Caribbean Crossroads (24 page)

Floral. Megan thought for a moment. “Wait, do you remember Mrs. Watts from the high school? She was always roped into doing corsages and boutonnieres for prom. I’ll talk to her.”

An hour later the floral emergency was contained. Megan had called the talented Greta Watts, a perpetually permed gray-haired woman with 50’s glasses and an instant knowledge of all community happenings. She had not only agreed to solve the floral crisis but to involve two other ladies. The success of the problem-solving energized Megan. And more than that, just connecting with Jillian and hearing her voice, her excitement, and the fact that she would even think of Megan days before making the most important decision of her life, made her feel purposeful and loved. It also didn’t hurt that Jillian knew how to deal with her post-Jackson mood swings—that she minimized Bryant’s no-show and helped her step back and put things in perspective.

At least for now. The tugging in her heart remained, even when she willed it to leave. Shaking her head to physically make it go away, Megan looked at the clock. Her roommate worked graveyard and would be home any minute to sleep. It had been a gift to find an apartment so quickly, and with only one other roommate. But it wouldn’t be for long—the contract was up at the end of December.

Megan sighed. She should be getting ready for the day, even though work was only five minutes down the street. But nothing compelled her to begin. The thought of going back into the pale yellow office with a parade of angry, tired, or apathetic faces made her want to pull the covers over her head. In one decisive motion, Megan reached for her running shoes. A few minutes later she left her apartment and drove to Putnam Pines Trail.

     Megan breathed deeply. Though not the Ruby Mountains, Putnam Pines was a mini man-made park version. Here the elevation gave the tepid Nevada air a crisp freshness. Step, step, breathe; step, step, breathe. The pungent pine smell enveloped her as did the tall lush evergreens on either side of the path. Earthy moss and fallen brown needles softened by the last rain quieted her footfall. Each step brought her closer to a mental picture she couldn’t yet define. Was it of Bryant? Of her, or of her life?

     Thumping across the forest floor, Megan covered the familiar ground. It was her favorite trail, the trees reaching high to the sky, yet the earth solid and sure beneath her. In a few more turns Megan would need to make a path change. Right for the higher but shorter route she had never taken that rounded an undiscovered corner, or left for the narrow but beautiful familiar path. Having been that way many times before she knew the spectacular views of the mountain landscape were worth the run.

Thump, thump went her shoes, rhythmic and steady.

Jillian was getting married, and she knew—knew—that Derek was the right one for her. Anyone could see it, could feel it around them, they were two halves of a whole. And Megan was truly happy for her. But what about
her
life? What was in store for her? School was done, she had a dead-end job, and a temporary apartment. The picture in her mind of something coming was the only thing she knew, except that she couldn’t shake the mixed feelings that meshed and twisted in her stomach. In the meshing was a dark and foreboding feeling that she instinctively turned from. But another feeling—light, soft, and welcoming—threaded through it as well.

Megan breathed deeper. Were the conflicting feelings part of the same experience, or was it a choice to make between the two? Thump, thump, thump on the soft pine needles. In the distance she could see the expected fork in the nature path. Running toward it, Megan felt a sense of decision before her. What was she going to choose?

Coming upon the split, Megan paused for a moment, jogging in place and eyeing both directions. Neither looked particularly ominous or promising. Which should she take today? Like Alice, Megan needed a Cheshire Cat. Hadn’t he said that it depended on where she wanted to go? Well, where did she want to go?

“Like an old lady,” that’s what Jillian had said. Or more like one of the forest birds, hopping from branch to branch and unable to make a decision or think. What had happened? Yes, she had burrowed deep within herself this last year but the summer had changed her, she knew that much. Feeling the dappled sunlight warm her face, she knew Bryant had opened that place in her again—the light, the good, the trust—enough that she couldn’t bar it shut tight like before.

Bryant.

And now he wasn’t coming. But did that matter? What would she have done three years ago? Even two? She would have gone forward anyway.

Megan eyed both paths. In a burst of choice, she ran to the undiscovered right, feeling a coolness in the immediate elevation as she ran up the incline and around the corner. Full clustered pines lined both sides of her path. She breathed deeply. She was still Megan, and returning to herself wasn’t a bad thing. And hadn’t she become a better version of herself through the summer? Memories flowed to her—wearing skirts, putting on makeup, being in a swimsuit again. She smiled without thinking. Splashing Bryant on the diving board, dancing on the deck, holding each other while watching the hazy sunset. She had learned to joke again, to play, talk, and kiss, all in a way that felt real.

Again, Megan breathed in the fresh forest smells, deep and cleansing. Yes, she was the same Megan, but more—better, stronger, improved. She didn’t have to reject one over the other, she was both—the same but not. And regardless of where Bryant fit in the equation, she would continue to be so.

Megan dipped to miss a low-lying branch. Coming back to the present, she looked at her watch, surprised how quickly the time had passed and that the trail ended in about 50 feet. She hadn’t known the end was close and the trail so short. Setting her face like she’d done in the 4 x 4 race in high school, she eyed the gate at the trail head and ran full on, sprinting like the final championship depended on it. Breathing deep and pumping her arms, she soared through the gateway, this time with her arms flung behind her, head tipped high. She slow-jogged around a small cul-de-sac of dirt and trees, finally stopping and taking in large gulps of air. Megan looked up, took in the sky high pines, the clean stripped Nevada air, and the freshness in her lungs.

She knew exactly what to do.

***

An hour later, showered and dressed, Megan rapped on the door of her boss. “Sylvia?”

An Asian-looking woman raised her head from between stacks of paper on a desk. “A little late this morning, are we?” She smiled with her pen poised.

“Yes, so sorry about that. A little”—she thought for a moment—“forest therapy.” Sylvia nodded, but waited expectantly. Megan had proved herself enough to warrant some leeway. “I was just curious if the full-time hours were still available?”

“Want them?”

“Absolutely.”

Sylvia cocked her head. “I thought you might have bigger plans for this fall.” Megan only shrugged so she said, “Okay, they’re yours.”

“And if you have a minute, I have a few ideas for the weekend staffing issues,” said Megan.

“Great, come on in.”

As she sat in the chair beside Sylvia’s desk, Megan knew this wasn’t her dream job, not even close. But she was going to start doing again, choosing the higher route with no guarantee of what was around the corner. Smiling confidently, Megan ignored the unbidden image of dancing with Bryant on the Jamaican beach.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Bryant paced expectantly, phone in hand.

 “Oh yes, is it Bryant?”

 “Yes ma’am, Bryant Johnson.” Bryant felt sweat bead on the sides of his temples. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. McCormick, I just wanted to talk to Megan for a minute.”

 “Call me Loralee, please. And I’m so sorry, she’s gone to a wedding this weekend until late tonight.”

“Yes, it’s her friend, Jillian’s, right?” So Megan hadn’t told her mom he was supposed to come. “It’s just that I can’t reach her on her cell.”

“Oh, after the couple left, the group all stayed at a cabin in Tahoe for the sort of party after the party. They don’t have reception.”

“At a reception?”

“That’s good Bryant, very good.” He could almost see her smile by her tone. “But I can leave a message for her as soon as she returns, unless you want to try again?”

“No, I mean yes, great, a message would be great. And I’ll try again.” They exchanged some more pleasantries and Bryant was about to hang up when she paused.

“Bryant?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

Pause. “I’m sure I’m stepping outside my permitted territory—she’s so testy lately—but, though I don’t know a lot of details, I do feel to tell you … she’s a pillow. Really, a downy soft grandmother’s pillow. You might get pricked by parts of the chicken feathers but there’s a whole lot of softness inside for the patient person.”

“Okay.”

“Just don’t get scared by the poky chicken feathers, all right? That’s all I’ll say. No more. My lips are zipped.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McCormick, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“All right, talk to you soon.”

Bryant shook his head. Chicken feathers? He chuckled, just as his sister ambled into the room holding her large stomach. “Anything for a starving pregnant mother to feed on?”

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Just roasted a pig. That should keep you for an hour.”

“Ba ha.” Frowning, she grabbed a loaf of cinnamon swirl bread on the counter.

“What’s up, sis? Waistband getting too tight?” Slicing the pieces roughly, it was as if she hadn’t heard him. “Hey, Piper—you okay?”

She looked up, pausing with the knife. Then she smiled, but it was a practiced one, the kind his mom put on for company when her feet hurt.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I get this way in my last trimester. And who were you just talking to?” she said, segueing the conversation. “Was that a legitimate smile I saw just now?”

Bryant leaned against the counter. “Megan’s mother.”

“Ah, the Mysterious Megan.” She popped a piece of bread in Bryant’s mouth. “So, has she forgiven you for not coming to the wedding?”

“Probably not. Probably won’t speak to me again,” he said, chewing roughly.

“Not likely.”

“Piper, you’re the only one who would get it. I need to go see her.”

She stared at him. “But you heard Dad. He needs you to stay at the yard.”

“The yard, the yard, it’s like a huge lumber idol.” He grabbed a nearby dish towel, pulling and snapping it. “You guys are always pushing me to get married, not that I’m saying this is it. But for the first time in years, I really want to pursue someone. And now because of some 2 x 4s, you’re all saying no?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone in the kitchen doorway. “You don’t have to eavesdrop, Mom.”

“I know I don’t. I heard you from the garden.” Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, she placed a garden basket of fresh chard, tomatoes, and zucchini on the counter by the sink. Piper picked up her plate of bread slices and headed for the safety of another room.

“Chicken,” called Bryant.

“No way, I may be pregnant but I’m not stupid.” Piper made a face and a quick exit.

Shirley began washing the first bunch of chard under the faucet as Bryant moved next to her, leaning against the counter.

“Does she mean that much to you?” said his mother.

Bryant looked at her. She’d changed. “You doin’ okay, Ma? Usually you’d be spitting nails or breathing fire, or something cliché.” He said it lightly but it was true. She used to joke and laugh but this was different. Her eyes had lost a bit of spark and looked tired at the corners. For the first time, it was hard to see his parents age.

“It’s been busy.”

“You’re making me feel guilty.”

“Me, your mother?” She smiled as he moved beside her, drying the tomatoes she handed him.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

She was quiet for a moment. “For a while now you’ve had this wanderlust, for whatever reason. But that’s part of who you are at times, and you’ve always been able to ultimately keep it in check.” She paused, considering. “Until the past few years. I’ve kept thinking it’s a phase, but, honestly, we haven’t known what to do with you.”

“I haven’t known what to do with myself.”

“I know. And that’s why we’ve given you time. It’s been so unlike you.” She shook her wet hands and dried them in the hand towel. Turning to Bryant, she took him in, as if reliving many years of memories. Reaching up she smoothed his hair, shaking her head. “But I know you’ll figure it out. You always do, and as soon as you do, watch out. But we’re just asking you to figure it out . . .”

“. . . a little faster. Believe me, I know. Think I want to be twenty-seven and living at home?”

Shirley leaned against the opposite counter from Bryant. “What is it that you need?”

Bryant thought for a moment then became serious. “I have a plan but I have to see her, really be with her. I can’t explain everything about it, but I know what she needs, what I need. I think this could be it, Mom, and the only way to know is to risk it. But Dad, and the yard . . .”

Shirley nodded—thoughtful, frowning. Then she sighed. “Okay, do what you need to do. But
after
this week of making the social rounds. And I’ll take care of your dad.”

“Seriously? It’ll be okay here?” A small flame kicked on inside him, like lighting the winter furnace.

Shirley smiled, tired but bantering. “Yes. But go make yourself useful with those weeds right now. Somebody’s got to earn their keep. And don’t breathe a word of it to your father. Not ’til I’ve warmed him up.” She swatted him with the dish towel and turned back to the vegetables.

Bryant left the kitchen with a lightness in his step, heading to weed whack the lawn with a renewed zest. He tried to ignore the concern about his mother. Did she think he wouldn’t settle down, commit to something? Of course, he could understand why, but she knew him, better than anyone in the family. Knew he had bigger plans in mind than a lumber yard, always had. Even in college when he’d gone for simulating large-scale engineering projects, huge bridges and skyscrapers, so sure this was his dream. She’d understood when he had lost his interest, when he’d realized it was more drawing boards and schematics than hands-on creation. And she’d understood his deep down fear, the worry that he’d never find what he was meant to do, always tiring of it in a few years. It wasn’t exactly a good prospect to offer the future Mrs. Johnson.