The Mandolin Lunch by Missouri Vaun

Author:Missouri Vaun [Vaun, Missouri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781635555677
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2020-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-five

It rained late on Saturday so that Sunday morning everything was damp. Every leaf and blade of grass was heavy with droplets from the overnight showers. The sky was still active. Small clusters of clouds swept past overhead allowing intermittent sun exposure. The temp was crisp and the sun was brightly white against the blue patches when they appeared. Garet decided to take a stroll along the river path to get a little blood circulation going before she spent the better part of the day hunched over the drawing board, and before it started to rain again. Dark clouds along the distant ridgeline suggested a thunderstorm might be in the near future. But she was certain there was plenty of time for a walk before the dark clouds reached Shadetree.

Turning left onto Front Street, Garet ambled at a leisurely pace down to the old train depot now brewery. It was closed, of course, but the Riverside Café was packed. Garet thought of the first time she’d eaten there, the second time she’d seen Tess. Things could have gone so easily if she’d only gotten Tess’s number that day…if she hadn’t ended up working with Tess at the school. Dating Tess just wasn’t meant to be.

But that was a strange thought. It didn’t make sense. Normally, if things so easily came into Garet’s life, then that meant something. She’d assumed they were supposed to meet for some reason. But in this case, as far as Tess was concerned, fate was obviously only toying with her.

Water droplets like miniature crystal balls amplified and reflected the Sun’s rays, giving the leaves a sparkly sheen. When a light breeze kicked up, the drops splashed down like rain. A drop hit her on the back of the neck. She turned up the collar of her denim jacket.

As the path transitioned to woods along the river, Garet slowed down. Having spent the previous day drawing an imaginary woodland scene, she was now focused on every tiny detail along the trail. Moss so bright green that it was practically chartreuse covered rocks half buried in dead leaves. The contrast of the rough brown leaf debris made the delicate moss almost luminous. And the same splash of green was painted all around the trunk of a nearby poplar tree. Overhead, the leaves were shifting into their autumn wardrobe. And the faintest scent of wood smoke from someone’s chimney danced with the breeze.

All these small details sent her back to her childhood in the small Georgia town of Brunswick, closer to the coast. The place her family lived before Macon, near her grandparents. Unpaved roads that were more sand than dirt lined with large stands of long leaf pines. There was also the smell of the marsh at low tide with a scent that existed nowhere else. The nights were warm, the sun set late in summer. The lightning bugs danced at dusk in the shadows. She never saw lightning bugs in Atlanta.

Standing at the edge of the river, she realized she didn’t spend much time in the woods any more.

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