Wildheart

"Oh, Deedee, can't you see you're just running away from your problems. You need your friends more than ever right now. And you have no business traipsing off to some godforsaken hole on the side of a mountain. You haven't ever so much as taken a hike. It's suicidal. Is that what you're intending?"

"Absolutely not." Deedee felt sorry for the poor woman whose voice raised in desperation for Deedee. Why did it matter so much? Why had Amy been so solicitous of Deedee since her husband's death? It didn't make sense. They just had never been that tight. In the tradition of close Arizona neighborhoods, Amy was an acquaintance, but little more. Why had she become so adamant to mold Deedee's life? "You're the one killing me....with kindness," she clarified. "There's only one cure for this wound, and that's my work."

"But you said you haven't been able to write. What makes you think Colorado will change that?"

"Because, Amy, I can't do my work while weeding through the garden of love my well-meaning friends are planting to mire my feet. I can't think. I can't concentrate. My God, I can't even dream."

Deedee offered Amy a frustrated glare along with the tall glass of lemonade she carefully placed on the crystal and silver coaster. Drawing in a deep sigh, she released her body to the blood red, leather couch. So, she had shocked her friend into silence; the peace was bliss, though shortlived.

Deedee had drunk half of her glass of cool refreshment before she set it aside. The hot Arizona day had sapped her of her fluids and her spirits during the short talk that resurected the haunting memories of the past. She had seen Amy follow Daniel into the kitchen when he went for beer. It had been far too long before they returned flush and giggling like children. Daniel had accidently bumped against her when he bent to open the cooler. That very day, four months ago, Deedee's whole world had shattered with the unexpected death of her husband.

With no warning, no long illness, no doctors, no hospitals, Daniel lost his life. He had been handsome, athletic, and loving, besides patient with the understanding he had shown when Deedee was so drawn in by her writing she failed to cook his meals or even go to his bed.

Was Amy really killing Deedee with kindness because of her own deeply-seated guilt? Yes, that must be the answer. What would have happened had not Daniel died at his fortieth birthday party? Deedee didn't believe Daniel had cheated on her, but he had been very restless about passing such a landmark in his life. Her only clues were his constant questions about his physique and his performance in bed. Regardless of her assurances, too many hours were spent in front of the mirror instead of in the bed. Hoping a party would help, Deedee had invited everyone they knew, including his business associates and friends on the block.

Amy's whining voice broke her reverie, so different from the coquettish, low drone she used when men were near. "Who will take care of you, Deedee? Who will be there to make sure you eat? There isn't even a telephone where you're going. How can you do this?! It's insane!"

"I'll have Cisco and Poncho with me. Right now, they're all the company I can handle."

"Do you expect that Poodle and ferret to protect you in the wild? You need a Great Dane!"

"Oh, for Pete's sake. Amy, listen, I hate to be rude, but I have an awful lot to do before I leave. I'll run to get the bonsai you promised to babysit."

Deedee carried the little tree she had planted to honor the sale of her first book fifteen years earlier from the place of honor it held on her spacious back porch. It signified her whole career; each ring of new wood marking one more year she remained independent in her life and earnings. Superstition dictated that she would lose these precarious things if this little tree were to die; practicality dictated the ridiculousness of superstition. Still, she felt a sense of loss when she handed it lovingly to Amy.

"Remember, morning sun only and water it when the moss starts to dry. This is precious to me, Amy. Please don't let it die."

"You've had quite enough death. I wouldn't dream of it." Slapping her hand to her mouth, she apologized. "Leave it to me to say the wrong thing. Sorry. That's all you need--someone to keep reminding you."

"Don't be silly. There isn't a moment, day or night, when I forget it. I only hope I'm so lucky when it's my time to go. Daniel didn't even make a sound. He couldn't have felt much pain. Sometimes I feel that I've suffered his death more than he did, and it shows me my selfishness. But one minute he was turning the hamburgers and the next he was gone."

"I know, Deedee. I was there. No one would have believed it otherwise." Her nosy neighbor mind ticking like a cuckoo clock, Amy needled for more info. "If it doesn't bother you to talk about it, what did the doctor say was the cause of death?"

No doubt, the question came out of guilt that, possibly, her own lurid activities had caused his demise. Amy probably thought Deedee poisoned him for being unfaithful. Well, let her think what she would. It had provided an edge of intrigue to thier visits. Deedee was certain an affair had never happened, but she was just as certain that it soon would have. Not because they were having marital problems but because he needed affirmation of his sexual prowess with women when he "WENT OVER THE HILL". For some reason, wives don't qualify in that endeavor. Deedee didn't blame Amy. If it hadn't been her, it would have been another neighbor or a secretary--female flesh to make his forty-year-old body feel twenty again.

"It was simply heart failure. He had a heart murmur as a child, and he worked at a high-stress job. Corporate law was worse than being a doctor. He was always on call."

Sighing, Deedee turned to stare out the window at the harsh sun. She heard Amy clear her throat, suggestively, at her long silence.