Sylvia jumped when the loudspeaker came on, and the treasurer of their community association called for everyone’s attention. The laughter and chatter came to a quiet hush. The Treasurer thanked everyone for coming to the picnic and for the fabulous dishes. He asked for applause for the volunteers and for those cooking the hamburgers and hot dogs. After the applause had died down, he asked people to pull out their raffle tickets. With great flourish, with the community association’s president, he pulled out ticket by ticket for the raffle prizes and for the 50/50 raffle. Cries of surprise by happy people ran up to claim their prizes. When the prize giving was completed, the treasurer reminded everyone that the children’s games would begin in fifteen minutes, to stop by the fabulous dessert table, and not to forget their leftovers and chairs. He wished them a happy Fourth of July. Polite applause thanked the Treasurer, and people returned to their conversations.
Craig turned to Joe, “Since I’m the one who keeps putting their foot in his mouth, I’ll bring up another uncomfortable question. Is there any news on old George’s murderer?”
“Not anything I can talk about,” Joe answered him.
“Possible fish poachers,” Maureen added, her eyes downcast.
“What?” Marian and Kim cried simultaneously.
“It’s a possibility,” Joe commented. “Poaching fish and oysters in the bay are big business. Those investigations are with the Coast Guard, and not our offices. But, we hear stories…” his voice trailed off.
Jon raised a quizzical eyebrow at Joe. “There were rockfish poachers that were recently prosecuted in Baltimore. To my knowledge, the fish poachers are not usually prone to violence. But, there’s always a first time,” he added enigmatically.
“People have killed for less,” Carol added, “We are all too familiar with that scenario.”
The group became quiet again.
“I forgot to ask you, Joe,” Sylvia said a couple of minutes later, “there were a bunch of police cars at the marina across the cove a few days ago. Are they related?”
“Not that I know of,” Joe said, “That was a prescription drug sting. People are going to Florida’s pain clinics for painkillers, and bringing them north, and later selling them on the street. Oxycontin and Oxycodone are two of the favorites to bring up. The boats seem to be a popular way to sell the drugs.”
“There’s been a lot of chatter about an increase in drug traffic in the county,” Jon commented.
Joe had on his cop face.
“We are on the I-95 corridor. Everyone knows we’re in the pipeline. Why, I’ve been told one of the high schools near I-95 has high heroin usage.” Jon mentioned.
“Heroin?” Sylvia queried, wrinkling her nose. “I couldn’t do that. Ugh. Needles.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“Be that as it may,” Jon told her, “Heroin has become a cheap high.”
“And Deerton, has the highest illegal drug usage in the state,” Carol comment.
“Really?” Mary asked. “I had no idea.”
Carol and Joe nodded their heads simultaneously, and grimly. Joe still had his ‘cop face’ on.
Sylvia wanted to change the subject to a more positive one. She turned to Skip and commented that she really liked some of the new boats he was selling at the marina.
He nodded. “They are beauties,” he agreed, “and with the fuel prices coming down again, we are selling more.”
Sylvia sighed dreamily, “I love the design of those Buick power boats.”
Skip looked blankly at her. Puzzled, he asked, “Buick power boats? We don’t have anything by Buick. That’s a car. What boats are you talking about?”
Owen chuckled and ruffled Sylvia’s hair. She lightly slapped his hand away. “Sylvia is referring to the Regal power boats,” Owen explained.
Skip realized Sylvia’s error, and started to chuckle, then guffaw and he laughed loud and long until tears streamed from his eyes. “Oh, Sylvia,” he told her when he had recovered himself. “I will have to remember your comment. That was good.” He slapped his knee and went off into another gale of laughter.
His laughter was contagious and soon everyone was laughing, except for Sylvia.
“An honest mistake,” she started to say, trying to recover from her embarrassment. But, Skip’s laughter was contagious and soon she became caught up in the genial mood as well.
Jon whistled, “You have excellent taste in boats, Sylvia,” he told her. “Regal yachts, those are definitely dreamboats.”
Sylvia had wanted to lighten the mood. She had inadvertently done so with her blunder. For the remainder of the picnic, they laughed and talked with pleasant conversational topics. Every time Skip glanced her way, he would smile. As evening began to fall, the picnic began to break up. Skip and Maureen hurried home to help with the boats heading out to the boat parade. Many of the other community members disbanded to get to their own boats or beaches. Sylvia’s guests retired to her deck to wait for the fireworks.
Sylvia could hardly believe a year ago they were somber from Owen’s possible erroneous charge for Anna’s murder. A year ago he had been out on bail. Their Fourth of July celebration was quelled by the stress of the reality of the situation. She looked around the group, relieved to know that everyone was happy and well. Jon’s hand was resting on Percy’s head. Percy looked up at him adoringly, before he settled at Jon’s feet.
Percy. A year ago she could not have imagined having a dog in her life. All that had happened with Joyce’s murder and Tony’s crazed obsession flashed before her eyes. She gave an involuntary shiver.
Owen, whose arm had been lightly resting on Sylvia’s shoulder, felt the shiver. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Sylvia nodded.
“Penny,” he whispered to her.
“Just remembering,” she whispered back. “And, I’m very happy how things have turned out in this last year.”
Sylvia nestled closer to Owen. Beatific glances from Jon, Marian, and their parents were sent their way. They watched the parade of boats gather in a group at the head of the bay near the border of the town park, but a safe distance away from the barge that held the county’s fireworks. A loud crackle and boom exploded in the air as the fireworks show started from the town park. The sky was alight with colorful, blossoms of light and shooting rockets brilliant against the dark, blue-black sky. Boat horns squealed with delight and excitement but were soon drowned by the thunderous booms from the fireworks show.
“We’ll need to make our own fireworks in a bit,” Owen whispered in her ear.
She shivered, this time, in pleasure, as her insides melted at his suggestion and he trailed a finger over her ear and down her neck. Now the evening began to feel interminable as she looked forward to Owen’s promise.
When Jon, Marian, Phil, Anne, Joe and Carol had left, Mary yawned loudly.
“Whew! What a day!” she said as she yawned and stretched again. “I’m exhausted.”
“Mom, why don’t you head up to bed,” Sylvia directed her mother. “Owen and I will be happy to clean up.”
“All right, if you insist,” Mary replied, not really protesting, and starting to head out of the room to go up the stairs.
“We insist,” Owen told her. Behind her back he raised up his eyebrows with intent at Sylvia.
Another shiver of pleasure went through her. Mary went up the stairs, calling out ‘good night’ as she went. Owen commanded Percy to go up to bed, assuring him they would be up soon. He went up and they could hear him do the magic turn, turn, turn as he settled into a circle to sleep.
“Alone at last,” Owen told her quietly. He came up behind Sylvia, who was putting plastic wrap on the food and putting it in the refrigerator.
“Shh,” she warned him.
“The whole house fan is on,” he reminded her. “Your mom can’t hear us.” He let his hands roam over her and nibbled at her neck again.
Sylvia laughed lightly. “Let me get this cleaned up first,” she said, “and then you can
have your way with me.” Her voice trailed off huskily.
“Promise?” he asked, hesitant to take his hands from her.
“It will just be another couple of minutes if you help out,” she suggested.
They cleaned up the kitchen in no time. Owen took another chilled beer from the refrigerator and poured another glass of wine for Sylvia in one of their heavy acrylic wine glasses. She held up a hand in caution and stood silently, listening.
“I think everyone is asleep,” she whispered.
Owen nodded in response and they tiptoed out the French doors, down the steps of the deck to a Mayan hammock that was strung between the trees at the edge of the property near the little grove where Sylvia had found the Green Man’s mask. They settled into the hammock and balanced their drinks. Owen had his arm around Sylvia’s back and she leaned against him looking up at the dark shapes of leaves silhouetted against the starry night sky. All was quiet and peaceful. The bevy of boats that had paraded up the bay to see the fireworks had moved back to their moorings. Lights and low fireworks flashed off and on, like colorful fireflies, across the bay. Sylvia became lost in the starry sky and the breathing patterns of the tree auras above them. She could just faintly make out the tree auras, as they reached higher into the sky. It was a slow and sensual dance. Owen began his slow and sensual assault on her, running his other hand under her blouse and teasing her nipples. She groaned softly and he stopped the cries of pleasure with his mouth nibbling on her lips at first and then deepening the kiss. Sylvia’s hand lost its hold on the stem of the wine glass and it fell to the ground with a soft plunk. She didn’t care. She returned Owen’s sensuous assault with one of her own towards him.
Chapter 13
“Contentment is the only real wealth.” Alfred Nobel
It was nearing dawn when they returned to the house and into their own bed. Owen fell into a deep sleep, but Sylvia was restless. She had slept a few hours in the hammock, cuddled into Owen, their circadian rhythms, syncing them to a deep, restful sleep. Even though she had slept only a few hours after their lovemaking, Sylvia felt refreshed. Percy was alert, so she motioned for him to follow her down the stairs. She made a cup of coffee and let him run in the yard while she returned to the hammock with a steaming cup. Eventually he settled just underneath her, keeping silent and watching the bird activity on the bay with interest. Sylvia mused contentedly while sipping her coffee when she heard a rustle of leaves and a leafy face tickled her. Sylvia smiled and turned her face to the Green Man.
“You always know when I’m thinking of you, don’t you?” she asked him.
His chuckle was deep, and he pulled her more tightly into a hug. “Something like that,” he assured her.
Sylvia told him about Craig’s comment from the previous day that she was some sort of a jinx. It still niggled at her, unhappily. The Green Man listened to her worries.
“There always needs to be a balance,” he told her. “There will always be good to match the wrong in life. You can’t stop the balancing act.”
“Okay,” Sylvia said slowly. “But, I thought you were here to overcome the evil.”
“I am,” he replied. “I strive to create more good in the world. But, there still needs to be a balance.”
“So there will always be bad things that can happen?” Sylvia asked.
She could feel his sadness before he answered, “Unfortunately, yes,” he told her. “You see, every little thing you do, no matter how minute, whether it is a thought or an action, affects the balance. And, it’s not just you,” he explained, “It’s everything -- even the smallest thing in this universe. The balance is constantly shifting .”
“A shifting sea of sand,” Sylvia quoted softly, not remembering where she had heard it.
“Exactly,” the Green Man said before he added with a little exasperation in his voice, “and you humans, who have the brain power that you are dearth to use, consistently make choices that affect the balance in a negative way.”
Sylvia ruminated on this for a few minutes. She and the Green Man swayed in a gentle rhythm in the hammock.
“And me?” she asked quietly. “Why me?” she asked him again.
The Green Man’s sigh tinged with frustration at her lack of understanding and said, “You are one of many beings that help the balance. You are a blessing,” the Green Man assured her.
They continued to sway slightly, neither talking, just having the pleasure of the closeness of friends. Sylvia was absorbed in his compliment and kept trying to form questions or ideas of how she could help. But, the words were muddled and did not develop clear thought. She sank into a happy, dreamlike state with the Green Man next to her, enjoying his presence.
Mary’s voice broke the stillness, “Syl?” she called out to the yard, “Sylvia? Where are you?”
The Green Man’s leaves rustled, and he disappeared in an instant. Sylvia sighed. She was just starting to get a few answers to the myriad of questions she had for the Green Man. She sighed again.
“I’m here, Mom,” she answered, “In the hammock.”
Percy ran over to Mary as she stepped from the deck into the yard. “Oh! I was wondering where you were. Did Owen’s snoring chase you from bed?”
“Sort of,” Sylvia said. “but, I also just love coming out to enjoy the morning. It makes me happy.”
Sylvia sat up and her mother joined her on the hammock, sitting next to her.
“You are so much like your grandmother,” Mary told Sylvia. “When I was growing up, she was always the first one up. Sometimes it was like a game to find her in the morning,” her mother reminisced. “Usually, she was outside, fiddling with the plants.”
Her mother didn’t often reminisce and Sylvia listened with interest.
Her mother continued, “Sometimes, I remember, I thought she was talking with someone, but no one was ever around. When I was little, I would run to find the person she was talking to and no one was ever there. She would laugh and remind me she would talk to her plants to make them grow better. Sometimes, I even imagined there was a voice that answered her. It was a man’s voice. But, it was my imagination,” her mother mused, shaking her head.
It must have been the Green Man, Sylvia thought to herself. It had to have been him. She would need to remember to add that question to her long list of queries for him. They continued to sit quietly for a few minutes watching the sun and the water and the sky. The dappled sunlight from the trees above made patterns on them.
Sylvia finished her coffee and stared into her empty cup before she said, “I really miss Gran,” she told her mother.
“Me too,” her Mom returned quietly. “She would certainly have loved helping to plan this wedding. We should go in and get some breakfast before we head out. Aren’t Carol, Marian, and Anne joining us? “
“Yes,” Sylvia said perfunctorily, “back to wedding plans.”
She put a hand under her mother’s elbow and helped her get out of the hammock.
“Come on, Percy,” she told her dog, “time to go inside.”
Percy heard her but raced around the yard and down to the water in a wild streak. Sylvia and Mary laughed.
“Come on, Percy,” Sylvia ordered.
He looked up at her when she called his name. Sylvia patted her hand on her leg and he raced around the yard in one last circle before he trotted up to her and into the house obediently. She shook her head at him.
Awhile later, Sylvia and Mary picked up Anne and Marian. They were to meet Carol at the bakery in Havre de Grace. The owner, Diane de Franco, had asked them to come after nine and before noon. They had settled on 10:30 to meet to discuss cakes. Diane seemed surprised, but not upset when the entire group descended upon the tiny bakery that was a restored, vintage gas station. The inside of the old gas station had been gutted. Diane led them through the door from the sales area into the old garage bay that now held ovens, sinks, storage and long counters of work space. What had been the small retail store of the gas station was tran
sformed into a quaint bakeshop. It had buttery yellow walls and bright recessed lighting. Lighted cases held pastries, cookies and cupcakes and a small rack held baskets of fresh bread and rolls. There was a small table that held a Keurig coffee machine with racks of choices. It smelled divine.
They crowded into the small conference room. One of the bakery assistants told them to help themselves to coffee or tea and went to get additional chairs. Photos of brides, grooms, and their wedding cakes were on the walls and a thick scrapbook of photographs of Diane’s cakes lay on the table along with a legal pad and pen. There were a few issues of a magazine called, “Cake Craft” devoted to wedding cakes. They settled in. After introductions, Diane picked up her pad of paper and pen.
“So, Sylvia,” Diane began, “tell me about your wedding. Tell me when, where, colors, your dress, and your ideas about the cake.”
So Sylvia told her. She told Diane about the pergola and the curtains, the marina, the yacht club and her dress. Carol pulled out her phone and shared photos of Sylvia’s dress, shoes, and the attendant dresses. Diane asked her about numbers of guests and thoughts on cakes. Sylvia paused at this. She admitted to Diane that she did not have many ideas about cakes with the exception that she wanted to keep it fairly simple.
“Well,” Diane replied, “first question -- round or square?”
Sylvia looked at everyone. Anne, who had been looking at the cake scrapbook with Marian, pointed out an elegant square cake to Sylvia. Everyone oohed and ahhed.
“All of these cakes are lovely,” Anne commented.
“But, I do like the square ones,” Sylvia said.
“You mentioned leaves as a sort of theme,” Diane commented and asked, “in the curtains on the pergola and in the lace of your dress. Do you want leaves on your cake?”
“Well…” Sylvia said slowly, “I don’t want the autumn leaves theme. I didn’t like any of the cakes with fondant leaves that I looked at on the internet.”
The Blossoming: The Third book in The Green Man Series Page 10
