Cocoon Read Free

foothills, near the North-South Carolina border. Ansel had chosen the site wisely and built well. Not only from her deck but from each floor-to-ceiling window wrapping the back of the beautiful structure, Seana’s eyes feasted on the distant blue Smoky Mountain range. The upper South Carolina terrain thereabouts was one of graceful rolling hills and valleys.
    Seana’s late husband, Ansel, had built it for her in the early days of their marriage. Had three decades actually passed? Incredible. She smiled and sipped her aromatic coffee. This was her dream home and had served them well as they raised their two children, Zoe and Tim, and on into their empty nest years until Ansel’s death seven years ago.
    His lengthy bout with cancer had allowed him time to set his finances in order. He had left Seana and the children well provided for. The farm was paid off years ago. Ansel’s prudence and investment savvy had, in the end, ensconced Seana in debt-free comfort.
    His love still, after he’d been gone for so long, reached out to her and spoke of his selflessness, evidenced by the legacy he’d left her. Ansel would forever remain a part of her heart. That certainty surrounded and embraced her this morning, and tears misted her eyes as she breathed a prayer of thanksgiving for all her blessings.
    Then she reached for the fruit she’d earlier prepared, a mixture of sliced strawberries, local peaches, blackberries from her own back yard, a shaving of banana and, topping it off, a big dollop of vanilla yogurt. She spooned a generous scoop into her mouth and bit into the succulent, sweet fruit. Mmmm.
    It didn’t get any better than this.
    Brutus’s noble head lifted only slightly to acknowledge her feast before lowering again to the floor. Seana’s son, Tim, had purchased him from a search-and-rescue friend after Brutus’s early retirement due to a shoulder injury that caused a slight limp. And though it disqualified him for the sometimes harsh requirements in SAR, he could run normally, as their resident squirrels and neighboring cats soon discovered. And Billie Jean, her widowed cousin, too.
    Seana caught his tea-colored eye and smiled. “Good boy.”
    Her bonus was a couple of enthusiastic tail sweeps before he floated into drowsy canine oblivion.
    An ear-splitting whistle pierced the stillness, jerking Brutus’s head up to full attention. He sat up and looked at Seana, a question in those intelligent eyes.
    â€œGo on,” she said, and he tore into a run, paws clicking loudly as he loped down the steps to join Seana’s cousin, Billie Jean, on her morning run around the property. Widowed Billie Jean resided downstairs in Seana’s rambling structure, an arrangement that had served well since Ansel’s death.
    Seana grinned as she watched the two disappear over the hill; Billie Jean, a compact, energetic woman with rich chestnut waves harnessed by white sweatband above running gear of red, sleeveless sweatshirt and shorts. White Reeboks kicked up dirt tufts with Brutus loping astride.
    She took another long sip of coffee, and sighed.
    The aloneness, Seana’s companion for so long, now seemed almost elusive.
    Almost. It was still difficult to completely let go of Ansel. He’d been the strength and solidity of their relationship while she’d been his “muse,” he’d always happily insisted. He’d let her be herself, with all her whimsical romanticism and free-spirited giving to and loving the entire populace of Paradise Springs.
    All that changed when he died. Seana had to grow up, to a degree. Tamp down her childlike abandonment to life. Suddenly, she was at the helm with her children.
    She and Ansel had set their younger child, Zoe, up in her ballroom dance business after she became enamored while studying dance in the high school Governor’s Fine Arts program. Vibrant Zoe had found her niche. Happy Feet Dance Studio became a favorite