Queen of Broken Hearts (26 page)

“Oh, for God's sake! No way you can be that blind.” Dory lets out a mighty sigh, then rubs her face in exasperation. “I feel so bad for him.”

“For Lex? But why? Because of Elinor, you mean?”

“No, that's not what I mean, and you know it,” she mocks. “Every time I've been around you and Lex, I've felt so bad for him that I could hardly stand it.”

“This is crazy. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”

“Yes, you do. You just won't admit it. It's obvious to everyone that the poor guy is smitten with you.”

“
Lex?
”

“He's in real danger of falling in love with you, I think. Oh, he tries to cover it up, acting the fool to hide his feelings. Obviously he's got enough sense to know that you'll push him away, like you do every man who gets too close to you.”

“That's ridiculous. Lex is still in love with his ex-wife, as he's told me and anyone else who'll listen. Positive proof that love is blind.”

“Oh, bull. He only says that because he doesn't think he has a chance with you. You've erected this huge wall around your heart, and no one can get past it. No one! It's the same thing you did—and continue to do—with Rye. You know how close I've always been to Rye, and it's about killed me to see the way you've done him. Now I see it all over again with Lex. Believe me, I can understand it after Mack, but still. I try to keep my mouth shut because it makes you so mad, but sometimes I can't stand it any longer, and I have to speak up.”

“Oh, please. You are so, so wrong. Let's just drop it, okay?”

“Fine.” She sighs, shaking her head in resignation. “Just frigging fine. I knew that's what you'd say. But I say that you're full of shit.”

“Okay, if it makes you feel better, I'm full of shit. Now that we've agreed on that, let's do what we came out here to do and see the new retreat site.”

Happily, Dory forgets about me and my love life as soon as she and I walk through the old fish camp, making our way carefully through the piles of construction material, lumber and buckets of paint, stacks of flooring, and all sorts of rubble. It's the best tactic to get her off the subject of me; she exclaims in delight as I show her the way everything is coming along and the way it should look when completed in a few months. As I expected, Dory's suggestions are priceless, and I pull out my notebook to jot down her every word. In each area, she stops and stands with her hands on her hips, frowning thoughtfully. Finally she snaps her fingers and presents the perfect solution to whatever problem I've raised. Once we've completed the walk-through and arrived back on the porch, Dory plops herself on the front steps and motions for me to join her.

“Now that I've seen it,” she says, “I can tell you the real reason I asked you to bring me out here.”

The worn stone steps are warm from the day's sun, so I sit gingerly next to her. “Aha. Ulterior motives, huh? I should've known.” Smiling at her, I realize that things have shifted between Dory and me in spite of our heated exchange in the car. Or maybe because of it. We're no longer tiptoeing around each other, holding our breath. The tension that both of us admitted to when she first returned to help with the group is beginning to dissipate. Our friendship is on its way back.

More than that, I see that the old Dory is on her way back as well. “I have the most incredible idea,” she declares, and her eyes glitter like they used to before they were rendered dull by Son's demands.

“I can tell, and I cannot wait to hear it.”

“I didn't want to say anything until I had you out here. Plus, I had to be able to visualize it. I had to be here to soak up the ambiance of the place before telling you about it.” I nod to urge her on, but Dory holds up a hand. “Before I tell you what it is, I need to show you something, okay?”

“Of course,” I say, puzzled.

“Remember you asked me to design a logo for the brochures? You wanted something to bring out the idea of wayfarers. It was right before Son and I split up, and I figured it was a sly attempt on your part to get my mind off him.”

I can't resist saying, “It really worked, didn't it?” Dory pokes me with her elbow, and I say, “But it doesn't matter now anyway. I've decided to call my part of this place Wayfarer's Landing, which might affect the logo.”

“You're not going to believe this. I'd designed a logo then, but I misplaced it, with everything that's happened since.”

I assume that means Son threw it out with everything else in her workshop, but I don't ask. Oblivious, Dory goes on. “Now that things have settled down, I've had time to go through all my unfinished projects. When I found the logo design, I can't tell you how happy I was. Let me show it to you, then I'll explain what it means.” Breathlessly, she digs in her tote bag and brings out a sketch pad. I scoot over to sit closer to her, and she holds up a page.

“What is it, a maze?” I ask, taking the pad and staring at the design she's drawn there, a circle with many pathways of concentric circles, all of which lead to a center spot.

“It's a labyrinth, not a maze, though the words are often used interchangeably.”

“A labyrinth! Of course—I'd forgotten how you've always had a thing for them, and all your visits to the different kinds. You sent me a postcard of one in France, remember?”

She nods solemnly. “The famous one at Chartres. Seeing it was one of the great experiences of my life, and a labyrinth is the perfect logo for the retreats.” She pulls out a pencil and points to the path of the labyrinth, tracing the stops and starts, dead ends and backtracking, until the tip of the pencil reaches the center. “See? Walking the labyrinth is a journey, a difficult and complicated one. But finally you make it to the center. And when you do, guess what you do? You question how you got there and why. Then you begin the journey again.” Her face alight with excitement, she draws a circle around the center spot of the design. “Don't you see? It's what the retreats are, and our affirmations, and it's the way you close the sessions.”

“You're right.” I repeat my closing remarks by memory, I've done them so often: “What have we learned about loss during our time together? Hopefully we've found that loss is always a journey of self-discovery. And we now know that the journey has not ended; it has just begun.”

Dory puts a hand on my arm. “Don't you see, honey? All along, my so-called magic circle has been a labyrinth. A pathway leading me round and round, with all sorts of stops and starts, but always back to the center. And I think that's true of all of us. So here's my idea. I would like to build a labyrinth out here at the retreat site.”

I sit back in astonishment. “What a fabulous idea. I've never seen a real one—only your photos. What will it look like?”

“I'd like to build it of river stones. Or rather, outline the paths with them. I have some ideas sketched out, but I had to see what you thought first. I also needed to check with Zoe Catherine to see if she'd let me do it. God, she's so wonderful, isn't she? I talked with her before I called you, and she said for me to put it anywhere I wanted, even her front yard. I told her I had to sell you on it first. If you agree, I'll start on it pretty soon, as soon as it gets a little cooler. That way it'll be ready for the first retreat.”

“You don't have to sell me on the idea—I love it. I couldn't be more thrilled. Come on, let's find a good spot for it. Will it take up a lot of space?”

She nods as I reach out a hand to pull her to her feet. “Oh, yeah. Sure will. Another reason I thought it'd be perfect out here, and why I needed to ask Zoe's permission. At one time I'd planned on building one in my gardens, but I couldn't make it work out, the way they're shaped. I knew there was plenty of land out here and lots of possibilities for a location. But we'll have to find a way to keep Zoe's birds off it, won't we?”

I laugh as we set off walking, arm in arm. “Oh, I don't know. A little bird shit on the pathways of life seems like the perfect touch to me.”

Dory soon finds what she declares to be the ideal spot, in a grassy area beyond Zoe's bird sanctuary. It's a clearing marked off by a rough circle of five live oaks, which excites her even more. “It's a sign! Do you have any idea what the number five represents?”

“I'm afraid to ask.”

“Well, five is a pentagon, so that's an endless concept. Which means five symbolizes endlessness and continuity. In addition, five is a circular number, so it carries the power of the circle. Does that make sense?”

“Not a bit, but I love the way it sounds.”

Dory walks off the diameter of her labyrinth half a dozen times, or so it seems. At last, she wears herself out, and we sit leaning against one of the tree trunks, where she pants and we share the bottle of green tea she carries in her tote bag. Once she's rested, she turns her head toward me curiously. “You do know the legend of the labyrinth, don't you?”

I frown, shrugging. “Hmm … not really. It has something to do with the Minotaur, right? That half-bull, half-man?”

“Here's the way it goes: On the island of Crete, the king built a labyrinth to house the Minotaur, who required a blood sacrifice in order to appease the gods and spare the island. The king imprisoned a lot of local folks in order to feed them to the monster, which kept everybody safe and happy—except for the poor fools being fed to the Minotaur. One day a beautiful young man named Theseus is in the group captured by the king, and he's spotted by the king's daughter, Ariadne.”

“I have a feeling I know where this is going,” I say, leaning against the tree trunk with a smile.

Dory nods, her eyes half closed and her hands behind her head. “Naturally, Ariadne falls in love with Theseus and doesn't want him to end up on the monster's dinner plate. She gives him one end of a long thread so he can go to the center of the labyrinth, slay the Minotaur, then use the thread to find his way out. And he does, which makes him a mythic hero who can marry the princess and live happily ever after.”

“That's why I love the old myths. They're so true to life.”

Dory sits up and props her elbows on her knees. “Oh, but here's the cool part of the story. Instead of settling down with the princess and enjoying a life of riches and ease, Theseus, being a true hero, returns to the isle of Crete so that he can free the remaining hostages. Once he frees them, the whole group of prisoners, led by Theseus, dances a wild dance of freedom and celebration, following the winding paths of the labyrinth to the center.”

“Wow. The classic myth of initiation, trial, and triumph. Old Jung must've wet his pants when he first heard it.”

“It's classic Jungian, but better.” Dory's lost in thought for a minute, then she says, “To me, it's not just the slaying of the monster, or finding a way out of the maze, or even the sacrifice of returning to the island. Initiation, trial, and triumph. Instead, it's the dance of celebration! To really walk the labyrinth, the dance has to come afterward, don't you think?”

Before I can answer, a piercing, unearthly shriek comes from the direction of Zoe Catherine's cabin. Jumping to our feet, Dory and I stare at each other wide-eyed.

“Jesus Christ,” Dory gasps. “Was that a peacock?”

“She has one by that name, but if it's him, he must've been attacked by a wildcat. I've never heard any of them make that kind of racket. We'd better go see.”

We scurry across the wide grassy space that will become the labyrinth and arrive at the path leading to Zoe's cabin and aviaries, hidden away in the thick trees. Several of her peacocks are wandering around the yard, dragging their long tails. If a wildcat or fox is on the loose, they're being awfully nonchalant about it. A couple of them are perched on the low-hanging boughs of a dogwood tree, their tail feathers hanging down like the cloak of an emperor, iridescent and majestic. Surely if a predator were after them, they'd all take flight. Zoe Catherine has taught me that they roost only in the tops of trees, where they can be on the lookout for enemies. When not roosting for the night, they sometimes perch on lower branches, but only sparsely leafed ones, so they can see all around. Zoe is nowhere to be seen, but Cooter's pickup is parked nearby. I assume they're in one of the boats, fishing on the creek.

Shading my eyes from the late-afternoon sun, I look toward the dock and immediately see where the racket is coming from. “Come on, Dory,” I cry, and we take off for the creek. “Dear God—it looks like something has happened to Cooter.”

Before we reach the creek bank, we see that both Zoe Catherine and Cooter are on the dock. Zoe is yelling, Cooter is yelling, and Genghis Khan is running our way, crying his raucous cry. The ducks are waddling down the creek bank in terror, flapping their wings and quacking louder than I've ever heard them as they head for the water, where they plop in and paddle away.

“What on earth?” Dory says, but both of us stop in our tracks when we reach the creek.

For someone in his seventies, Cooter is moving with amazing speed. For one disconcerting moment, I think he's performing one of his wild dances, like he was doing at the Jubilee. Then I see that, rather than dancing, he's hopping from one foot to the other, trying to get away from Zoe, who's holding on to one of his flailing arms with both hands. They're both yelling, but it's hard to tell what Zoe's saying because of Cooter's cussing.