Hens and Chickens (3 page)

“Puh-leeze. We’re just friends—we’re not even having sex.”

Rebecca blushed.

“Sorry, I forget you’re from another generation,” said Lila. “Hey, if Ryan MacDonald wants to come to Maine to see me, I won’t send him packing. But I’m not staying in Boston just to be near the Perkins & Gleeful corporate attorney!”

Unconsciously, Rebecca sat up straighter in her chair. “Well, I don’t seem to have any bright ideas myself,” she said, gamely. “I can’t
promise
you I’ll commit to anything at this point – especially with Amber still in college. But I’m willing to take a look. Let me go home, feed my cat and pack my overnight bag. I’ll pick you up at one o’clock. That way we’ll be able to get to Sovereign before dark.”

“Becca, this is amazing!” cried Lila, who, although not normally demonstrative, leapt up and gave her friend a quick hug.

“I’m not promising anything, remember!” Rebecca cautioned, familiar with Lila’s youthful exuberance.

“I know; I know! We’re just going for a look. You won’t regret it!”

“I haven’t got much to regret at this point,” replied Rebecca, wryly. She leaned down to pick up her purse. “But I might soon—God help us!” she added, under her breath.

Chapter 3

Rebecca

At 48, Rebecca Johnson had experienced her share of life’s little disappointments. And while the loss of the marketing job with Perkins & Gleeful was certainly a major stumbling block at this point in her life – especially with Amber only a junior in college – it was not one of her top five disappointments. Those would be marrying an abusive (lying, drunken etc. etc.) husband, losing their son Thad in a motorcycle accident, caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s; and, well, why bring them all back?

Rebecca’s past disappointments flashed briefly before her soft blue eyes while she sat at the Grass Roots Café and listened as Lila outlined a possible new future for the two women. But it had not always been that way. Rebecca was one of the popular girls in high school; not the most popular, true, but popular enough to make everyone believe that she would lead a charmed life. She was a pretty, friendly brunette, and, although short, she had a good figure and a warm, compassionate nature.

Rebecca was a cheerleader; not the Captain of the cheerleading squad, no, but one of its solid members, necessary for the middle of the pyramid. A natural homemaker, she sewed most of the costumes for the drama club, and always carried spare sanitary pads, tampons and ibuprofen. She was the girl next door, the girl Anthony Trollope wrote copious 19
^th
century love stories about.

Rebecca’s childhood and young womanhood were largely serene and uneventful, until she had married her college sweetheart. On that day, the storm clouds began building on an otherwise cloudless sky.

Rebecca’s husband, who would always remain nameless (unless “your father” could be considered a name), was a confident, charming sweet-talker who talked the comely co-ed right out of her tightly-held virginity. (Even now Rebecca was embarrassed to admit to Lila that she’d never been with another man.) Amber’s father was a salesman, a top-earner for a growing insurance company—none other, in fact, than Perkins & Gleeful, Inc. When his sales crumbled after the death of their son, Rebecca had taken a job at the front desk as a receptionist. By the time her husband had drunk himself into a casket, Rebecca had been promoted to the marketing department and was left as the sole provider of eight-year-old Amber Joy.

For many years, Amber, now 21, was Rebecca’s reason for being. Amber, a delightful, caring child, was a more modern and lankier version of her mother. She was a daughter of whom every mother could feel proud, and Rebecca was certainly no exception. But Amber had grown into an inquiring, passionate teen and naturally separated from her mother to bond with younger, more progressive friends. When Rebecca had first noticed her chick try to leave the nest, she had felt incredibly terrified and sad; but she did not prevent her daughter from forming new attachments. Instead, she had stepped aside, and had courageously given her daughter the slight push necessary to send her solitary chick out into the world to create a meaningful life for herself. Amber’s latest passion was the blossoming organic movement. 

“It’s a lot harder to be a good parent than a bad parent,” Rebecca’s mother had allowed two years ago, before Mom forgot who this short, professionally-dressed brunette was who visited her every weekend and sometimes on weeknights. “You’ve done a good job with her, Rebecca.”

It was probably the last coherent praise Rebecca ever received from her mother. She leaned over and kissed the elderly woman’s waxy white face. “I love you, Mom,” she said, choking back tears.

Once Amber had flown from the nest to UMass, Rebecca found herself drawn even closer to her motherless co-worker, Lila Woodsum. Everyone in the office liked and admired Lila, who, fresh from college, had been hired to liven up the group and to provide new tech savvy to the company. (Rebecca had been right about that.) Those were the good days, when money seemed to drop from the heavens and every $1 Perkins & Gleeful spent on marketing seemed to return $100 in sales. But then the Great Recession hit, and in the fall of 2008 the first layoffs had begun. Once there had been seven of them in the marketing department—now there were, well, none!

Even now, motoring up the Maine turnpike, Rebecca could not believe that after all these months of worrying about losing her job the axe had finally fallen. She who had faithfully attended the office at Perkins & Gleeful every work day (except for a few vacation and sick days) for the past 16
years, now had no place to go on Monday (or Tuesday or Wednesday …). She had lost not only her gainful employment, she had lost also part of her identity. True, she was still Amber’s Mom and Lila’s Best Friend. But who was she – Rebecca Johnson? And what did she really want for her life?

The last few hours seemed surreal to Rebecca. The firing from Perkins & Gleeful. Coffee at Grass Roots Café in the middle of a work day. Lila chattering about hens and an offbeat stranger she’d met on Twitter. Her young friend pitching a plan to move to Maine. It was almost like a dream!

To Rebecca’s credit, she had not agreed to consider the Maine adventure from any self-interest. Much as she loved Lila and shared with her a deep sense of “family” connection, she would never be comfortable “living off” her young friend. No, if Rebecca acceded to the plan – and that was a
big
IF – it would be simply to keep a watchful eye on Lila.

From outward appearances, Lila appeared to be a light-hearted, confident young woman. But Rebecca, who was no stranger to caregiving or sorrow, noted the deepening shadows beneath her friend’s eyes and her thinning figure. Lila wasn’t happy – hadn’t been happy – at least not since her parents were killed in that terrible boat crash in late 2009.  Lila’s flippant remarks and her joking and teasing belied her true feelings. But Rebecca sensed that a heart-wrenching pain was hiding not far beneath the surface, and suspected that the slightest scratch would bring it up.

And why not?
Rebecca wondered.
Why shouldn’t she feel the loss of her parents, still? What could be more natural?

But natural or not, that terrible loss – or
something
– was harming Lila’s health; physically, mentally and spiritually. Rebecca also noted with seasoned awareness that Lila seemed to be afraid of a committed romantic relationship. When pressed by Rebecca about it, Lila defended her single lifestyle by claiming “all the good men are gay” and “I’m going to focus on my career, first.” Even now, Lila had formed a new “friendship” with the perfectly eligible (and extremely handsome, Rebecca thought) corporate attorney, 32-year-old Ryan MacDonald. Yet it appeared to Rebecca that Lila was going to run away to Maine simply because Ryan might be pressing her for more of a commitment.

I can’t believe he’s still hanging around and they haven’t even had sex yet.He must be more of a White Knight than I thought!

“Hello, hello – Rebecca, you soo totally haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the last 10 miles!” accused Lila. “This is our EXIT!”

Automatically, Rebecca glanced in her rear view mirror to check the traffic situation. “I’m not ignoring you – I’m driving,” she said, defending herself. The green and white Exit 113 sign loomed large, and Rebecca switched on the car’s directional signal.

“You’d be halfway to Canada now if I wasn’t with you,” continued Lila. “Where were you, anyway?”

Where was she? In the past? No, she wouldn’t be feeling so hopeful if she was stuck in the past. “Just thinking about your plan,” Rebecca answered, lightly. “Wondering if it
is
possible to pack up and relocate. Start a new life in Maine.” She hesitated. “Did you text Ryan about it?”

Lila bristled. “Why should I tell HIM? What does he care?”

“Oh, Lila, I think Ryan does care! I think he cares a great deal.”

“OK, well, so maybe I’m the one who doesn’t care,” Lila said, defensively. “I don’t want to feel like I’ve got to tell someone what I’m doing every minute of the day. Especially a man. Anyway, he’ll know soon enough that I’ve left the firm, ‘cause Joe Kelly will tell him.”

Rebecca knew it would be useless to continue the “Ryan cares for you” conversation, even in a more-subtle form. Lila was smart, sometimes too smart for her own good. Lila was also stiff-necked and stubborn. If she thought Rebecca was pushing her toward Ryan MacDonald, she would almost necessarily turn and run in the opposite direction. Rebecca allowed the subject to drop. “Which way do I go off the exit?”

“We can only take a right off this exit,” Lila said. She shifted in her seat. “We’ve got to get a brand name for our new business,” she continued, intently. “What do you think of
The
Egg Ladies
?”

Rebecca thought a moment. “I always liked the word ‘ladies’ – it’s so old-fashioned,” she said.

“That kills it, then.” They both laughed.

“Thanks a lot,” said Rebecca. “You had me picturing myself all laced up in a Gunne Sax gown, collecting eggs from our adoring chickens. I knew I’d never get to own a Gunne Sax!”

“What’s a gunny sack? Some type of a grain bag, isn’t it?”

“You don’t know Gunne Sax?!”

“Totally clueless.”

Rebecca was momentarily transported to the charm of a past life, a by-gone era. She happily described the hippy-style gowns from the 70s and 80s to Lila. “The dresses were romantic; long and flowing, made with calico and lace and velvet, especially around the bodice,” Rebecca elaborated. “I always dreamed I would wear a pink and ivory dress with a black bodice and go tripping through a green pasture with Prince Charming.”

“Sounds, um, sweet.”

“It
was
sweet. But it was a very sweet time back then.” Rebecca sighed. “I couldn’t afford a Gunne Sax, though – they were terribly expensive. So I tried to sew one, but the dress ended up looking like something Lily Munster would wear. Plus those long dresses look much better on taller girls, like you, dear—doesn’t Route 202 take a turn to the left soon?”

Lila glanced down at her phone. “Not yet – three more miles. Mmmm, Lily Munster. Not sure I like that image, but I’m seeing the long dress picture. It’s not bad. I almost think it’s something we can work with.”

“I sewed most of Amber’s baby clothes, you know. I love to sew.”

At the mention of Amber, Lila gave a little start forward in the passenger seat. “I can’t believe we’re doing this! So, what did she say? I bet Amber loved the idea of an organic egg farm in Maine!”

Rebecca hesitated. “I told Amber we were going to Maine for the weekend, but I didn’t tell her I lost my job. I didn’t…”

“What?! You didn’t tell Amber ‘The Plan?’” Lila interrupted. “I was counting on her support. I know how conservative you are, Becca!”

“I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and I thought …” Rebecca broke off lamely. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“She’s going to have to know sooner or later,” said Lila. “Especially about the losing-your-job part.”

“Well, let it be
later
,” replied Rebecca, with a small but determined shake of her head. “At least until after the weekend. Do you think we should bring a hostess gift to your Twitter friend?” she asked, changing the subject. “That’s what I do when I go to visit someone.”

“Of course you do; that is so totally 20
^th
century! My aunt used to bring my mother a set of peach-colored bath soaps. She brought the same set every time,” said Lila. “But, hey, why not? Let’s get Miss Jan Hastings something. Who says we have to live in the mean and nasty 21
^st
century?”

“Who says the 21
^st
century has to be mean and nasty?” countered Rebecca. “Who says we can’t make the 21
^st
century what
we
want it to be?”

“R-i-g-h-t,” said Lila, dryly. “What should we get for a hostess gift?”

“Oh, I don’t know; I don’t know your Twitter friend. Plus I’m not sure how many shopping opportunities we’ll have before we get to Sovereign.”

Lila regarded the rural landscape with a wry grin. “Good point,” she said. “Let’s just stop at the next store and see what they’ve got, OK?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You’re going to love Miss Jan Hastings, Becca,” Lila continued, her enthusiasm waxing as the distance to Sovereign waned. “I just know it!”

Rebecca smiled. “I’m prepared to fall in love with her immediately.”

“I’ve been reading her tweets for a couple of years, feeling the envy grow inside me, hating my job; hating everything about my life—except you,” Lila added quickly. “Wanting to kiss corporate America good-bye, yet not knowing where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do. Feeling as though I didn’t belong, that I was lost in a world that was growing stranger and stranger …”

“ ‘curiouser and curiouser’ like Alice in Wonderland…”