“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Charlie starred at the typewriter.  There was no way to explain it.  Jack had come to life, gone psycho, flown over the coo-coo’s nest, and headed straight for the twilight zone. 

“I am not going crazy,” she told Jack.  Jack said nothing. 

Charlie turned to the sizable stack of typing paper and picked up the first page.

The Concupiscent Nocturnal Excursions

of Emily and Cayden

by Charlotte A.

Charlotte?  She never used that name when she wrote.  Sure there was that brief time during her senior year at university when she dabbled with writing subjects considered taboo by some, but that didn’t do much to explain this mystery.

Charlie began flipping through the pages.

…the four poster bed seemed as large as an ocean, their ocean to play in as they pleased.  Wrapped in each others arms, each needing to give to the other, they used their lips, their hands, their bodies, until sighs became moans.  He cupped her face in his hands for a kiss of shattering tenderness.  “My Love,” he whispered.  Then fingers twined, mouths meeting, they slipped into the depths together…

“Holy crap!” Charlie put down the erotic manuscript.  “When on earth did I become a writer of orgasms and ecstasy?!” 

Her headache was slowly going away, but she still couldn’t recall what had happened in the night that could possibly pull her from her bed, magically zap Jack back into existence from lost-in-the-move-land, and inspire her to write something like this.

Nocturnal excursions, indeed.  She needed some fresh air.  Perhaps if she walked away from the puzzle for a bit, it might solve itself, maybe, if she was lucky.

Charlie walked back into the bedroom, managed to locate her favorite pair of lime green sneakers and headed out the front door.

A fresh breeze.  Morning sun.  Clean air.  Yes.  This is what she needed. 

She stood there for a moment soaking it all in with eyes closed.  When she opened them, the first thing that caught her attention was the lilac tree that graced her front yard.  She loved its small delicate blossoms.  She could picture a small wind chime hanging from the branches.  Yes, that would be just the thing.

Charlie knew there was a nursery down the road, and she’d been meaning to get a nice green plant for the kitchen, just a little something to bring the beautiful outdoors indoors.  Perhaps she could find a wind chime there as well. 

~ ~ ~

Cayden got to work late.  This was his habit these days.  He blamed it on the long commute from the city, but that was just an excuse.  Besides, the summer help he’d hired was doing just fine managing the nursery.  As he opened the door to green house number one, he contemplated selling the business, again.  The nursery had been Lily’s baby, so to speak.  Over the years, he’d grown to love all the plants that she had always cared for like children, but the joy was gone now.

“Morning boss,” Sam called out with his hands full of empty clay pots.  Sam was a good kid; a hard worker who didn’t mind getting a little dirty.  He was a heck of a salesman, too.  Tall and slim with choppy unmanageable dark hair and sharp blue eyes, the 18 year old was a charmer.  “Can you give me a hand with these pots, Mr. Armstrong?  A new shipment of wind chimes just came in and I wanted to get them out before the customers start pouring in.”

“Sam.  I told you before, you can call me Cayden.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cayden shook his head at the boy and took the pots.  “Go.  Take care of the wind chimes.”        

~ ~ ~

Charlie found Armstrong Nurseries easily enough.  It was maybe a 15 minute drive from the cottage.  The place boasted four greenhouses and a gift shop that looked like a small log cabin.  A long narrow arbor laced in ivy and crafted from white pine led from the shop to the first greenhouse. 

A tall boy, maybe late teens, was hanging wind chimes from the tops of the arbor.  “Good morning, ma’am.” His smile stretched from ear to ear.    

Cayden stood up, brushed the excess dirt from his old gardening khakis, and stepped back to admire his handiwork.  The orange dahlias looked inviting, the perfect finishing touch.  Any potential buyer would be delighted with the landscaping.      

He smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.  He walked to the door letting his hand linger at the doorknob, unsure if he wanted to walk back into the cottage.  Still, he should make one last check to see that everything was in order before he made the phone call to the realtor.

Taking a deep breath, Cayden opened the door and stepped inside his old home.  Empty and void of any furniture, light danced over every surface of the room highlighting the exposed wooden beams and bringing a soft warmth to the apple green walls.  The same color as her eyes.  “Lily.” He breathed out her name like a prayer.

At the age of 32, Cayden was a widower.  His wife had bravely battled breast cancer for eight very long months.  And then one day, quite suddenly, the fight was over.  And he was left alone in the dream cottage they had built together. 

They’d met at college, her studying botany, and him a business major.  He’d been amazed that this gorgeous creature of a woman had fallen in love with him.  At 6 foot 3, large, bulky, and uncoordinated, he’d asked her out on a dare.  Lily fell in love with Cayden and his deep voice, chocolate brown eyes, and gentle protective manner.  To him she was his own personal angel with long blonde tresses that she usually kept tied up neatly, a small frame, and green eyes that had a keen ability to see past the facade.

One year later, they were married, promised to one another forever and ever.  They combined his business degree with her love of plants and opened a small nursery.  Life was good.  There were no children, but the nursery prospered and grew.  As their success developed, they started planning their dream home.  And they would live there happily ever after, they would say to one another as they poured over blueprints and acted more like two teenagers in love than two grown adults.  Six months after the cottage was finished; Lily was given the grim diagnosis. 

Memories of her swamped over him.  If he focused hard enough, he could picture her face, starring up at him, standing toe to toe with her hands at his hips.  She would tug playfully at the button on his pants, the question in her eyes, the sly smile on her lips.  “Lily.”  He called out aching for her.

And then the image was gone. 

She was gone and he was alone.  Suddenly, he couldn’t stand being in the cottage for one more minute.  He turned and stormed out, pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and called the realtor.  When he finished giving her the details she needed, he hopped in his old red Toyota pickup truck and headed for home; a new apartment in the city.

~ ~ ~

Cayden parked the old truck in front of the apartment building.  Grabbing the large box from the truck bed he hauled the last of his possessions into his new place.  Granted this particular apartment wasn’t in the best of locations.  He was almost certain that it must be yesterday’s sushi emanating from the Chinese noodle shop’s dumpster that currently assaulted his nose as he opened the main door to the building.

As he juggled the box up a flight of stairs, he was nearly knocked over.  She seemed a bundle of nerves and “Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry.”  She continued to apologize.  A small package had fallen from the box and she quickly picked it up and offered it to him.  He sat down the box, balancing it with his shin the slim step it was perched on.  He held out his hand for the package and then nearly dropped it as he caught sight of her eyes.  She had Lily’s green eyes.