“Okay,” she said, feeling numb. “Just like that?” she asked very quietly.
She took another deep breath and felt shaky on the inside. She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t even know what to say to Owen.
Owen nodded and put the mail down on the table. He went through the kitchen and upstairs to pull together his clothes. Sylvia stood still as a statue with the frying pan still hanging from her hand. She stood like that until Owen came back down the stairs his arms loaded with clothes. She still didn’t know what to say and silently opened the door for him. When she closed it she realized she still had the frying pan in her other hand and it struck her funny. She giggled momentarily as she put it down with a brief thought to bean Owen on the head to knock some sense into him.
He came in to get more things from the bedroom and the bathroom.
He paused in the kitchen and said, “I think this is it.”
Sylvia was a welter of emotions. She nodded, not speaking. Part of her wanted to scream at him and pound on his chest and yell, “What the hell are you doing!” But nothing came out. She still didn’t know what to say to stop him from going. He stood awkwardly in the doorway with his arms loaded with clothes.
“Well,” he said awkwardly, “I’ll be seeing you.”
Sylvia still stood silently. She had a hard time meeting his eyes, but when she did so, she did so with an even stare. She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Owen left and Sylvia closed the door behind him. She sank down in a chair at the kitchen table and listened to Owen start his car and go down Bayside road. She sat, staring unseeingly at the stack of mail and the bridal magazine, from some unknown origin staring back at her with cover stories on “honeymooning in exotic locales,” “great dresses for all figure types,” and “steps to save for the wedding of your dreams.”
“Damn magazine,” she said out loud. She wondered where it had come from. It was clearly addressed to her and had the correct spelling of her name and address. She sat silent for a long time.
“Jackass,” she muttered, referring to Owen, and Sylvia burst into tears.
What a strange evening it had been and all over a stupid magazine, or was it? A burning smell filled the kitchen and she realized the oven fries she had put on for dinner were now burning. She rushed over to turn on the fan above the stove and opened the oven. Smoke billowed out and charred French fries lay on the pan like small corpses. She set it on top of the stove and opened the kitchen door as the smoke alarm had started to bleat loudly with an annoying sound. She whooshed the smoky air outside with her hands into the cold winter’s night as best she could. Belatedly, she remembered that her mother and grandmother told her that a candle would help eliminate some of the smoke. Sylvia hurried to the study to pull the candles off the mantle and lit them in the kitchen. When the smoke had abated she shut the door and blew out the candles. She wasn’t hungry anymore.
The alarm went off briskly and Sylvia looked around. She had awakened with her body over on Owen’s side of the bed. Memories of the previous evening came back to her. She rubbed her eyes, sticky from the tears that had eventually come. The hot shower washed away the tears still on her face and the ones that leaked from her eyes during the shower. She dressed automatically and went downstairs to make herself a couple of cups of coffee and sat at the table, still waking up, staring at the mail. Underneath the infamous magazine lay a couple of bills and a postcard from Marian and Jon relaying their delight in touring England. Marian wrote a post script mentioning she would like to have Sylvia and Owen join them on the next trip.
Sylvia rolled her eyes. This ‘breaking up,’ and she wondered if that’s what it was called, was almost like a death. Everyone she knew expected Owen and her to get married down the road. In her heart, Sylvia did too. It would be easier to write an obituary about the relationship than to tell everyone what had happened. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed out to her car.
When she turned on her car, Jethro Tull blasted from the speakers. It was Owen’s CD. She had forgotten she had borrowed it from his room at Marian’s house. She turned it off, not wanting to hear it at the moment and switched to a local radio station as she let the defroster work on the frosted windows instead of scraping them. She felt numb and half listened to the news as she put the car into gear and headed to Thurmont.
The parking lot had a few more cars in it this morning, but the workforce was still skeletal. Sylvia noticed Owen’s car was not in the lot and she sighed briefly with relief. She didn’t want to see him this morning.
She scooted into her office before going down the hall and making coffee. She poured a bunch of change into the vending machine and extricated gooey looking Danish.
After she had eaten she texted her best friend, Gwen. “Did u send me a bridal mag?”
Not expecting an immediate reply she powered up her computer and went back to the projects she had started the day before. She worked until she thought her eyes would glaze over from staring at the computer screen for so long. Checking the time, she saw it was 11:30, early enough for her to get lunch. She locked the office door and headed to the cafeteria thinking wistfully of all of the lunch goodies she and Owen had purchased the night before, but had totally forgotten about this morning. The cafeteria was really not catering to the few people working this week.
Sylvia pondered over the sandwiches and the salads. Nothing really appealed to her, but her stomach was grumbling. She settled on a turkey sandwich with chips and a soda. The cashier was coughing and sneezing up a storm. Sylvia backed up a step or two when she approached the register. The cashier finished sneezing and wiped her nose with what looked like a well-used piece of tissue.
“You sound terrible!” Sylvia said gingerly handing over her money.
The cashier nodded her head, before sneezing loudly once again. She looked at Sylvia with rheumy eyes from coughing too much, before sneezing loudly again into the same worn piece of tissue.
Sylvia gingerly took her change and returned to her office to eat. She sat at her desk and her phone beeped with a text from Gwen. Sylvia could almost see her puzzled face when Gwen texted “What?”
Sylvia decided to call her.
“Hello,” Gwen answered in a whisper.
“I take it this isn’t a good time?” Sylvia said into the phone.
“Can I call you back tonight?” Gwen asked.
“Sure,” Sylvia said. “No problem.”
“Email me what’s up, okay?” Gwen asked.
“Sure,” Sylvia said, hanging up and feeling alone.
She crunched her chips and emailed Gwen what had happened the previous night. As she wrote about the situation, her shock turned to anger. She vented by writing to Gwen. Afterwards she felt much better, but didn’t feel like working. The afternoon passed by slowly and, as soon as she could, she locked the door and left for home.
It felt strange to drive home alone without Owen. She wondered how his day went. At home she cooked a small portion of hamburger and froze the rest. The Ben and Jerry’s ice cream filled her vision when she opened the freezer. Before she knew it she pulled out the pint and was sitting at the table with a spoon and the container savoring each mouthful—especially the chunks of chocolate chip cookie dough. As she ate the ice cream she leafed through the infamous bridal magazine. Some of the dresses were incredibly beautiful just as others were incredibly ugly. The phone jangled as she ate the ice cream. The caller ID showed Gwen’s cell.
“Hey, girlfriend,” Gwen said with concern in her voice. “How are you holding up? I can’t believe there’s trouble in paradise.” That’s what she called Sylvia’s development instead of Bayside.
Sylvia had held it together for the last twenty four hours, but emotions rose to the surface when she heard Gwen’s query.
“I – I-I’m okay,” she stammered to her friend.
“No, you’re not,” Gwen said gently.
Tears of anger and anguish spilled down Sylvia’s cheeks. Gwen was patient u
ntil her friend got herself together.
“So the bridal magazine caused all of this?” she asked.
“I guess so,” Sylvia said, “But, I think it was the straw that broke the camel’s back,” she told Gwen. “He said he was feeling pressure from his Mom and my Mom…” she trailed off. “I don’t think I was part of the push, but I don’t know at this point,” she confessed. “It was all so strange and I have no idea how or why this magazine was sent to me.”
Sylvia hiccoughed a little and ate another spoonful of ice cream.
“Wow,” Gwen said, “That’s really tough. He’s really betrayed your trust.”
“I’m not ready to analyze it yet,” Sylvia confessed, “but, I would like to find out who sent this damn magazine. Granted, we had settled into a somewhat pedantic rhythm, but things weren’t bad. I think it was just the after effects of everything that happened this summer.” She stopped for a moment and sighed. “I guess I really don’t know. And what a coward he is for not wanting to even talk. He just ran off!”
“Hang in there, my friend,” Gwen told her, “But, be assured I did not send the magazine. I have enough to do with this wedding! Sometimes I think I should elope!”
Sylvia heard her friend smile through all of this and didn’t believe a word about eloping. She also heard Gwen’s fiancé, Frank, in the background.
“I’ll let you go,” Sylvia said. “Thank you for calling.”
“Of course!” Gwen said, surprise in her voice. “What are friends for? I’ll be in touch with you, okay?”
“Okay,” Sylvia said, feeling a little bit better.
She put the almost empty ice cream container in the freezer and closed the door thoughtfully. Her shock and hurt were turning to anger. Owen just ran out with no thought of talking about what was going on. Had she been blind to how threatened he was feeling about the relationship? They’re mutual friendship had always been an anchor but it didn’t seem to be important or even apparent to him at the moment. His ‘cutting and running’ from her was a shock and surprise. How could she analyze it? She had walked into the study to turn on the television and watch the weather. She glanced at the wall, and at the mask of wood she had picked up from the bonfire a week ago. What would the Green Man say to this – some wise words or just a hug to comfort her?
Chapter 5
Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life.
Seneca
Sylvia awoke with her nose tickling and her throat sore. She flopped back on the pillows with a sigh.
“That damn cashier gave me this cold,” she thought. “Great,” she added sarcastically. Her head felt fuzzy with the congestion and it hurt to swallow.
She explored the contents of Gran’s medicine cabinet for cold medications. Knowing the effort probably futile as Gran had preferred naturopathy or homeopathic medications, Sylvia took a chance. No luck. Her mother had discarded all of Gran’s remedies when they cleaned out her things months ago. She showered, dressed and popped a couple of ibuprofen as she headed to work.
It was a long morning. In a few hours her body was a quilt of aches and pains and she had worked her way through the bulk of the Kleenex from the box on her desk. She finally gave up and emailed Mr. Keely in human resources stating she was ill and heading home. He wasn’t her favorite person, but with her boss away, she thought she should report it to someone. He replied with a professional, but curt reply that the hours would be deducted from her sick and vacation leave. She didn’t care. She just wanted something for the cold symptoms and to curl up in her bed.
She stopped at the grocery store that was thankfully sparse of shoppers on her way home to pick up chicken soup, orange juice, soda and additional Kleenex. The cold aisle was full of remedies and very confusing. Sylvia looked over several packages trying not to sneeze. She finally chose one for the day and one for the night and proceeded to the ice cream aisle for more Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Further down the aisle was a somewhat familiar face. It was a woman who lived a few doors down, one of the nouveau riche who had knocked down a lovely older house and build a modern monstrosity. She was laughing and cuddling up to someone who wasn’t her husband. What was her name? Sylvia’s head was so stuffy she felt that she couldn’t even remember her own name. Sylvia kept her head down and didn’t want this woman to see her when she had red eyes and a runny nose. This woman was the perfect Barbie doll of a woman, wearing high heeled boots -- very high heeled, skin tight black leggings and a fur coat. She wore lots of heavy jewelry and her diamond sparkled down the aisle. That woman’s hair was perfect and so was her make up. Sylvia felt dowdy just looking at her. She turned and scooted as naturally and as quickly as possible down the aisle in the opposite direction.
Joyce, Sylvia remembered her name along with the memory of the Christmas party. The woman was Joyce Capaselli, Sylvia’s neighbor from down the street.
Sylvia and Owen had shared a laugh over Joyce after the community’s Christmas party as she was flirty and sitting on the lap of any man she could. Joyce and her husband Tony lived in New Jersey. Their house on Bayside was one of several vacation homes, according to Joyce, who had regaled the party guests with tales of her other vacation homes. She did not win over the loyal residents of Bayside, many of whom considered the neighborhood a hidden paradise. Joyce kept referring to the Bayside neighborhood as “a provincial place” with a brilliant smile and a slightly acidic tone.
Joyce was the light to Tony’s dark. He had black hair and piercing blue eyes and had worn a black turtleneck and black jeans and boots. Joyce, on the other hand, had worn a low cut winter white cashmere sweater that gave a decent view of her ‘assets’ as it slid off one shoulder, winter white silk capris and high heeled gold and white sandals. She sparkled in gold and diamonds. Joyce’s hair was a highlighted many shades of blonde and she had artfully applied heavy makeup.
Sylvia was surprised when Joyce asked her where her primary residence was at the party as a conversation starter. Sylvia replied she was lucky enough to live at Bayside as her primary residence and Joyce stopped the conversation briefly to stare at her and then moved on to others to talk to. Joyce practically lorded over Sylvia the fact that she and her husband had several homes and the one in Bayside was a play house for her with its many bedrooms, elaborate deck and incredible windows that reached two stories. Tony, her husband, had been rather aloof that evening. He was cordial when introduced, but didn’t really converse with too many people. He held his drink and nursed it, watching his wife carry on in her never ending flirt. Occasionally she would hang on his arm calling him Anthony. He seemed to shudder inwardly when she did that.
Joyce and her friend were coming down the aisle and Sylvia walked the other way, her back towards this woman. She headed for the express checkout as fast as she could.
Once she was home Sylvia dumped her coat, ate a couple of saltines and drank a dose of the cold medicine that promised relief of symptoms with no sleepiness. Crawling into bed with a book, it was only minutes before she fell asleep. She woke up later, hungry, grumpy and a little cold.
Sylvia put on her oldest pair of sweat pants, a t-shirt and sweatshirt along with insulated socks, which she had forever borrowed from Owen, and her old fuzzy slippers. She draped a blanket over her shoulders and made her way down to the living room where she could bump up the thermostat to get warmer and put on a can of soup to heat in the microwave. God, she felt awful. She remembered that Gran’s remedy for a cold was equal parts of honey, whiskey and lemon and then to bundle yourself and sweat it out. It didn’t sound bad at the moment. She would have to look for the whiskey in the cabinet where Gran had kept the liquor. The microwave beeped and she took her mug of soup into the study where the television was. As the soup cooled, Sylvia flipped from channel to channel. Nothing looked interesting. The home shopping channels hosts were more animated than most of the programs. Sylvia marveled at their sales techniques, but was too tired to be beguiled into any purchases. Weary from her
foray into consciousness, she went back to bed.
Chapter 6
s
Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.
Buddha
Ten hours of sleep made Sylvia feel only slightly better. She forced herself awake to peer blearily at the clock beside the bed. It was after seven. She lay back with a thump and went over reasons why she should stay home from work. Since it was New Year’s Eve and Thurmont was only open for half of the day, Sylvia was convinced fairly quickly, to email a message to Mr. Keely that she would be out again today. He wouldn’t care. No one would care, Sylvia thought. Her head was raging, stuffed and aching; her throat was still a mass of prickles. She sighed. The cold medicine had worn off long ago. She groaned as her muscles ached with each step.
Coffee was not on her list of choices this a.m. She wondered if Gran had any tea left and rummaged through the cupboard. Success came with a squashed box filled with tea bags. Sylvia put the water on to boil and went to turn on her computer.
She surfed through the headlines before answering the shrill call of the tea kettle. Remembering what Gran had said about warming the teapot, Sylvia rinsed out the teapot of dust it had collected in the last several months, and then added some boiling water to swish around before placing the teabags inside. She covered the pot in a bright boiled wool tea cozy that Gran had received from a friend as a gift. Sylvia had thought it a hat years ago when Gran had opened the Christmas package and she swiftly snatched it off with a gentle scold and told Sylvia what it was really used for.
As the tea steeped she composed an email to Mr. Keely and cc’d herself and her boss that she would be out again today. This effort made her tired, but Sylvia took a mug and the teapot into the living room to sit and stare out at the water, as it glimmered in the predawn light. It was almost luminous. She wondered if the light from the water was due to a bright, icicle of a moon in the pre-dawn sky. The tea felt heavenly on her sore throat as she had scooped out a bit of honey to sweeten it. Colds were nasty. She still hurt all over but was too tired to get up to get some aspirin. She pulled a warm fuzzy throw over her and fell asleep again.
The Leafing: the 2nd book in The Green Man series Page 5
