Kate looks out Aunt Sara’s picture window. A mug of tea and a pen are on a table next to her chair; her new journal lies unopened on her lap. The cover is Monet’s Nympheas bleus -- Blue Waterlilies – and Kate paid much more for it than she budgeted for. (She firmly believes, however, that a writer must surround herself with beautiful things.)
The room is quiet except for the wind in the front yard oaks and the distant sound of crashing waves. It is late October and the first major storm of the season is rolling in. Kate watches the surf as rain begins to pelt the window at an odd angle. Where, she wonders, do the seagulls wait out the storm? Do they hide in the pine trees? Do they go inland? Do they get cold? How come you never see baby seagulls? Are they
SNAP OUT OF IT! Kate reshifts her weight to sit taller in her chair and uncaps her pen.
Lot 9, Block 4, a Novel, Draft #1
She takes a sip of tea. It is hot, but not quite hot enough. It will just take a minute to reheat it in the microwave. She recaps her pen.
Kate presses the 30-second quick-start button and looks around the kitchen. The breakfast nook table is busy with the morning paper, toast crumbs, her aunt’s four-page itinerary, pet sitting instructions, and emergency phone numbers. (Call the Filos if the toilet starts running again; Ted can fix ANYTHING.) Kate’s eyes fall on Puddy’s water bowl. There are brown, spongy-looking chunks at the bottom and black hairs floating on top. She rinses the bowl in the laundry room sink next to the washing machine… The washing machine. It holds the forgotten clothes washed that morning.
………..
The dryer thumps and hums. Puddy’s water and food bowls are clean and full; the linoleum beneath them spotless. The breakfast table is empty except for the cut-crystal vase filled with red geraniums. (Her aunt’s pocket garden was once featured in the local newspaper.) Kate resets the microwave for 45 seconds.
Back in her chair, Kate opens her journal to page 1:
The instant Ms. March turned her Lexus into the barren, freshly-paved cul-de-sac, the Ivanhoes knew their search was over. As their realtor promised, Block 4 was THE place to build their California home. “Thank God we are rich!” exclaimed Trish, who
The bulb in the table lamp flickers. Just once. Kate looks up from her lap, takes a deep, slow breath. Blows it back out with her mouth open.
Kate starts looking for candles in the bedroom hall cabinets. Bedding, towels, a set of nesting baskets from Africa (or Thailand?). Windex, bridge score pads, photo albums, a blanket inside a zippered bag, a man’s manicure set. Silver candlesticks, but no candles.
No candles in the kitchen cupboards as well, but Kate does find the dried oregano she was looking for last night while making spaghetti sauce… Sauce. Noodles. Leftovers. Isn’t it time for lunch?
………..
The couple walking on the beach are wearing boat shoes and matching plaid raincoats. Kate holds her mug of vanilla tea and watches them struggle to keep their balance in the wind. Tourists, she thinks, and picks up her pen:
adjusted her scarf and waited for her husband to open her door. Trish hoped that it wasn’t too muddy outside as she was wearing her new
The phone rings.
………..
Kate places her mug of cold tea into the microwave and presses the 30-second quick-start button twice. She looks out kitchen window. Hazel Filo is heading up the front path carrying a package of Mint Milano cookies, clutching her hat for dear life.
………..
In the waning afternoon light, Kate sits feeling refreshed after the nap she took after Hazel’s visit. With pen in hand, she takes one last look out the window. The rain has let up, but not the wind. She sees whitecaps in the distance.
The bulb in the table lamp flickers, then goes out.
