Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 15

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, and 14 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

Early Sunday, I dragged myself out of bed, got dressed, clipped the leash on Jack, patted Luna, and waited downstairs for Skye. We both wore jeans and tee shirts that bore our logo, a treasure chest. 

"I'm going to swing through McDonald's. Their coffee isn't as good as ours, but I think we need to get going," I said.

Skye yawned and nodded. When we got into my car, she slumped down in the passenger seat. "Remind me again why we're doing this."

I chuckled. "It started as a good deed for one of Honora's friends. From there it snowballed. If you can call something that happens in Florida a snowball. Sort of a mixed metaphor."

She groaned and closed her eyes. 

After a trip through the drive-up lane, we headed for Martin Gardens. "I don't expect anyone to be there," I admitted to my friend. "It's a Sunday. It's early. Anyone with any sense might show up around noon."

I was wrong. Seems that one of the local ministers had suggested to his flock that good works are a form of prayer. His congregation had gathered at the curb. Poppy walked the minister over and introduced us. "Pastor Jeremiah Hockey," he said, shaking my hand. "If you don't mind, I'd like to say a blessing over this endeavor."

I don't consider myself religious, but I do believe in God, so my own spirits lifted at this sign of goodwill. But I had to be honest. "I'm not in charge. Greta Morgan is. Ah, I see her!" I waved to my friend, and she hurried over. A young man tagged along. She met the minister and introduced her son Freddie. 

After the blessing, Greta spoke to the gathering. "Wow," she said. "This is amazing. Thank you so much. Okay, Let's dig in!"

Poppy gathered a group of people who were ready, willing and able to perform physical labor. Cooper appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He came with a crew and a truck full of supplies. These would be transformed into a gazebo, a spot for sitting and reflecting. That would form the hub of the design. Cooper came over to me and introduced Ben, a man who made water features. He would add a small fountain with enough of a basin for koi. Detective Lou Murray joined us. He brought the community service workers. They were tasked with digging the shallow trenches that would become walkways. Meanwhile, other church members prepared the soil for the plants we hoped would come. Rather than have people drop them off at the store, which would have necessitated us hauling them to the site, we told the public to bring the plants to Martin Gardens. There they could draw their discount coupon. 

At first I was worried that we'd have nothing to put in the soil. But another truck pulled up. This one was filled with shrubs. As I approached the driver, Cooper jogged over to meet me. "These are on me. My contribution."

What could I do but thank him?

As the day wore on, more and more people volunteered their time and supplies. A pet shop owner brought another couple of large cages. A florist directed the planting of flowers that could be cut and brought inside. A local farmer set up a small vegetable garden in one corner that had been previous designated only as "plants." Then members of the media trickled in.  I must have answered a thousand questions about my involvement. 

During a pause for water, I took Greta aside. "How's Helen?"

"Holding her own."

I must have looked excited, because my friend rushed to add, "That's not uncommon. Many people rally right before they leave us. Sort of a last hurrah. And before you ask Kookie--"

But she was interrupted by a man with a face as red as the bandanna that Poppy kept pulling out of his back pocket. The expression on his face terrified me. Greta noticed and turned around quickly.

"Mr. Salazar! So good to--"  She didn't get to finish.

 He started shaking a sausage-sized finger in her face. "How dare you! This is beyond insolent! This is willful destruction of corporate property. You're fired. I want you off the premises right now! Get your things and leave!"

~ To Be Continued~

Oh, boy. How am I going to end this? Hmmmm..... 

Stayed tuned! Lots of love--j

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 13

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 1, and 12 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

 

It took us a week to get everything organized. Knowing that the pieces wouldn't come together quickly, Poppy volunteered to handle getting Kookie's cage in place so that he and Helen wouldn't be separated. I brought him lunch the first day. His ability to think through the steps amazed me. He'd paced off where the walkways would go, and he'd measured how much room to leave on all sizes of the cage. Before pouring a concrete pad, he'd figured out how to attach the legs so that the cage could be replaced, if and when it disintegrated, as does a lot of metal so near the ocean.

 

On the second day, I stopped by bright and early to find him constructing a Tiki Hut sort of roof that would fit over the cage.

 

"Gotta give the bird a way to get out of the hot sun. Mother Nature's materials are best. The roofs are made from Florida palms. See? The heat goes right through them, but they keep it cool because the air circulates underneath." My grandfather lectured me as he stapled the thatching on to the frame. "This here'll last for years and years."

 

Meanwhile, my old boyfriend Cooper Rivers had been working magic. He went to all his current clients and asked that each of them contribute a small portion of supplies toward the landscaping job. While he did that, MJ and Skye set up a sale. Sid wrote the ads, made posters and fliers, and called the news outlets. Each customer who brought in a plant or shrub could draw a discount from a fishbowl. While I wondered how effective the sale would be, I figured it couldn't hurt and it might work.

 

Meanwhile, I talked to our friend Detective Lou Murray. Lou spoke to his pals on the police force. There were scads of people scheduled to do community service, so Lou suggested that they all show up on Saturday, once week hence, to pitch in.

 

Not surprisingly, MJ had a landscaper she's been dating. With a bit of arm twisting, she managed to get him on board. He sent a crew out to prep the grounds. "If I can take off a week to go on a cruise with him, he'll oversee the whole job at no cost to us."

 

I was happy enough to agree, but Skye stopped me. "Don't you think we should do something for all these area businesses that are chipping in?"

 

"What did you have in mind?" I chewed my lip. If she was proposing that we pay them, I didn't know where I'd find the money.

 

"I figured I could paint signs on driftwood. I can put names on them. They can go on a fingerpost, you know. That's one of those--"

 

"Those signposts with all the small pieces pointing in a variety of directions," Honora finished for her. "That sounds positively splendid!"

 

I concurred. Seeing all this happy industry made me proud. But it also made me worried. I'd stayed in close contact with Greta Morgan, the administrator at Martin Gardens. From her daily reports, I'd learned that Helen Berger was failing rapidly. "Her will to live is strong, but her body systems are struggling. The cancer has spread. We're giving her morphine. As you might imagine, she's sleeping more and more. It's common for people who are actively dying to turn away from their loved ones and pets. There's a different focus. Rather than looking to the outside world, they turn inward. It's a very natural process. She isn't eating. That's her body's way of shutting down."

 

Would our project be done in time for Helen to enjoy it? To see it? To know that her love was the spark that light our fires?

 

I wondered.

 

~ To Be Continued ~

 

Author's Note: Obviously this short story has gotten out of hand! That happens sometimes. A story will be as long as it needs to be, and that's my "story" and I'm sticking to it! So show me some love, peeps! If you haven't "liked" my Facebook page, please do. If you haven't told a friend about this serialized (not so short) story, please do. If you haven't written a review of one of my books, please do. All those activities mean so much to me--and they keep me writing. But what means the MOST is knowing that what I do matters. So email me or "talk" to me on Facebook. Sometimes this is a lonely business. I rely on you to keep me going. Much love--j