Hens and Chickens Read online

  Lila dropped her phone into her purse and pulled out her CharlieCard. Within half an hour, she was settled comfortably with a large cup of steaming coffee into a quiet corner of Grass Roots, a boutique café situated in the ground floor of an office building on Arch Street. Lila inhaled the comforting scent of the hot Arabica bean coffee. “Ahhh! Life is good!”

  Lila practically grinned with satisfaction. Who knew? Who knew quitting a job could feel so good!

  But what to do next? What should she do? How could she help Rebecca?

  Lila was aware that her financial situation – which was actually the polar opposite of that described by Joe Kelly – gave her opportunities her older, widowed friend did not share. Rebecca’s daughter Amber still had a year left at UMass and Rebecca’s home in Roxbury was heavily mortgaged to pay for that education. Lila knew that Rebecca lived closely, almost paycheck to paycheck. Lila, on the other hand, was single, debt-free, rented a modest condo that could easily be given up—and had a bank account with more than $250,000, thanks, sadly, to the proceeds from her mother’s life insurance policy.

  What do I REALLY want to do with my life?

  Lila tried to imagine a future for herself and her motherly friend—and failed. An imaginative, creative person, she normally turned to her daydreams for inspiration. But lately Lila’s daydreams had all been nightmares.

  Maybe I should put the question out there to the Twitter sphere? Maybe some of my Tweeps will have some good ideas?

  She tweeted her situation to the 2,000+followers @PGleeful, cheerfully taking advantage of the social media avatar she had created for her former employer. “Heck, they won’t know what’s going on for weeks at Perkins & Gleeful,” she muttered aloud. “I don’t think Kelly even knows what Twitter is, and Queen Cora still thinks Facebook is where it’s at.”

  Within minutes, Lila had several replies from Twitter, but one in particular, from @MissJanHastings, stood out.

  “Old house next door falling down; take a chance – move to Maine. What have you got to lose, darling? We’ll show you how to raise chickens.”

  We’ll show you how to raise chickens.

  Lila felt the hair on her arm stand up. The image of herself gathering eggs and scattering grain to a flock of clucking chickens revived a faint, happy memory from her childhood and struck Lila now as something, well – something she would really like to do.

  “Omigod, I can see it,” she said, laughing aloud, hand tightening around her cup of coffee. “I can totally see it!”

  “I’m interested,” Lila tweeted back to @MissJanHastings. “What next?”

  Seconds later came the reply: “Come visit; this weekend. You and your friend can stay with me. I’ll put you up in the Rose Rooms.”

  The Rose Rooms …

  Lila pictured in her mind an old New England farmhouse with faded, rose-figured wall-paper and the scent of lavender potpourri wafting through the upstairs bedrooms. What have we got to lose? An outdated paradigm that isn’t working anymore—except for corporate America?

  Lila felt more hopeful than she had since her mother’s untimely death. A few more tweets and a couple of Direct Messages to @MissJanHastings settled it. If Lila could convince her former Perkins & Gleeful marketing partner, they would venture to Maine that very afternoon to check out Miss Jan Hastings’ offbeat proposal. What better way could they possibly spend their weekend?!

  “OK, I’m here under protest,” Rebecca said, sliding into a seat opposite her young friend. She plopped her over-sized faux leather purse on the floor. “I’d rather be throwing myself under a train but I thought I might as well get a coffee first. And congratulations, by the way. Cora told me about your promotion while she helped me box up my stuff. Would you believe it? She even helped me lug everything to my car—bless her!”

  “I didn’t get the promotion,” Lila said, quickly. “Are you alright?”

  “W-h-a-t?!” exclaimed Rebecca. “Cora promised me the job was yours – that’s what kept me from falling apart. That, and I was afraid my mascara would run.”

  “I quit, Becca.”

  Rebecca sucked in her breath sharply. “You … quit?”

  “Walked out on Kelly. Didn’t even slam the door.”

  Alarmed, Rebecca reached across the table and clasped Lila’s slim arm. “Be serious,” she pleaded. “You can’t quit. Companies don’t hire unemployed people; I saw it on 60 Minutes !”

  “Screw corporate America—sorry!” Lila automatically apologized. “I’ve got a plan—if it all works out. I’m going to Maine and raise chickens. Or eggs. Or something like that. And you’re coming with me!”

  “Oh, you’re only doing this to protest my firing!” said Rebecca, pushing a soft brown curl back from her face. “And while I love you for it, I think you’re foolish. It’s not too late; Kelly will still take you back.”

  “Most likely. But I’m not going back—I’m liberated. I always wondered what it felt like for those women’s libbers in the ‘60s, burning their bras and all. Now, I know. It feels totally mind blowing; it really does. Who does corporate America they think they are, anyway? The only game in town? Screw them! We’re gonna get a NEW life.”

  Rebecca sank back into her seat. “I think I need something stronger than coffee,” she said, weakly.

  “They make a really good chocolate croissant here.”

  “I was thinking of something a little stronger than chocolate!”

  Lila groped for her wallet and drew out a $20 bill. She tossed the money at her friend. “Here, get whatever you want. It’s on me,” she said.

  “Lila! That’s $20!” Rebecca eyed her friend with horror. “You won’t even get unemployment because you quit a perfectly good job.”

  “Chicken feed,” Lila retorted. She giggled at her own joke. “Ha, ha. Chicken feed. Go get your coffee, Becca, while I find out how much organic chicken feed costs.”

  Rebecca’s daughter, Amber, had recently introduced Lila to the organic food movement. Lila didn’t know much about the growing movement, but Amber’s enthusiasm had piqued her interest. She turned to her phone, and within a minute had discovered the answer to her question: a bag of certified organic feed cost about $25. “No joke,” she said. “I wonder how much those things eat?” She jabbed away at the phone.

  When Rebecca returned with a coffee and croissant, Lila set her phone on the table. “Here’s the plan,” she said. “You’re gonna rent out your house, and we’re gonna move to Maine, buy this rundown old place next to Miss Jan Hastings, and make a new life. We’re gonna live off my mother’s life insurance money until we can make a living from our chicken and egg business. I’ve got enough to carry us for a couple of years, no sweat. In the meantime, you can send your unemployment money to Amber. She’ll love the plan ‘cause we’re gonna be organic!”

  “We’re going to sell … chickens?” Rebecca said, skeptically.

  “Raise chickens and sell EGGS,” corrected Lila. “ORGANIC eggs. In Sovereign, Maine.”

  “You’ve arranged all this with a Twitter person?”

  Lila nodded, beaming. “@MissJanHastings,” she said.

  “Who is she?”

  “Miss Jan Hastings is a retired music teacher who loves children and chickens,” Lila answered, excitedly. “She’s got a pet chicken, actually—Matilda. I’ve seen pics. We’ve been following each other on Twitter for a couple of years.”

  “But you don’t really know her?”

  “I know more about Miss Jan Hastings than I do Cora Batterswaith, and I’ve known Cora five years! Miss Hastings is pretty old now—probably late sixties or early seventies. She’s never married, loves donuts and kids, and hates what the banks and corporate America have done to this country. She lives in this really neat town called Sovereign—which is somewhere near Unity or Liberty, Maine. I think there’s a small college nearby.”

  Despite herself, Rebecca was intrigued. “Unity College,” she mused. “It’s called Unity College. I’ve actually been to Unity
, believe it or not.”

  “Omigod, no way!”

  “Yes, way. Unity was one of the colleges that Amber considered. There’s an annual organic fair in Unity every fall; I went there with Amber two years ago.” Rebecca looked thoughtful. “I can picture the area in my mind.”

  “S-o-o-o? What’s it like?”

  “Well, there’s a lot of farmland,” Rebecca replied. “I can’t recall Sovereign, but Unity is sort of a one-horse town. Actually, it’s more than a one horse town because the Amish have a settlement in Unity, I remember.”

  “This is TOO good. The Amish? It’s perfect! What’s not to love about moving to the sticks of Maine and raising chickens?”

  “But what about Ryan?” Rebecca asked, anxiously. “What will Ryan say?”

  “Puh-leeze. We’re just friends—we’re not even having sex.”

  Rebecca blushed.

  “Sorry, I forget you’re from another generation,” said Lila. “Hey, if Ryan MacDonald wants to come to Maine to see me, I won’t send him packing. But I’m not staying in Boston just to be near the Perkins & Gleeful corporate attorney!”

  Unconsciously, Rebecca sat up straighter in her chair. “Well, I don’t seem to have any bright ideas myself,” she said, gamely. “I can’t promise you I’ll commit to anything at this point – especially with Amber still in college. But I’m willing to take a look. Let me go home, feed my cat and pack my overnight bag. I’ll pick you up at one o’clock. That way we’ll be able to get to Sovereign before dark.”

  “Becca, this is amazing!” cried Lila, who, although not normally demonstrative, leapt up and gave her friend a quick hug.

  “I’m not promising anything, remember!” Rebecca cautioned, familiar with Lila’s youthful exuberance.

  “I know; I know! We’re just going for a look. You won’t regret it!”

  “I haven’t got much to regret at this point,” replied Rebecca, wryly. She leaned down to pick up her purse. “But I might soon—God help us!” she added, under her breath.

  Chapter 3

  Rebecca

  At 48, Rebecca Johnson had experienced her share of life’s little disappointments. And while the loss of the marketing job with Perkins & Gleeful was certainly a major stumbling block at this point in her life – especially with Amber only a junior in college – it was not one of her top five disappointments. Those would be marrying an abusive (lying, drunken etc. etc.) husband, losing their son Thad in a motorcycle accident, caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s; and, well, why bring them all back?

  Rebecca’s past disappointments flashed briefly before her soft blue eyes while she sat at the Grass Roots Café and listened as Lila outlined a possible new future for the two women. But it had not always been that way. Rebecca was one of the popular girls in high school; not the most popular, true, but popular enough to make everyone believe that she would lead a charmed life. She was a pretty, friendly brunette, and, although short, she had a good figure and a warm, compassionate nature.

  Rebecca was a cheerleader; not the Captain of the cheerleading squad, no, but one of its solid members, necessary for the middle of the pyramid. A natural homemaker, she sewed most of the costumes for the drama club, and always carried spare sanitary pads, tampons and ibuprofen. She was the girl next door, the girl Anthony Trollope wrote copious 19th century love stories about.

  Rebecca’s childhood and young womanhood were largely serene and uneventful, until she had married her college sweetheart. On that day, the storm clouds began building on an otherwise cloudless sky.

  Rebecca’s husband, who would always remain nameless (unless “your father” could be considered a name), was a confident, charming sweet-talker who talked the comely co-ed right out of her tightly-held virginity. (Even now Rebecca was embarrassed to admit to Lila that she’d never been with another man.) Amber’s father was a salesman, a top-earner for a growing insurance company—none other, in fact, than Perkins & Gleeful, Inc. When his sales crumbled after the death of their son, Rebecca had taken a job at the front desk as a receptionist. By the time her husband had drunk himself into a casket, Rebecca had been promoted to the marketing department and was left as the sole provider of eight-year-old Amber Joy.

  For many years, Amber, now 21, was Rebecca’s reason for being. Amber, a delightful, caring child, was a more modern and lankier version of her mother. She was a daughter of whom every mother could feel proud, and Rebecca was certainly no exception. But Amber had grown into an inquiring, passionate teen and naturally separated from her mother to bond with younger, more progressive friends. When Rebecca had first noticed her chick try to leave the nest, she had felt incredibly terrified and sad; but she did not prevent her daughter from forming new attachments. Instead, she had stepped aside, and had courageously given her daughter the slight push necessary to send her solitary chick out into the world to create a meaningful life for herself. Amber’s latest passion was the blossoming organic movement.

  “It’s a lot harder to be a good parent than a bad parent,” Rebecca’s mother had allowed two years ago, before Mom forgot who this short, professionally-dressed brunette was who visited her every weekend and sometimes on weeknights. “You’ve done a good job with her, Rebecca.”

  It was probably the last coherent praise Rebecca ever received from her mother. She leaned over and kissed the elderly woman’s waxy white face. “I love you, Mom,” she said, choking back tears.

  Once Amber had flown from the nest to UMass, Rebecca found herself drawn even closer to her motherless co-worker, Lila Woodsum. Everyone in the office liked and admired Lila, who, fresh from college, had been hired to liven up the group and to provide new tech savvy to the company. (Rebecca had been right about that.) Those were the good days, when money seemed to drop from the heavens and every $1 Perkins & Gleeful spent on marketing seemed to return $100 in sales. But then the Great Recession hit, and in the fall of 2008 the first layoffs had begun. Once there had been seven of them in the marketing department—now there were, well, none!

  Even now, motoring up the Maine turnpike, Rebecca could not believe that after all these months of worrying about losing her job the axe had finally fallen. She who had faithfully attended the office at Perkins & Gleeful every work day (except for a few vacation and sick days) for the past 16 years, now had no place to go on Monday (or Tuesday or Wednesday …). She had lost not only her gainful employment, she had lost also part of her identity. True, she was still Amber’s Mom and Lila’s Best Friend. But who was she – Rebecca Johnson? And what did she really want for her life?

  The last few hours seemed surreal to Rebecca. The firing from Perkins & Gleeful. Coffee at Grass Roots Café in the middle of a work day. Lila chattering about hens and an offbeat stranger she’d met on Twitter. Her young friend pitching a plan to move to Maine. It was almost like a dream!

  To Rebecca’s credit, she had not agreed to consider the Maine adventure from any self-interest. Much as she loved Lila and shared with her a deep sense of “family” connection, she would never be comfortable “living off” her young friend. No, if Rebecca acceded to the plan – and that was a big IF – it would be simply to keep a watchful eye on Lila.

  From outward appearances, Lila appeared to be a light-hearted, confident young woman. But Rebecca, who was no stranger to caregiving or sorrow, noted the deepening shadows beneath her friend’s eyes and her thinning figure. Lila wasn’t happy – hadn’t been happy – at least not since her parents were killed in that terrible boat crash in late 2009. Lila’s flippant remarks and her joking and teasing belied her true feelings. But Rebecca sensed that a heart-wrenching pain was hiding not far beneath the surface, and suspected that the slightest scratch would bring it up.

  And why not? Rebecca wondered. Why shouldn’t she feel the loss of her parents, still? What could be more natural?

  But natural or not, that terrible loss – or something – was harming Lila’s health; physically, mentally and spiritually. Rebecca also noted with seasoned awarenes
s that Lila seemed to be afraid of a committed romantic relationship. When pressed by Rebecca about it, Lila defended her single lifestyle by claiming “all the good men are gay” and “I’m going to focus on my career, first.” Even now, Lila had formed a new “friendship” with the perfectly eligible (and extremely handsome, Rebecca thought) corporate attorney, 32-year-old Ryan MacDonald. Yet it appeared to Rebecca that Lila was going to run away to Maine simply because Ryan might be pressing her for more of a commitment.

  I can’t believe he’s still hanging around and they haven’t even had sex yet.He must be more of a White Knight than I thought!

  “Hello, hello – Rebecca, you soo totally haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the last 10 miles!” accused Lila. “This is our EXIT!”

  Automatically, Rebecca glanced in her rear view mirror to check the traffic situation. “I’m not ignoring you – I’m driving,” she said, defending herself. The green and white Exit 113 sign loomed large, and Rebecca switched on the car’s directional signal.

  “You’d be halfway to Canada now if I wasn’t with you,” continued Lila. “Where were you, anyway?”

  Where was she? In the past? No, she wouldn’t be feeling so hopeful if she was stuck in the past. “Just thinking about your plan,” Rebecca answered, lightly. “Wondering if it is possible to pack up and relocate. Start a new life in Maine.” She hesitated. “Did you text Ryan about it?”

  Lila bristled. “Why should I tell HIM? What does he care?”

  “Oh, Lila, I think Ryan does care! I think he cares a great deal.”

  “OK, well, so maybe I’m the one who doesn’t care,” Lila said, defensively. “I don’t want to feel like I’ve got to tell someone what I’m doing every minute of the day. Especially a man. Anyway, he’ll know soon enough that I’ve left the firm, ‘cause Joe Kelly will tell him.”