"I'm not surprised that you think you get to be the decider of what is important and what isn't. Like dragging Bess into this mess. What was that? The poor girl is traumatized," Ursula said, the vitriol in her words sharp, causing the floorboards to shutter.
The shame that washed over Eloise was thick and she pursed her lips holding back a snarky retort that tasted bitter on her tongue and wouldn't do any good, so she stood and grabbed her keys.
"This isn't productive. I think I will take a night to cool down, and maybe we can talk tomorrow."
When Ursula opened her mouth Eloise held up a hand. "Please, don't say anything about me running away. We're both running too hot for this right now. I know you. You know me.This is too deep. And I just," she shook her head sadly. "We can't right now."
"Yeah, I don't know why we thought something that ran so deep years ago could be fixed on a surface level."
Eloise gave her friend a gentle look. "I need a night. You do too."
She grabbed the thick, woven blanket from her bedroom and Ursula called her name, stopping her before she walked through the front door.
She walked toward her, holding out another blanket, this one a patchwork quilt, folded neatly.
Eloise looked at her and Ursula looked back.
I love you.
We'll be okay.
And then the soft click of the door closing separated them. The house groaned sullenly. The night sky was stark with the new moon, its light no longer visible as she hid to rebuild herself.
18. Weeping Willow Conversation
Anger is such an interesting emotion because rarely is anger the root emotion that we have to temper. Usually, there is something crouching in the depths of us needing attention; pain or fear. Eloise knew her best friend in a way that she understood her anger. Ursula's anger wasn't a vitriol response to anything happening. It was fear of what they couldn't control or see,mixed with the pain of their past falling out. And Eloise's anger was a mask for her shame. And her hurt.
She felt it sitting on her shoulders like a cloak, tucked around her neck and draping over her form as if it would protect her. But really, it was holding her back from believing she could look her mistakes in the face, tip her head up and say that she knew better now and no longer needed the cloak.
Eloise walked along the edge of The Lost Souls Property heading west until she hit a patch of land she had never seen before. She looked back, guessing she'd probably walked about a mile. Casper walked with her part of the way before he nudged her side and went back to the house, then Sulphur took up the rest of the walk like a small sentry. The graveyard was a good way back and she looked out over the rolling field that had a few rises and dips to its horizon. Off in the distance, just barely visible by starlight, stood a wide and thick weeping willow.
She smiled as she stepped under its sweeping canopy. Some say that weeping willows bring bad luck to those who plant them, but more often than not those who enjoy its draping protection find solace and a quiet place for their minds.
She lay the quilt Ursula had given her on the uneven ground where thick roots wove up and back into the earth and wrapped her blanket around herself as she looked out over the field. She couldn't see much, but she imagined that this was a beautiful piece of land with its hills and little patches of brush and most of it covered in tall grass that would eventually reach a person's waist.
How long she sat there thinking, and not thinking, she wasn't sure. But the sudden sound of footsteps moving through the grass made her twist, holding the blanket tightly against her chest in a gathered handful. Sulphur was sitting next to her and was lazily licking her paw.
"You're a terrible guard cat," she whispered. The cat paused, flickered different colored eyes at her and upon finding her boring went back to her important cleaning task.
The steps got closer and she stood, sinking back against the heart of the tree trying to hide until a pair of boots came into view under the willow's green branches that nearly brushed the ground. Her heart pounded.
"Eloise? Do you want to come out of there so I don't scare you?"
And her heartbeat calmed as she parted the peaceful curtain of leaf-beaded strings to see Taylor standing there. He tilted his head, taking in her small form dwarfed in a blanket clutched in one hand while the other held open a wall of willow as if she were a child playing a game of make-believe.
"Hey, Ladyhawk."
Her chest swelled and she felt her skin prickle. He looked so handsome that the memory of his lips taking hers in passionate moonlit kisses made her nervous. She was nearly forty years old and still, a teenage version of her had a belly full of fluttering wings.
"Great movie," she replied. Her inner teenager gave her a high five at her level of calm. And she wondered how much therapy she'd need to get rid of her.
"You've seen it?" he asked surprised.
"Michelle Pfiefer and young Matthew Broderick? Cursed lovers. A wonderful fable of a wolf and a hawk? Of course I have. You can call me Ladyhawk anytime."
"So what are you doing hiding in a willow tree? It's incredibly fitting for you, by the way."
"Thinking," she replied.
