by Rhett DeVane
Melody shrugged. “We didn’t do anything, Karen, except hold our hands over you.”
Karen’s face glowed.
“Take your time getting up, now.” Hattie motioned for the group to remove their hands. “We can let you have some time alone if you need it.”
“That’s not necessary. I just realized something. I’ve spent my entire life to this point, isolated, even when I was surrounded by people. I don’t intend for that to happen again. Not ever.”
“Food is just something to keep you alive. Nothing my mother did ever impressed me. She was just this mousy little powerless blob. Never stood up to my father—not even until the day she died. When I need comfort, I shop. Certainly, I can take care of myself. And I never want to think of my wimpy mother when I think of comfort. That’s for certain.”
Trisha Truman
Chapter Forty-three
The transformation from emotional hermit to valued confidant was so gradual, Karen couldn’t pinpoint the exact beginning. At first, conversations with Chattahoochee’s women were confined to their gentle inquiries about her health and the progress of therapy. Later, recipes were discussed and exchanged. Karen realized she had become privy to many aspects of the area families’ lives: children, grandchildren, births and deaths, and the endless stream of daily minutiae. Tentative initially, she soon shared details of her wishes and dreams. The excitement of starting a new painting. The joy of noting the abundance of flowering plants and shrubs—capturing just the right shade of deep coral for the crape myrtle blooms or the creamy beige of magnolia blossoms. The women listened intently, as if they, too, struggled with the best shade of cerulean blue to express the depth of a cloudless summer sky. The concept of subtlety was not lost on them, for each strived for perfection in one form or another.
Epiphanies came to Karen as often as she allowed her stagnant spirit to stretch and unfold to envelop the people around her. At first, she feared the newfound sense of community existed only in her hometown. Soon, she noticed the same ease with strangers she met in Tallahassee. Could it be that she might be able to foster the novel talent and form close bonds wherever she and Donald chose to make a home?
More and more, Karen understood that it was she, not the rest of humanity, who had sent her into isolation, to hide behind the mask of fake identity.
Elvina Houston’s philosophy stated the obvious in plain words: “If a troubling situation keeps popping up over and over, playing itself out in much the same fashion time after time, and you are the common thread; then, perhaps, you are the root of the problem, not everyone else you’ve been trying to lay the blame on.”
For early August, the morning temperature was unseasonably comfortable. Following a week of mid-nineties and one hundred percent humidity, a cool air mass from the north muscled into the Florida Panhandle bringing welcomed relief. Karen moved her easel to the corner of the patio beside the mimosa tree. The outline of a magic praying tree took form in the center of the canvas as she sketched with charcoal. Below, in the wispy shadows cast by its lacy fern-like foliage, two indistinct figures faced each other.
“You again, Mary Elizabeth?” Karen leaned back, smiled, and took a sip of black coffee. The last four paintings featured her mirror image alter-ego in various settings. Two distinct themes were clear in the series of paintings: Karen vs. cancer and the cave, and Karen vs. Mary Elizabeth Kensington.
A stealthy movement caught her attention. She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you people ever give up?” she yelled. “Might as well step out from behind the hedge so you can get a better shot!”
Trisha Truman stood and pushed through the row of wax-leaf ligustrum. A glint of metal flashed in her right hand. Definitely not a camera.
Karen felt the thud of her pulse in her throat as Trisha edged closer.
“Don’t you move, you bitch!” Trisha’s voice, thick with hatred.
Karen stood slowly, her hands held in front of her. “Wait, Trisha. Calm down. What are you doing here?”
Trisha’s temples pulsed as she clenched her teeth. “Like you don’t know.”
Karen willed her voice to remain calm and even. “I’ve been out of the loop for a long time, Trisha. I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why don’t you put the gun down, and we’ll sit and talk.”
“No!” The blonde’s trigger finger twitched.
Karen closed her eyes and forced a deep, even breath. “Can you at least tell me why you are standing there with a gun pointed at me?”
Trisha laughed, a high-pitched demented sound like shattering glass. “You stupid bitch! You’ve ruined my life.” She began to sob; her shoulders curled forward. “Donald was supposed to be mine. We would’ve been happy. D. J.’s smile. My looks and talent. Our children would’ve been beautiful and amazing. You were the only reason he didn’t come to me. He wanted to. I could see it in his eyes every time he looked at me. You destroyed everything! My job. My love. My life!”
Karen took a tentative step toward her.
“No! Get back!” Trisha snapped the gun barrel level. “I mean it!”
Both women jumped when the phone trilled. After three rings, Karen said softly, “That’ll be my mother. If I don’t answer, she’ll be here to check on me in less than five minutes.”
Trisha motioned with the gun barrel. “Go ahead. But you say one word about me, I swear I’ll blow your damn head clean off.” Her glassy red-rimmed glare reinforced the warning.
“Oh, hello Mother.” Karen spoke deliberately, emphasizing each word. “Yes, I’m fine . . . uh-huh . . . ”
Karen heard Elvina Houston’s voice on the other end: “This isn’t your mama, honey. Don’t you know who I am? You hitting the pain medication this morning? Or did I just wake you up?”
“That’s right, Mo-ther. I’m fine. You shouldn’t come over right now. But I think you’re right about Rich Burns. I’d feel much better if you called him right away. Okay, mother? Love you! Bye!” Karen smiled as she slowly replaced the phone on a table beside the easel. “My mom—such a worry-wart. She doesn’t talk to me once an hour, she gets nervous.”
“Who’s that Rich person?” Trisha’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh.” Karen waved one hand dismissively. “Mother’s business affairs. He’s some guy she buys wholesale fabric from over in Tallahassee. They had a bit of a misunderstanding. Mama was up fretting about it most of last night. You’d have to know my mother to understand—”
“Shut up!” Trisha rubbed her temple with the fingers of her left hand. “I don’t need all the damn details of your dull interbred family!”
“Your head hurt?” Karen forced concern into her voice. “I have just about any kind of pain reliever in the house. I could go get you—”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Karen felt the fear slip from her shoulders like a shed snakeskin. A sense of calm cloaked her. “You know what, Trisha? I just don’t feel well enough to stand here in my parents’ garden looking down the barrel of a handgun.” She plopped down on a lawn chair. “You came to say something to me, obviously. Spit it out, or go ahead and shoot.” She laughed. “I’ve felt so rotten after this last round of chemo, it might actually be a relief.”
“You have D. J. snowed, and Will. You never fooled me. I knew you were plastic from the minute we met.”
Karen shrugged.
“I should be the one.” Trisha sniffed. “Should’ve been me! You’ve ruined my life.” The gun shook in her hands. “You made me do things—bad things.”
“Let me get this straight. I’m responsible for you perpetrating the terrorist hoax that ended you in jail? That is rich. How’d you manage to get out, by the way?”
Trisha’s expression oozed into a tight grin. “Judge decided to set bail.”
“Fortunate for you . . . less so for me, so it seems.” Karen cast about for words to fill the time. “Did you offer to sleep with him, Trish? How’d you work that out?”
Behind Trisha, Rich Burns stepped stealthily around the
edge of the house and nodded to Karen.
“Just like you to try to take over, Mary Elizabeth, uh, Karen! Make me say and do things to your liking! I’m famous. Did you know that? Oh, I forgot. You probably don’t get the national news way down here in Cretin-ville. My picture’s been on all the major networks. You can’t say the same.”
“Not unless you count the footage a few months back when you exposed me to the world. Thanks, by the way.”
“Well yeah. But I’ve still made the news more than you.”
Rich crept up slowly behind Trisha and pointed his 9 mm directly at the base of her skull. “Put the gun down, Miss. And no one will get hurt,” he said, his order reinforced by the metallic click of the pistol being cocked.
Trisha closed her eyes and released a loud breath. She lowered the weapon. Hung her head. Hanks of matted bleached-blonde hair clung to her face. As Rich stepped forward, Trisha snapped the gun level, took aim and fired. Karen dove to one side as the bullet whizzed past and ricocheted off the mimosa’s trunk.
Rich tackled Trisha, sending her face down in the grass. He slammed her wrist twice before dislodging the handgun, then gathered her arms behind her back. In a few seconds, she was secured in handcuffs.
Another officer finally arrived. “Sorry, Rich. I was clean up at Lake Seminole when I got the call.”
Rich helped Trisha to her feet. Her demented gaze fell briefly on Karen before the second officer led her away.
“You okay?” Rich asked as he helped Karen to her feet.
Karen brushed the dried grass from her shorts. “Yeah. Obviously, Elvina figured out my cloaked call for help. I don’t know what would’ve happened had you not gotten here.” She gave the police chief a gentle hug. “I’d better ride on up to the Triple C and tell Elvina and Mama what happened in person. Let them see me with their own eyes. Lord help us both if someone calls up there first.” She shook her head. “All my years in journalism and broadcasting, and I can certainly say, that was the only time I’ve ever been shot at.”
“I’m not much of an eater. My mom used to blast me for just picking at my food. I go in spells. I won’t eat much for several days, then I’ll kill for a cheeseburger. My mother could always get me to eat a toasted cheese sandwich. No matter what. If I went several meals without eating to her satisfaction, she’d break out the hoop cheese, cut a thick slice, and melt it slowly between two pieces of toasted white bread. She knew how to do it just right so the cheese was all gooey and the bread was soaked through with butter and browned to perfection.”
Stephanie Peters, massage therapist
Chapter Forty-four
Karen stood at the water’s edge. A fine mist hung over Lake Lanier and curled at the bases of the pines and hardwoods along the shore. Fallen leaves in scarlet, lemon yellow, and burgundy floated by, framing the mirror image of the trees they had once adorned. October: her favorite month. In North Georgia, it signaled the start of crisp evenings laced with the scent of wood fires, foliage so brilliant it stung her eyes, and cable-knit-sweater mornings spent hugging a steaming mug of black coffee.
Her hair was back—curly, thick, and a shade darker—with a mind of its own. Some of her weight had returned, also. Her face, no longer gaunt, wore the blush of renewed health and vigor. Every morning, she walked the streets around the lake with Sugar-Britches, their newly-adopted two-year-old rescue Springer Spaniel, loping by her side. The cats were blissfully happy with the spacious new digs, especially the screened-in back porch facing the lake. Taizer no longer ruined D. J.’s shoes, and Tequila had found a new lease on life with the abundance of squirrels and birds to watch. After the first few days of spitting and hissing, both cats ceased to pay any mind to the dog.
The immediate neighbors Karen already knew by first names, and many others she acknowledged on the daily outings. Anne McGaffey, the retired hairdresser two houses down, immediately befriended her. Because of the budding relationship, Karen was privy to the heartbeat of the small lakeside community. Anne was to Lake Sidney Lanier what Elvina Houston was to Chattahoochee: a good woman to count as an ally.
The loft study provided a perfect space for her art studio. Thanks to little Ruth Hornsby’s praise and promotion, Karen’s paintings, a series entitled Journey Through, now hung in a prestigious Atlanta gallery. Three pieces had been purchased for a respectable amount by a west coast collector. The inspirations kept flowing from her dreams, and she took full advantage of her muses.
Donald slipped his arms around her waist from behind. “Thought I’d find you out here. You’re up early.” He kissed her lightly on the hair. “You okay?”
“Uh-hmm. Just enjoying the view. I was thinking back to this time last year. I don’t know if I even noticed the leaves, or anything else for that matter.”
“We all get too busy with work sometimes.”
Karen shook her head. “It was more than that, Donald. It’s like I was dead inside. Just going through the motions. Now, ” she gazed out over the water, “I can’t wait to get up in the mornings to see if anything’s changed during the night. I’ve come alive, finally, and I’m nearly half-way through my life.”
“Some folks never wake up,” Donald said. “Hey, speaking of enjoying life, I’m taking the day off.”
Karen turned and hugged him tightly. “Wonderful! Is Will okay with that? I think he’d be over both of us by now, since I decided to retire.”
“He’ll get past it. Will’s a good guy. He’s just a little too caught up in the station. Actually, he told me he envied you.”
“Why?”
“For making a change, I suppose. The freedom, the adventure of starting something new.” Donald shrugged. “He’ll be the sort of guy who’ll have a mid-life crisis some day and show up in a fancy new red sports car or, God forbid, on a Harley.”
The image of her ex-boss clad in black leather festooned with silver studs atop a chrome-trimmed motorcycle made Karen laugh. “That would be rich!”
“Why don’t we throw a picnic lunch and the hound in the car and take a drive in the mountains? Shouldn’t be quite as crowded on a weekday.”
As they strolled arm-in-arm toward the cabin, Donald said, “Got an email from your mother, by the way. Obviously, she’s finally learned to work the fancy new computer your dad bought for her. She’s worried about your dress. Says she needs you to keep her up to date on any changes in your measurements so she can nip and tuck here and there as needed before the wedding.”
“They’re coming up for Thanksgiving. I can model for her then. Besides, if I keep going like I am now, I doubt nipping and tucking will be an issue. I’ll need a muumuu.”
The mountain laurel bushes bloomed in baby-pink clouds, contrasted by dark green waxy leaves. The effects of the recent warm days were apparent in the woods surrounding Lake Sidney Lanier. Barren trees sprouted new growth in brilliant tones of lime green. Squirrels scuttled in the overhead arbor, and songbirds auditioned for mates.
The day of D. J. and Karen’s wedding dawned with a chill in the flower-scented air, but warmed by mid-afternoon. The simple ceremony was held lakeside underneath an ivy-trimmed arbor. Hattie was matron of honor, and Will Cooke stood up for Donald. In the audience were the people they held dear: a small gathering of Chattahoochee friends, her family, coworkers from Georgia Metro, and a handful of neighbors.
Evelyn stood at the garden’s edge. Laughter and conversation from the reception filtered across the lawn.
“Mama? You okay? Why are you down here by yourself?” Karen held a half-filled champagne flute.
Evelyn swatted the air with one hand. “I’m perfectly fine, honey.” She smiled and pointed to a small woody bush bearing the signs of new life. “I just noticed you have a magic tree—a mimosa—on your property.”
Karen offered a slightly-intoxicated grin. “Well, what d’ya know! I hadn’t noticed it before. Must be a good sign. The one at home took a bullet for me.”
Her mother huffed. “That crazy Truman woman! Glad they
locked her up and threw away the key. Your father nursed that poor tree back to health. Mimosas lose their foliage during the cold weather, you know. So it was hard to say whether or not the hole she blasted in the trunk was going to be its undoing. Your daddy painted some concoction on the wound—same he uses when he prunes limbs so the bugs won’t set in. But come warm weather, your magic tree sent out new shoots. Reckon it’ll survive after all. Nature is a miracle of God, it is.”
“You and Daddy leaving tomorrow?”
Evelyn tucked a stray sprig of brown hair into the ribbon-trimmed bun at the nape of her neck. “Might as well. You and Donald’ll be heading off for your honeymoon. Most everyone else will be going on back home. Byron and Linda are taking the boys back down to Six Flags Over Georgia. Your daddy and I have been looking forward to driving up the Blue Ridge Parkway. We haven’t been on a real car trip for as long as I can recall.”
“We’re just taking a few days to wander the hills, too. We’ll save our big vacation until June when we go to Canada for the Alcan Dragon Boat Festival.”
Evelyn said, “I’m glad to hear you’re taking time to travel while you’re young. Gets harder as you get a few years on you.”
Karen pointed to the lakeside bench where Simpy and Stephanie sat. “What do you think will happen with those two?”
Evelyn cocked her head to one side. “Hard to say. Stephanie’s eat up with him, and he seems to feel about the same. Long distance love affairs are a chore, though. She loves a small town, and his work’s in the city.” She shrugged. “Who’s to say how they’ll figure that out.”
They watched the party for a moment.
“Elvina and your neighbor lady sure hit it off. Don’t imagine you could drop a bomb between them and they’d stop blabbing,” Evelyn said.
Karen chuckled. “Anne’s sweet, but she is a bit of a busybody. Heaven help, don’t tell her I said so. She has a computer, so I imagine she and Elvina will burn up the Internet back and forth.”
