Moving On (4 page)

“People talked about me?” She reached for the railing.

“They more or less speculated. You’re news. Some of the fellows were commenting about your packing. I didn’t get that one.”

Her cheeks burned when she remembered her butt pointed to Center Street for all to see. Bile burned in her belly. “I’ll have to watch my Ps and Qs.”

“You’re probably okay.” He nodded even though her T-shirt stretched across her chest and her jeans fitted her bottom. “If your hair was blue and yellow and you had more face-piercing than a six-pack of beer pull tabs or even if tattoos showed out of your jeans when you bent over, we’d be watching you more closely. But the way you look, they’ll probably go easy on you and let the details come out in your own time.”

“Why does anyone care? My details are not that interesting.”

He turned to watch a fishing boat troll along the shore. “You know, with only one road into town and that same road ends at the lake, you came here either on purpose or by mistake.”

Anna filled her lungs with the scent of lilacs and warm earth. “It’s definitely a destination for me. I chose to come here. I’m staying if the town will have me.”

“Time will tell.” His hand moved to scrub at his moustache and, with a twinkle in his eye he said, “And girlie, why didn’t you tell me I forgot my teeth again?”

“‘Cause you look so cute without them!” She laughed. “Ah, Herman.”

He sat down onto a deck chair. “I know that tone of voice, what do you need?”

“I’m curious. There aren’t any personal papers in the house. It seems as if he knew he wouldn’t be back.”

“That was our John. Always prepared. He left instructions for his lawyer to hire a firm and take out all the personal papers. I met the foreman on the day the obituary appeared in the newspaper. I assume the lawyer disposed of them.”

“Makes sense, I guess. I wonder why . . .” She caught herself before she mentioned Murray’s name. “I’ve got work to do, talk later.” She pushed through the gate and clutched the laundry bundle to her chest on her way down the stone walk.

During her slow drive to the top of the hill, she returned the wave of a mother and a toddler, a man on a motorized scooter and a senior on a bicycle.

Anna meandered through the grocery store and bakery attached to the laundromat. Inhaling the delicious essence of fresh bread and cinnamon buns, her mouth watered. It had been hours since her muffin. With a bun and coffee in hand, she sat on the bench on Center Street and watched the traffic flow down toward the lake. She felt like a truant kid skipping class. Her laundry was being washed and she was sitting in the spring sun watching the world go by.

When Nick drove by and gave her a quick salute she waved back, then brought her fingers to her mouth and licked the residue of sticky bun. Again, her mind raised the image of his calloused thumb brushing at a stray water drop. She shook her head at her memory of his lips skimming across her fingertips. Nick Donnelly’s lips seemed to provide a temporary balm for her healing process.

She gulped the dregs of her coffee cup, thinking her dreams were supposed to be about the basics of life, like food and water and a warm, dry place to sleep.

It was time to get back to work, remembering busy hands created busy minds with little time for dreams. She transferred the laundry from the washing machines to dryers, fed more quarters into the coin slot. Then she wandered down the grocery store aisles with a basket. Anna purchased bread, cheese, milk, eggs, fruits, vegetables, and coffee. She wished she had someone to call, but her parents were away on a trip. She’d email them as soon as she had an Internet connection.

As if thinking about them was a signal, her cell phone chimed a text message. ‘
How’s the cottage
?’

She texted back, ‘
Has potential
.’

Her parents were her support but she was glad they were away. She needed to stand on her own two feet.

Another chime. ‘
Don’t work too hard.’

’I’ll try. Enjoy your holiday.’

’Love you.’

’Back at you.’

She flipped her phone closed and put her groceries in the car. Amazed no one else was here this time of day, she pulled pillowslips and sheets from the dryer and folded them. Perhaps the permanent residents had laundry facilities and these were for the cottage owners.

Back at her cottage, she began with the basics—scrubbing the walls and floor in her bedroom. She pushed and pulled the metal-frame bed so when she woke in the morning, the sun would stream through the window and wake her. She could then turn on her side and see the lake.

Anna wiped the closets and hung the few clothes she had brought. She’d buy a whole new wardrobe of casual clothes. No more uniforms, no more button-down collars and definitely no more short, tight curls.

The room smelled clean. She thought about the lilacs budding in deep purple abundance around town. Later she would walk along the lakeshore and choose a bouquet to brighten the refreshed and renewed room. The scent would be more natural than candles.

Anna sporadically sang and danced or swayed to the country rock on the old-fashioned radio while she worked. Nursing had taught her the need for cleanliness. In the kitchen, the old white enamel sink gleamed, the windows were invisible and the floor squeaked. She almost didn’t want to mess it up again, but her stomach was rumbling.

She made and savored a cheddar cheese sandwich. If she hurried, she could get in a walk before the sun went down.

Nick glanced up at the old Good place as his legs pumped the pedals on his bicycle and his arms kept the handlebars straight along the path that separated the residential lots and the rocky lakeshore. The cloaked sorrow he associated with Anna pulled at his memory. There was courage in her actions but the sadness and fear reflected in her brown eyes curled his stomach. He had witnessed the emotion of loss on hundreds of faces in the refugee camps.

His legs pushed the pedals faster. Molly ran beside him. She always barked wildly when he dressed in his riding gear, knowing she was going for a good run. He was months away from a desk job unless he could pass the physical endurance trials. Titanium and good robotics provided a limb that could do almost everything he needed it to do.

When he came back to Regina Beach, it was a temporary stay. His orders were to build up his endurance. Continued success of his adolescent dream of leaving his hometown and building a career away from his father would be in jeopardy if he didn’t stay focused.

He could help set up water filtration systems for Afghan villages. He knew he was capable of the day-to-day responsibilities, but the crunch would be during emergencies. He had to try. There were guys that didn’t have his chance.

When the pieces of metal from the explosion tore through his pant leg he had felt the burning pain. He realized later, after surgery, he had only lost his left lower leg. He wouldn’t allow half a missing leg and foot and five toes badger his resolve to be back with his troop.

But a different war stormed at the back of his mind. The longer he lived with the challenge, the more he realized the problem wouldn’t be only the mechanics of his prosthetic leg but his skin, too. With the fine sand that seemed to be everywhere on the Kandahar base, he knew it would infiltrate his careful cleaning that kept irritants away from breaking down his skin or clogging up the intricate mechanisms in his ankle joint.

His grandfather, Henry, had gone away to WWII and then regaled Nick with tales of comradeship, love of country and pranks among the troops. Grandfather Henry was a hero. Nick had since learned his hero neglected to mention the living conditions and the smell of death.

His dad, Jack Donnelly, was just a dull old farmer, constantly worried about the weather. Grandfather Henry paid for summer camps, sport camps and computer camps and refused to allow Nick to spend the long hours required to seed the crop or harvest the grain. It shouldn’t have surprised anyone that Nick gave up his scholarship to university to study agriculture and joined the Canadian Army instead. He wanted to be a peacekeeper but the Taliban changed the job description.

Nick liked the community living and teamwork of the army. He enjoyed being in the action, not just on the sidelines like the farmer, constantly waiting for the uncontrollable to control his life.

Ha! What did he know? His wheel hit a bump. He shifted his weight, leaned and kept the bicycle from toppling. Molly, of course, had recognized the danger and she sidestepped into the short grass. This recreation path he rode on had been made without fights over language or religion. Each day as he rode, he indulged in imagining his life if he couldn’t return to active duty.

Could he return to the land? Was the gene for affinity of land ownership somewhere dormant in his personality? Before his father’s sudden departure, he informed Nick the River Basin Hutterite colony would plant and harvest the crops this year. Jack had it all organized. There was nothing Nick had to be concerned about, except to take in any guest that came by.

Magdalena, a member of the colony, would do the laundry and keep the rooms tidy as she had for his father. Jack Donnelly would return after his vacation. If Nick hadn’t seen his father leave his all-consuming land with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.

Nick stopped his bike at the pier and allowed Molly her free run. She quickly scattered a flock of seagulls into flight. Another movement caught his attention to full adrenalin alert when Molly, giving friendly yelps, jumped toward the person standing on the top of a picnic table.

“Molly. Down.” Nick dropped his bike and ran across the sand to the table.

Anna stood on the table surface, her eyes measuring Molly’s excited movements, a bouquet of lilacs clutched above her head.

“Molly won’t eat your flowers,” he said softly.

“She’s not getting them and she’s not getting me.”

He knew from her tense body if she could have disappeared into the air, she’d be gone. A dark smear across her cheek was evidence she had scrubbed away tears. Her chest rose and fell in short quick intakes of breath. If she didn’t breathe soon, she could possibly faint from lack of oxygen.

“Take a deep breath.” He gripped Molly’s collar.

“Take her away.”

“I’ll tie her to a tree. Don’t move.” His fingers were all thumbs as he worked the latch on the lead to the collar. “Come.” Molly didn’t mean any harm, but another dog must have done a number on this woman’s psyche. Nick wound the lead around a tree. “Stay.” He gave her a treat. He couldn’t scold Molly because she wouldn’t understand.

When he turned back to Anna, her bottom was on the tabletop, her feet on the bench, and her head cradled in her hands. The scattered lilacs lay on the tabletop.

Nick placed a hand on her shoulder. “Care to tell me why you’re so frightened?”

“You should keep her on a lead.” Anna’s eyes flashed.

He gathered the flowers and held them to his nose. There wasn’t anything like this fragrance in spring. “The lilacs will brighten up your space.” He handed them to her.

She raised her head and stretched out her hand. “Yes, they will. Would you just go? I’d like to take them home and put them in water before they start to wilt.”

“Sure.” He turned and walked toward Molly and his bicycle. Sometimes, the best action was retreat.

He mounted his bike and kept Molly’s lead in hand. When he was parallel to the picnic table, Anna’s back remained straight as she faced the lake and the sun dipped behind the hills. If it had been any other place than Regina Beach, he would have insisted on taking her home. Here, he knew she could walk home safely without encountering any unsavory characters. He hoped other dogs wouldn’t bother her or she wouldn’t startle the skunks that meandered on the trails at dusk.

“Molly,” he said to the dog, “this lady may look all put together with her button down blouses and tight curled hair, but her glue is definitely a little cracked.”

She must have looked like the Statue of Liberty with her fist in the air, clutching the bouquet. Just because of a silly dog. The black head and warm brown eyes and lolling tongue and happy yelps weren’t threatening. A giggle started at the back of Anna’s throat. She quickly swallowed it until she no longer heard the bicycle tires crunch on the paved path. Then the chuckles bubbled and floated like ripples on the lake.

She stood up, and with her hand on her heart, promised herself no dog would push her to such embarrassing heights ever again. She walked along the path and streets with her bouquet held high above her head, chuckling all the way home. It was possible Nick would stay far away from her in the future and tell the town folk to be cautious when approaching this particular stranger.

At the cottage, each time she passed the vase with the mauve and purple blossoms, she smiled.
Welcome to your new home, Anna.
Maybe she really should be an Annie. Didn’t Annie sound more carefree?

After scrunching beneath her freshly laundered comforter, in her bed that squeaked if she turned too quickly, she began to replay the episode in her mind. That man was agile. He dashed across the sand and later bicycled away as if he had two fully functioning legs. His right leg must have a rock hard muscled thigh and calf and a strong left thigh with a great mechanism to articulate his artificial ankle. One advantage of her exhibition was how she could admire him all she wanted to now because he wouldn’t be coming around any time soon.

The crisp night air fluttered through her open window. Anticipating a deep, refreshing slumber, she counted stars rather than sheep.