Field of Blackbirds by Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen (e reader manga txt) đ
Book online «Field of Blackbirds by Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen (e reader manga txt) đ». Author Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen
Chapter 34 â The Portrait, the Vineyard and the Escape
Lindsey handed seventy-five cents to the man in the toll booth. She let the cold air invade every corner of her new Saab, before she rolled up the window. She hopped into Interstate 5âs least crowded lane to escape from under the cityâs ominous gray haze. The gentle hint of salt in the ocean breeze faded behind her. Lindsey flicked on the radio and tuned into her favorite station. Right Said Fredâs, âIâm too Sexyâ had just ended. Now, more appropriately, Tom Cochrane was explaining how âLife is a Highwayâ. She turned up the volume to drown the hiss of uneven asphalt.
Soon, the busy horizon began to straighten. The concrete-gray transformed into a soft, two-toned, milky-blue over parched-green. Life moved a little slower when you passed the âWelcome to Hinckleyâ billboard. Here, gas stations still had rusted, âSelf Serveâ signs, and car horns were reserved exclusively for hokey town parades.
Lindsey turned onto the âno-nameâ dirt road that led to the Becklyâs farm. She wasnât sure how, or even if she could tell them. Moral trepidation toppled her sense of judgment. They had a right to know that Reed was in trouble. But even she didnât know exactly what kind of trouble he was in. It was careless to scare them when she didnât have any of the details. But it was selfish to keep it all hidden away in a folder marked, âClassifiedâ. One thing she knew for sure; she needed them, to feel close to him. If she was going to broadcast the bad news, she would do it at the end of their visit. She simply needed a constructive, uplifting atmosphere.
Anna greeted her at the door. Her warm expression, the softness of her touch and the elegance in her voice made Lindsey feel right at home. The familiar smell of Annaâs home cooking greeted her next; ribs, potatoes and seasoned vegetables perhaps, with a presumptuous and aromatic indication of something sweet in the oven.
âLindsey, come in!â welcomed Anna.
Gracie was next to occupy the small space in the doorway.
âHey sis, how ya been? Get in here. Itâs cold out there,â her hug, a little more dynamic, baring the sweet smells of perfume, lotion and make-up. Surely Kyle was taking her out later that evening. Lindsey appreciated the âsisâ gesture. She had forgotten how comfortable the Becklyâs made her feel.
Lindsey heard Tomâs deep, rumbling voice in the hallway.
âYouâre just like Reed. He hears the word âfoodâ and comes running.â
âTom!â Anna scolded. âThat was rude.â
He cleverly redeemed himself by adding, âI havenât met anyone yet who can resist Annaâs cooking.â
Lindsey momentarily disappeared into Tomâs six-foot-four, two hundred and forty-four pound stature. She knew his candid expressions were laden with love and care. It was why Anna was crazy about him, though it wasnât something she might confess.
Tom called Reddin down, who was studying for Midterms. Reddin appeared at the bottom of the stairs wearing a red, tighter fitting, UCLA t-shirt and blue jeans. He had gotten a little taller over the months and football caused him to bulk up some. It was his embrace that made Lindsey uncomfortable. It wasnât a feeling she expected. His boyish look was gone. He looked more like Reed and his frame was identical. His countenance teased her emotions; his touch, his smell, insufferable. Just when Lindsey thought it might be obvious, Reddin spoke and rescued her from crumbling.
âHey Lindsey! Itâs been a while.â His voice was nothing like Reedâs. It was the same boyish voice she remembered. Her blood began to fall back from the surface of her skin. âThank you!â she whispered under her breath.
âItâs so good to see all of you.â Lindsey admitted. âI brought you some things from New York.â
âCome sit down at the table. We want to hear all about it.â Anna took Lindsey by the arm and led her through the kitchen into the dining room. Tom took the bag of souvenirs she was holding.
The conversation at dinner was loose, mostly about Lindseyâs trip to New York. She was surprised at how much fun she had recounting the details. But then her vibrant tale sort of fell flat; right about the same time her trip fell flat; when she overheard her father in the hallway at the hotel. It was an opportune moment to bring up the gifts she had bought them. She walked around the table with the bag. For Anna, an eloquent Channel handbag and a Christmas ornament; a beautiful bulb with a wispy hand painting of Central Park. For Gracie, a trendier, yuppie type, Kate Spade purse and wallet and a Statue of Liberty Christmas ornament. For Tom and Reddin both, she got NYPD ball caps and fake Rolex watches sheâd hustled off the Somalis.
Halfway through Annaâs famous peach cobbler, Gracie was the first to start talking about Reed.
âWe got a letter from Reed last week.â She blurted.
It was about time Lindsey thought. It was all she really wanted to talk about. But she did appreciate the familyâs attempt to make her feel special for reasons other than the fact she was dating their son.
âHeâs still in Belgium. He says heâs on some top-secret mission or something that he canât tell us anything about. I wrote him, asking for all the details. He tells me everything you know.â Gracie grinned mischievously.
âHeâll never say anything,â interrupted Tom. âHeâs got way too much integrity. He would be a horrible politician.â
That was her answer. Lindsey stopped listening to the conversation. The word âintegrityâ rang the bell that was quiet and motionless inside her. Reed has integrity, she told herself. Lindsey wasnât supposed to know anything, but she knew he was in Bosnia. She knew he was in trouble. It was already too much. If he wasnât going to say anything, neither was she. She would stay true to Reed. She would protect the integrity of his mission, the way he was.
They were all so happy, all so proud of their son. No need to ruin their spirits. Lindsey might need to lean on them again.
After dinner, Lindsey found herself in the living room staring at Reedâs Marine portrait. It was next to the framed American flag over the sofa. She had to get used to his hair, so closely shaven. She got as close as she could to the picture. She tried not to worry about him; tried not to play out the many possibilities.
âBe careful, Reed. I love you.â she whispered. Lindsey took a half step backward and gave him a quick salute.
************
Remembering the baby, Marianna watched her step as she moved through rows of naked grape vines; little dirt clods breaking under her bare feet. She reached out her hand and let the vines brush her fingertips, a sensation returning from her childhood. The soft blaze of the setting sun offered the perfect amount of warmth. She took in the freshness, hoping it would reach the baby. She had never felt so peaceful, so free, so absolved of all fear. She had fought for and nurtured the ideal environment for Marcielliâs return and the arrival of their baby.
Marianna stopped where the vineyard began to descend into the valley. She knew the downward angle could be dangerous. She found a flatter spot in the dirt where she could rest and watch the dayâs light nestle into the earth.
Marianna glanced down at her feet and smiled. The purple stains nearly reached her ankles. The boys picked them and the girls squished them. She had forgotten how much fun the festival was. It was just what she needed. For a change, she was surrounded with family, mostly girls. She could talk about girl things; men, love and fashion. Everyone was thrilled with her news and everyone had a baby story. They laughed about the awkwardness of shopping while pregnant. They shared other funny stories and stories that werenât so fun, like child birth. But the similitude was nice, something she couldnât find on the base.
A rough, winded voice sounded in the distance. âMarianna, where have you run off to?â
She would never confuse Beppeâs voice with another. Beppe was her great uncle, Mossimoâs youngest brother. He was the closest sheâd ever had to a grandfather. She figured they were a lot alike from the stories sheâd heard.
âBeppe Iâm here.â Marianna stood and waved her arms. She saw him coming from the end of the row. She had always appreciated his vintage look of a blousy white, collared shirt, held back by a brown vest. He wore brown slacks to match and charcoal-black loafers, heâd probably had for fifty years. He walked with care, not because he was balancing two glasses of wine, but because, visibly, he was in the eve of his life. He would always say his best years were ahead of him. Marianna wished it was true. The family wine festival would never be the same without him.
âMi Amor, come back to the villa. Youâll get lost out here.â Beppe held out a glass of wine for Marianna to take. She accepted only so he wouldnât have to carry both.
âI know every nook and cranny of this vineyard, Beppe. We used to play hide and seek here when we were little. I could find my way back with my eyes closed.â Marianna laughed.
âYouâre my favorite niece you know.â
âI wonât tell the others, Beppe.â
Marianna adored Beppeâs wispy gray hair, his wide blue-gray eyes and his brittle smile. It was all so endearing, so comforting.
Beppe tapped his glass against Mariannaâs and then took a sip.
âMmmm,â A raspy gasp escaped as he lowered his glass. âThe best wine
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