Chapter 18 Weeping Willow Conversation
Anger is such an interesting emotion because rarely is anger the root emotion that we have to temper.
Usually, there is something crouching in the depths of us needing attention; pain or fear.
Eloise knew her best friend in a way that she understood her anger.
Ursula's anger wasn't a vitriol response to anything happening.
It was fear of what they couldn't control or see, mixed with the pain of their past falling out.
And Eloise's anger was a mask for her shame. And her hurt.
She felt it sitting on her shoulders like a cloak, tucked around her neck and draping over her form as if it would protect her.
But really, it was holding her back from believing she could look her mistakes in the face, tip her head up and say that she knew better now and no longer needed the cloak.
Eloise walked along the edge of The Lost Souls Property heading west until she hit a patch of land she had never seen before.
She looked back, guessing she'd probably walked about a mile.
Casper walked with her part of the way before he nudged her side and went back to the house, then Sulphur took up the rest of the walk like a small sentry.
The graveyard was a good way back and she looked out over the rolling field that had a few rises and dips to its horizon.
Off in the distance, just barely visible by starlight, stood a wide and thick weeping willow.
She smiled as she stepped under its sweeping canopy. Some say that weeping willows bring bad luck to those who plant them, but more often than not those who enjoy its draping protection find solace and a quiet place for their minds.
She lay the quilt Ursula had given her on the uneven ground where thick roots wove up and back into the earth and wrapped her blanket around herself as she looked out over the field.
She couldn't see much, but she imagined that this was a beautiful piece of land with its hills and little patches of brush and most of it covered in tall grass that would eventually reach a person's waist.
How long she sat there thinking, and not thinking, she wasn't sure. But the sudden sound of footsteps moving through the grass made her twist, holding the blanket tightly against her chest in a gathered handful. Sulphur was sitting next to her and was lazily licking her paw.
"You're a terrible guard cat," she whispered. The cat paused, flickered different colored eyes at her and upon finding her boring went back to her important cleaning task.
The steps got closer and she stood, sinking back against the heart of the tree trying to hide until a pair of boots came into view under the willow's green branches that nearly brushed the ground. Her heart pounded.
"Eloise? Do you want to come out of there so I don't scare you?"
And her heartbeat calmed as she parted the peaceful curtain of leaf-beaded strings to see Taylor standing there. He tilted his head, taking in her small form dwarfed in a blanket clutched in one hand while the other held open a wall of willow as if she were a child playing a game of make-believe.
"Hey, Ladyhawk."
Her chest swelled and she felt her skin prickle. He looked so handsome that the memory of his lips taking hers in passionate moonlit kisses made her nervous. She was nearly forty years old and still, a teenage version of her had a belly full of fluttering wings.
"Great movie," she replied. Her inner teenager gave her a high five at her level of calm. And she wondered how much therapy she'd need to get rid of her.
"You've seen it?" he asked surprised.
"Michelle Pfiefer and young Matthew Broderick? Cursed lovers. A wonderful fable of a wolf and a hawk? Of course I have. You can call me Ladyhawk anytime."
"So what are you doing hiding in a willow tree? It's incredibly fitting for you, by the way."
"Thinking," she replied.
He nodded thoughtfully, then pointed in a wordless question, to which she answered by stepping aside and holding the make-believe door open for him.
He was no longer in his uniform, instead wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a thick button-up made of soft flannel the color of cornflowers. It made his eyes brighter.
Once they were both inside of the verdant cocoon, they sat on the blanket side-by-side. Jarred moonlight gave their fort an ethereal glow.
"How did you know I was here?"
"Would it completely freak you out if I told you I had a feeling?"
She looked at him and considered his words. She thought of the house icing over and the cabinets banging open and shut. "I've been here a few months now so honestly, no."
His crooked smile was gentle. "I have a cabin just up the hill that way," he pointed to somewhere unseen behind their willow curtain. "I saw you and the cat slip under the willow."
"This is your property?"
He nodded. "Been in my family for a long time. I just finished building a place next to the lake."
"There's a lake?" she mused. "There's something about being near a body of water, isn't there?"
He made a humming sound of agreement.
"Sorry I trespassed."
That crooked smile showed off his dimple. "You can trespass anytime."
"Ursula and I got into a fight. We don't fight often but when we do, I don't know. It's deeper than regular fights." Getting the words out, with someone sitting next to her, made the pressure in her chest release.
He sat back, resting his weight on his hands behind him as he sat silently and she talked. She pulled on words that were wound tightly around the vines flowing through her, trying to make sense of them as she got them untangled and laid them out.
"Do you have a best friend?"
"I have a few friends but I wouldn't dare categorize them in the same league as you and Ursula."
"Why?" Her curiosity was piqued.
He paused with a deep breath. "I don't think men think of friendship like women do.
You have this way together, like you're connected.
There's almost a hunger there that is distinctly feminine.
" She watched his strong profile as he filtered through thoughts to give her.
"I guess men don't think of that as a need," he said looking at her.
"That's kind of sad," she remarked softly. She was surprised by his astute observation.
He laughed. "Yeah, it kind of is. But tell me what's wrong. Even a relationally-stunted man," he bumped her shoulder lightly, "can be a good sounding board."
"You want to hear about our fight?"
He shrugged. "Is it important?"
"Yes," she said.
"Then yes, I do."
She considered him and his words for a moment. She wouldn't be comfortable talking about this with anyone else, especially not their mutual friends, as it would feel like a betrayal. But she needed to get the words out and he felt like a safe space.
She looked at him. "I'm going to start a few years back."
"Oh, is this like, Shakespeare stuff? Deep, dark, years-long resentment?"
She almost laughed, but there was a truth to that. Years-long, maybe not resentment, but hurt. And it needed to be brought to the surface so that they could heal together.
"Not quite. She was with this guy for years and he treated her like she was lucky to have him.
He was an accountant, which there's nothing wrong with if the boring qualities of that job didn't also bleed into every area of his life and personality.
The man's favorite color was light beige," she shook her head.
"And it wouldn't have even been that bad if he were simply boring. That's not a sin."
"It should be, though," he remarked. "What a waste of a soul to favor light beige and only like numbers," he shuttered dramatically and she smiled at his way of making her feel at ease.
"The great offense was that he looked through her, made it clear that he would rather spend his time with other people or alone.
" Taylor watched her profile as she talked and her face puckered as if she had tasted something sour.
"How could you look through a person like Ursula?
She's made of starlight and warmth. She's the funniest person I know, the smartest. She's interesting and kind.
And then add in her looks." She turned to look at Taylor. "She's beautiful, right?"
"She's a beautiful woman, yes." His face was soft as he listened to this woman describe her closest friend. He marveled at how she saw her, how she spoke such lovely things about her. He marveled at this love.
She shook her head and turned again to stare straight ahead. "Idiot. Who allows someone like her to slip through his fingers?"
"Men aren't that complicated," he replied. "I'm not sure if you actually want an answer to that, but it's simple: he became complacent and passive and probably didn't understand the weight of what he was doing or more likely not doing. Most men don't."
"Why is that? Why do men stop trying?"
He sighed. "Because we think our part is done, I guess. We chased and wooed and caught."
"But you have to take care of something to keep it."
He nodded thoughtfully, lips pursed. "Yeah, you do."
It was her turn to study his profile. It was strong, his nose was a little large but also fit his face perfectly to lend him a rugged look.
His jaw was a work of art and his cheekbones were high and perfect.
His dark golden eyebrows were thick and almost harsh, but the way he smiled or tilted his head with his clear blue eyes lit everything up.
Right now she couldn't see his eyes, but she knew they would be a study in calm and insight.
"Do you ever..." she bit her lip to hold back her words wondering suddenly if they would be insensitive. She wondered if they would dance around what they hadn't yet talked about.
He looked at her as if he knew what she was about to ask. "Do I ever what?" The way he asked was gentle and told her she could ask him anything.
"Do you ever look at a man and envy them their love? Or think that they take their relationship for granted?"