Under the New Moon - Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

          “This is a gift from the gods of haute cuisine,” Cynthia complemented me as she chewed slowly a forkful of the spinach salad. She and Richard were having lunch with me in my newly furnished dining room.

          “Thank you Cynthia,” I said. “And I am so grateful to you. The house looks amazing now. This would have taken me months and it wouldn’t turn out half as fabulous.”

          “Don’t underestimate yourself, Lynn. You’re a joy to work with. Also, not having a tight budget was a big help,” Cynthia said.

          “You gals are lucky; it’s summer and they could deliver everything within a few days,” Richard sliced another piece of bread and buttered it. “Everything gets impossible during the tourist season."

          “There is some touching up to do but we’ll get to that later. I bet your daughter will love her room when she sees it,” Cynthia handed over her salad plate to me for a second helping.

          “I’m quite sure of that. Nora loves blue,” I said as I piled the salad on her plate.

          Nora’s room looked chic and feminine with an antique-white lacquered set on pastel-blue deeply piled wall-to-wall carpeting, pastel-blue and light-beige print wallpaper, matching bedspread and chiffon curtains over light-beige blinds. Cynthia and I had stood at the door and admired it after our composition had been put together. I had splurged on Nora’s room to make up for the fact that she wouldn’t live with me. This was my consolation prize; I sighed with a shiver, which I recognized as hope.

          “We have a home-owners association meeting tomorrow night. Why don’t you come with us, Lynn? You’ll meet the neighbors,” Cynthia offered.

          “All three hundred of them?” Richard quipped. “But don’t worry, most don’t attend. We consider ourselves lucky if there are twenty people besides the board members.”

          But at least fifty people buzzed around inside the meeting room at the Town Center, since a delicate zoning issue was on the agenda. Most had dressed casually in shorts and tees or knitted shirts. Clustered in groups, they discussed the matter at hand detachedly, as if it belonged to other people halfway around the world.

          “Lynn, come meet some friends of mine,” Cynthia took my hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

          Shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, I found out that the differences among these people were only a few. To begin with, more than half of them had migrated from Long Island, New York. Another one fourth was from the surrounding New England States. And age-wise, I really was among the babies.

          “I got the book you told me about and I love it.”

          I spun around to glimpse at Bruce Watson’s luminous face carrying a hint of a smile.

          “I’m glad,” I mumbled.

          “Did you know Lynn, Bruce?” Cynthia asked.

          “This young lady helped me in the library. But we were never officially introduced.”

          “Laura Lynn Ferguson. Please call me Lynn.” I stretched my hand.

Taking my hand, “Bruce Watson,” he said simply.

          Cynthia unleashed a cheerful smile. “Lynn bought the Quinn’s house and it looks awesome now.”

          “Thanks to Cynthia; she helped me,” I said. “I’m lucky to have such great neighbors.”

          “And we’re so happy to have you around,” Cynthia beamed.

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          Saturday, late afternoon after the library hours, I went to Publix for my weekly food shopping.

          “Two for $5 is a very good price, wouldn’t you say?”

          I turned my head to the woman shopper pointing to the roasters. Such talkative people! Everyone talked to anyone anywhere in this town.

          “I was trying to decide whether to buy fish instead, but you’re right. It’s a good buy.”

          “We can cook one tonight and freeze the other for later,” she waved her head up and down, happy with her find.

          Yes, I could save one and as to the other... I bought the chickens.

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          After a light supper, I sat in the porch watching the dusk settle over the river and the neighborhood. The last colored streaks of the sky faded away and a dignified quiet pervaded the street as if upholding an honor; the honor of a magical strength hidden in the bosom of the waterway whose energy penetrated the entire region. Soon, the stars began sparkling inside the dark and moonless night.

          Suddenly I remembered the chickens.

         Should I? I marched inside and took one of the packages of poultry out of the refrigerator.

          ‘He will come,’ I thought. ‘He has to come.’

          I was curious if he would. Also in a strange unexplainable way, I felt seeing him again would make my questions and worries evaporate.

          In front of the kitchen door, some pesky mosquitoes started teasing me as I stepped out into the yard. “Next time,” I muttered, “I have to remind myself not to turn on the light.” Holding the chicken without its wrapping, I ventured close to the edge of the water, and laid it on the grass near the dock. Then I walked back inside.

          Hours passed. I must have dozed off on the wicker chair. A hissing sound, much different than the buzz of the insects and the croak of the frogs, woke me up. Hearing something slide on the grass, I rose to my feet, paced in silence to the side of the porch, and pressed my forehead against the screen, trying to make out the shapes in the dark. A short bellow, not as loud as the one I had first heard but musical nevertheless, echoed through the yard. The dark form with red-neon eyes turned around and swished at the edge of the water. He had come.

          ‘He’s my dragon,’ I thought. ‘My dragon of hidden treasures. He’ll convey to me the mysteries of the river and my life.’

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          The sun was glittering off the water when I set out toward the riverside in the morning. There was no chicken left near the dock. I simmered in joy, as I examined the water’s edge and the high grass bent and crushed under the weight of something hefty.

          “Lynn, come up here.” Cynthia was waving from her backyard. I turned toward her; she also took a few steps to my direction.

          “Good morning! Such a nice day, isn’t it?” I greeted her.

          “Good morning, Lynn. You gave me such a scare. I thought I saw you in the water alone. From my bedroom window, I could only see the embankment and the top of your head.”

          “Sorry about that. But relax; I never go in any water. People say I have a phobia. Don’t worry though; I like my showers,” I giggled.

          “Oh, You!” she said, amused. “What were you doing so close to the river?”

          “I was looking at the grass. It is so tall there.”

          “I know. The landscapers leave it like that on purpose. They say it prevents erosion.” Then, Cynthia changed the subject. “Last night I was going to call you but your lights were off.”

          “I went to bed early.”

          “I know you get up at dawn. Did you go jogging today?”

          “I am a little late, but maybe I’ll go for a short run around the block while it is still not so warm.”

          “I want to ask you something. The other night after we came home from the meeting, Richard and I thought of a little get-together. Just a few people from around here, you know. Would you come? We’ll be leaving soon and won’t be able to see people for several months.”

          “How nice! I sure will. Thank you for asking me,” I replied. “Can I help with anything?”

          “I was hoping you’d ask,” Cynthia grinned as if a mischief had succeeded. “We thought of having a barbecue in the porch. How about giving me your spinach salad recipe?”

          “Certainly. And I’ll make a big bowl of it and bring that over too, if it’s okay with you.”

          “Wonderful! It will be sometime during the next week, probably Wednesday. I’ll let you know, okay?”

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          The way people related to each other at parties, by putting their happy masks on and trying to appear casual at the same time, never failed to amaze and entertain me. And Cynthia’s barbecue party was no different. The only thing unplanned was the sudden late afternoon Florida thunderstorm, which made us scramble to move everything inside. In a way, maybe it was for the better since it forced my attention away from the river to the people.

          Bruce Watson was among the guests.

          “Cynthia tells me you are divorced and you have a daughter living with your ex, Lynn.” We were standing near a window, probably as the only two single persons in the party. Was this Cynthia’s match-making?

          “People easily walk away from me. Remarkable, isn’t it?” I said.

          “Did they all go that-a-way?” he asked pointing to the river from the window. “On the porch, before the storm started, you kept watching the river.”

          “I have my obsessions,” I smiled. “I bought the house because I fell in love with the river-view.”

          “We obsess with things we expect something from,” Bruce said. “You must be expecting something from the river.”

          “What about you, Bruce?” I changed the subject. “Do you have any children?”

          “I have two sons in the Air Force, at the West Coast. Unlike most of you New Yorkers here, my wife and I came down from Connecticut.”

          “That’s close enough, though. In clear weather, Bridgeport is visible from Port Jefferson.” I was attempting to steer the conversation away from me; yet, I didn’t want to mention his wife because Cynthia had told me that she had passed away a year ago.

          “I’m from Bridgeport; my wife was from New Haven.”

          “What made you move down here, if I may ask?”

          “Ask away, please,” he said in a good mood. “I accept life as it comes. People tiptoe around the negatives, making them even more negative. We moved to Florida ten years ago because of Judie’s arthritis. But it wasn’t the arthritis she died from. Pancreatic cancer took her away.”

          “I’m sorry,” I said.

          “So am I. We had been together since childhood.”

          There was a short pause. Neither of us knew what to say.

          “You still didn’t tell me what you expect from the river,” Bruce broke the silence. “There’s always a deeper reason when something attracts us.”

          “I don’t know exactly. Maybe I like the mystery of it. Maybe I expect a magical dragon out of it.” He would never guess how true that was.

          “A dragon instead of a knight. Now, that’s news!”

          “I found out what knights are made of. I think I’ll stick to dragons,” I grinned.

          “Now you have a great idea there. I wouldn’t mind meeting a yellow dragon myself.”

          “A yellow dragon?”

          “A yellow dragon emerged from the water and gifted the Emperor Fu Shi with the elements of writing. My manuscript needs a push.”

          “I would love to read your manuscript, if you ever want an opinion. I am not entirely alien to writing. I did several book translations in the past.”

          “Would you, please? That would be such help.”

          “Whenever you want me to. Let me know. Except the week after because my daughter will be visiting.”

          I liked Bruce. He was gentle; he had culture; and he wasn’t snotty like some people with education.

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          “I think you hit it off with Bruce,” Cynthia said after the party. Her eyes were gleaming with success.

          “He has a good mind and he’s a nice person.”

          “You don’t know how nice. You should see how he took care of his wife and how loyal to her he was,” Cynthia shook her head in admiration.

          “My daughter is coming the week after,” I told her to change the topic. “She called yesterday. She’ll stay for a week. Then she’ll go back to travel in Europe for a month and a half with her father and stepmother.”

          “Lynn, I’m glad she’s coming but I was hoping she’d spend the summer with you.”

          “Europe will be an education for her. I understand.”

          Cynthia tossed her head in defiance. “You’re too good,” she said. Then she gently slapped her face. “I hate old age. Things just spill out sometimes. Oh, I almost forgot. We’ll be going away to Marathon for a few days. Can you water my plants while we’re away? I’ll give you the keys. In summer, before we leave, I carry them over to Sylvia’s.”

          “Sure, no problem. And you don’t have to displace them in summer either. I’ll be here. I’ll water them.”

          “Thank you, Lynn. You’re such a sweetheart. But that is not all. There’s a little doggie. It is Caroline’s. I go over to her house and feed it once a day. It is two blocks from here. Caroline had a stroke. Until she comes back, I’m taking care of it. I can’t bring it here because of Richard’s allergies.”

          “I’m not much for pets either, but if you like I can keep him here in my house until you are back.”

          Because I didn’t want to turn Cynthia down, I accepted this pet assignment. I didn’t know why, but I always felt myself incapable with pets. Maybe I thought, if I had a pet, it could break or something. Part of this was my mother’s fault. She didn’t allow pets in the house while we were growing up. Darren let Nora have a poodle, which was mostly taken care of by the maid, and at the end the dog thought the maid was the mother.

          Maybe my lack of skill with pets was the reason for Nora to choose her father. Maybe this was why Justine protected me so much. Maybe my nomadic mind was wandering all over the place again.