63Starlings – they had filled her dream, and when she opened the curtains in the quiet early dawn, it felt right that they were also there swirling about in the sky in the morning air. Ever since Jonathan had left for his third year at the Naval Academy, these birds, and their magical swirling patterns of flight kept surfacing to her in books, magazines, her dreams and now, today, there they were in dizzying display outside of Gull Cottage, filling the sky over the Atlantic. "Magical, aren't they," her husband Daniel Gregg said in her ear, as he stepped behind her. "I recall all too clearly that in my sailing days, they provided some sense, a feeling of balance when things would go wrong, or seem to go wrong. There's logic, a pattern that drives them that we can never see, perhaps even one they cannot see, but they hear it, feel it all the same." "Maybe that's why they keep appearing to me too," Carolyn questioned aloud. "Perhaps I'm like one of those birds these days. Sometimes I feel like I'm creating the pattern, and have to keep everyone else aligned, other times it is as if I'm just one of many there in the center, caught up in the pattern, but too close to see it. Does that sound crazy?" Kissing her just above her ear, he nodded, "It does, but if I admitted it aloud, then I'd have to admit to my own mental failings. No matter the logic, or lack of logic, I have to admit that it feels right, even if it isn't practical."
Leaning back against his happily solid form, Carolyn allowed herself a quiet moment, just listening to the swirling sounds in the air, the steady rhythm of her own breath and the rolling crash of the surf below. "Daniel," she said quietly, "is it selfish to be so unsettled about things that should be happy? I am so pleased that the children are out in the world, building their own lives, but I miss them so much at the same time. And in between the lonely moments, I admit that I am so content and pleased to know all we need to handle is the two of us today. We get to focus our days on ourselves, no carpool, no homework; no dashing back and forth to children's sporting events. Just the two of us. That's reasonable, isn't it?"
"Only if you want to ignore me Mrs. Gregg!" rolled up from the front of the house. "Surely you haven't forgotten the one person who cares for you and feeds you, have you?" Cordelia shouted up with a clear level of amusement in her voice. "Never my dear Miss Cordelia," her husband answered with a smile. "As long as it comes with fresh coffee for my lady and perhaps one of your current scones, if you have time between your dedicated eavesdropping." "As if that's required," they heard her snort below, followed by the thump of a solidly closed front door. "Daniel," Carolyn scolded, "one day, you'll go too far, and you'll be left with me in the kitchen again." Crossing himself swiftly, he grinned, "I'll head below and make amends immediately. Heaven forefend we ever have to face that level of purgatory again!" Tweaking her ear, he smiled and rapidly left her side, heading down to talk to their hot-tempered cook and housekeeper.
Smiling to herself, Carolyn leaned over the balcony railing, watching the birds swirl out of sight. "My cooking wasn't that bad, way it?" "That and worse missus, and I have it from Martha herself!" Cordelia shouted up from the kitchen window. Shaking her head, she saw the last starling slip out of sight. "So an unseen pattern we're following, are we? Well, so be it, time to get on with the rest of this story."
Later that same morning, but without the starlings, the same unseen and definite pattern continued its evolution as Candi sat perched at Hillside Café near Boston College, obsessing over the fourth draft of her psychology mid-term paper and finishing her fifth cup of coffee. "Come now sweetheart," she heard behind her, "I know your mother is addicted to caffeine, but her daughter as well?" Reaching up, she grasped the solid hand on her shoulder, amazed at how the simple look and the feel of his hand could make her heart begin dashing about in her chest. "Oh Gene, we've had this conversation far too many times. Caffeine helps one focus, stirs the brain cells, and helps you find clarity amidst the muddle." Turning a chair around across from her, he sat straddling it, his long legs dangling, as he faced her with a disbelieving smile, "Candi Muir, if I didn't know better, you need all that stimulation to keep finding ways to avoid answering my proposal. It's time you accept that I'm not giving up, so for the eighth time, are you going to marry me or not?"
Tapping her pencil in a familiar way, Candi kept her eyes focused on the paper, but found it impossible to hide the twinkle in her eye. "Oh, that. We're up to eight are we?" "I'll make it eighty, if that's what you need," he grinned, "why, do you have an absolute number required before one of my proposals actually deserves an answer?" "Gene Holloway," she said, making her exasperation clear, despite her smile, "you know perfectly well it has nothing to do with the number, the timing or the setting. I'm not answering you because I'm not making any kind of permanent decision about the rest of my life now. And you shouldn't want me to either. If I don't get accepted into graduate school, you might be proposing to a future secretary, or sales clerk instead of an upcoming and brilliant psychotherapist, or Ph.D. in Art History or whatever it is I settle on! I think too highly of you to saddle you with someone who is merely OK. You deserve the best." "And that's exactly what I expect," he said pulling her over for a gentle kiss. "It's you I want, not your future career. It's not like I'm asking you to support me you nut!" Sighing, she stopped to return to her paper, "Look at you," she grumbled, "you made me lose my place here." "Hmmm," he murmured into her ear, "I don't recall you complaining when you were interning for me. In fact, I do clearly recall that you rather liked being distracted by me."
Smiling up at him, she shook her head. She had never imagined being interested in someone so much older, but that day when she stepped onto the set of 'The Brink's Job' excited with her chance to intern on a major Hollywood movie being shot in Boston, she saw his eyes focused on her. In a second, she found herself equally as smitten with the film's assistant director. 'Well, if Mom can fall for a MUCH older man,' Candi thought to herself, 'I guess 15 years isn't too much of a difference for me.' Looking up at Gene, and smiling at the worry lines surrounding his grey eyes, she stood and placed a gentle kiss on his nose. "Not to worry Gene, you focus on your latest screenplay," she said softly, "Mom already loves you, Cor says you are destined to be part of our family, just give me a little more time to catch up with the rest of you, all right?"
Standing and pushing his chair back under the table, he nodded with narrowed eyes. "Well, that's the closest to yes I've heard so far. Back to your studies Miss Muir, but once your acceptance letter shows up, be prepared. I have many more proposals prepared to go!"
Stopping by the door of the café he called over to her, "I'm heading back to New York tomorrow, should I stop by Annapolis and tell your brother he also needs to accept me as part of the family?" With her perfect pitching arm, Candi quickly tossed a balled up napkin at his head. You didn't even get close," he chuckled, as he plucked the wrapper out of the air. "You must love me!" Grinning back at him, she just shook her head, "For heaven sakes Gene, leave the kid alone, he's finishing up final exams. Don't distract him – he's in line to be top of class this year." "
Turning back to her paper, she waved him out, but allowed herself a gentle following glance as he closed the door and headed out into the windy afternoon. "Mrs. Candace Muir Holloway," she murmured aloud, "sounds good."