The Butterfly Forest

THIRTY-TWO

We walked down my long, sloping yard to the dock, Max leading the way. It was about twenty minutes before sunset and the river and sun were working in splendid concert. The water was flat, moving in a slow dance through the jetties and oxbow. The sun dressed the old river in a new coat each evening. Tonight it appeared in nuggets of gold, shimmering in pools of cranberry, looking as if water danced with fire.

Elizabeth stood near the end of the dock. She held the wine glass in both hands and seemed to inhale like she hadn’t breathed in years. The evening air was kissed with the scent of honeysuckles and trumpet blossoms. A blue heron stalked the shallows, the water moving in shades of dark cherries around its legs. A hummingbird darted a few feet above the water and fed from trumpet blossoms on vines that hung from the seawall. The vines looked like a waterfall of green splattered in blooms of purple, white and pink. Three white herons flew over the river, their reflections racing below them.

“You’re right,” she said smiling and turning to me.

“About what?”

“The loss for words thing… I didn’t think places like this still existed in Florida.”

“It’ll get better as the sun says good night.”

“It has such a beautiful and primordial sense. Standing on the dock, I feel like I’m standing on some kind of time-warp platform, a place that allows me to visit as long as I don’t step off and change things.” The breeze played with her hair.

“You won’t change things because you don’t have the greed of a land developer in your blood. Too often county commissioners give them permits to rape the land, leaving Florida a shell of its former self.” I pointed across the river. “It won’t happen on that side of the St. Johns. That’s the eastern boundary of the Ocala National Forest. It’s about as primitive as land can get and still co-exist with man.”

Max paced the left side of the dock, a miniature growl stuttering in her throat. “Oh, look,” said Elizabeth, pointing toward cypress trees and the gnarled knees that protruded out of the water. “Max spotted an alligator.” A four-foot gator swam slowly out of the cypress recess on a trip to the other side of the river.

“Let’s sit and enjoy it. The show only gets better.” She sat next to me on one of the two wooden benches I’d built and installed on both sides of the dock, one facing east for sunrises, the other facing west for shows like tonight.

“This is paradise,” Elizabeth said, sipping her wine. She looked at me and smiled, the colors of the river bouncing in her eyes. “It’s good just to get away from the restaurant. I’ve been thinking of selling the business.”

“What would you do?”

“I don’t know. Molly’s graduating soon, and she’ll be gone. I haven’t traveled much in my life. I think I’d like that.”

“What’s wrong, Elizabeth?”

“What do you mean?’

“You’re still troubled. Something’s heavy on your mind. Want to talk about it?”

“Are you always that perceptive?”

“Sometimes. Years ago, when I’d question suspects, I sort of learned to read between the lies. Often people, perfectly honest folks, use similar body language when they’re trying to bury something… usually something painful.”

She laughed. “You and Sherri must have had a great marriage. I’m sure she never tried to be deceitful; bet she probably knew it’d be difficult around you.”

“We had no secrets.”

“That’s rare.”

“I miss our time together.”

“I can tell.”

“Now, can you also tell me what’s so heavy on your mind?”

“It’s Molly,” she sighed, her eyes watching the heron.

“What about Molly?”

“She’s so stubborn. She and Mark were returning to the wildlife refuge to release the atala butterflies near those coontie plants. I believe she mentioned them to you when you and Max were in our restaurant.”

“She did.”

“Anyway, she said she needed to go because she couldn’t postpone the release and risk the life cycle of the butterflies.”

“I told her I was worried, and she said there was nothing to worry about since they had that creepy Frank Soto in custody. She concluded by telling me that she and Mark never saw Soto in the forest to begin with, so in her mind, she wasn’t sure the two were even connected.”

“When is she doing the butterfly release?”

“Today, I think.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

“Three times. The last was right before I pulled in your driveway. It went to voice mail. I tried Mark’s phone, too. It did the same thing.”

I said nothing as I watched seeds from a dandelion float across the river.

“Am I just being an over-reactive mother to a college senior?”

“No, given the circumstances of late, that’s a natural reaction.”

“Maybe she’ll call tonight and, in her own animated way, tell me how grand it was to watch those dark blue butterflies start a happy new home out there somewhere.” She gestured across the river.

I watched a white heron take flight over the river. Reminiscent of the Greek character, Icarus, the great bird beat its wings and climbed toward a mountain of purple clouds that threatened to squeeze the last ounce of light from a crimson sun.

If Detective Lewis had left a message on my phone, I hoped it wasn’t about Molly Monroe.