Building Dreams: of Love and Green

Epilogue

1

A dream is a wish your heart makes…

—Cinderella

(Walt Disney Company)

Wednesday, December 23, 1992

Charcoal clouds smudged any semblance of sun from Seattle’s horizon as Lydia Davis drove home beneath a deep December sky. Drizzle dotted the Camry’s windshield. Pulling off the interstate at Exit 15, Lydia plotted a course of action in her mind. She had just enough time to let King out, pop a slice of leftover pizza in the toaster oven, change from her business suit into a pair of jeans and a sweater, phone the airline to see if her daughter’s flight was on time, munch pizza, let King in, fill his water bowl, give him a biscuit, jump in the car, head back to I-90 and be on her way to the airport.

Although it was the season to be jolly, Lydia questioned whether her daughter’s visit would overflow with joy. Krissa suddenly decided to come back for her Christmas Eve birthday, but then she admitted that marriage troubles prompted the solo cross-country flight. Lydia was sad to learn the newlyweds were having difficulties. Truthfully, the announcement of marital discord was less shocking than the announcement of marriage six months earlier. Krissa had played Rosalind to Brian’s Orlando in a modern Off-Broadway production of As You Like It. The performance closed after an acclaimed four-month run, but —in an impetuous moment—the thespians bonded their romance in city hall. Lydia held hope that the two dramatists would overcome their troubles and script a happy ending. Isn’t that what love stories were about?

Lydia turned into her driveway and accelerated up the winding, tree-lined pavement. It was a steep and tricky climb, not unlike her marriage. Hank had initiated their move from Chicago to the Northwest nearly twenty years ago. He didn’t want his daughters to grow up thinking the world was made of concrete and asphalt. Hank was the one who insisted on buying this mountain home surrounded by green in the Evergreen state. Even if only a foothill in the Cascade Range, Squak Mountain—at 2,028 feet—was taller than any elevation Lydia knew growing up in Wisconsin. She slowed her Camry where the driveway curved around a giant Western red cedar. Hank had skidded his old VW van into the behemoth one icy morning during their first winter here. The majestic tree still stood strong, but cancer had toppled Hank five years ago, leaving Lydia alone with the uphill climb.

Surprised to see a Jeep Wrangler in front of the garage, Lydia parked beside it and trotted up the walk. Entering through the kitchen, she called, Hello? Lydia bent down to stroke yellow fur, acknowledging King’s tail-wagging greeting. If the family Golden Retriever wasn’t disturbed by the presence of the Jeep, there must be no cause for concern.

Mom! You’re home early. Lenny padded into the kitchen in bare feet, her short blond hair in disarray.

Hi Sweetie! Lydia walked toward her youngest child, preparing to deliver a hug. I was about to call and remind you that Krissa is… Pausing mid-sentence and mid-step, she watched Lenny rotate toward the counter and discreetly button her jeans. An alarm sounded inside Lydia’s head.

I thought you’d be going to the airport right from work, Lenny said to the counter where an open pizza box revealed the remains of an uneaten crust.

Whose Jeep is that? Lydia asked the back of her daughter’s head.

Raking fingers through thick, stormy hair, Lenny pivoted but avoided eye contact. Greg’s father gave it to him for Christmas. Isn’t it awesome?

Their attention was diverted to the threshold where the owner of the Jeep entered the room. Uncombed, sun-streaked hair hung wildly to his shoulders. Heavily steeped in flannel, he bore a grungy appearance. Even though she was about his same height—5’6" in heels—Lydia felt diminutive in this young man’s presence. His handsome face exuded a bold confidence that pushed her gaze back to Lenny.

Mom, you remember Greg.

Hi, Mrs. Davis.

Understanding dawned in Lydia’s mind. Despite rising irritation, she managed to summon a hello.

Greg turned toward Lenny as he threaded his arms into his North Face jacket. I’m heading back to campus to pick up the rest of my stuff. Are you coming?

Yeah, I… Lenny glanced at her mother. I have to go back to my apartment and get some things. We just stopped here because Greg wanted his…his…

Greg held up the plastic case of a compact disc.

His Nirvana CD.

Lydia nodded, thinking that’s who Greg reminded her of—Kurt Cobain.

He’s going to the Baja for the rest of winter break, Lenny added.

Only ten more rainy hours, then I’m all surf and sunshine, Greg gloated.

Don’t rub it in, Lenny pouted as she stepped into her boots.

Lydia watched the intruder zip his jacket. The young man wasn’t providing any reason to alter her unfavorable first impression of him.

Bye, Mom. Tell Krissa I’ll see her later. Oh, hope you don’t mind. We ate the leftover pizza that was in the fridge. Lenny slipped on her fleece jacket and followed Greg out the door.

Lydia sunk into a chair at the kitchen table. Had she really believed her nineteen-year-old daughter wasn’t sexually active? Whereas Krissa never hesitated to share personal details about her life, Lenny had always been more taciturn when it came to intimacies. Lydia knew the girls had been well educated about sex. She made sure her daughters weren’t as ignorant as she had been. Her own mother had told her nothing.

So why was she feeling angry at the thought of Lenny having sex? Lydia leaned her elbows on the table and rested her forehead on her palms, trying to corral the squabbling inner voices.

But, why here, right under her own roof? an angry voice queried.

Where else? In the backseat of a car? another voice countered.

Lydia recoiled at the memory of a sixteen year-old girl lying under the weight of a sweaty eighteen year-old boy. Parked down a side road of his father’s farm on a muggy summer Wisconsin night, Lydia lay necking with her steady boyfriend, Randy, the captain of the high school football team. She must have thought she loved him when she climbed into the back seat of his Chevy Impala. Lydia couldn’t even recall the loss of her virginity. No thunderbolts or flashing stars. No warm memories of sweet pleasure.

Do you want the same for Lenora? the angry voice demanded.

No! Lydia said aloud, shaking her head. No, no, no! It should be something wonderful. She bent over the table and shed a tear for her past. She shed a tear for her daughters’ unknown futures. And she shed tears for a feeling of loneliness that suddenly overwhelmed her heart.

King put his head in Lydia’s lap, disrupting her gloom. She kneaded the fur by his collar and shed one more tear for the unconditional love he offered through his brown eyes and wagging tail. Standing, Lydia checked the clock and realized she’d better hustle to meet Krissa’s flight. Well, at least she wouldn’t be taking time to eat pizza.

Thick moss padded her steps as Lydia ran through the cool forest. Sword ferns swiped her thighs. Faster! She had to run faster! Someone…something was breathing down her neck. A root caught her foot and down, down, down she fell, tumbling but never hitting the forest floor. Floating, gliding forward like a dolphin in water, she landed in a field of wildflowers. Lydia rose and faced the horizon where a shadowy figure with white rays emanating from his head appeared. A voice said, Come, meet the true king.

Lydia awoke from her dream to the sound of feminine laughter. Her daughters’ voices drifted up from the kitchen along with the aroma of coffee. In the week since Krissa’s arrival details of her whirlwind romance with Brian, along with their present problems, had been shared. Nothing about Lenny and Greg had been mentioned. Easing out of bed, Lydia grabbed her robe and headed toward the source of laughter.

Good morning, Mother! Lenny reached in the cupboard for the mug marked #1 Mom, her gift to Lydia last Mother’s Day.

Good morning, my beautiful daughters. Lydia hugged Krissa who was taller by several inches. Lenny set the mug on the counter and joined in a group embrace. King vigorously wagged his approval at having his pack together. Nosing his way into the middle of the triad, he barked an excited greeting.

Good morning to you, too, King! Lydia bent over to pet the demanding bundle of fur. You remind me of a dream I had last night. I dreamt about meeting a king.

You dreamt about King? Lenny moved to fill #1 Mom with coffee.

Not our King. I was somewhere in a forest.

You met the king of the fairies? suggested Krissa, ever at home in the imaginary. She pulled her long, chestnut hair into a ponytail as she spoke.

Maybe it was Elvis! Lenny interjected. Her green eyes—mirrors of her mother’s—twinkled devilishly.

"A voice told me to Come and meet the true king, and then I saw a figure with a white light around its head."

Your knight in shining armor? questioned Lenny.

Whatever, replied Lydia as she jostled her head.

You know, Mother, Krissa began with the authority of the family matriarch, Lenny and I would be delighted if you found a man you could be happy with again.

Thanks, Lydia smirked, thinking of her few attempts at dating. Actually, I’m already happy and I don’t need to find a man in order to feel complete. The words automatically fell off her tongue. Weren’t they what a mother was supposed to say to her daughters in this day and age—even if loneliness occasionally crept into her heart?

Lenny slid off her stool and took two steps toward the window. A nuthatch came to the bird feeder in front of her. Lydia and Krissa watched its quick movements in silence.

It’s impossible to find a man as good as Daddy, Lenny sighed.

Hank entered the room that moment just as certain as if he’d walked through the sliding glass door. Lydia saw him in Lenny—his athletic build and blond hair. She was truly Daddy’s little girl: a stellar student, popular and funny, glib with words. His death was probably hardest for her. The aggressive cancer soon limited Hank’s involvement in their daughters’ lives, thrusting Lydia into single parenting months before he died. Lenny was turning fourteen, the age when a girl needed her father’s attention and approval to help get through those awkward teenage years with confidence. Wanting the girls to have fond memories of their father, Lydia never divulged their marital struggles. Sometimes Lydia wondered if she had made a mistake by preserving an image of Hank that was too perfect to be human.

The phone rang and Hank left the room.

Hello, Krissa answered. I’m fine. The reserved tone in her voice suggested that it was Brian on the other end of the line. She sauntered into the living room for privacy.

I have to go to the office for a couple of hours, Lydia stated to Lenny.

Today? But it’s New Year’s Eve! Lenny squatted to load several plates in the dishwasher.

Carl needs help finishing a grant and getting it postmarked by today. Lydia handed her empty mug to Lenny so she could add it to the top rack. Are you sure you can’t stop by Auntie Jo’s New Year’s party and say hello?

Josephine wasn’t their real aunt but had been a close friend of Lydia’s mother. With no children of her own, Jo’s self-appointed position of doting aunt was a mixed blessing. She was as generous with opinions as she was with gifts.

Lenny grabbed her running shoes and sat on the floor by the door. No offense, Mother, but I have no interest in spending New Year’s Eve with Jo and Max and watching a bunch of old folks get drunk. It’s bad enough that Greg’s in Baja. I don’t feel like thoroughly torturing myself. Besides, Sharon and Phil are having a party.

At the sound of laces being tied, King sprang from his sprawled position on his bed to sniff Lenny’s shoes, making certain his ears were correct. His tail wagged in delight.

Be back soon. Lenny shouted from outside the door, King at her heels. I’m just going to the upper trail.

Krissa walked into the kitchen and returned the phone to its cradle.

Was that…?

Brian. Krissa confirmed. He misses me. We’re going to talk later. He was telling me about the damage from that Nor’easter that struck before I left. Remember, I told you about all the snow and flooding and the subway being closed? I thought my flight might be canceled.

Lydia nodded. Sure, I remember. That was a huge storm. I read that it caused damage from West Virginia to Massachusetts.

Brian said homes were ruined on Long Island. They’re still digging out and assessing the destruction. Grabbing her jacket, Krissa faced Lydia. Got to go! Alison just pulled up. We’re going to Starbucks.

Do you think you could stop by Auntie Jo’s—even for a short time? I don’t want to pressure you with guilt, but she’s been very generous to you, and she hasn’t seen you since you moved to New York.

I suppose I can force myself to make an appearance. Krissa curtsied in an exaggerated bow. I’ll just say hi to Auntie Jo, but I won’t stay long. Alison and Megan and I have plans.

Lydia hugged her daughter and planted a kiss on her cheek. Thank you. I’ll see you later. Krissa ran out to her friend’s car as Lydia climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

Easing into the wingback chair by the window, Lydia took some time to catch her breath. Cultivating silence in her life had become an important practice since Hank’s death. Lydia lit a candle on the nearby table where she had created a little altar. She tried to push all worrisome thoughts aside and remember that she was sitting on a very beautiful planet, revolving around a galaxy of stars. She picked up an empty snail shell she found the other day. It was a plain brown shell from a common woodland snail, but she marveled at the spiral pattern. Spirals seemed omnipresent in the natural world. In her own surroundings, Lydia saw them in pinecones, flowers, plant tendrils, and unfurling ferns. She knew that spirals were frequently found on artifacts from ancient civilizations. The symbol repeated on countless rocks, sculptures, boulders and cave walls worldwide. And of the billions of galaxies in the known Universe, the majority are spiral shaped, like our own Milky Way. To Lydia, a spiral represented the path of life—the evolutionary process of learning and growing.

Setting the snail shell beside an iridescent blue feather from a stellar jay, Lydia felt awe for the mystery of life expressed in Nature. Through the window, the sight of green firs and ferns brought last night’s dream swirling into her mind. Smiling, sighing, taking a deep breath, she settled into the chair and journeyed to a peaceful place.

2

I don’t want the cheese,

I just want to get out of the trap.

—Spanish Proverb

An hour later, Lydia was on Mercer Island seated behind her desk at Master Plans, a non-profit organization founded and directed by Carl Williams. Hank met Carl soon after relocating to Seattle in 1974. They both had been professors in the Sociology Department at the University of Washington. Carl and his wife, Peggy, along with their two teenage sons, became surrogate family for Hank and Lydia and their young daughters. Carl eventually left the UW to follow his dream of starting a community planning/environmental consulting firm. He’d concluded that the way we design our communities plays a huge role in how we experience our lives. After Hank’s death, Carl would request Lydia’s assistance on a project from time to time. When Lenny started college last year, leaving the house painfully empty, work with Carl became a full time job.

Carl’s clomping cowboy boots announced his arrival before his lean frame filled the doorway of her office. Standing over six feet in his boots, he wore his usual attire of denim shirt and corduroy pants. He compensated a receding hairline by growing his thinning hair to shoulder length. These are ready for you to look over, Lyddie, Carl stated as he set a pile of papers on the corner of her desk. "And thanks for the copy of Issaquah’s Air Quality and Atmospheric Task Force Report. Lots of good information. But I can’t find the IPCC Assessment, he grumbled. And I need the data on diminishing snowpack."

Lydia’s eyes rose from the document she was examining to the imposing presence before her. Did you look in Sandy’s Climate Change files?

I didn’t see it there.

Pushing away from her desk, Lydia walked into the conference room. The tall man followed at her heels.

I shouldn’t have let Sandy take vacation with this grant due, Carl complained. Plus, you have that big meeting on the sixth. That’s this coming Wednesday.

Carl, my dear man, you gave Sandy two weeks off because she needed and deserved it.

Sandy was the indispensable office manager. In addition to managing the office, Sandy had a talent for compiling research information. She was ten years younger than Lydia, but they shared the challenges of single parenting—along with the challenges of dealing with Carl. And as I recall, Lydia added as she flipped through a file box packed with papers, journals, and booklets, Sandy wanted to complete the grant before she left, but you hadn’t finish writing your part.

Oh, I could use that! Carl reached for a journal entitled, Global Climate Change: Focus on Northwestern North America.

And that, too, he said as he grabbed the National Action Plan for Global Climate Change.

So what exactly are you looking for? Lydia questioned.

The International Panel on Climate Change report. You know, the UN sponsored report of several hundred scientists from 25 countries.

Is this it? Lydia held up a thick journal. The title, Climate Change, was written across the top in bold white letters with the subtitle, The IPCC Scientific Assessment, underneath in smaller red letters.

Yes! That’s it! Thanks, Lyddie! I didn’t see the IPCC. It’s kind of hard to make out the red letters. Carl’s graying mustache moved upward.

Lydia tapped her fingers on the conference table. We’ll get this grant out today, but in the future you could try planning ahead just a bit.

Sorry, Mom! Carl taunted as he bowed his head in mock shame. It will be my first New Year’s resolution. Stacking the materials on the table, he continued in a softer voice, Speaking of New Year’s, Peggy and I are having some friends over, and we’d love to have you join us.

Thanks, Carl, but… she hesitated, closing the file box before admitting, Jo and Max are having a party, and I promised I would stop by.

The creases in Carl’s forehead deepened as his face registered incredulity. My God, Lydia. How can you start a new year with Max Dennison—the most unethical developer in Seattle, or for that matter, the entire West?

Lydia was well acquainted with Carl’s opinions of Max. My relationship is really with Jo, she defended. And believe me, I’m going purely out of obligation.

How can you compromise your values, Lyddie? It’s guys like Max and his fossil fuel friends that are leading us down this path of destruction. Carl pointed to the file box labeled Global Warming and Climate Change. They use their dirty wealth to buy politicians so they can ransack and pollute America. Meanwhile, the Earth is warming and the consequences will be disastrous. Carl bent over and picked up the journals. The science tells us we’re in for a shit sandwich if we don’t hurry up and limit carbon emissions—more floods, droughts, severe storms. But instead of taking action to fight global warming, the lying bastards say it’s a left wing hoax. They don’t give a rat’s ass about human suffering—apparently even for their own flesh and blood. To say nothing of how they feed off the public coffers. They make a lot of noise about welfare, but corporate welfare is the real drain on taxpayers. Where’s the outrage? People should be out in the streets with their pitchforks!

OKAY, CARL!!! I hardly condone Max’s business practices, but Jo was my mother’s best friend. I’m indebted to her for all she does for me and the girls. Besides, I seldom see them since they built a house in Phoenix.

Phoenix! Now there’s a city in the bull’s eye of global warming—minimal rainfall, scorching heat, unregulated growth. It’s not sustainable! There isn’t enough water to support that kind of population on a desert. Carl shook the IPCC report in front of his face. Lowering the report, he continued, But, despite critical water issues, Max got approval for another huge development. He’d sprawl Phoenix clear over to Fort Worth if he could.

Carl, PLEASE! I don’t enjoy socializing with Max. I tolerate him the way one tolerates a lascivious old uncle.

Lydia! Come on! We’re ringing in 1993. We’re approaching the dawn of a new millennium. Women don’t have to tolerate lewd old uncles anymore.

Lydia sighed deeply and raked her fingers through her thick chestnut tresses. You have a point, Carl, she uttered while moving the file box to the credenza.

I’m sorry, Lyddie. I just don’t understand how in the world you can put yourself in the same room as that man. Carl took two long strides toward the door.

Lydia turned and gave Carl a stern look. Well, maybe by being in the company of such a scrupulous person as myself he’ll be inspired to change his evil ways! Now get back to work and let’s finish this grant so I can get it to the post office before it closes.

The overgrown mustache partially hid his upturned mouth. Carl’s eyes softened when he looked at his co-worker and friend. Forgive me. I get upset thinking about the enemies of life on earth. I guess I want everyone to be on my team, working for a happy, healthy planet. He placed his hand on the door frame and swung out of the room. Before his hand disappeared, he swung himself back in. And if anyone could inspire someone to change for the better, it would be you, Lyddie.

Lydia looked up just in time to see his fingers vanish from the edge of the doorway. She knew Carl meant well. He truly was on Mother Earth’s team and genuinely tried to do all he could to build a better world. He practiced what he preached: he converted his pickup truck to an electric vehicle, he often bicycled to work, and he recycled everything at home and the office. Plus, his company—Master Plans—was dedicated to promoting wisely built, sustainable communities.

It took a couple of hours to finish the grant. Peggy called and asked Carl to pick up a few items for the party, so Lydia insisted that he leave. She could complete the work faster without him. Standing by the pulsing copier, Lydia watched the machine spit out the last few pages of the grant application. She closed her eyes and slowly rotated her neck to release the tension that had accumulated from bending over papers. Deepening her breathing, she felt a sense of relaxation ease into her body and a calmness enter her mind. A flash of dream suddenly entered her consciousness. Meet the true king. Lydia blinked her eyes open, almost surprised to find herself standing in the office. Dreams can be so weird, she said to the machine. She collated the papers, stuffed them in an envelope, locked up the office, and headed to the post office.

Mother, wear it! I wore it to the opening of Warner’s play and it received better reviews than the performance. Krissa lounged across her mother’s mattress, long legs propped against the peeled, round logs of the rustic bed frame. It looks positively gorgeous on you.

Lydia examined her reflection in the mirror. The cobalt blue dress was shorter than anything she ordinarily wore. Crushed velvet fabric mercilessly hugged her curves, leaving little to imagine about her figure. Lydia frowned. I don’t know. This isn’t my kind of look.

It’s comparatively modest. You should see the extreme way women dress in New York! Besides, you look terrific. Flaunt it!

I don’t think I can wear something so…

Yeow-za! Lenny whooped as she walked in the room. Mom! That dress rocks!

The jacket is meant to be worn slightly open, Mother, Krissa directed, straightening the braided trim. You’re supposed to show a little cleavage.

I spent the 70’s fighting for women’s liberation from sexual stereotypes. Lydia commented while fitting her foot into the high heeled pump Krissa placed in front of her. I wore Birkenstocks instead of bunion-making heels like these. I’m not sure I should swing the pendulum so far the other direction tonight.

Wear it! ordered Lenny. How many women look as good as you do at your age?

At my old age of forty-three? Lydia’s eyebrow arched upward as she faced her youngest daughter.

Maybe it was the comment about her age. Lydia soon found herself on the way to Seattle arrayed in the blue dress.

It’s kind of fun to drive, Krissa commented as she changed lanes on I-90. Of course, cars are a hassle in New York. It costs a fortune to park, and traffic can be so congested it’s faster to walk. Brian put his car in storage. I think I told you that. And did I tell you about the television role he’s auditioning for in Vancouver? It’s…

You have to get in the left lane to exit! Lydia interrupted. She watched as her daughter smoothly swerved the Camry toward the Mercer Street exit. Lydia was dazzled by the city lights and dizzied by her daughter’s conversation. Throughout the twenty-five minute drive, she had listened to Krissa expound upon life with Brian—the ups, the downs, the joys, the frustrations.

Stopped at a red light at the bottom of the exit, Krissa’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Sometimes I think if we left New York and got away from all our old stuff….maybe if we started somewhere fresh.

The wipers made intermittent swipes to clear the drizzle from the windshield as Lydia studied her daughter’s face. Krissa’s eyes—soft pools of brown—reflected the tender heart that dwelled within. I don’t think you can move away from your problems, honey, Lydia counseled hesitantly. They have a way of following you, unless you resolve them right where you are.

Krissa tossed her rich mane off her shoulders and nodded.

Lydia felt a wave of emotion fill the car. For a moment, she rode the wave, bobbing upon loneliness she often denied. Looking down, she observed bare legs protruding from blue material that had inched its way up her thigh.

Good grief! Lydia’s shriek quickly altered the atmosphere. I can’t believe I let you and Lenora talk me into wearing this dress. I look like a call girl.

Krissa laughed. You should be proud that you can fit into your daughter’s dress. Of course, on me it’s quite a bit shorter. And Lenny did a great job with your hair. It looks fantastic swept up in that twist.

Lydia lowered the sun visor and flipped the mirror down to examine her hairdo. Her normally straight hair was curled and fashioned in a dramatic style. I look like an Ivana Trump wanna-be, she groaned. Oh, turn right here! Lydia pointed to the street they were about to pass.

Is their home in lower Queen Anne or Magnolia? Krissa asked.

It’s just off Magnolia Boulevard. Lydia replied, giving directions as Krissa drove to the exclusive neighborhood in Seattle along the north shore of Elliot Bay. Lydia folded the mirror back into place, resigned that it was too late to make any changes to her appearance. Park on the side of the road, she directed Krissa. Anywhere you can find a spot.

As she stood outside the parked Camry, Lydia adjusted folds of velvet and attempted to loosen the hugging fabric. What was I thinking? I’m just inviting lewd comments from Max.

Why does Auntie Jo stay with such an obnoxious man? Krissa puzzled as they walked on the edge of the road. He’s so rude and crude.

Unfortunately, he’s not unlike a lot of men in his age bracket when it comes to sexist attitudes. Lydia linked her arm through Krissa’s to steady her wobbly steps on wet pavement in high heels. And Auntie Jo is a product of her times, too, growing up as a first generation Italian immigrant. I can’t imagine her leaving him at this point in her life. She must be in her mid seventies.

They can be painful to watch as a couple, Krissa sighed. I hate the way he belittles her. It’s best Lenny isn’t here because she wouldn’t hesitate to attack him. You know she’d cause a scene.

Nearing the home Max had recently remodeled, Lydia fidgeted with her dress once again. I look silly next to you in your jeans.

Did you know that hookers were called hookers because they came up to a man walking on the street and hooked their arm through his? Krissa questioned. "I