nice having some change of scenery for a bit? And who knows,” Kelly Ann said, leaning back in her seat with her persistent, ever-growing smirk, “maybe you’ll find some of that inspiration you’ve been looking for.”

  Diane took a deep breath and held it for several beats, releasing it with a sigh. “Okay.”

  Kelly Ann’s face lit up. “You’ll go?’

  “I think you’re right. A change would be nice.” Diane nodded, saying the words out loud fired up her confidence, and she scooted to the edge of her seat. “I could use a fresh work space, and getting away sounds refreshing.”

  “Wonderful,” Kelly Ann said. “The place is yours for as long as you’d like. But I have to be honest, Carl
ton and I haven’t been there for a couple of years,” she said. “It might be a little messy.”

  Diane eyed Kelly Ann’s impeccable attire and hair without a single blonde strand out of place. She was quite sure they had different standards of that word.

  “I can handle cobwebs,” Diane laughed.

  “Nonsense. You need to relax and focus on yourself,” Kelly Ann said. “Let me at least get in touch with my landscapers and make sure the lawn’s not a jungle.”

  “Deal.”

  “I care about you, Diane, and I’m glad I could offer you something to help.”

  “I appreciate it,” Diane said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re certainly welcome, sweetheart. I think you’ll find getting away rather cathartic.”

  Diane hoped so. Making plans to leave Florida so suddenly was completely unexpected and out of character. She leaned back in her chair, and as the idea settled and took root in her mind, it felt good. Vermont felt right. Her decision was fast and spontaneous, and nothing at all how Diane operated. Usually there were lists, and extensive planning and googling. Overthinking. But after years of arguing and fighting in her marriage, the remedy was clear: a little peace and quiet in Vermont was exactly what she needed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After anxiously planning her journey the last several weeks, nothing could have prepared Diane for all this crap. Literal cow poop. Miles of it. The final leg of Diane’s trip was all manure. Even with the windows rolled up, the farm fresh stench found its way into her Mustang, as she drove down the winding rural highway through Vermont. At least the views were savory. She didn’t know there were islands on Lake Champlain. Yet here they were, green and gorgeous, with stretches of farm fields, apple orchards, and snug lakeshore coves, fit for fishing.

  Shifting to a lower gear, Diane’s classic engine softened into a subdued rumble. Arriving in the Champlain Islands, Diane was overwhelmed with a sense of excitement and possibility she wasn’t anticipating. If anything, Diane should’ve been exhausted. Two hotels. Three days. Fifteen hundred miles. But she found the drive cleansing after receiving the finalized divorce papers the week prior. Her head cleared. Thoughts untangled. There was still a lot to process emotionally, but there was something about the expanse of deep, denim-colored sky above her that allowed her to breathe better, allowed her to relax and approach her future with a fresh wave of optimism.