If Only I Could Fly

A cool morning breeze ruffled the leaves on the maple tree next to the porch. I took a sip of coffee and leaned back into the soft cushion of a faded lawn chair, faded from too many seasons on the front porch. I took a deep breath, inhaling the last remnants of summer, and closed my eyes to better hear the familiar sounds of morning.

The neighbor’s door opened, and then shut. Mr. Wonderful, so named because of a constant smirk and better than thou attitude, climbed into his crew cab. The engine came alive and he reversed into the alley. Willie barked his most vicious bark and chased the mean green machine along the back fence, continuing to bark until the truck turned the corner onto Main Street.

Across the street, The Singer, named due to his penchant for belting out hymns after church on Sunday morning, threw his lunch box into the passenger side seat of his truck, walked around to the driver’s side, and climbed in. His truck needed a new muffler, but Willie didn’t bark at The Singer. Odd how dogs choose who gets a bark and who doesn’t.

A mourning dove landed on the porch railing, saw he wasn’t alone, and then flew away. I watched him as he stopped for a quick peck in the grass next to the road, and then soar high above the roofs to land in the pine tree across the street. He answered the mournful cry of another dove before taking off for parts unknown. I envied his ability to fly high over the tree tops.

I took another sip of coffee and contemplated my life as a bird. There wouldn’t be a time clock to punch, no mundane chores, only the world to explore. I would sit on the wires, fly from treetop to treetop, and probably flirt with that cute little Blue Jay over by the pond. I would live outside, enjoy the sunshine and fresh air, and maybe find myself a worm or two over in Mrs. Larkin’s garden. I couldn’t imagine eating a worm, so decided I would sample her tomatoes instead.

I took another sip of my favorite beverage, and wondered if birds liked their coffee black or with cream and sugar. Willie joined me on the porch, flopped down on the hard, tile floor, and then hopped back up. He whined as he watched Mrs. Hatfield’s cat stalking an unsuspecting sparrow. The cat pounced, Willie barked, and the bird flew away. It was safe, this time.

As I took another sip of coffee, I glanced at my watch. Now it was my turn to hop up. In doing so, I spilled coffee down the front of my new, pink robe. I brushed at the spot, and then leaned down to pat Willie on the head, “I guess birds have difficult days, too.” I scratched his ears and continued my contemplation, “I wonder if birds wish they were human.” Willie merely wagged his tail. I gave him one last pat, shrugged, and winked, “Well, better fly or I’ll be late for work.”

Blogoversary

Has it really been three years since I decided to start a short story blog? I actually signed up with blogger in 2005, soon after I moved back to my home state of Illinois. Yet, I don't count that as my Blogoversary, since I only used this blog once to upload some pictures from Picasa to share with my out-of-state family. So, when I decided to post short stories, I didn't start a new blog, I merely made use of the one I had.

Why did I start blogging? At the time, I knew I should be writing every day. Writing is like learning a musical instrument, or another language—practice makes perfect. As an adult, I didn't have parents to make me sit down at the computer and practice my craft, so I set goals for myself.

I posted my first story on January 5, 2007. From that date forward, I posted one story every week or two, which has resulted in my writing nearly two hundred short stories. Last summer, I took a break, only posting two short stories since July 31, 2009. This year, I resolve to get back to posting a new short story every week or so.

I want to thank those who choose to stop by and read my ramblings, especially Blue who was my first and most loyal follower. Thanks!

So Cheers! Here's to a New Year and a new beginning. Happy New Year!

Murder at the Rialto

By the time the pews were filled at St. Boniface, Prima Donna, Madam Bibi Bessette would be where she belonged—in hell. No longer worried about how many calories she consumed, Claudia raised the wine bottle to her lips. She swallowed the last drops of Riesling, while remembering the night Thomas gave it to her. It was the night he told her he would marry Bibi. He presented Claudia with a three carat diamond pendant and a bottle of her favorite wine, as if he could bribe her into being his mistress. Thomas seemed to think Claudia would go along with his deceptive ways, and still be happy to see him on the rare occasion he could manage time away from his happy little home. Thomas was wrong.

Claudia tossed the empty wine bottle toward the trash can, missed, and watched as it shattered, spreading shards of glass over the hardwood floor. She shrugged, and then laughed until tears slid down her cheeks. Claudia couldn’t believe she had been stupid enough to believe the man’s lies. He was clever, hiding the fact he was already engaged, for months after they met. His actions led Claudia to believe she would be Mrs. Thomas Arceneau. Now she knew the truth.

The bells of St. Boniface began chiming the hour, calling all sinners to early morning mass. Claudia ignored the call. Instead, she synchronized her watch, put on the coat her father gave her last Christmas, and made her way outside. The soft light of dawn, combined with a fresh layer of snow, made for a visually stunning morning. Claudia didn’t notice. She was too busy plotting revenge. As she crossed Hawthorne Avenue, she failed to see the snow plow careening toward her. The deafening sound of its horn caused her to run the last few steps, slipping and sliding to safety. As she stepped up onto the sidewalk, she lost her balance and sat down hard, breaking the fall with her hands.

She checked for injuries, found none, and then felt inside her coat for the small silver gun hidden inside her pocket. She held her breath while she searched, exhaling only after her fingers wrapped around the weapon. The Derringer belonged to Thomas. She took the gun from their cabin hideaway last weekend. He wasn’t even suspicious when she asked to see his guns. After all he would never have guessed his besotted lover capable of shooting one. Relieved to find her weapon in tact, Claudia pulled herself up and continued down the street toward the Rialto Theater.

The Rialto was home to the prestigious Le jeune Ballet Company. Bibi, their Prima Ballerina, lived upstairs. Claudia checked her watch. Satisfied the bride-to-be would still be asleep, Claudia dashed across the street and crept around to the side entrance. The door was locked. She felt along the top of the door, inside a potted plant, and finally came up with a key hidden under the mat. Claudia shook her head, muttering something about Bibi’s stupidity for leaving the key in such an obvious place.

Claudia walked slowly, carefully up the wooden stairway. Each creak seemed to echo throughout the building. When she arrived at Bibi’s door, she was surprised to find it ajar. She looked up and down the hallway to make sure she was alone before pushing it open and stepping cautiously inside.

The room held a strong metallic-like odor so strong Claudia had to wrap her scarf over her nose to breathe. Still, she crept farther into the room. When her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, she focused on a dark mound beside the sofa. Claudia gasped and grabbed the back of a chair to keep from falling. Bibi was lying on her back. Curled up next to Bibi was Claudia’s beloved Thomas, both bodies were covered in blood. Claudia quickly opened the blinds and felt for a pulse, but she was too late. They were both dead, killed execution style, with a bullet to the center of each skull.

Claudia sat beside her beloved Thomas, rocking back and forth. She stopped rocking when she saw a gun and a cuff link on the floor between Bibi and Thomas. She reached down to pick up the monogrammed, gold cuff link. She recognized it as a Christmas gift from her mother to her father. Claudia helped select them at Morry’s Jewelry Store down on the boulevard. She was certain the cuff link belonged to her father. Claudia’s heart fell when she recognized the gun as a vintage Luger from the display case in her father’s study.

It was then she heard the sirens. As running footsteps approached the door, Claudia bent down to give Thomas one last kiss. Just before the officers entered the room, Claudia tossed the cuff link down the heat grate, rubbed her hands in the blood, and picked up the Luger. One of the officers called out, “Hands above your head!” Claudia slowly raised her arms.

Twinkle Toes Malone

The clock high above the town square chimed midnight. The courthouse windows emitted a dim, yellow light, giving them the appearance of eyes peering through the darkness. Inspector Tobias Malone moved stealthily across the lawn, stopping under a sycamore tree. He leaned back against the trunk to catch his breath. I’ve got to stop eating so much peanut butter pie, and drag out that Bowflex, he thought to himself. The street lamps, dimmed by dense fog, did little to alleviate the blackness of all Hallows Eve.

In this tiny town, with little else to do on Halloween, the teenage population threw all caution to the wind and morphed into vandals. Their target, the town square in general and the courthouse in particular. Tonight, Inspector Tobias planned to catch them in the act and toss them all in the pokey. The townspeople didn’t seem to mind the children’s antics, turning a blind eye, even enjoying their artwork. Last year, there were even parents out taking pictures of the mass of toilet paper streaming from the trees and the plastic wrap blocking the entrance on a busy court morning. Inspector Tobias, who doubled as maintenance man/groundskeeper, planned to change all that. He was sick of cleaning up toilet paper, and after all, vandalism was a crime. This year, he would be the courthouse hero.

Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, Inspector Tobias jerked his head left, and then covered his mouth to keep from crying out in pain. However, the crack of his hard head striking an even harder tree seemed to echo around the downtown square. He dragged a handkerchief out of his back pocket and mopped up the warm blood trickling down the side of his face. He expected to wake up tomorrow with yet another black eye. Note to self, try to be less clumsy, he admonished.

A black cat joined him under the tree. He couldn’t see it, so he didn’t know it was old Mrs. Gilbert’s tom. He could only tell some furry creature was busy attacking his leg, and it hurt almost as much as his head. He gave the animal a swift kick. Only as it sailed through the air on its way to the side of the building, did he recognize the cat’s angry yowl. The noise stopped mid-screech. Tobias bent down to rub the scratch marks, only to discover his trouser legs were soaking wet. “Whoever the County is paying to mow this lawn needs fired. The grass is too high and the leaves need raked,” he muttered, and then remembered he was the groundskeeper. He briefly wondered if slamming a black cat against the side of a building was bad luck, shrugged, and turned his attention back to the task at hand.

After searching the dark, nebulous grounds for signs of movement, Inspector Tobias darted from tree to tree until he reached the courthouse doors. He slipped the master key in the lock, turned, and disappeared inside.

Inspector Tobias peeked outside. His eyes darted back and forth, coming to rest on a dark figure standing on the gazebo steps. Tobias jumped backwards. Just as he slammed his back against the wall, the hall lights came on. Certain he was not alone, Tobias dropped to his knees while simultaneously pulling his gun out of its holster. Unfortunately, the safety wasn’t on. The resulting gunshot reverberated throughout the building. The slug ricocheted off Abe Lincoln’s Portrait, curved back around, and made a bee line for Tobias. Fortunately the bullet missed his skull, merely removing a small section of the left ear lobe. Tobias spouted off his entire repertoire of curse words. Realizing he was responsible for tuning on the lights when he bumped into the switch, Tobias cursed again and turned them off.

With the aid of a pin light, Inspector Tobias made his way up to the third floor communications room. From the window, he would be able to keep an eye on the grounds and thwart any attempts at Halloween trickery.

Once inside the room, he propped the door open with a folding chair, and returned the pin light to his pocket. He looked out the window, relieved to see the fog seemed less dense. It was then he saw Brandon Carter slip from the cover of the sycamore tree and crouch down next to a bench. Other shadows separated from trees, moving toward the basement door. Before Tobias could turn to leave, the door behind him slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place.

Tobias tried opening the door, but the knob wouldn’t turn. Unfortunately repairing the broken latch was on his ‘to do’ list and he hadn’t gotten around to doing anything about it.

“Let me out of here, you little bastards,” he called.

A rustling near his feet had him turning the light on. Someone had slipped a note under the door. He muttered a curse word or two under his breath, as his eyes scanned the contents of the note—Put on the costume and we’ll let you out. Tobias turned around, and nearly screamed. At first he thought a woman was standing behind him, but then he realized it was only a frilly pink tutu hanging against the wall, leggings and matching ballet shoes lay on the floor beside him.

Inspector Tobias lost his cool. He kicked the door as hard as he could, and then hopped around on one foot until the pain lessened enough to speak, “Let me out of here you little shits!” Silence greeted his outburst.

Someone slipped another note under the door. Put on the costume, or you’ll be in there the rest of the weekend. It seemed to Tobias, there was nothing to do but comply or be locked up indefinitely. Besides, as soon as he had those vandals in handcuffs, he would put his uniform back on.

With his uniform neatly folded, Tobias wiggled into the pink tights, and then pulled on the tutu. It was a perfect fit. He slid his feet into matching ballet shoes, and resisted the urge to try a pirouette or petit jeté (jump) in such a small room. Still, habit forced him to stand erect in first position. He looked down at his feet and wondered if someone knew his mother had forced him to take ballet lessons, or was the costume a coincidence.

“Okay! I’m ready!” He called.

The door groaned loudly as it swung open. Inspector Tobias decided to give his audience a show. He closed his eyes, flipped on the third floor lights, and began a pas de chat (step of the cat), as he had done while performing Swan Lake so many years ago. He leaped off his left leg, starting from a plié and raised the right leg into retiré. In midair, he raised his left leg into retiré, too, so his legs formed a diamond shape in the air. He landed on his right leg and with his left leg still in retiré, brought it down, landing in a plié. He expected applause, but when he opened his eyes, he was alone.

He heard voices from the second floor courtroom, and made his way toward the railing to see what was going on down there. It was then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced to his right in time to see a wheel of cheese, or no, it wasn’t cheese, it was a large wheel of toilet paper, rolling toward him. In order to avoid being struck by the roll of speeding toilet paper, he performed a grand jeté. Unfortunately the jeté (jump) was too grand. Inspector Tobias gracefully slid through the air, over the third floor railing, and descended into the second floor courtroom. As he dropped toward the defendant’s table, he saw Brandon Carter again, and realized he was falling toward a Halloween party in full swing. The costumed attendees called out, “Happy Halloween Inspector Tobias!” Upon impact, the room went black.

When Tobias came to, he lay still, keeping his eyes closed. It was then he heard a distant voice call out, “Yoo whooo Poopsie! You awake? Yoo whoooo Twinkle Toes Malone, wake up. Did you forget you have a special Halloween matinee of Swan Lake?”

His mom knocked loudly on the bedroom door. “I’m up,” Tobias yelled.

Still, his mother continued in an accusatory voice, “Do you have a hangover? You didn’t spike the punch at the Courthouse Halloween party again—did you?”

On Hiatus

It's time to take a break. How long? I'm not sure. I have too many unfinished projects requiring my attention. I'm taking some time away from posting stories to finish editing a second book of short stories, and at least one of my two novels.
I'll be back when I can.
I will still visit my favorites when I can, and you can always come visit me over at
Rubbish by Roan
where I will be posting occasionally.
Thank you for your support!
There's a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall
And the bells in the steeple too.
And up in the nursery an ubsurd little bird
Is popping out to say cook-coo cook-coo, cook-coo
Regretfully they tell us cook-coo
But firmly they compell us cook-coo
To say goodbye cook-coo...
To you...

So long farewell, auf weidersehen good-bye
Marta
I hate to go and leave this pretty sight

So long farewell, auf weidersehen adieu
Freidrich
Adieu, adieu, to you and you and you

So long farewell, au revior auf weidersehen
Liesl
I'd like to stay and taste my first champagne
Yes?
Captain
No

So long farewell, auf weidersehen goodnight
Kurt
I leave and heave a sigh and say good bye - goodbyyyyyyeeeee!

Brigitta
I'm glad... to go.... I cannot tell a lie
Louisa
I fleet, I float, I fleetly flee I fly...

Gretl
The sun... has gone... to bed and so must I...

So long...farewell...auf weidersehen goodbye...
Goodbye...
Goodbye....
Goodbye....
Guests
Goodbye...

From "The Sound of Music"
Words by Oscar Hammerstein 2nd
Music by Richard Rodgers

My LIttle Chickadee

The Fillin’ Station isn’t really a filling station. You can’t buy gasoline there, at least not anymore. There was a time when you could have had your car repaired and fill up your tank, but that was before competition made it impossible for a small company to compete. So, the owner converted the building into a restaurant. Today, The Fillin’ Station only fills tummies, which is all Amy was looking for when she walked in the door Sunday evening.

The room was full. After all, it was all-you-can-eat fish night. Amy looked around for an empty table, but they were all occupied. No waitress came to assist her, or put her name on a waiting list. The Fillin’ Station seated customers on a first come, first served basis, and regulars knew to wait their turn. Amy waited. She leaned against the wall, and then the counter, waiting patiently, but no one seemed to be leaving. Everyone had their heads together, whispering, while glancing toward the last table in the far corner. Amy hated gossip, yet she always listened.

Amy allowed her eyes to wander toward the topic of conversation. A woman and a man such as she had never seen before, at least in her lifetime, were perusing the menu. The woman wore an oversized hat with a cluster of feathers reaching for the ceiling, and a figure-hugging blue gown with bugle beads. The man wore a dark suit. A top hat rested on the chair beside him. As Amy stared, the woman smiled and motioned for Amy to join them.

Without thinking, Amy slowly walked toward the table. As she came closer, the woman stood up. “Have a seat Honey,” she said.

The man took a silver flask from his pocket, “Care for some lemonade?”

Amy sat down, and shook her head in answer to the lemonade question. “Hi, I’m Amy,” was all she could come up with to say.

The woman’s voice was loud and authoritative, “Well, it’s nice to meet you Amy. You can call me Mae. This old codger is Bill.”

“Welcome, my little Chickadee,” the man said.

The word Chickadee got Amy to thinking. Yes, a Chickadee is a bird, but that wasn’t what tugged at her memory. She looked at the woman, and then at the man. Pointing, she said, “You’re Flower Belle Lee.” Turning her attention to the man, she said, “And you’re Cuthbert J. Twillie. Grandma and I watched your movie the other night.”

“Ah, yes. My Little Chickadee,” Bill said. “That movie was released in 1940. The first big screen success for Universal after Gone With the Wind. Although, the critics didn’t like it much. Flower Belle and Twillie were our character names. I’m W.C. Fields and this is Mae West. But you can call me Bill. Mae here didn’t like me much at the time, but she got over it.”

“That’s what you think, you old drunk. Do you remember your last line?”

“Come up and see me sometime. And you said?”

Mae chuckled and then said, “Mmm, I will, my little chickadee. And then I sashayed up the stairs. The editor put the words ‘The End’ over my well-endowed posterior.”

The waitress interrupted, “Have you decided?”

“What’s good here, Amy?” Mae asked.

“The all-you-can-eat fish. That is, if you’re not dieting. It’s pretty greasy.”

“I never worry about diets. The only carrots that interest me are the number of carats in a diamond.” She closed the menu, handed it to the waitress, and said, “I’ll have the catfish. And toss in a piece of cherry pie with that.”

Bill pointed to the flask on the table, “I’ll just have my lemonade.”

Amy ordered her usual shrimp and the waitress left. Amy said to Mae, “Are you and Bill married?”

“Heavens no, honey!”

“Have you ever been married?”

“Not to Bill, but I gave marriage a try. It’s easy to get married, but hard to stay that way. I say, don’t ever make the same mistake twice, unless it pays.”

“Do either of you have children?” Amy asked Bill.

“I like children – fried. Children should neither be seen or heard from – again. I never met a kid I liked.”

Mae gave Amy a wink, “Don’t let the old fool fool you, he has a son. He just hasn’t seen the kid in a while. It’s a sore spot.”

“And I haven’t stopped drinking since. Excuse me, I must have a drink for breakfast.” Bill tipped up the flask and took a gulp of the contents.

Mae frowned, “It’s dinner time you old fool. Why don’t you try drinking water?”

“I never drink water. I’m afraid it will become habit-forming.”

Amy watched as the two traded insults. She couldn’t quite decide if they hated each other, or if they were in love. Before she could decide, the food came. The women ate in relative silence, while Bill took a nip or two from his flask and watched people watch him.

Bill leaned in to whisper, “If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull.” And then he stood up. He looked around, made eye contact with the obvious busy-bodies in the room and said, “Some weasel took the cork out of my lunch.” With that, he staggered toward the exit, and disappeared through the door.

Mae pushed back her chair and stood up, “I like a man who’s good, but not too good – for the good die young, and I hate a dead one. Better go make sure he doesn’t get run over crossing the street. It was nice meeting you, honey.”

With that she too disappeared through the door.

The waitress brought Amy’s food: a plate of fried shrimp, slaw, hush puppies, and a piece of cherry pie.

Realizing she was here to work, Amy shook the daydream from her head, opened her notebook, and picked up a pen. She began writing a review for the movie, My Little Chickadee.

The Hogg House

This is a joint effort for Portraint of Words and Sunday Scribblings. Plus I have provided a happy ending for Dr. John and Bettygram.

It was hot even before the sun broke through the fog over Moss Lake. An eagle circled high above Salt Lick Creek, spied an unsuspecting rabbit, and dived down to retrieve its prey. A doe lifted her head, listened, and went back to the destruction of Edna Faye’s garden. Bobbie tucked the old frayed sheet under her chin and covered her head with the extra pillow. It was way too early to start the day, so she tried to go back to sleep—unsuccessfully. As if the birds were not loud enough, Edna Faye’s mutt started barking. Bobbie was ready to permanently silence the flea ridden creature, when she heard Grandma Hogg moving around in the kitchen and caught the first whiff of bacon frying. Bobbie sat up in bed, remembering why she had returned to the hills of Tennessee.

Although Bobbie Jean had grown up on Badger Mountain, she moved away as soon as she could after graduating from high school. She knew there was a better life out there somewhere, and she promised herself she would find it. But, without a degree, her options were limited. The only thing she really knew how to do was wrestle. She was a champion wrestler in school, so Bobbie Jean Hogg took a job as a mud wrestler in a dive down in Possum Hollow. When she had enough money put back, she moved to the city, changed her name to Bobbie Hogan, and took another job mud wrestling at a club in Knoxville. The job didn’t pay much, but the tips made up for the pitiful wage. So, even though she loathed her job, she blocked out the cat calls, fought hard every night, and saved her money. From there she began her career as a WWF wrestler named, Bobbie the Bad. She was one of the top names in the business, which allowed her to branch out into commercials and eventually television.

Moving to California made her a rich woman. Now she wanted to help her family. If only she still had a family. Her parents were killed two years ago when a tractor trailer rear-ended their car on Highway 67, and since Papaw died before she was born, Granny Hogg was her only living relative. With her sitcom on hiatus, Bobbie came home to hire a contractor. She planned to surprise Granny Hogg with a new house filled with modern conveniences.

Dressed in a pair of newly cut off jeans and t-shirt, Bobbie looked overdressed in a room with only a chair and the rickety, old bed Papaw built using rough hewn wood. She tucked the sheet neatly under the mattress and went in search of breakfast.

Granny wasn’t in the kitchen. To keep flies off the food, Granny always placed a tablecloth over the table. Bobbie lifted the age-yellowed cloth to reveal eggs, hash browns, and bacon. She folded the cloth and threw it over the back of a chair, filled her plate, and poured a cup of coffee from the pot left warming on the stove. She carried her plate outside and sat down on the steps. Granny was across the road chatting with Edna Faye. If it was possible, Edna Faye’s two-room shack was in more disrepair than Granny’s. Both were no more than cabins most people wouldn’t even use for camping.

When Edna Faye saw Bobbie Jean, she waved. Granny smiled. Bobbie waved back and took a bite of bacon. As she chewed and watched the two friends laughing and talking, she had an idea. She would build two new houses, one for Granny, and one for Edna Faye.

With her mind busy formulating plans, Bobbie didn’t notice the truck until it stopped in front of her. She read the name on the side, Moss Lake Contractors. As the door opened and a man got out, Bobbie Jean stood up.

A man about Bobbie’s age got out of the truck and slowly walked toward her. She met him halfway. He held out his hand, “Hi Bobbie Jean. It’s good to see you again.”

Bobbie took his hand and looked up into familiar green eyes. Her mouth opened to speak, closed, and then opened again. She finally managed one word, “Marshall?”

“It’s been a long time.”

Bobbie nodded, and let go of Marshall’s hand as if it were a hot coal.

In a voice laced with hurt, Marshall said, “You left.”

“I had to.”

“You left without answering my question.”

“I answered your question by leaving,” Bobbie took a step back. “We’re not here to talk about the past. I want to hire a contractor, and you’re obviously one, so let’s talk business.”

It wasn’t easy convincing the two women to accept Bobbie’s gift. Yet, after a lot of friendly banter, they both agreed. As days turned into weeks, Bobbie and Marshall worked together to make sure Granny Hogg and Edna Faye had houses they could be proud of. The Hogg's house was gone, as was Edna Faye's shack. In their place were two small, ranch-style homes. Granny’s house was gray with white trim, Edna’s yellow with green trim. Marshall even built a matching dog house for Old Pete, Edna Faye’s dog. It was almost time for Bobbie to go home. California waited.

Edna Faye’s niece, Trixie Sue, had been hanging around the job site. At first Bobbie thought she was merely visiting her aunt, until this morning when she saw Trixie’s hand on Marshall’s arm while they talked with their heads together. The sight caused Bobbie to clench her fists. It was all she could do to keep from grabbing the woman by the hair and tossing her off the mountain. Her reaction opened her eyes. She was falling in love with Marshall all over again, and he was obviously smitten with Trixie Sue. It was time to leave.

That night, Granny Hogg invited Marshall to stay for dinner. He tried to decline, but Granny convinced him to stay and enjoy a celebratory meal. After dinner, Bobbie excused herself, stating she was tired. Yet instead of going to bed, Bobbie escaped out the back door. She took a path through the woods toward Salt Lick Creek. She found her favorite spot next to a shallow pool of water, and sat down on a rock. It wasn’t just any rock, it was her special rock. As a child, this was where she came to dream.

Bobbie pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. She took a deep breath, marveling at how fresh the air smelled. She listened to the night creatures singing, realizing how much she missed this place, and how much she missed Marshall. She was so deep in thought she didn’t hear footsteps on the path until Marshall sat down beside her.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said, placing one arm around her, pulling her close.

Bobbie relaxed against him, “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered. This is where we had our first kiss. This is where I fell in love with you.” Marshall gently tipped her chin up until he could see her eyes, “Why did you leave without giving me an answer? Without even saying goodbye?”

“Because I had to go and I knew if I looked into your eyes, I would have stayed.”

“Would that have been so terrible?”

“I thought so at the time.”

Marshall held his breath, “And now?”

After a long pause, Bobbie whispered, “If I could, I would stay.”

“Then stay. With me.”

Bobbie pulled away and stood up. She leaned against the hard bark of a tree, bringing herself back to reality, “What about Trixie Sue? You two seem pretty cozy.”

Marshall laughed, “Trixie Sue is married to Curtis. You remember Curtis? My best friend since forever? We have been planning a surprise party for his thirtieth birthday next week.” Marshall laughed again, “You thought we were?”

“Well, you were always whispering together.”

Marshall’s smile faded. He took Bobbie’s hands in his, and said, “I’m going to ask you again.”

Bobbie’s hands shook. She couldn’t speak.

With one hand, Marshall reached into his pocket, pulled out a small box, before bending down on one knee. He opened the box, revealing a large marquis cut diamond, and said, “I’m not a pauper, I make good money as a contractor. I even built a house up on Eagle Peak. Victorian, like you always wanted. It’s our dream house. Remember? I know you have a job in California, but you can commute. We will find a way around the obstacles. Bobbie Jean Hogg, Hogan, or whatever you call yourself these days, how about changing your name to Bobbie Sadler? Marry me?”

Without hesitation, Bobbie Jean answered, “Yes!”

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