The Summer We Said Goodbye [Installment 7]

Windy Hollow

It was the bluest patch of sky, so bright I had to squint. 

Where was I, and why was I hugging my clock radio?

T-Minus. Right! Poor T-Minus.

I’d slept the whole night in the window well, a blanket tucked in around me while Aris snored softly on the bed.

The room was immaculate. She'd found a nook for every one of her items and had even hung my dressier articles up on a rod in the corner. There were only four hangars, but she'd split our things evenly: my blazer and button-downs on two, her dresses and blouses on the other two.

Vic’s voice lofted up from the garden. Two men wearing leather tool belts had just arrived. The three of them disappeared through a backdoor into the Windy Arms.

From the angle of light dappling the fields, I estimated it was still early.

I tossed off the blanket and laid T-Minus to rest in my duffle. Aris had left my more personal effects untouched. And I pulled on shorts and a T and crept down the stairs to lace up my runners.

One step outside the cottage, I was drenched in sunlight. Waves of it poured over every blade and flower: larkspur, hydrangea, iris. It pounded the air and flooded all of Windy Hollow.

A hound sunning himself nearby cocked his head. I must have passed muster because he returned to his sojourn without missing a beat. I sprawled out on the grass next to him for a quick stretch.

Butterflies flitted above my head, and bees buzzed from blossom to blossom. It was glorious. 

An arbor draped in Wisteria led to the hotel. I tiptoed under vines ripe with purple and white bouquets. No one was about, and I wanted to savor as much of it on my own as possible.

I skirted the root cellar where Vic had gathered with the workmen and proceeded through a set of swinging doors into a kitchen.

Windy Hollow’s simple facades belie the scope of the labyrinths held within. The Windy Arms kitchen was such a space.

An elderly woman wearing an apron sat at a metal counter sipping tea and eating a biscuit. She waved me to a stool and poured me a cup. I accepted her offer of milk and sugar and joined her in the stillness.

Boxes of cereal, granola, and Muesli lined the wall. She gestured to yogurt behind the refrigerator glass. I demurred, choosing a banana from a bowl instead. She smiled her approval, and I nodded my thanks. 

The English countryside was calling. And I was eager to get a good run in before the morning got away from me. 

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You can find an archive of past installments here.