Tears and Tequila by Linda Schreyer

Author:Linda Schreyer [SCHREYER, LINDA; LAUTMAN JO-ANN]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Easton Studio Press, LLC
Published: 2014-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-three

Following Berta up the winding dirt path to the Labyrinth was like trailing after a goat, Joey decided. By the time she’d caught up, Berta was pointing into the woods.

“Look over there,” she whispered. “See?”

Joey looked. Two deer were taking long-legged steps down the canyon.

“Beautiful,” Joey said softly.

“Just a little further,” Berta said, beginning to climb again.

They were headed for a clearing where sacred circles of rocks lay beneath a stand of old-growth eucalyptus trees. The Labyrinth, Berta called it. It had been created by her and a group of women in the Canyon.

“It’s the perfect place to continue our conversation.”

Their conversation had begun on the brick patio beneath a canopy of mission oak trees behind Berta’s home and studio on a tiny canyon road. Seated at an overturned wine cask that served as a table, Berta poured them tea brewed from twigs, and they munched on a plateful of her favorite cookies—Pepperidge Farm Mint Milanos.

Flowing water burbled from a stone fountain beneath a chattering pair of lovebirds in a Chinese cage. In Berta’s house, a tree grew straight through her living room. In her studio, her vivid paintings hung floor-to-ceiling on deep-red walls.

A stone statue of St. Francis of Assisi stood next to a golden Buddha beside a collection of clay menorahs. Framed drawings of nudes leaned against floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with art books in English, French, German, and Greek. There were books on philosophy, history, poetry. The windowsills were crammed with photographs of Berta, young and old, with her children and grandchildren, her four husbands, and numerous friends. Prisms rainbowed the light through the seven-foot studio windows.

“Amazing,” Joey told her.

“It’s home,” Berta replied.

“How long have you lived here?”

“An eternity to a gypsy like you,” Berta laughed, taking Joey’s arm and walking her to the patio. “About 40 years.”

Joey asked about the St. Francis, Buddha, and menorahs.

“I’m a Bu-Jew,” Berta explained.

“A…what?”

“One who follows both Jewish and Buddhist belief systems. I throw in a little St. Francis for good measure. Anything for inspiration,” she added, leaning forward to whisper. “You know what I do before I paint?” Joey shook her head. “I dance,” Berta proclaimed in a tone of great excitement. “It’s a meditation.”

How cool is this woman? Joey marveled before she asked about Berta’s daughters. One lived in Bali; the other in Chile.

“Is that hard for you?” Joey asked.

“Yes and no,” Berta said. “I wish they were closer but the older I get the smaller the distances become. I always tell them, ‘You’re in my heart and I’m in yours. So we don’t have to be together to be together.’ You know?”

“Actually, I don’t.” The familiar twinges she felt told her she was no more settled than ever about losing her family. “How did you deal with the death of your husbands?” she asked Berta.

“Like everyone else,” she said. “I cried. I wailed. I raged. I hid. I picked myself up and went on living. So, what’s with the Aussie from Queensland?” Berta leaned forward eagerly.

“I think I’m in love,” Joey blurted.

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