This is your real mother speaking…

Chapter Thirteen of The Welded Link, a Novel by R.R. Colson

24 May 2012 4 Comments

by chalkdustfairy in The Welded Link, Writing

Chapter 13

Wilting Flowers and Fishermen

The exhaustion hit as he slid behind the wheel of his truck parked at the pier.  The Westman Islander had pulled into dock around mid-morning from a long, but successful fishing trip and Audun and the twins had left the boat quickly. Bryn had stayed behind to take care of a few things he had let go in the past month.  He lectured himself for being neglectful. It wasn’t like him.  Maybe a good dose of more work would get a certain school teacher off his mind; then, again, maybe not.

He could tell that she liked the flowers. He had strangely enjoyed sending them to her. Just what had possessed him to call Aunt Betty and order the bouquet, he didn’t know. He had never sent flowers to a woman before, not even his mother. He’d never even thought of it. And yet, after talking to Iyrie, he’d had a clear picture in his mind of pink rose buds and tiny, delicate white flowers; a perfect replication of her rosy, delicate complexion. What was the woman doing to him? He wondered, more than a little concerned.

His first thoughts on seeing Astoria had been of Iyrie Castle; talking to her, seeing her.  It was then that he decided he needed to stay behind on the boat as a form of self-imposed penitence.

Now mid afternoon, having taken care of everything that he could think of on the boat, he was heading home.  But rather than continue on his usual route, he followed the urge to turn up Eighth Street, intending to cross over on Grand.  He felt like a sixteen year old again, planning to drive by a girl’s house for no other reason than he was thinking about her.  As he crossed Commercial Street, a familiar petite brunette walking on the sidewalk, swinging a small shopping bag, caught his attention. He pulled over to the curb next to her as she walked and rolled down the passenger window.

“Out walking in the rain again?” He called to her.

Iyrie looked up, surprised.

“It’s not raining.”  She called back.

“It will be.” He replied confidently, without looking up at the sky.

“Want a ride?”

Iyrie looked up at the overcast sky dubiously, then back at the scraggly-looking fisherman hollering at her through the pick-up’s passenger window.

It was one thing talking to Bryn Erikson on the phone when he was far out at sea and she was safely on shore, with no one else around to know about it. She could almost pretend their conversations never happened. But it was another thing entirely seeing him now in the flesh.

As she stood there on the sidewalk staring at him, he put the truck into park, opened his door, got out and motioned for her to come around and get in on his side.

“The passenger door is broken.” He said innocently, smiling lopsidedly.

Her brows furrowed as she considered his invitation and debated the wisdom in engaging in an early morning breakfast and late night chats with the man.

“It’s going to start raining soon, you better make up your mind.” He warned, smiling.

And as if on cue, huge spatters of rain began to hit the pavement.

There might still be a chance she could outrun the downpour, she thought, looking up the hill toward Grand Street. The large drops turned instantly into sheets of rain. She looked all around for another option, but there was nothing on either side of her but parking lots the length of the entire block.

Reluctantly, she ran around the front of the pick-up and ducked under Bryn Erikson’s arm, sliding as far across the seat as possible.  She hoped no one she knew had seen them.

“Did you just hold up Blockbuster or something?” He asked, making reference to her odd behavior.

She blushed, realizing she was clutching the plastic shopping bag from the movie rental store tightly to her chest..

“Uh,” she stammered.

“Hey, I don’t mind, but I better get a cut of the loot, since I’m your get away car.” He said smiling at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Iyrie stared at him.

“What’d you get?” He asked, laughing.  He pulled out into the street and headed up the hill again.

“A comedy and some spy flick.” She said finally, pulling the two movies out of the bag to show him.

He nodded, still smiling at her

She smiled grudgingly in return.

“I don’t usually do that.” She admitted.

“Rob stores?” He teased.

“No. Get in a car with a strange… hitch a ride.”

“Uh huh,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance., the ‘stranger’ comment not lost on him.

The wipers of the windshield were attempting to push the rain aside at a frenetic pace.

“So what have you been doing?” She asked, wanting to change the subject.

“Fishing,” he said tiredly, “just got in.”

That explained how he looked and smelled. She thought to herself. Poor Eva.

They pulled up to her apartment.

“So what’s my cut?” He asked.

She looked at him blankly for a moment.

“I guess we could watch them together.” She said impulsively, seeming nearly as surprised as he was that the words had come out of her mouth. Where in the world had that come from? She wondered bewildered.

“Sounds good,” he said casually, “I just need to go and get cleaned up first.”

“Okay.” She replied, still mystified that she had made such an absurd suggestion.

*                     *                     *

Within an hour, Bryn Erikson stood at her door, clean shaven and smelling of cologne rather than fish, for which she was very grateful.  She was on the phone with her sister and motioned for him to come in.  She held up her index finger to indicate that she would only be a minute. But one minute turned into quite a few more.

He stepped out of his boots at the door, a habit his mother had ingrained in all of the Erickson men, and quietly placed them under the hook where he hung his jacket and hat.  He pulled out a stool at the nearby counter and sat down. Four freshly baked loaves of bread sat cooling on racks before him.  He breathed in the delectable aroma.  A heel had recently been sliced from one end of a loaf.  It lay there temptingly.  Bryn’s stomach grumbled.

He boldly picked up the piece of bread and took a large bite.  It was soft and warm and as delicious as it smelled.  He was half way through the piece when he noticed Iyrie, hand on hip, glaring at him.

“That was mine.” She mouthed, pointing to the bread in his hand.

He quickly turned the loaf of bread around to show her there was another heel to be cut.

She rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth lifted in a slight smile, and turned her attention back to her conversation on the phone.

The first slice of bread had gone quickly.  Bryn sat staring at the loaf, considering the possible consequences of cutting another slice.  Obviously the other heel was now out of the question.  He looked back over his shoulder to see where Iyrie was.  She stood at the far end of the room, looking out the window as she talked.

For a moment he hesitated, wondering what she would do.  Nothing he didn’t think he could handle, he decided.  And so he cut another slice, fatter than the one before. He got up and rummaged through her refrigerator for butter. He slathered the bread and had just poured himself a large glass of milk when Iyrie came up behind him.

“Helped yourself to my bread, I see.” She said accusingly, though her lips were still curved in a smile.

“It’s good.” He mumbled with a full mouth, swallowing half the glass of milk in one swig.

He felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You can take a loaf home with you.” She said cutting herself another slice.

“Aren’t you going to cut off the other end?” He asked, thinking to himself that he would have cut it off for himself had he known.

“No! You never cut off both ends of the loaf.”

“Is that against your religion?” Bryn teased.

“Are you mocking me again?” She asked.

Bryn shrugged, a mischievous grin on his handsome face.

“Those are some sad flowers.” He said, pointing to the wilting bouquet on the counter.

“Maybe now.” She replied, “But they were pretty spectacular when they were fresh.” She pulled out her phone and showed him a picture of the bouquet in its glory days.

He was pleased with himself.

“Pick your seat.” She said, gesturing toward the living area.

Bryn eyed the saggy chair suspiciously and chose to sit on the couch instead.  He leaned back, pulling his cap off and running his hand through his hair. He needed a haircut, he thought randomly, and a large dose of caffeine if he was going to make it through the movies. He felt drained.

“What do you want to watch first?” She asked.

“You pick.”

She put in the comedy and curled up in the chair. After a several minutes of hearing only her own laughter she looked over at her guest to discover that he was fast asleep.  With the hours he worked, she thought, it was only a matter of time before it caught up to him.

She debated whether or not to wake him, finally deciding to let him sleep.  She pushed him over very slowly and carefully, wondering through the process if he would  wake.  He didn’t, and stirred just enough to get comfortable, pulling one of the couch pillows under his head.

She dared to study his face more closely now that his eyes were closed. There were several faint scars that she hadn’t noticed before, more remnants of the accident she supposed. And there were dark circles under the fringe of dark lashes.  He was obviously exhausted.  At least this way she wouldn’t be obligated to carry on a conversation, she thought, slightly disappointed regardless.

Bryn slept like the dead on Iyrie’s sofa through-out the first movie and nearly all of the second.  She finished watching the comedy, popped some popcorn and was halfway through the action flick when the rain began to beat in a steady rhythm on the roof.  The apartment cooled down considerably and she got a blanket for herself out of the closet.  Feeling guilty, she pulled the afghan from the back of the couch over her sleeping guest.

It was the vibration coming from his shirt pocket that woke Bryn sometime later.  With his eyes still closed, he put his hand on his chest and recognized the shape of his cell phone.  It was as he was taking the phone from his pocket that he realized he was somewhere unfamiliar.

He drew himself up slowly, still dazed, to discover that he was waking up on Iyrie’s couch. Throwing off the afghan that had covered him, he stood up. He glared at his phone.  It was early evening.

“You’re awake!”  Iyrie said, startling him.

He would have walked right past her, thinking it was a pile of blankets on the chair. There was a rustling and an unfurling of arms and legs as she stretched and yawned like a cat and went to the TV to turn it off.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He asked in a hoarse agitated voice.

“I thought you could use the rest!” she answered.

She rubbed her eyes and felt her hair falling out of its pony tail.  She glanced at him as she attempted to pull her hair back up again.  He looked irritated. She moved past him into the kitchen.

“Did you need to be somewhere?” She asked calmly from the other side of the counter.  She bent to pull a large flat skillet from the cupboard.

“I guess not.” He shrugged impatiently, though still pacing. “What are you doing?”

“I feel like eating pancakes for supper.” She said simply, getting eggs and milk from the fridge.

He ran both hands through his hair in agitation and took a big breath.

“You don’t have to eat them!” She said in response to the cross look on his face.

He sat down on one of the stools in resignation.

“Do you do that often?” He asked in a raspy voice, rubbing his eyes.

“All the time,” she replied nonchalantly, mixing up a batter.

“What are you thinking?”

She stopped in mid-stir, confused.

“Are we talking about making pancakes for dinner?” She asked looking up from the bowl, surprised by his response.

“No!” He replied sternly, “We’re talking about letting strange men sleep on your couch.”

Iyrie smiled to herself. Was there really a difference between a strange man awake on her couch and a strange man asleep on it?

“Sorry, I thought we were talking about pancakes.” She said.

She turned away from him to pour the batter onto the hot skillet.

“Actually, you’re the first ‘strange’ man…” She said, looking over her shoulder at him, she couldn’t resist the joke, “The others were all pretty normal.”

“You should be more careful.” He lectured her. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Well, I was a little worried you would drool on my pillow,” She said, turning back to flip the pancake. “At least you don’t snore…”

“I’m serious.” And by the stern look on his face, he was.

“Just say ‘thank you.” She said as she folded the large flat crepe into fourths and handed it to him on a plate.

“Are you always this grumpy after a nap?” She asked, sitting down on a stool next to him. “I thought I was doing you a favor. You slept hard for three hours!”

“Thanks.” He said grudgingly, his green eyes holding hers.

“You’re welcome.”  She replied.  She pushed the butter and syrup toward him.

“My mother makes these.” He said.

“Danish pancakes?” Iyrie asked, smearing hers with peanut butter before pouring warm syrup over it.

“Icelanders sprinkle them with cinnamon and sugar.” He said disapprovingly, eyeing the sticky sweet mess she had created on her plate.

“Really? You’re family is fromIceland, then?”

He nodded, “I’ll try it your way.” He said, secretly curious what peanut butter and maple syrup tasted like together.

“You do have that fierce Viking look to you,” she replied, handing him the peanut butter, “especially when you’re mad.”

He looked at her curiously, considering her comment.

“I wasn’t mad, I was just… surprised.” He said.

“Well, a surprised person would have said, ‘Wow! I must have been really tired, thanks for letting me sleep!’”

“But you said,” She changed the pleasant tone of her voice to an unpleasant one,  “‘Why’d you let me fall asleep? I mighta’ killed you!’”

Bryn was speechless, taken aback by her spirited outburst.

“Sorry.” He said, smiling.

“It’s okay.” She said, her brown eyes twinkling.

“Were you just mocking me?” He said, astonished by this unexpected turn of the table.

“I would never do that.” She said in mock solemnity, folding her arms and bowing her head.

“I’ll say it.”

As if there would be any question about that! He thought. He bowed his head.

“Would you like something to drink?” She asked afterward as they began to eat.

“I think we’ve gone through this before,” he said, smirking.

“I’d like some coffee, but since this is a Mormon establishment, I guess I’ll have milk.” He said, suspecting the request would get a reaction from her.

“Milk it is!” She said, ignoring the jab and pouring him a glass.

“I couldn’t fish without coffee.” He said out loud.

“Have you always been a fisherman?”

“Like my father and his father before him and their fathers before them inIceland.”

“That’s quite a heritage!” Iyrie said, impressed, “What would happen if one of you didn’t want to be a fisherman?”

An unreadable look crossed Bryn’s face. Fishing was more than a profession to the families involved in it, it was a sacred tradition.

“Fate would find a way to change their mind.” He said cryptically.

He took his plate to the sink after putting away half a dozen crepes.

“I’ll wash.” He said filling the sink with hot water and soap. He worked with the ease of man who was used to doing the dishes. Iyrie was surprised.

“Who do you think does the dishes?” He asked, reading the look on her face.

“There aren’t any mommies on fishing boats.” He said, laughing.

Iyrie tried to picture Bryn on his boat as they quickly did the dishes together.

“Thanks for the pancakes.” He said drying his hands on the dishtowel she held in her hand.

“And for letting you take a nap on my couch.” she added, her brown eyes flashing.

He gave her a look that indicated he did not approve of that decision.

“I’ve got to go.” He said seriously before moving to his boots and jacket.

She wondered if he would be heading home, or possibly to Laurena’s.

He pulled on his boots and shrugged into his coat.

“Don’t forget your hat.” She said, going to the couch and retrieving it for him.

He shoved it down on his head and opened the door.  It was still raining.

“And your bread.”

There was a strange look on his face as she handed it to him. Embarrassment?  No. Regret? She wondered, or something else?

He tucked the loaf of bread carefully under his jacket and stood awkwardly for a moment in the doorway, looking at her.

“Guess I’ll see you around.”

“I’m planning on robbing the donut shop next week.” She said.

He smiled and nodded his goodbye with an upward tip of his chin.

Chapter Twelve of The Welded Link, a novel by R.R. Colson

22 May 2012 4 Comments

by chalkdustfairy in The Welded Link, Writing

Chapter 12

The Night-Owl Fisherman

Random images of his breakfast with Iyrie Castle kept finding their way into Captain Erikson’s head. They were accompanied by pleasant thoughts that kept him smiling when no one else was looking.  Or so he thought. The problem was that his brothers, attune to the moods of their captain and oldest sibling, especially since the accident that had nearly taken him, had picked up on a subtle change. He was still a task master, working everyone to their limits, including himself.  But his usual brooding and irritability had been replaced with a curious, contented quiet. They had all noticed that something was different, but it was Audun, the most vigilant where Bryn was concerned, who had actually caught him smiling to himself off and on throughout the trip.

Late one evening, alone in the wheelhouse, Bryn’s thoughts once again drifted to tousled brown curls and a ridiculous wool coat. He’d had every intention of finding out if Iyrie Castle knew anything about Oni and the journals when he went over to her apartment that morning. He was going to ask her- flat out, over a friendly cup of coffee, if she had ever heard of them. How could he have known that there would be no coffee?

Something had happened when she walked into the kitchen. He’d suddenly found himself well outside his comfort zone and inside her odd little Mormon world- with the praying and the homemade bread and no coffee. How was he supposed to think straight without coffee? Oni and the journals had been about the last thing on his mind at the time.

For days now he had talked himself out of calling her. What would he say? He didn’t know, but he found himself dialing the number he had jotted down on the corner of a yellow legal pad and highlighted with a lot of doodling.

It rang several times. He thought to check the clock, and was surprised to discover it was twelve thirty one in the morning.  He considered hanging up but on the fourth ring she answered.

“Hello?” She croaked.

“It’s Bryn Erikson.” He said in a business-like fashion; his mind an un-nerving blank.

“Oh,” She said in a mildly sarcastic tone, “I should have known…”

“What are you doing?” He asked after an awkwardly long pause. How did it happen that every time he talked to her he found himself off balance? He wondered.

“We, here on the mainland, call it sleeping.  But then, you’re a night-owl fisherman, you probably wouldn’t be familiar with it.”

Was she angry? He wondered. He couldn’t tell. He supposed she had a right to be. He hesitated.

“I guess it is past midnight.”

“So you do know how to tell time!” She replied sleepily,

He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up, feeling more confident.  Bantering was something he thought he could manage.

“I was thinking about toast.” He said randomly.

“Toast?”

“I was thinking your toast would be good dunked in coffee.”

“My toast is only to be dunked in hot chocolate. It’s made from Mormon bread.”

“And Mormons don’t drink coffee…” he laughed, noting that his comment had gotten a reaction, “So even your bread is religious?”

“Did you really call in the middle of the night to talk about toast and mock my religion?” She asked, sounding mildly irritated.

Unable to confess that she and her toast had been on his mind, he fudged, a little.

“I’m actually trying to stay awake.” He said. It was a Hail Mary.

He heard her sigh audibly and smiled. She’d do her duty to Eva by making sure he didn’t fall asleep at the wheel and inadvertently sink the boat with Audun aboard.

“How’s the weather?” She said, changing the subject.

“Terrible. Normal. Rain.

“It’s the same here.” She replied, “I’m getting tired of the wet kid smell in my classroom.”

“Can’t be worse than stinking fish and deckhands…”

“Hmm, you’re probably right.” Iyrie said, yawning.

Bryn yawned after her.

“How long have you been up?”

“Too long. We’re making a run to off-load inNewport.  Audun is sleeping now.  He’ll take us back out and I can sleep then.”

Iyrie yawned again, setting off a chain reaction of yawning between them.

“That’s not helping me stay awake.” He said.

“Sorry, teaching twenty-one first graders is hard work.” She said dozily.

“Sure it’s not all that partying you school teachers do?” He asked, teasing her.

“I’m saving all my partying for Friday.” She said, yawning again.

“What’s on Friday?” He asked, wondering if she was seeing someone.

“My birthday.Sydney’s throwing me a surprise birthday party.”

“So much for the surprise…”

“Yeah, well, Sydney can’t keep a secret to save his soul. It should be fun, though.”

“How old will you be?”

“It’s not polite to ask a woman her age.”

“That old, huh?”

“How old are you?” She countered.

He had to stop to think about it.

“I’ll be thirty-four in November.”

“Oh what day?” She asked.

“The 17^th, and you’re stalling.  How old?”

“I’ll be twenty…” She said yawning again, the last number almost indistinguishable.

“Nice try, but I think that was twenty eight.” He said.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said, yawning once more.

“I hear old women need all the rest they can get.”

There was a long pause, as his comment unknowingly struck a nerve.

“Well, this old woman has to work tomorrow, so I’m afraid you’ll have to keep yourself awake some other way,” she said. “You should try an energy drink.”

“That would be called coffee.” He replied.

“Oh, then, never mind.” She said. “Chew some gum.” And promptly hung up.

*                       *                      *

Iyrie sat at her desk, basking in the fresh air and sunlight that was streaming through the wall of tall windows in her classroom.  It was a welcomed relief from the many consecutive days of rain.  The kids weren’t the only ones who were thrilled that there would finally be an outside recess. Every window in the school had been thrown open to air out the smelly classrooms.

Iyrie’s moment of peace was shattered by Sally Manettti, the school secretary.  She walked into Iyrie’s room carrying a bouquet of pink roses, fern and baby’s breath so large that it hid her ample upper body completely.

“These just came for you!” She said enthusiastically, setting them down on Iyrie’s desk. She pointed out the small white envelope on a pick in the center of the flowers.  Her face was beaming.

Always an event when the old maid school teacher gets flowers. Iyrie thought wryly. The flowers most likely came from her mother. She plucked the card from the envelope.

“To Sleeping Beauty on her birthday, From the Night-owl Fisherman.”

Iyrie’s eyes widened in surprise. She quickly closed the card and looked frantically at Sally, who was watching her closely for a clue to the name of the sender. Had Sally read the card? She wondered.

“Thank you for bringing them down to me, Sally.” She managed to say with an air of dismissal.

“Well, sure…” Sally said, obviously disappointed.

“Hear someone sent you flowers!” Eva called in a sing song voice, walking into the room as Sally was leaving.

“How did you find out?” Iyrie asked, annoyed.

“Didn’t you hear?  They announced it over the intercom.” She replied, kidding. Upon seeing Iyrie’s horror-struck face, she confessed.

“Actually, I was in the office when they were delivered.  Who’s the Night-Owl Fisherman, Sleeping Beauty?” Eva asked coyly.

“Did you all read it?” Iyrie asked indignantly.

“Well, I read it, I don’t know about anyone else. I couldn’t help it. They’re really beautiful, aren’t they?” She asked, putting her nose into a rose. “I don’t know any fisherman who would send flowers at all, let alone ones like these!”

Iyrie’s face turned as pink as the roses.

“Who is it, Iyrie?” Eva demanded, straightening up, hands on hips.

Iyrie knew that she could never reveal the identity of the Night-Owl Fisherman.  She would never hear the end of it.  And so she just shrugged.

“Why is he calling you Sleeping Beauty?”

Iyrie blushed more deeply.

“I don’t know!” She answered, her mouth dry with deceit.

Eva’s eyes narrowed.

“I will find out, you know! I have my ways!”

Not if I can help it! Iyrie thought determinedly.

The recess bell rang, giving Iyrie an excuse to leave Eva and go outside to collect her class.

*                     *                       *

Word of the giant bouquet spread like wild fire through the school, with everyone from the principal to the janitor dropping in to take a look. It wasn’t until 4:30 that afternoon that Iyrie was finally able to get out of the school unmolested by curious on-lookers.

She kicked herself for deciding to walk to school that day. She felt conspicuous walking down the street with the colossal arrangement.  She hoped she wouldn’t see anyone she knew, especially Sydney. She had managed to dodge one busybody, no make that two busybodies, she didn’t want to trust her luck with three.

Making it up to her apartment stealthily, she set the flowers down on the counter.  They truly were a thing of beauty. Embarrassed by all of the unwanted attention earlier, she had avoided really looking at them until now.

She counted twenty-eight pink roses in the beginning stages of blooming.  They were surrounded by delicate stems of white baby’s breath and lovely green fern.

A ridiculous smile crept across her face.  It was impossible to stop. She’d never received flowers from a man before.

The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts.

“Did you get them?” A now familiar velvety voice asked.

“Yes, I did.  They’re beautiful.  Thank you.”

“And the sunshine?”

Iyrie laughed.

“That was you?”

“It was a package deal.” He said.

She fell into easy conversation with Bryn Erikson once again, wondering as she did so about her own sanity. He seemed quite normal to her. It had not been as uncomfortable or difficult as one would imagine to converse with him. In fact, she had found it rather freeing, sort of like talking to a pet or an imaginary friend. She rarely felt the need to edit herself in their conversations. What did it matter what the man thought? He was always at sea and she doubted she would run into him at Eva’s. She very rarely saw Audun there. And so much the better if he concluded she was crazy and decided not to call her anymore. Yes, she thought, psyching out the psycho would not be a bad plan.

“That’s some florist you have.” she joked.

“She’s my aunt, Betty’s Bouquets.” He clarified.

“Those flowers caused quite a stir at school, I have to tell you.”

They had caused quite a stir with Aunt Betty, as well.  Bryn’s little old aunt had been dumbfounded when he called to place an order for flowers to be sent to the new teacher at the elementary school.  She was even more surprised that he knew exactly what kind of flowers he wanted to send. She had giggled when she copied down what he wanted on the card, but she assured him that it would be ‘their little secret’.

“What happened?” He asked, curious. He really hadn’t thought about anyone else seeing the flowers.

“Well it’s not every day that the old maid school teacher gets a humongous bouquet of flowers.”  She said.

“You’re not old.”  He replied.

“That’s not what you said the other night.”

“I wasn’t serious.”

“Hmph.” She replied.

“What happened?” He asked again.

“Eva was in the office when the flowers arrived, and of course, she read the card and grilled me about the Night-Owl Fisherman.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. She’s going nuts trying to figure it out, though.”

Bryn laughed with her.

With a little reluctance in his voice he said, “I’ve got to get back to work.” Audun was eyeing him accusingly from the deck.

“Thanks for the flowers.”

“Don’t drink too much at your birthday party.” He warned.

“Funny.” She replied.

Chapter Eleven of The Welded Link, a novel by R.R. Colson

17 May 2012 5 Comments

by chalkdustfairy in The Welded Link, Writing

Chapter Eleven

Dreams

Iyrie gazed dreamily at the face of the man who sat across from her. The light from the votive candle in the center of the table illuminated his handsome features.  His green-brown eyes, crinkled at the corners, were shining with humor.  The flickering light cast shadows across his bronze skin tattooed with web-like scars, high flat cheekbones, long narrow nose and full lips.  His hair glistened in various shades of gold in the candle light.

And although he was speaking, she couldn’t make out a thing he was saying.  A pounding noise was drowning out his words. How aggravating! She thought, leaning in closer and furrowing her brows in an attempt to concentrate… but the pounding intensified and the man’s face faded away.  She found herself awake on her pillow, the lovely dream interrupted.

She sat up and covered her open mouth with her hands , horror-struck, as she recalled both the object of her dream and her startling response to him. Eva’s weird brother in law? What had she eaten the night before to cause that? Fish! She remembered, disgusted with her warped subconscious.

The dream having evaporated, she realized now that the pounding sound had indeed been real and someone was knocking loudly on her door.  She looked over at the time.  It was five thirty in the morning.

Who could that be?  She wondered, alarmed. Was the place on fire? She looked out the window and saw a black truck parked below in the driveway. She sat very still on the edge of her bed, waiting for the stranger to go away. It was likely just a wrong address and when someone didn’t come to the door, they would go on about their business.

When the knocking continued, she tip-toed quietly to put her ear to the door, thankful for the system of safety measures that Sydney had recently installed.

There was a lull in the knocking for a moment and then it commenced again in earnest, startling her so badly that she jumped back, her heart pounding. Collecting her wits, she managed to ask, “Who is it?”

“Bryn Erikson,” came the surprising reply from the other side of the door.

The slightly hoarse sounding voice was all too familiar. Could she be sleepwalking? She wondered, the vivid dream starring Bryn Erikson still fresh in her mind. She walked quickly to the living room window and looked down. The black truck had not been a figment of her imagination. She returned to the door, unsure of what to do.

“Did you hear me?” He asked, standing closer to the crack of the doorway.

“Uh… yes.” Iyrie answered, her face burning hotly.

“I know it’s early, but I’m headed out to fish and I….are you going open the door?” He asked.

She leaned her forehead against the wood.  There was a pattern developing here. She thought. Each halfway normal, even nominally pleasant interaction she’d had with Bryn Erikson was systematically being cancelled out by an equally bizarre encounter such as this early morning, sleep-interrupting visit.

“Iyrie.” He said, knocking heavily once more, making her head vibrate.

“Ouch!” She said, rubbing her forehead with her hand.

Her gut told her the man might be aggravating, but he was not dangerous. Strange? Absolutely, but not likely to do her any harm.

“Okay. Just a minute.” She called through the door.

Now vaguely regretting donating the horrid fuzzy pink bathrobe that her mother had given her to the Salvation Army, she scrambled to find something to cover her pajamas.

Bryn stood outside barely listening to the banging of doors inside.  He was too busy second guessing his decision to drop in on Iyrie Castle. It had seemed very logical when he’d gotten up this morning. He had awoken from another dream about the little school teacher; the latest in string of them that been plaguing him since the last time he’d seen her at Audun’s.

He felt a growing interest in her that he had to admit had nothing whatsoever to do with Oni’s journals; the fact that the woman was so often on his mind, made him more than a little uneasy.  At the same time, he felt compelled to know more about her; to what end he didn’t dare contemplate. He told himself he needed to find out what she knew. Inevitably, he was heading into unfamiliar territory.

The deadbolt finally turned and the door opened revealing a small bundle buttoned from neck to knees in a long wool dress coat.

He wanted to laugh, but didn’t dare. He tried very hard not to smile, but judging by her furrowed brows and the growing scowl on her face, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He had the good sense to look down, at least, as he entered the apartment.  When he finally looked up again, he was met by flashing brown eyes and wooly crossed arms. The girl obviously didn’t appreciate her sleep being interrupted.

She gestured to a big over-stuffed chair where he sat down and immediately sank to the point that his arms were level with his neck.  He took off the baseball cap on his head and placed it on the arm of the chair, looking as ridiculous as he surely felt.

Iyrie couldn’t help smiling. She cleared her throat and tried to cover it with her hand.

He looked differently than he had in her dream. He had hat hair and his eyes were puffy and squinty.  He looked tired and older, but still handsome.  What was the matter with her? She wondered, trying to shake the absurd thoughts from her head. She straightened her back in a subconscious effort to pull herself together.

Iyrie sat primly on the couch catty corner to the chair. Observing the rising color of her cheeks, Bryn wondered just how long it would take before she completely overheated in that coat

“So what brings you here?” She asked a little impatiently.

He struggled to sit up in the chair. After a few awkward movements he was finally able to pull himself up onto the edge of the seat.

This time it was Iyrie who tried to keep a straight face.

“I thought we could go to Millie’s for breakfast before I go out fishing.”

“Huh?” She asked, dumfounded.

“I’ve got to be at the boat by 6:30.” He said.

“I don’t think so.”

“Wanted to make up for Jake’s.” He said laconically.

“That’s really not necessary. I told you it wasn’t your fault.” Iyrie said, becoming flustered and uncomfortable.

“Better to get it over with.” He said, smiling lopsidedly at her.

She didn’t doubt that was sound advice. Eva was the most persistent, stubborn person she knew. And Bryn was probably on the rack until she was satisfied that he had made amends. She looked at the clock. It was 5:43 am.

“There’s not enough time to go to Millie’s.”

It was true. Millie was a great gal, but she was known as a slow-starter, especially first thing in the morning. A cup of coffee and a danish were about all the working men of Astoria could expect from her before seven.

“I guess we could make a quick breakfast here.” Iyrie suggested in a strange moment of weakness. She had to resist the urge to clap her hand over her mouth.

In helping Bryn out of a jam with Eva she would actually be helping herself out of a jam, as well, she reasoned (if you could call it that at 5:45 in the morning).  If a clean slate for both of them was achieved simply by having breakfast with the man, then it was worth the inconvenience.

Bryn, as surprised by the offer as Iyrie was to have made it, accepted quickly before she could change her mind. It would be much easier to talk about the journals with Iyrie here where there would be no distractions, than in the coffee shop.

“There’re eggs in the fridge, and plates in the cupboard would you mind getting them out?” She asked over her shoulder as she went to her bedroom to get dressed.

Bryn pulled himself out of the chair and made his way into the tiny kitchen that took up a back corner of the apartment.

He found the carton of eggs in the sparsely stocked refrigerator and had them and the plates on the counter when she came into the kitchen.  He found it hard not to stare at her as she moved around him.

Her dark hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders. She wore no make-up.  She didn’t need to. She was dressed simply in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, her feet bare.

“You can hang your jacket on the hook by the door.” She said, leaning against the counter.

He had forgotten he was still wearing it and went to hang it on the hook.

“Do you have a specialty?” she asked when he finished.

“Crab omelets.” He answered shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Well, I’m fresh out of crab and you’re running out of time!” Iyrie said laughing, pulling a frying pan out of a cupboard and placing it on the stove. “So I guess we’ll have my specialty instead!”

“What’s that?” He asked.

“Scrambled eggs and toast.”

They fell into a system of working around each other in the tight quarters of the kitchen, talking about fishing for crab as they worked.  In short order they had the meal on the counter, ready to eat.

“I’ll bless it.” Iyrie said bowing her head.

Bryn wasn’t sure what to do; he hadn’t said grace since he was a child.  He followed Iyrie’s example, bowing his head.

“Dear Father in Heaven, we thank thee for this day and we thank thee for this food.  We ask thee to bless it for our good. We ask thee to watch over us and our families and the Westman Islander and crew and keep them safe while they fish.  I… we thank thee for all the many blessings thou hast given us.  I, I…uh… we love thee father and offer this prayer in Jesus’ name.  Amen.”

They opened their eyes and looked at each other shyly.

Praying with Iyrie had been a surprisingly intimate experience and Bryn was not unaffected by it.  She actually talked to God like she knew him, personally.  It was a little disconcerting to him.

“Dig in!” She said, glancing at the clock. It was 6:10.

Bryn picked up a slice of toast and ate it in less than three bites.

“Good toast.” He mumbled, nodding in appreciation.

“Good Toast?” she questioned, wondering how he would know, having seemingly inhaled it.

“Really good.  I’ve never had toast like this before.” He said between bites. “What kind of bread is this?” He asked, thinking he would have to look for it the next time he was in the grocery store.

“It’s homemade bread.” She answered, amused.

“You made this?” He asked in surprise. “People still do that?”

“My grandmother made her own bread, she taught my mother and my mother taught us girls. It’s kind of a tradition, I guess.”

“Do you keep chickens in your closet?” He asked, attacking the plate of scrambled eggs.

She gave him a look.

“You’re mocking me.”

“Seriously, it’s good.” He said smiling slightly, looking up at her in between bites.

“Would you like something to drink? Milk or orange juice?” She asked.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Sorry, I don’t drink coffee.” She said, apologetically.

“No coffee?”

She shook her head.

“Milk.”

Iyrie went to the fridge and poured him a glass.

“What are you going to be fishing this time?” She asked, changing the subject.

“Cod.” He said taking another gigantic bite.

“How can you eat that fast?” Iyrie said wonderingly, watching him shovel in the food and drain the glass of milk in one gulp.

“Habit.” He said, “If I don’t eat fast, I might not get to eat at all.”

He glanced at his watch and slid off his stool.  He took his plate and glass to the sink.

Iyrie looked at the clock; 6:20.

“I’ll get those.” She offered, bringing her dishes to the sink as well. The meal had gone much more quickly than she had expected. It had been quite painless, really. And now it was over.

“Sorry I don’t have time to help.” He said as he set the dishes down.

“Right!” she said somewhat to herself, “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Actually,” he said, grabbing the last slice of toast from the plate on the counter as he passed, “You’re the only girl I’ve ever said that to.”

“So I guess I should be flattered?” She said as she watched him grab his cap and jacket.

“You should.” He replied, stuffing half of the toast into his mouth and taking one last look back at her before he shut the door behind him.

Her stomach did a mutinous flip flop.

“Really, Iyrie Castle!” She muttered to herself in disgust, “Maybe you’re the one who needs your head examined.”

Chapter Ten of The Welded Link, a novel by R.R. Colson

16 May 2012 2 Comments

by chalkdustfairy in The Welded Link, Writing

Chapter Ten

About Books and Their Covers

The Lundquist home was in Warrenton, a short drive fromAstoria.  Here the houses were set a little farther apart on the peninsula that separated Astoria and Young’s Bay from the Pacific Ocean.

The Lundquist’s house was small and square, made of cinderblock and painted white.  It sat in the middle of a large, orderly yard, surrounded by gardens and trees. Beds of roses and other blooming flowers lined the driveway.  Two large flowering bushes grew on either side of the cement front steps. The house lacked the flair and architectural details of the Victorian homes inAstoriabut made up for it with its simplicity and the beauty of its gardens. It fit Barbara Lundquist perfectly.

Sister Lundquist waved to Iyrie from the front step, her white hair curled and combed high into a gravity defying style atop her head, thanks to a generous coating of hairspray.  She was a tall, thin woman, always dressed smartly, her makeup always tasteful.

“Hello!” She said smiling warmly as she held the wooden screen door open for Iyrie to enter. “Did you have any trouble finding your way here?”

“No, your directions were great and I drove right to it.” Iyrie answered stepping inside.

The interior of the home was as meticulously kept as the outside.  In the living room was an older-style floral sofa, in mint condition, directly across from it and in front of the picture window, a pair of pink velvet swivel chairs were separated by a table with a lamp.  On one wall sat a spinet piano, covered with an assortment of framed photographs.  Iyrie was drawn to them immediately.  Barbara followed her over to the piano.

“Are these your children?” Iyrie asked, pointing to a small heart shaped frame on easel legs.  There were five small, round photographs of children inside. She recognized the youngest as Gil Lundquist. He hadn’t changed all that much in the face.

“Yes, those are my kids when they were young.” Barbara replied. “Here is a more recent family photo.” She said, pointing to a larger framed photo above the piano. “It was taken when Gil came home from his mission.  That’s my husband, Melvin.” She pointed to a tall, gray haired, and kindly-looking gentleman sitting next to Barbara in the middle of the picture, his arm lovingly around her shoulder.

“They’re a fine looking family.” Iyrie said, thinking that Gil looked much the same now as he did then.

“Yes, they are.” Barbara said smiling, although Iyrie detected sadness in her voice.

“Do any of them live near?” Iyrie asked.

“Marcie and her family live inBellingham,Washington.” She said, pointing to a woman in the picture and the husband and children that went with her.

“Sarah lives inSalt Lake City.” She said pointing to another woman and her family.

“Laird lives inHuntsville,Alabama. And Lawson, his twin, lives inSanta Barbara,California.  Then there’s Gil.  He’s the baby.”

Yes, he is. Iyrie thought, though not unkindly.  The Hens had already informed her that Gil Lundquist was 24 years old, that he had served his mission inJapan and had returned home to help in his dad’s shop, repairing mostly boats, but other things as well. When his father died unexpectedly, Gil took over the business. He seemed to be doing very well with it.

The one defining feature of Gil Lundquist was his size.  He was well over six and a half feet tall. He was quiet and friendly and good to his mother. Iyrie couldn’t help but like the young man. She had occasionally caught him looking at her at church, but not in an untoward way, more out of friendly curiosity.  He never seemed embarrassed or looked away; he just smiled back at her.

So it came as no surprise when Barbara Lundquist called early in the week and invited her to supper Sunday evening.  Iyrie accepted the invitation without reservation because she sincerely liked Barbara Lundquist and her son.

The wiggle and whistle of a pressure cooker on the stove could be heard in the background.

“Supper is just about ready,” Barbara said, “And Gil is cleaning up. Won’t you sit down?”

There was a distinct homey smell to Barbara’s house, at once comforting and familiar. Iyrie breathed it in. It reminded her of home, though she had never been able to identify any particular thing that made it smell so pleasant.  It was a good memory, despite the mystery. She felt relaxed as she chatted with Sister Lundquist.  Just then a lumbering Gil, barely clearing the doorway by ducking his head, entered the living room.

“There you are!”  Barbara said to her son.

“Hello,SisterCastle.”  Gil said nodding at Iyrie.  He covered the distance between them in two giant steps and towered over her as he bent to shake her hand.

“Call me Iyrie.”  She said as he engulfed her hand with his huge one, holding it as if it were a fragile thing.

“Why don’t you keep Iyrie company while I get the food on the table, Gil?” Barbara said moving into the kitchen.

Gil nodded and sat down carefully in one of the small, feminine chairs.  He looked freakishly out of place in it and Iyrie couldn’t hide a smile.

“Mother tells me you’ll be teaching inAstoriathis year.” He said.

“Yes, First Grade.”  She replied.

“Is this your first year teaching?” He asked, tapping his large foot.

Here we go. Iyrie thought. Let the games begin! She had become very good at thwarting her opponents in the ‘Guess Her Real Age, Boys” game!

“Oh, no, I taught inPueblobefore coming here.”  She answered vaguely, smiling to herself at this first volley.

“Your mom tells me you served a mission.” Iyrie ventured, looking for a conversational topic.

“Yes, inJapan.”  He said, “Did you serve a mission?”

Round two, she thought.

“No, I didn’t.”  She replied. She’d heard it all before and it had become a challenge for her to see how long she could keep them guessing.

“It’s ready! Come to the table.” Barbara said poking her head around the corner.

Iyrie preceded Gil into the neat kitchen.  He stood until the two women were seated at the old fashioned metal table next to the window.  Gil bent his head and offered a simple prayer of thanks over the meal.  His voice was not low as one would expect for a man his size, but quiet and gentle.

The beef roast and vegetables were delicious.  Barbara Lundquist was an excellent cook and her son had a healthy appetite, although he didn’t get the opportunity to fully satisfy it.  Gil’s cell phone rang and he left the table to answer it in the other room.  He came back momentarily.

“Al Johnson’s boat has a broken prop and he needs it fixed PDQ.” He said to his mother apologetically. “I’m sorry that I have to leave,SisterCastle…I mean, Iyrie.”

“It’s an emergency.” Barbara said to him, then to Iyrie, “Fishing can be a desperate business. Don’t fret, Gil. Iyrie and I will be fine.”

With that, Gil Lundquist left to change back into the work clothes he had just changed out of, and Barbara and Iyrie finished their meal.

“Your yard is so beautiful.” Iyrie said, as she watched Gil Lundquist pull out of the yard in his old pick-up.

“Thank you. It’s something Mel and I enjoyed doing together.”

“What do you say to us taking our dessert in the garden?” Barbara suggested, placing two slices of chocolate cake on plates. “It’s a lovely evening.”

The back door opened out onto a lush green lawn with a large vegetable garden at one end and beds dominated by Shasta daisies and lilies growing on either side.

“I love gardens.” Iyrie said, taking in the fresh scent of the foliage.

“So do I!”  Barbara Lundquist said enthusiastically, her blue eyes gleaming.

“Do you have a garden here, Iyrie?”

“No. When I was young, my mother had gardens, flower gardens and a big vegetable garden, like this.” She said wistfully, feeling homesick for a life and a place that was only a memory for her now.

“Where is home?” Barbara asked.

It was a question Iyrie often asked herself, and one which had no answer as of yet.

“I grew up inCortez,Colorado.” Iyrie answered, “But none of my family lives there anymore.  My dad passed away three years ago.  My mom moved toDenver.”

“I see.” Barbara said sympathetically. “My husband, Melvin, passed away last year.”

“I’m sorry.” Iyrie said.

“Thank you.” Barbara said, putting down her cake. “It’s been difficult.” She said, smiling sadly. “He was my best friend. We had been married for a long time.”

“You must miss him.” Iyrie said.

“Yes, I hardly know what to do with myself.” Barbara said somewhat self- consciously.

Iyrie pondered Barbara’s statement. She’d felt drawn to Barbara Lundquist and she wondered if there might be some way she could help her.  And then the idea came to her.

“You know, there is a group of women in the ward you have a lot in common with. They call themselves……”

“The Grey Hens,” Barbara said, finishing Iyrie’s sentence.

“Of course you’d be familiar with them!” Iyrie said, embarrassed.

“I’ve heard a few things here and there but I’ve never been invited to join them.” Barbara Lundquist said, looking down into her hands.

“I’m sure you’d be welcome in the group.” Iyrie assured. “They’ve let me join!”

“I don’t know.” Barbara said shaking her head, “I just feel so lost without Melvin.  I don’t think that I am very good company.”

“They would know better than anyone how you are feeling, many of them are widows themselves and alone. They’re a lot of fun. I think you would enjoy yourself. You should come with me sometime.”

Barbara looked dubious. “I don’t know.” She said again. “What are you doing socializing with a bunch of old women, anyway?”

Iyrie smiled, “They’re my friends.”

“You should be with girls your own age.”

“All of the girls my age are married with a passel of kids!” Iyrie said, laughing.

Barbara looked at her thoughtfully.

“Wouldn’t you like to get married and have children?” She asked.

“Well, sure…”  Iyrie answered, mumbling something about ‘the right person coming along’ and squirming a little as she did so. It was a subject she tried not to think about.

“You know Mel wasn’t my idea of Prince Charming when I first met him.” Barbara said. “It took a while for me to appreciate him.”

There was a glitter of humor in her eyes.

“He was just this big oaf who stepped on my toes every time he danced with me.” She said, laughing. “But he was persistent and that was the key.  The more I got to know him, the more good things I saw.  And pretty soon I fell in love with him.  It just took time.”

Iyrie couldn’t help thinking that there was an underlying message for her in Barbara’s comment. Perhaps Barbara was hopeful that she would take the time to really get to know Gil.  Perhaps it wasn’t too much to ask.

*                    *                     *

The next week, Iyrie quietly informed the hens that she would be bringing Barbara Lundquist to their next gathering.  Her announcement was met with stunned surprise and open-mouthed disbelief.

She then proceeded to share with the women the burden of loss and loneliness that Sister Lundquist carried.  The hens were both sympathetic and ashamed at not seeing her need before; at leaving one of their own, who had sacrificed so much so that her husband could serve them, to bear her burden alone.

It was Phyllis’ turn to choose the activity and she chose dancing lessons at the local VFW hall.  The hens were more subdued than usual with Barbara Lundquist in their midst.  Each of them wondered how things would go.  Would she hold herself aloof, disapproving of the hens dancing with strange men? They held their breath in anticipation of her response.

“Did you tell her what we are going to do?” Sarah whispered to Iyrie, concerned.

“I did.”  Iyrie whispered back.

The hens looked at each other doubtfully.

Inside, the hens stood around with the others who had come for the free dance instruction.  There were several couples and a few older men.

The instructor, a slight man in his fifties, announced that they would be learning the jitterbug.  Several of the hens looked casually in Barbara Lundquist’s direction, curious about her reaction.

The instructor asked for a volunteer, and to their great surprise, Barbara Lundquist raised her hand and stepped forward.

She looked around at all of the gawking hens and said, “Better get your partners, gals! You’re too old to be shy!”

They took her advice.  Some of them found male partners and some of them danced with each other.  But by the time the night was over everyone had had a great time.

It turned out that Barbara Lundquist was quite a dancer.  She may have even taught the instructor a thing or two about the jitterbug!

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” Iyrie asked as they caught their breath over a glass of punch that her partner, Mr. Hoffstedder, an old Navy man in his day, had brought them.

“Oh, I’ve always loved to dance!” She said, “Mel tried, but it just wasn’t his thing.  I haven’t danced like that in years!” She said, laughing, “But I’m old enough to be that young man’s mother, I think!”

“He’s hardly a young man, Barbara!” Iyrie teased.

The hens surrounded Barbara in admiration and comradery.  They were amazed at what they didn’t know about Barbara Lundquist.  They laughed and talked easily with one another from then on.  A new hen had come to roost in the coop.

*                      *                     *

Gil Lundquist sat down beside Iyrie before the Sunday school class began. He leaned over and in a quiet voice said, “I’m not sure what you’ve done with my mother, but I wanted to tell you thanks!” He said, smiling. “She hasn’t been this happy for a long time.”

“I’m glad!” Iyrie said, noticing that the eyes she once thought were small and squinty were actually a golden brown. “But it’s not my doing, its The Grey Hens.”

At his look of confusion, she named the women in the group.

“They call themselves The Grey Hens.” She said, “They’ve befriended your mom.”

He looked relieved, and Iyrie could see the deep love and concern he had for his mother.

“That’s exactly what she needed.” He said.

Iyrie could only imagine how helpless he had felt to fill the void left by his father’s passing.

“I don’t think Mother’s ever had a group of friends.”

There was a quiet strength about Gil Lundquist.  He was solid in both body and spirit. Time after time she had observed his thoughtfulness: helping the elderly, entertaining restless children, and fixing the vehicles of ward members. How often had she come out of the church to see him with his head under the hood of someone’s car?

“There’s a single adult activity on Saturday.  Are you planning on going?” He asked. “I can give you a ride, if you’d like.”

He had a habit of scrunching himself down to speak to her.  He looked so uncomfortable that it was endearing.

Iyrie found it difficult to work up any enthusiasm for the single adult program.  She felt awkward. There was always the ‘hunting’ agenda underlying every activity, the hunt for ‘the one’… or ‘the other one’, as the case may be.  She didn’t know which was worse, the desperation to find someone or the humiliation of being passed over.

Either way, Gil Lundquist must have inherited his father’s persistence.  He took his calling as single adult representative for the ward very seriously. He kept her informed and never failed to offer to give her a ride.  She found it impossible to tell him ‘no’ all of the time. She had no desire to hurt his feelings or Barbara’s, and so occasionally said ‘yes’.

After one particularly harrowing single adult activity, Iyrie got into Gil’s old pick-up annoyed.

“What’s the matter, Iyrie?” He asked smiling to himself as he turned the ignition.

Iyrie took a deep breath and puffed it out.

“I hate that these things are marriage markets!” She said indignantly, her eyes sparking with anger. “And some of those guys are just weird!”

Gil chuckled, “They’re just looking for someone to settle down with.  Don’t the ‘weird’ deserve to be happy?”

“I suppose so. I just don’t want to be involved in the process.  One of those guys asked me what size ring I wear. Don’t you think that’s a weird question? He wouldn’t leave until I told him, and then he just sighed and walked away! Not that I feel bad about it! It’s just bizarre!  What do you make of that? Does he already have the ring and he’s just looking for the right size finger?” She said in exasperation.

“I know that guy.” Gil said, “It’s his mother’s ring.  She died a couple of years ago; it’s a size twelve or something. Maybe he should consider having it resized.”

“Ya’ think?” Iyrie said sarcastically.

“And guess what this other guy asked me?” She continued.

“What?” Gil asked, grinning.

“How many children do I think I can ‘bear’?”

“Well, that is jumping the gun a little.” He said, still smiling at her outrage.

“And have you ever noticed how all of the older guys don’t want anything to do with the women their own age? They’re always following the younger ones around like puppy dogs.”

Gil just kept laughing.

“Do you actually enjoy these things?” Iyrie asked him, incredulous.

“I don’t mind them.” He said honestly. “But it’s always more fun when you come with me.”

“You’re just nice.” She said.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He said good- naturedly.

“It’s not, it’s a good thing. I guess I’m just old and jaded.” She said, smiling apologetically at him.

“You’re not old.” He replied, looking at her.

“But I am jaded?”

“We can work on that.” He said smiling.

Chapter Nine of The Welded Link, a Novel by R.R. Colson

16 Apr 2012 Leave a Comment

by chalkdustfairy in The Welded Link, Writing

Chapter Nine

In the Leafy Treetops

Had it really only been a week ago that she had congratulated herself on living an uncomplicated life?  Today, as she drove to Eva’s, she wondered if she had jinxed herself.

On Monday, Sister Lundquist had called to invite her for supper the following Sunday evening.  It had seemed harmless at the time, but looking back, it was a portent of things to come.  Gil Lundquist’s mother was making no attempt to hide the fact that she was matchmaking- in her own refined way, unlike the majority of mothers who engaged in the sport. There were no tricks, farces, or awkward moments in either her or Gil’s company.  Barbara Lundquist was one of the most genuine people Iyrie had ever met; and her son, Gil, was very much like his mother in that way.

Later that same week, Iyrie had received a strange call from Eva’s brother in law, Bryn Erikson, proposing they meet for dinner at Jakes.  It had seemed odd to her at the time, but then, the man was a little odd.  She’d let her pity for him get in the way of her better judgment and agreed to the meeting.  She chided herself for not trusting her instincts, which after so many years had proven keen. Had she listened to that inner voice, perhaps she might have figured out that Eva was behind the thing before it was too late.

The two set-ups in one week should have been a sign that something was amiss; a giant blinking Las Vegas- style sign.  She’d really thought her days as a serial blind dater were behind her. Last night proved to her how wrong she was and reminded her of the necessity of being vigilant.

She marveled at the speed at which her past had caught up to her. Somehow the word had gotten out here in Astoria about her dating history. She now had to consider herself a fugitive, complete with a wanted poster with her name on it:

Iyrie Castle

Formerly of Pueblo, Colorado

Will Date Anyone, Nut Cases Welcome!

Already Have a Girlfriend? No Problem!

Considered Desperate and Tasteless

Fortunately for Eva, Iyrie woke up feeling less resentment and humiliation than she had felt the night before, and more of a steely resolve to ensure that she would never, ever be set-up again; no qualifiers, no exceptions.

*                      *                     *

It was a very contrite Eva that stood in front of the kitchen counter at the Erikson home, stirring a steaming mug of liquid something which she held out to Iyrie in the fashion of a peace offering.

“It’s hot chocolate!” Eva said in response to Iyrie’s wary expression.

“Mine is coffee.” She said, picking up her cup with both hands and looking over the rim at Iyrie as she took a sip.

Eva knew that Iyrie hated conflict and avoided it whenever possible. The fact that she was there to talk about what had happened last night spoke to the seriousness of the situation.  Eva, however, had no such warm fuzzy feelings for Bryn at the moment.

“Last night was really awkward.” Iyrie began, settling down on the stool opposite Eva.

“I know.”  Eva said, setting down the coffee cup in order to gesture her frustration with her hands, “I’m so sorry about all of it!”

“Jakes is a bar.” Iyrie said.

“I told him you don’t drink.” There was more gesturing, even larger than before. “I don’t know what he was thinking.  Obviously, he wasn’t thinking!  He never listens to me!” Eva ranted.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Iyrie continued, calmly, “It’s just that I don’t think it was a good idea.”

“I totally agree with you, in this particular case,” Eva said, “It was a big mistake.”

Iyrie was quite surprised, not to mention relieved, to hear Eva say it.

“Your friendship means the world to me, Eva, and I would feel bad if anything soured it.”

Eva nodded her head vigorously in agreement.

“So along those lines, I have to tell you that I really hate being set-up on dates and you have to promise me that you will never do it.”

Eva’s mouth gaped open and then shut. This concession was harder for her to accept.  A pained expression took over her face. For months she had been mentally reviewing all of the single men she knew in hopes of coming up with the perfect match for Iyrie. Now Bryn had gone and ruined everything!

Iyrie continued, “I know that people mean well, but I would rather they didn’t interfere.”

Eva gave in reluctantly.

“Oh, alright, I won’t set you up…unless you agree to it.”

Iyrie bit her lip. It wasn’t exactly what she was looking for, but it was a start.

*                      *                      *

Audun glared at Bryn from the recliner when he saw him walk through the doorway.  He had heard nothing but Eva’s ranting since the phone call last night, and as far as she was concerned, he was guilty by association. His home had not been a place of familial peace and joy in the last twelve hours and he was of a mind to blame Bryn in this case, as well.

Bryn wordlessly dropped the paperwork he’d brought with him into the bowl of popcorn Audun held in his lap, ignoring his brother’s glare. He was drawn to the kitchen by the smell of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven.  He snuck a couple of warm, chewy cookies from the counter while Eva’s back was turned.

“Those are for Oscar and Iyrie.” she said, aware of a thief, but unaware it was Bryn.

“Where are they?” He asked casually, popping one into his mouth whole.

Eva stopped dead in her tracks and swung around with murderous intent, a hot cookie sheet in hand.

“Relax.” He said, recognizing the scowl on her face and her fighting stance. “I told Oscar that I would spend some time with him in the tree house.”

“They’re already up there.”  She said glaring at him.

“What do you mean, ‘they’?”

“Oscar and Iyrie.”

So that was who the car in the driveway belonged to. He thought.

“She climbed up there again?”  He asked somewhat surprised, ignoring Eva’s body language. He put the other cookie in his mouth.

Eva shrugged, still testy.

“And by the way, you’re lucky that I’m the forgiving type.” she said, giving Bryn a warning look. “Since I still have my friend, I suppose I will grant you a stay of execution for your crimes.”

“Thanks.” He said drolly at Eva’s dramatics, leaning against the door jamb. Facing Eva’s fury was necessary under the circumstances. He had yet to discover what Iyrie knew about Oni’s journals. He didn’t need her on the defensive.

“I don’t understand what’s going on in your head or your life lately, Bryn.” Eva said, transferring the cookies from the sheet to the counter. “Audun told me about Laurena.” She said, pausing to look up at him accusingly. “Somehow Iyrie’s been sucked into this. How you could let that happen is a mystery to me!”

Bryn was thoughtful for a moment. It was an unfortunate coincidence that the two situations had inadvertently become intertwined, but he couldn’t explain anything to Eva.  She would think he was crazy on top of everything else. And in his own defense, he’d also had no way to predict Laurena’s behavior. He still didn’t know exactly what to make of that. There would be time to deal with that situation later.

“I messed up.” he said, looking at her squarely.

There was a moment of stunned silence on Eva’s part. That was the closest Bryn Erikson had ever come to admitting he was wrong or had made a mistake.

“Okay then, what are you going to do about it?”

Bryn took another cookie and headed for the back door.

“Apologize.”

As he neared the tree, he could hear Iyrie talking and Oscar’s infectious giggle.  He shoved the last of the cookie into his mouth and climbed the tree.

“Iyrie’s telling jokes.” Oscar said to his uncle when he crossed the threshold of the tree house.

“Is she?” Bryn asked, looking at Iyrie.  She avoided looking directly back at him. “Are they any good?”

“Yeah, she knows a ton of knock-knock jokes!” Oscar said, putting his arm around Bryn’s neck. He leaned closer into his uncle.

“I smell cookies!” He said, sniffing around him and searching Bryn’s pockets. “Where are they?”

A wrestling match ensued, the proportions of which caused Iyrie to brace herself against the wall of the tree house, terrified that this time it really was going to crash to the ground with all of them in it.

“In the kitchen.”  Bryn said finally, rolling easily into a sitting position.

“Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! There’s cookies! There’s cookies!” Oscar chanted as he swiftly backed out of the tree house and climbed down the tree.

Iyrie sat, still pressed against the wall, looking fearful; her face was pale, though her cheeks were a rosy pink. Her hair fell in tumbled curls from the top of her head where a clip was doing an ineffective job of keeping it all there.

“I’m surprised you’re up here.”

“So am I.” She said, uncomfortable and looking everywhere but at him. “I let Oscar talk me into trying it again.”

Bryn laughed.

“Was it easier this time?” He asked.

“He said it would be, but I think he fibbed.”  Iyrie replied, attempting a small smile.

The tap of rain drops on the roof of the tree house drew their attention.  In seconds the sound intensified and they watched through the doorway as the rain began to pour outside.

“I think I should hurry down.” She said, looking anxiously out the window.

“It’ll let up in a minute.” Bryn said reassuringly, leaning against the opposite wall of the tree house, though he highly doubted it. The weather forecast called for rain all week.

He watched the dreadful thought of being stuck in the tree house with him pass across her face, accompanied by the inevitable fidgeting with her fingers.

There was a child-like quality about Iyrie Castle. She was petite and could easily pass as a young girl. And she seemed completely unable to disguise her thoughts; they read on her face like a billboard. Her dark brown hair was now falling out in tendrils here and there.  She was a natural beauty.  There was a glow about her he couldn’t quite pinpoint.  Whatever it was, it made her beautiful in a unique way.

He cleared his throat, considering how to proceed.  She had clearly been upset last night, though she only registered a mild discomfort this morning. Granted, the incident with Laurena had been awkward for both of them.  However, he suspected that there had been something wrong from the moment Iyrie had stepped into Jakes. She’d been bristly and nervous; her brows furrowed the entire time. Laurena could not have been the only problem.

“Do you want to talk about last night?” He asked, stretching out his legs and crossing them casually at the ankles.

She looked at him briefly before looking back at the rain that continued to fall. He could see the uncertainty on her face.

“It wasn’t your fault. I went along with something I wasn’t comfortable with and ended up in a place I didn’t belong.” She said matter-of-factly.

He considered the possible causes for her discomfort, both last night and at the moment, before continuing.

“I should have picked you up and taken you home.” He said with sincere regret, “I’m sorry about that.” He wasn’t going to bother making excuses.

She looked as though she wanted to say something, but didn’t.

He proceeded with his next guess.

“As far as Jakes goes, I forgot that Eva said you didn’t drink.  If I had remembered I would have picked another place.”

“I don’t go in bars.” She said.

“For religious reasons.” Bryn said.  He seemed to recall Eva saying something to that effect.

“Not just that.”  She replied. “I just don’t like to be around it…the drinking. Things happen.” she added, her voice trailing off until it was barely audible, “

“Things I don’t want to be part of.”

“How’s that?” He asked, curious now about the look on her face, both solemn and distant at the same time.

“It promises people this great time, and makes them do…” she sighed, “foolish things they would never do sober. It’s all a big lie. It leads them away from things that will make them truly happy into things that ultimately destroy them or someone else.”

Bryn’s eyebrows rose at that. For a quiet, supposedly timid little thing, she had some big opinions.

“Are you speaking from experience?” He asked, watching her face closely.

She shrugged her shoulders. “My grandpa was an alcoholic. He traded his life and his family for a drink. He made their lives miserable. His son, my uncle, became an alcoholic, and ended up killing his best friend in a car accident.”

There was a strained silence.

“A friend of mine went to a party and ended up being raped by a classmate. There are just too many sad stories…” She said, shaking her head, remembering, her eyes downcast.

He couldn’t argue against that. He, too, knew enough dark tales born from drinking too much alcohol.  How many people did he know who had traded their lives and families just as her grandpa had? Too many, he decided. And while he felt he didn’t have a drinking problem, he occassionally used alcohol as a numbing agent, to help him cope with the stresses of fishing and to forget his problems. In actuality, the stresses and problems were still there waiting for him and he had to deal with them anyway, and with a horrible hang-over to boot. He sometimes wondered himself if it was really worth it.

“Life is short. It’s better to spend it on the good things.” She said.

There is more to this Iyrie Castle than meets the eye, he thought, smiling. Either she had just recently found her voice or Jack had been deaf.

“So, what are the good things in life?” He asked, intrigued by the notion, intrigued by her, “Tree houses?”

Iyrie smiled.

“I suppose,” She replied. “I didn’t realize it was on the list, but after having finally made it into one, I’d have to say so.”

“There’s a list?”

“Well, everyone’s list is different.” She answered bashfully.  She picked at some non-existent fuzz on her jeans.

“What kinds of things are on this list?” He pressed.

“My list?” Iyrie blushed, “just…stuff.” She said, embarrassed, looking down at the scuffed tips of his boots.

“Come on.” He coaxed. “Name the first things that come to mind.”

“I don’t know,” she said, chancing a glance at him. Was he mocking her? She wondered for a moment, then decided he wasn’t.

“A good book on a rainy day (she fervently wished to be home reading at this very moment), German chocolate cake, cowboys, stuff like that.”

Bryn laughed. “That’s the list?”

“Actually, no,” she said, with a playful smile directed out the tree house door, “The real list is confidential, but those are good things, don’t you think?” She said, finally working up the nerve to look him in the face.  She found herself loosening up a little with Eva’s brother in law, almost forgetting he might be a little unhinged.

“Cowboys?” he teased, a handsome smile playing on his face.

It had just come out, though it was true she had long harbored a secret admiration for men who could handle horses. Her eyes grew wide and a mortified expression took over her reddening face.

“Do you want to expound on that?” He asked, taunting her.

Iyrie just shook her head in mute reply, making Bryn laugh.

“No fishermen on that list, huh?”

“I don’t know any fishermen, except Audun,” she said, “and you.” She added as an afterthought.

“Well, that’s probably just as well,” He said, smiling rakishly at her, “The married ones have been domesticated, and are fairly harmless.  It’s the single ones you’ll want to watch out for!”

Iyrie couldn’t help but smile. Domesticated was a good way to describe Eva’s husband. He seemed eager to do anything to please her.

“And what are you?” she asked without thinking.

“I’m somewhere in between.” He said becoming serious, looking down to choose his words carefully.  It was just as good a time as any to talk about Laurena.

“The woman at the bar last night was my girlfriend.” He said, looking up to gauge her reaction.

“I gathered that.” She said.

“We were together a long time until she decided she wanted out a few months ago.  Last night was the first time I’ve seen her since then.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” Iyrie said, smiling, despite the awkwardness of the situation, “Did you talk to her?”

“No” He said, “I went looking for you.

“Oh.” She said uncomfortably. “When I saw it was raining, I thought I’d walk down to Hairvana and catch a ride home with my landlord, Sydney.”

“Eva told me,” He said, recalling the relief he had felt at knowing she wasn’t out in the storm.

“Ah!” She said. That explained the unusual call from Eva.

“There’s some unfinished business between Laurena and me. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of it.” He said sincerely.

“Me, too.” She said quietly, nodding her head as she looked at him. The man was good-looking even with scars on his face, she couldn’t help thinking. Then startled by the path her thoughts were taking, she forced them into an about-face.

“I really hate being set up!” She blurted out. “Don’t you?”

Bryn looked at her curiously. What was she talking about?