The Brandywine Prophet

6.1 Batten Clamps

CHAPTER SIX

BATTEN CLAMPS

MAY

“Sarah? It’s Kayla.”

“I know your voice, honey. How’ve you been feeling?” 

“I’m doing better.”

“Are those vitamins working?”

“Hmm?”

“The vitamins. Are they--”

“I lied. I’m not doing better.”

“Oh, Kay... The stomach again? Anxiety? Do you need me to come over?”

“No. Well, yes. I think I’d like you to come over.”

“What can I bring? Tea again? The boys are at the theater and Janie’s at a sleepover. We can have a girls night.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t have a party this year.”

“I was wondering about that, but we didn’t want to intrude if you had plans without us.”

“No. We didn’t have plans. Hyde barely remembered it was my birthday.”

“Did you get my card?”

“You’ve been good to us, Sarah.”

“Honey? You sound--”

“I know. I think...”

“Kay? Are you there?”

“I think we need to talk.”

“Of course. I’ll be right over. Let me grab the tea--”

“No. No tea tonight. Just come over. And we’ll talk.”

“I’m leaving now.”

*  *  *

A year ago--just a year ago--Kay and Hyde invited the Carmels to her birthday party. They planed to invite their old city friends, but then Kayla decided to pare it down to new acquaintances. They had a new life now, and while she would never lose touch with her old coffee group or bible study, those friends were gone now.

Hyde was on the riding lawnmower that b-day morning; shirt off, buff, white as a Michigan Christmas in May. Yard work was one of the few chores he complained about. He hated grass stains. He hated work clothes. He hated machinery. But last week’s letter from the association scared the crap out of him! He and Kayla weren’t familiar with suburb covenants, and with all the unpacking and decorating they completely forgot about the length requirements for grass. The letter was signed by Jaxon Silverman, the same man who showed them the lot and explained the benefits and joys of suburban living. He was also the man who left the massive gift basket on their porch this morning, pulled tight in yellow cellophane with a card that read “Welcome to the Neighborhood and Happy Birthday to Mrs. Reid!”

When Hyde was finished with the yard, Kayla watched him drive the mower across the street, through the Carmel’s front yard, and to the back of Will’s stables. When Hyde walked through his own front door (taking intentional care to wipe his feet on the new welcome mat) Kayla kissed the sweat off his naked shoulder and said, “You smell like grass.”

“I know,” he growled.

“Oo, Mr. Grumpy-pants today?”

“I’m gonna shower. Wanna join me, birthday-girl?”

“Dirty!” She slapped the same shoulder she kissed. “We have company tonight!”

“Mmm, maybe when they leave?”