work, she would find near-pristine gardens and no mess anywhere.
It seemed, after all, even in Denmark there was a place for magic.
Chapter Five
As May died and gave way to June, the southern heat grew meaner by the day. I began to lose hope that things would ever change for the better. Admittedly, I don’t do well with heat, and greatly preferred the arctic blizzards that sometimes rolled over Chicago from Lake Michigan. Part of me understood that hating the present could inadvertently invite more of the same angst for my future… but I couldn’t help it. Even so, despite the unforgiving swelter and the fact time was passing slowly, a few notable events happened during the two weeks following our unfortunate encounter with the crazy guy across the street and the full-on advent of summer in the South.
Mom and Grandma became increasingly popular in Denmark, and their presence was pretty much expected at a monthly luncheon for a local book club and another for the town’s historical society. Alisia’s presence was requested for July’s meetings, which made her much easier to deal with since her emancipation from yard work was coming soon. Meanwhile, the art school approached my father about joining their board of directors. Dad hadn’t served on a board since the 1940s, when he was the chairman for a Chicago bank, and was quite thrilled. “This gives me something new to focus on,” he said, sounding hopeful, while he and Mom waited for affirmation that a massive energy shield they placed around Denmark with my grandparents actually worked. Designed to keep the Mateis and their affiliates from finding us, the fact Grandpa and Grandma even tried to create something like it clearly announced they didn’t trust a similar shield surrounding the greater Chicago area to remain effective.
With the prospects of becoming the official caretaker for “Twin Magnolias” looking more likely by the day, unless the folks at Wal-Mart or the string of fast-food joints gave me a call, I had less and less to smile about. The only thing on our immediate horizon that sounded interesting to me was Mom’s mention of having the author across the street and his wife over for dinner one night soon. The suggestion to do so came from Sadee, who remained determined to introduce us to the exclusive, and diminutive, ‘in crowd’ list of Denmark.
Mom’s announcement that “Meredith and Julien Mays have accepted our invitation to dinner” brought a huge smile to my face, and she eyed me curiously. I figured she had noticed my gloominess, but likely assumed I would get over it in time. And remember… time for us has a whole different meaning than it does for most people. Maybe she didn’t get how bored I was, since she and Dad had given me and my sis daily lists of chores that sometimes kept us occupied from dawn to dusk.
More than likely, though, neither of my parents realized I was intrigued to learn more about the eccentric man across the street; this author who concocted tales of horror in the dead of night. A loner, who managed to succeed as a maverick, living life on his terms.
What’s not to like about that?
Anyway, the dinner event happened on the first Friday evening in June. Sadee and her husband planned to be there, too, along with Harrison and Jennifer Crawford. Harrison was a locally famous banjo builder, musician, and ‘pointillism’ painter. I had briefly met him and his wife, when they came over to shoot the shit with Mom and Dad. He brought them a housewarming gift of an amazing portrait of a nineteenth century man that featured a melting clock in the background. I can’t adequately express how frigging cool this sucker is, and it’s hanging on a wall in Dad’s office. That was just over a week earlier, and it was Harrison’s suggestion to drag Julien Mays away from working on his latest bestseller and force him to socialize a bit. Harrison and Sadee vouched for how much fun
It seemed, after all, even in Denmark there was a place for magic.
Chapter Five
As May died and gave way to June, the southern heat grew meaner by the day. I began to lose hope that things would ever change for the better. Admittedly, I don’t do well with heat, and greatly preferred the arctic blizzards that sometimes rolled over Chicago from Lake Michigan. Part of me understood that hating the present could inadvertently invite more of the same angst for my future… but I couldn’t help it. Even so, despite the unforgiving swelter and the fact time was passing slowly, a few notable events happened during the two weeks following our unfortunate encounter with the crazy guy across the street and the full-on advent of summer in the South.
Mom and Grandma became increasingly popular in Denmark, and their presence was pretty much expected at a monthly luncheon for a local book club and another for the town’s historical society. Alisia’s presence was requested for July’s meetings, which made her much easier to deal with since her emancipation from yard work was coming soon. Meanwhile, the art school approached my father about joining their board of directors. Dad hadn’t served on a board since the 1940s, when he was the chairman for a Chicago bank, and was quite thrilled. “This gives me something new to focus on,” he said, sounding hopeful, while he and Mom waited for affirmation that a massive energy shield they placed around Denmark with my grandparents actually worked. Designed to keep the Mateis and their affiliates from finding us, the fact Grandpa and Grandma even tried to create something like it clearly announced they didn’t trust a similar shield surrounding the greater Chicago area to remain effective.
With the prospects of becoming the official caretaker for “Twin Magnolias” looking more likely by the day, unless the folks at Wal-Mart or the string of fast-food joints gave me a call, I had less and less to smile about. The only thing on our immediate horizon that sounded interesting to me was Mom’s mention of having the author across the street and his wife over for dinner one night soon. The suggestion to do so came from Sadee, who remained determined to introduce us to the exclusive, and diminutive, ‘in crowd’ list of Denmark.
Mom’s announcement that “Meredith and Julien Mays have accepted our invitation to dinner” brought a huge smile to my face, and she eyed me curiously. I figured she had noticed my gloominess, but likely assumed I would get over it in time. And remember… time for us has a whole different meaning than it does for most people. Maybe she didn’t get how bored I was, since she and Dad had given me and my sis daily lists of chores that sometimes kept us occupied from dawn to dusk.
More than likely, though, neither of my parents realized I was intrigued to learn more about the eccentric man across the street; this author who concocted tales of horror in the dead of night. A loner, who managed to succeed as a maverick, living life on his terms.
What’s not to like about that?
Anyway, the dinner event happened on the first Friday evening in June. Sadee and her husband planned to be there, too, along with Harrison and Jennifer Crawford. Harrison was a locally famous banjo builder, musician, and ‘pointillism’ painter. I had briefly met him and his wife, when they came over to shoot the shit with Mom and Dad. He brought them a housewarming gift of an amazing portrait of a nineteenth century man that featured a melting clock in the background. I can’t adequately express how frigging cool this sucker is, and it’s hanging on a wall in Dad’s office. That was just over a week earlier, and it was Harrison’s suggestion to drag Julien Mays away from working on his latest bestseller and force him to socialize a bit. Harrison and Sadee vouched for how much fun
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