Fly Away Home

Chapter 12

My small-town life in Pigeon Grove continues to unfold with tentative trust. Little lumps of restlessness and anxious energy subside with each passing day. I expect good, looking for and finding the divine magic of ordinary things hidden in plain sight.

My morning routine now includes a quick peek through the front screen door. I search that stretch of pavement across the street, hoping I'll need to brew a pitcher of sweet tea I don't drink. He hasn't been around again since that unforgettable day in the side yard.

I drag my hand slowly over the wooden frame and return to the kitchen. Improved water pressure fills the coffee carafe quicker. It also causes that leak from my faucet to spray with more belligerence. With my recent track record, it might behoove me to call a professional plumber for any indoor work. I can't afford a similar fiasco inside the house, even if I found a silver lining in that fortuitous experience.

My thoughts drift to the faintest gray streak racing through Jack's hair. Does it signify a distinguished character trait? Or is it evidence of hardship endured throughout his life? There are still confusing pieces to my puzzle, parts that don't belong anywhere. But I'm finally beginning to trust myself again. Maybe for the first time. And the belief that things are working out exactly as they should surrounds me with a glowing warmth.

I sit at the kitchen table with a full mug of hot coffee. Lizzie must still be asleep. The house is silent. Deafeningly so. I allow my mind to wander. It's what I used to enjoy, silence and a few moments alone. Now I long for human interaction. How do things change so fast?

The trip through town with my energetic niece a few days ago continued that trustful shift in my life. It started with a safe visit to the produce shop. I used it as a social barometer for how difficult the expedition might be for me. Being pushed outside my comfort zone is something I've never willingly embraced. Hank, always the insightful one, sensed my anxiety. He provided just the encouragement I needed.

His wife pulled Lizzie aside to help pick out different fruit as the subject of her next watercolor creation. We came away with even more peaches. The deeper skin textures would provide her a fresh challenge, Lydia said. I've contemplated Lizzie's paintings more closely with each new one she creates. Becoming lost in my thoughts while doing so, it's as if her artistic gift has helped me get to where I am today.

The visit to Caldwell's Coffee supplied us both with a jolt of caffeine. Lizzie seemed to enjoy the fully caffeinated beverage I promised her. But she reminded me it still fell short of the stimulating effects from our experience with Jack. My need for espresso appears to be waning too, replaced by an increased desire to be around others.

Looking down at my mug of cooling coffee, I have yet to take a sip, proving my point. Small touches in the kitchen have begun to fill the empty space with a sense of warmth and belonging. Decorative towels drape over the sink. A ceramic bowl gathers my selection of fruit into a cohesive collection. Place mats with cloth tassels adorn the table. They're all handmade and come from other folks in town.

How can I give back to the community? What could I offer that others would need or want?

It's as if the universe has received my thoughts and offers an idea. Or at least the glint of one. A snapshot in time greets me, like a single frame from a motion picture film. I see people, lots of them, seated around a large dining room table. Cloth doilies rest beneath eclectic china patterns and mismatched flatware.

It mirrors that initial vision of my garden, chaotic... and beautiful.

Before I can latch onto the full expanse of what I'm seeing, my attention focuses on a different latch. The side door is unlocked. Have I been that careless to have forgotten about it last night? It's one thing to be comfortable in a neighborhood and quite another to be irresponsible. As I get up to lock it, chastising myself, I see movement on the porch. Lizzie sits outside on the same rocking chair, a notebook in her hands.