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Ruffling Feathers Chapter 10 - Mothers and Daughters
Amy pushed open the backdoor into her kitchen with bone-tired weariness. The adrenaline rush from the rally had worn off hours ago. In fact, she had slept most of the way home from South Park. Deciding to forego the evening wrap up and camp out, Amy had hitched a ride with one of the Sierra Club staffers who needed to return to the Front Range. She just wanted to be home, sleep until she wasn't tired anymore, drink chamomile tea, and mend her worn out body. A pungent, unmistakable aroma assaulted her senses. Patchouli. That scent could only mean one thing. Mother. Sure enough, Amy walked into the living room to see her mother enthroned on the sofa, her vibrant caftan billowing out around her, glass of wine in hand, red lipstick accentuating a too sensual mouth. Jenn met Amy's eyes with an equal mixture of alarm and chagrin. Jeanie Hutchins was not a woman to be gainsaid. "Mother! What a surprise." Amy dropped her bags and leaned over to kiss her mother's cheeks. "What brings you back to Piñon?" "Santa Fe is too hot." Jeanie Hutchins began, her chubby, ringed fingers punctuating her words. "The air conditioning in Roger's rancho went out and I just can't take the heat. I told him 'When you get the A. C. back on, sugar, then you'll get me back. Until then, I'm going to go look after my girls up in Colorado.' And here I am. Jenn's been so sweet. Made up the guestroom and cooked me dinner. She's been filling me in on all the new men in your sweet young lives." Amy shot a glance at Jenn. The guestroom was her office—it was where she wrote her column every morning and did her research and organized her head. She inwardly groaned; she could only imagine how her sanctuary now looked, much less smelled, with her mother installed. Amy feared that her office from this day forward would smell like a commune from the seventies. After forty years of trying, Jeanie Hutchins at fifty-five was still trying to find herself. Her journey to self-discovery had taken her along a path so many others of her generation had trod. Beatlemania gave way to the summer of love, life in a commune gave way to Ms. Magazine, strident feminism gave way to macrobiotics, which gave way to tarot cards and crystals. Somewhere along the way, she acquired a husband who wanted to play Pygmalion to her Galatea. She had other ideas. An earnest young man, Ed Hutchins, had wanted to change the world but ended up changing diapers, mainly because his wife was out looking for fulfillment and the diapers really did need changing. On her fortieth birthday, Jeanie went out to lunch and never came home. She called Ed from Taos to say that her spirit needed to be free. She missed Jenn's graduation from high school, Amy's first date, Martin's prize-winning science fair project, and Lisa's first period. Roger Martinez, ten years her junior and thirty pounds lighter, owned a gallery on the Plaza in Santa Fe and a ranch on a high mesa outside of town. Jeanie had taken up residence with him five years ago, and had taken the reins of the store two weeks later. She was phenomenal with the tourists who wanted to take a piece of the New Mexico desert home with them. She could sell a painted skull faster than anybody in town. She could weave marvelous, mystical stories about the jewelry and pottery, the paintings and kachinas that filled the store windows and enticed visitors inside. After each sale, she pressed a little Chimayo dirt into her customer's hand and whispered of its magical, healing powers. She knew that Roger was going to get the air conditioning fixed, and right away; they both knew he would do anything to keep Jeanie happy in Santa Fe. While Jenn fixed tea and a sandwich for her tired sister, Amy sank into a chair and tried to listen as her mother catalogued her adventures since they last talked. Amy tried to determine how long Jeanie was going to be in Piñon, how long she would visiting Hutchins House. But it was no use, sleep won out and Jenn somehow got Amy into her room and into bed while her mother held court to an empty room. Whoosh. A pack of neon-clad bronzed muscles zipped by Amy as she started up yet another hill. It had been way too long since her morning routine had included a bike ride, and her thighs, calves, arms, neck, and rear were protesting vehemently. It didn't help that the rest of the road seemed to be the property of Tour de France types. Boulder county is a Mecca for serious road warriors—that is, the non-motorized kind—and Amy was used to seeing world-class cyclists sprinting up the rolling foothills that connect Piñon to Boulder. But she usually wasn't left this far back in the distance like somebody's granny. Lots of kinks to work out, and biking humiliation was a darn sight better than grimacing through yet another morning of listening to her mother rag on about life in Santa Fe. Being in her mother's company tended to bring out the worst in Amy. With every other person in the universe, she could be herself, which she thought was a pretty okay kind of person. Five minutes in the same room with Jeanie Hutchins and she morphed back into a fifteen-year-old with a bad attitude. To complete the agony, she then felt guilty for being rude, or at least for wanting to be rude. Mercifully, Roger Martinez had called yesterday to say that the air conditioning man was finally on his way out to the ranch and it would be safe for Jeanie to come back home. Three days had passed since the Independence Day rally up in South Park and Amy had yet to feel rested. With her mother in her home, rest was not an option. Plus, she had gotten a disturbing phone call from Jay O'Brien at the Daily Camera. As her mentor and friend, he wanted to caution her about crossing a sacred journalistic line—she shouldn't be getting so involved in stories she was covering. She must guard against losing her objectivity. She shouldn't have sung at the rally. The first step towards losing one's objectivity was losing the appearance of objectivity. She could almost hear the barbs her father would hurl at that argument for passivity. Coasting down the last hill into Piñon, Amy could see a couple of cyclists stopped on the other side of the road. Flat tire, no doubt. Oh Lord, it's Greg...typical he would be the one out here helping a pretty young damsel in distress. For it was a young girl that Amy's ex-boyfriend, Greg Hansen, was helping as Amy braked to a stop. She called across to see whether they needed any help. Greg flashed his cocky grin as he finished patching the tire and started inflating it with a hand pump. Nope, Greg had everything under control, as the wink attested. Amy waved good luck and then focused on trying to get her legs to do the last bit of work necessary to ride into Piñon. At least there were no hard feelings between her and Greg, although that girl seemed pretty young even for him...stop it! Amy scolded herself, stop passing judgment on what Greg does. It's his life, not yours. Picking a restaurant for Jeanie's goodbye dinner wasn't easy. Jenn and Amy wanted to go into Boulder to avoid the still palpable tension that pervaded Piñon, but Jeanie wanted to stay in town. She wanted to run into old friends and catch up on gossip before she left in the morning. So they did what everyone who lived in Piñon did when they wanted a decent meal but didn't want to drive—they went to Settler's Hall. Amy sweet-talked the hostess into giving them the last table on the veranda. They watched children playing on the lawns surrounding the old Victorian mansion and, serenaded by the distant sounds of softball games, they let the day gracefully fade into evening. Actually, not a bad scene, Amy silently acknowledged. They were positioned near the front of the veranda so Jeanie could wave and visit with former neighbors who hadn't seen or heard of her escapades for years. The couple at the table behind them finished their dinner and then stopped to chat—the woman had taught at the middle school and knew the Hutchins family well. Nice, comfortable, friendly little town stuff. Amy's pulse quickened as she saw Paul Donovan walking up the front steps. The hostess glanced at her book and then motioned him to the empty table behind Amy. Jenn, always gracious, smiled and said hello. Amy bit her lip and nodded to him slightly with the sheerest of smiles. They hadn't met, much less talked since midsummer night, and with each passing day, renewing even a semblance of friendship seemed more impossible. The hostess cleared away two of the four table settings. So, someone's meeting him for dinner here. Probably pretty. Of course she's pretty, you idiot. And don't even think about getting jealous. If Jeanie realized that the table behind them was once again occupied, she didn't let on by altering her volume, tone, or topics. "Well, well, well. Jenn's got herself a lawyer for a boyfriend." She fairly cackled as she leaned over and patted Jenn's hand. "I knew you could not be so pretty for nothing. My baby's gonna be rich. Closets full of clothes, a big house, vacations in Hawaii. My girl—snaring a big-city lawyer." Jeanie sat back, self-satisfaction emanating from every pore of her ample body, completely oblivious to the embarrassment she was causing her daughters as they squirmed in their seats and kept their eyes fixed on their plates. Amy knew that Paul could hear every word, and was probably counting his blessings that he had not pursued a relationship with a woman whose mother was so gauche. "I always wanted your father to get his law degree, but no, he wanted to get that stupid Ph.D. and teach. Imagine trying to feed a family of six on a professor's salary. And I was so afraid he would never get tenure with all his protests and marches and shenanigans." Jeanie smiled benevolently, "But that's all in the past, and now my Jenn has got herself a lawyer." "Mother, please..." Jenn protested in a whisper. "Yes, yes, Jenn. I know. You don't want to jinx anything. My lips are sealed...but oh dearie, I am so proud of you." Jeanie said squeezing Jenn's hands. Amy was about to suggest that her mother might find Jenn's work as a teacher, musician, and choir director worthy of praise as well, when Jeanie turned her sights on her next daughter. "And how is that sweet Greg Hansen? You haven't mentioned him at all, Amy. That is one good looking man you've got there. Hope you treat him well, honey. Granted he has no money and you'll always have to work. But then, you like to work, Amy." Jenn jumped in to say that they should really catch the eye of the waitress and get their check. But no, Jeanie wanted coffee and dessert. Then she put on her best motherly air and launched into the worst of all possible topics—"Now, girls, you are using birth control, aren't you? I don't want you to end up like I did, unmarried and pregnant. But it's a different world now..." Amy felt a constricting feeling of panic take over as she heard her mother going down this path. She had heard this particular speech too many times to count, and it always ended the same...I swear to God, if she starts quoting Erica Jong, I'm going to scream. Jeanie continued, "Now in my younger days, we weren't so all worked up about commitment, you know, The Z..." Amy's scream died in her throat as her mother mercifully stopped talking and stared at the young woman who had arrived at the table behind theirs. Paul stood up to greet her and kiss her cheek, and then they sat down. It was the young woman cyclist whom Greg had stopped to help that morning. She was almost elfin, like a young Audrey Hepburn. Enormous brown eyes, slender, with soft brown hair falling gracefully to her collar, gently framing her face. Jenn's voice broke the silence, "Mother, are you alright?" "I'm looking at a ghost," Jeanie murmured, not taking her eyes off the young woman sitting with Paul Donovan. "Who is that girl?" Before Jenn or Amy could answer, their mother stood up and carefully placed her napkin on the table. As if in a trace, she addressed the girl. "Are you Anne Donovan's daughter?" Paul started to stand but the girl placed her hand on his arm to restrain him. "Yes, I'm Gina Donovan and this is my brother, Paul. Anne Donovan was our mother." "You look just like her. She saved my life once, literally saved it. She was the sweetest, nicest person I ever knew in my life, and I cried for two days together when that plane went down." Jeanie picked up her purse and pulled out a business card. She handed it to the girl, "I believe in karma. Now, you take this and if you ever need anything, anytime, you call me." She paused and then completed her thought, "Your mother was an angel." Amy stood up next to her mother, "Are you okay?" Jeanie hugged her daughter, "Yes, yes, let's go now. I'll pay on the way out." She stopped and turned once more to Gina, "Anytime you need anything..." Amy gathered together their things. She glanced up to see Paul looking at her. His sister's eyes were following Jeanie and Jenn as they made their way to the top of the stairs, but his were fixed on Amy. She dropped her gaze in confusion and headed for the landing. The silver Lexus roared down the street as Jeanie hit the road the next morning, on her way back to Santa Fe and Roger. She had taken her youngest daughter, Lisa, with her. Jenn, Amy, and Martin waved them off and then quietly went back into Hutchins House to clean up brunch dishes and resurrect what was left of their dignity. At least, she had managed to say goodbye to her children this time when she left. Amy gazed around her house in dismay. It was starting to look like a flophouse. Well, things were going to change. The Royal Court didn't have a wedding to do this weekend or the next for that matter, and that meant quality time at home. Weeding the garden, shelling peas, finding some shade and just sleeping with a good book tented over her chest. A loud rapping on the door jarred Amy out of her reverie, and she heard Tom Thompson's booming voice announce that the painting crew was ready to start scraping the paint off her house. Those sweethearts couldn't have picked a worse day to start giving Amy her birthday present, but you can't look a gift horse in the mouth...or something like that, Amy's brain so addled she was having trouble getting her clichés right. Jenn watched as Amy valiantly tried to be chipper and took over. She made coffee for the crew, which consisted of Tom Thompson, Kris Cox's younger brother Ted, and Ernie Syznicki, the cop with the bullhorn who had tried to talk Martin Hutchins out of the Gibson house a couple of weeks earlier. Then Jenn did the most merciful thing she could have done—she put Ariel's leash in Amy's hand and sent them out for a walk. Amy and Ariel, her adolescent chocolate lab, slowly walked through Old Town Piñon. Wide avenues with graceful houses, trim yards filled with flowers were a tonic to her rattled nerves. She smiled at the sounds of a summer Saturday—the whine of lawn mowers and the whir of sprinklers, ice cream trucks, and insects filled the air. She headed towards the park at the end of Old Town—Ariel needed to run and play and Amy needed to watch the grass grow. At the Piñon Loop, Amy stopped and considered. The Piñon Loop provided a shortcut to the park, it was a pretty path, and most importantly, it was too far into a hot summer day for anyone to be out jogging. Out of a mixture of anger and disappointed hopes, and maybe a bit of cowardice, Amy had studiously avoided Paul Donovan since their disastrous first and only date. Being on opposite sides of the biggest fight Piñon had hosted in years didn't help either. Amy unhooked Ariel's leash from her collar and turned onto the trail. Ariel and Amy had completed voice-command training months ago, although with Amy's busy work schedule they hadn't been practicing much. Still, Amy had enough confidence in the both of them to let loose a little. Big mistake. Ariel took off after a squirrel and disappeared down the trail. By the time Amy rounded the corner and caught up she could see that Ariel had not only treed the squirrel but had also leveled Paul Donovan, who had, in fact, been jogging along the trail. Without remembering that she was supposed to ignore him, Amy rushed to Paul's side while trying to curtail her errant puppy. "Ariel! Heel!...are you alright? Here, let me help you up...Ariel! Leave it alone!...I'm so sorry...Heel, girl!...I am so sorry...Ariel!" Paul, with Amy's paltry help, made it to his feet. "I'm so..." "Please..." interrupted Paul, with an edge in his voice, "don't apologize anymore." Amy managed to get the leash on Ariel's collar and dragged her away from the tree. Paul was working his right foot, making sure it wasn't sprained or strained. "Well..." Amy bit her lip, at a loss for what to say. "Can you walk?" seemed the only sensible thing to say. "Well enough." "Alright then." Ariel pulled Amy down the path away from Paul as he started limping towards the road. "And one more thing..." Paul's voice stopped Amy, "Tell your boyfriend to stay away from my sister." "Tell your sister to buy a tire-repair kit before she bikes in the country if she doesn't want to be 'assisted.'" Amy shouted back. "He's been stalking her since she came to town on Wednesday." "Stalking! Flirting maybe, but not stalking. You people have over-active imaginations." "You tell him to keep his distance..." "...or what, you'll send your Fed to threaten him too!" Amy turned and started walking away, her heart pounding and tears welling up in her eyes. Then she stopped and spun around, "And he's not my boyfriend!" "That's not what he told me." "Then he lied. Wait a minute, told you when? When have you ever had a conversation with Greg Hansen?" "When I came over to your house the morning after my building was blown up to find out if you were alright. That guy answered your door in his underwear and told me you were still asleep and that he was your boyfriend," Paul said in one breath. "You came over...to my house?" Amy's lower lip quivered. "For the record, I broke up with Greg before midsummer night. He's a reprobate and a ladies man and probably a gigolo, but at least he's not my boyfriend anymore." She wiped away a tear that had somehow escaped down her cheek. "Oh well, it's probably for the best that I didn't know that you came over to see me that morning." "What's that supposed to mean?" "You think we could possibly be friends after you started tearing down houses left and right to build a strip mall, not to mention that monument to your ego that you're building up in South Park?" "You'll notice that we only tore down one house." "Yeah, well, why wait?" For a long time Paul didn't answer. Amy could almost see the wheels turning inside his head as he tried to decide what to say. "Don't you remember what your father told you after he met me...'Don't believe a word this man says'?" Amy flashed back to her visit to her father's campus office after the press conference last month. "He also said 'Things aren't what they seem.' Paul, would you like to fill me in on what I can believe?" "Amy," Paul took her hand. "I need your help." He gazed up into a sky so blue it made his eyes ache. "I came to Colorado to find out the truth about my parent's plane crash, but I think I've been going about it all wrong. Your friend, Annie Edgerton, told me to seek the truth not just wait for it to find me. But I don't even know how to get started." "I have found that it's always best to do what Annie tells you to do." Amy said quietly. "Then you'll help me?" Amy looked at Paul, his eyes so brown and warm and hopeful, his strong jaw, his tender mouth. Every atom in her body, every electric pulse that constituted her spirit wanted to fall in love with this man. "What do you mean?" she asked in a soft whisper. "Let me tell you the truth as I know it."
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