Indelible Laurie Buchanan (sad books to read TXT) 📖

taking a position in the back, he begins the form, transitioning smoothly from one move to the next. The steps—done in a rolling motion, placing his bare feet with balanced weight one in front of the other—are soothing. Mick welcomes the relief as tension drains from his body. If stress were liquid, there would be a pool at his feet.

During Mick’s recovery, Libby taught him that tai chi reduces stress, elevates moods, and opens the floodgates of creativity. In fact, many writers who stay at Pines & Quill resolve to continue the practice when they return home.

While putting their shoes on after the session, Libby hears Cynthia and Fran planning to meet at the bikes. They’re going to peddle into Fairhaven for a shopping adventure.

“I have an errand in town. I’d be happy to drop you off. Then just call me when you’re done, and I’ll pick you up.”

“That would be great,” Fran says.

After glancing at her watch, Libby adds, “It’s not quite eight o’clock. If you meet me in the circular drive at twelve-thirty, you’ll still have the morning to write. Does that sound good?”

“It’s perfect,” Cynthia says.

That afternoon on the way to town, Libby shares with Fran and Cynthia the names of her favorite local clothing shops. After pulling up in front of the first one, she reminds them, “Just call me when you’re ready, and I’ll pick you up. I’m looking forward to seeing what you find.”

By the time the two women arrive at the fourth store, one with a lovely selection of footwear, they’d already acquired several bags. When they leave the shoe store, they had yet another—a large, handled-bag containing boots, sandals, and heels.

“Before we call Libby,” Cynthia says, “there’s one more stop we need to make. Every beautiful outfit needs jewelry. Are you game?”

“I most certainly am.”

Two hours later, as the exhausted women enjoy a celebratory glass of wine, Fran says, “I especially liked the last shop we visited. What’s the name of it?”

“I did too,” Cynthia says, while fishing a receipt from her purse. “It’s called Hyde and Seek. I love their assortment of handcrafted jewelry. And did you see all of the other unique pieces made by local artists? They’re gorgeous!”

“I agree. Do you think the tags on the pendants we purchased belong to our Mick? No one at Pines & Quill mentioned anything about it, but it says, ‘Sean McPherson, Bespoke Wood: Handmade—Lovingly Crafted—Unique.’”

Cynthia places the ebony pendant she purchased between her hands, closes her eyes, and becomes still.

After a long pause, Fran whispers, “What are you doing?”

“I’m reading the energy in this piece. Yes, the artist who carved these beautiful pendants is our Mick.”

Fran looks at Cynthia, hesitates a moment, and then continues. “You’ve been so kind, and not just in helping me shop for clothes. Thank you. I’m curious, and I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what is your faith background? Are you like the Dalai Lama? Is kindness your religion?”

Cynthia leans forward, puts her elbows on the table, and steeples her fingertips before answering. “I believe in the common ground of shared humanity. Life is my cathedral. I embrace the idea that everyone is an extension of source energy, that everyone is a living church, a breathing sanctuary. And you?”

After a short pause, Fran answers. “I wish I had your confidence.” She shifts her gaze to the table. “I don’t believe in God anymore. I’d like to. I used to. But not being able to have children changed my mind. I can’t believe in a God who would allow that to happen.” She looks back up.

Cynthia nods, letting Fran know that she heard her, while at the same time, understanding she wasn’t looking for a response. Fran was merely glad for the opportunity to voice what was weighing heavily on her heart and mind.

A short while later, Libby picks them up. The wind is whipping, and the sky is purple with near-certain rain as Cynthia and Fran dash for the car. Libby sees from the sheer number of packages that their outing has been a success.

“What did you buy?” Libby asks, with enthusiasm.

Fran repeats the old adage. “‘A picture is worth a thousand words.’ I’m excited to wear one of my new outfits to dinner tonight.” Turning to Cynthia, Fran continues. “I’m so appreciative of your help today. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you for coming with me.”

“The pleasure was mine,” Cynthia says. “I had fun, too.”

At one o’clock, Mick knocks on the door of Austen cottage.

“Come in. It’s open,” he hears Emma call out.

When he opens the door, he sees her smiling face. His eyes can’t help but take in her lithe body. Her feminine shape is accentuated in a dark blue shirt that she’s paired with beige Capri pants.

After adjusting his collar and clearing his throat, Mick says, “You look lovely. Are you ready?”

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself. And yes, I’m ready. I’ve worked up a healthy appetite. How about you?”

“I didn’t get any heavy lifting done with my manuscript, but I’m hungry too.”

Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply through her nose, Emma says, “Whatever you’ve got in that basket smells delicious.”

“I can’t take the credit. Niall put this picnic together for us. We’ve got a basket of gold here—two of his world-famous panini sandwiches. If we hurry, we can enjoy them while they’re still hot.”

As they pass through the trees, sunlight dapples the walkway in front of them and wind whispers through the leaves overhead.

“The trees and smooth paving end soon,” Mick says. “If you don’t mind, I’ll set the basket on your lap and push you the rest of the way. I’m taking you to one of my favorite places. The terrain’s a bit bumpy, but doable.”

Emma takes in the new landscape, intrigued that it could change so quickly.

They stop at a spot on the bluff a few yards from the cliff overlooking Bellingham Bay. Mick locks the wheels on her chair.