Bleeding Green by Anne James

Florida from Pensacola eight weeks earlier. That involved renting her home in Pensacola and finding an apartment. All the duties involved with being a park ranger made the request seem ludicrous. How was she supposed to find a new place to live, care for her mom and maintain a full-time job, a job that demanded she go on prescribed burns sometimes not returning until late in the evening? She would find a way. That decision made, eventually a residence on park property became available, helping this task become more doable. She envisioned her mom so clearly sitting in the rocking chair reading. Sometimes the same page over and over.
    She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand as she turned into the driveway.
    The silhouette of a woman waving stood on her screened porch.
    Beeping her horn, Laurel waved back.
    She passed Brodie’s sage green Prius parked by the front steps.
    Pulling the truck under the aluminum carport, she turned the key, shutting off the engine. Shouldering the door open, she plopped her sock feet on the ground. Reaching into the rear of the vehicle, she grabbed her black leather duffle with the Department of Environmental Protection, Parks and Recreation emblem on the front pocket of the bag. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she grabbed the extra bags, slammed the door shut with her hip and turned. She bumped into Brodie.
    The heavy duffle bag glanced off Brodie’s side causing her to wobble and grab for the truck.
    “Whoa, Nellie!” said Laurel with a loud shout as she dropped her bags, attempting to grab Brodie’s arm. Missing by a mile, she socked the woman on her right breast.
    Brodie gasped and yelped like a young pup.
    Peering at her friend, Laurel wanted to ask if she was okay, even as the words toppled all over each other and turned to giggling, which brought on a mild fit of hysteria.
    With an attempt at self-preservation, Brodie gave a squeak. “Don’t touch me!”
    These words caused Laurel further distress as she slid down the side of the Landcruiser and plopped on the ground. She leaned her head against the door and allowed the laughter to roll out, even as the tears slid down her face.
    Brodie plunked beside her on the ground and with great gentleness reached for Laurel’s left hand.
    Turning her head to look at Brodie, Laurel was just about to speak when Jackson pounced on her from her other side. His huge thick tongue covered her face in dog kisses. His dog smell engulfed the women as his tail wagging nearly tipped him over. The animal seemed overcome with joy and love.
    His lack of reservation in his demonstration was a thing to behold or hold onto as the case might be, decided Brodie. Cats. Give her cats any day of the year.
    Untangling themselves from the gargantuan, wiggling mountain of joy took some muscle.
    Laurel had lost all command of her vocal chords, making any attempt at controlling Jackson by words futile.
    Brodie tried pulling herself up by grabbing the side of the truck. “Laurel, could you …”
    Jackson’s rear end thumped into her sending her sprawling to the ground. “Good Lord, Laurel,” said Brodie as she brushed pine needles from her brunette tinged with gray hair. “Get the shotgun!”
    Laurel held a hand out to Brodie. A flash of white sparkled from her face, as her teeth gleamed in the darkening evening. “You wouldn’t dare!”
    “Hah! Don’t bet on it!” She held onto Laurel’s strong grasp and struggled upright.
    “Your good ranger friend, Lawrence, has been taking excellent care of the beast. When I came over tonight to fix dinner for your arrival, Jackson didn’t leave me alone for a second. I think he missed you more than words can tell.”
    Laurel glanced at the open side door that light was spilling from. A delicious aroma wafted on the night air. She greedily sniffed and gave an excited screech. “Chicken pot pie! I can’t believe it! Oh, Brodie, it’s perfect!”
    A smile filled with love was Brodie’s answer.
    Without too