Elena Graf - This Is My Body

THIS IS MY BODY

Elena Graf

Purple Hand Press

Copyright

Purple Hand Press

www.purplehandpress.com

2020 by Elena Graf

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, institutions, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Trade Paperback Edition

ISBN-13 978-1-7334492-3-6

Kindle Edition

ISBN-13 978-1-7334492-4-3

ePub Edition

ISBN-13 978-1-7334492-5-0

Editor: Laure Dherbcourt

Cover design: Castle Hill Media, LLC

Cover photo: Tursk Aleksandra

Contents

Note

This book contains live links to YouTube. You can listen to the musical selections cited in this book if your e-reader app enables browsing the internet and you are connected to WiFi. Music links are indicated by blue underlined type. The links will take you out of the e-reader app. The music cannot be played simultaneously with reading.

Dedication

To Kathleen Adkins, my wingman

Chapter 1

THE WOMAN walked at a brisk pace. Her red hair, tied in a loose ponytail, swayed with the rhythm of her steps. Her arms pumped up and down to the same beat. Obviously, this was a walk for exercise, not a morning stroll. Her legs were toned but deadly pale. Being a redhead, she probably needed to guard against too much sun.

Erika Bultmann, who had been reading on the porch of her summer cottage, stared. She stared not only because the woman was stunning, but because there was so much bare flesh. The last time Erika had seen the Reverend Lucille Bartlett, rector of St. Margarets by the Sea Episcopal Church, shed been modestly dressed in a black suit and wearing a clerical collar.

Although Erika had spent a lovely evening with Lucy Bartlett during the winter holidays and found her company stimulating in every sense of the word, she didnt immediately call out to get her attention. Erika was still on her first cup of coffee, hadnt showered, or brushed her teeth. The worn T-shirt and cotton shorts she wore to bed was not an outfit for greeting even the most casual acquaintance, and especially not one whom she very much wanted to impress. Instead, she watched Lucy head down Ocean Road toward the other end of the barrier island.

Erika checked the time on her phone. If she showered quickly, she could be dressed and looking presentable by the time Lucy passed the cottage on her return. Erika set aside her vintage copy of Habermass Erkenntnis und Interesse . It dated back to her graduate school days. The binding had split, and the pages had begun to yellow, but it was full of invaluable notes, so she always handled it with care.

Stripping on the way to the bathroom, Erika headed straight for the shower. Quick . I need to be quick . She gave herself a fast scrub in all the important places. She blew dry her chin-length, blond hair, taking a little more time than usual to smooth it. She put on some makeup and lipstick and selected the least-wrinkled polo shirt and Bermuda shorts from her suitcase.

When she finished dressing, she checked the time, relieved to see that she had five minutes to spare. She brewed a fresh cup of coffee and returned to the porch, where she slouched in an Adirondack chair and resumed reading. Her aim was to appear relaxed and casual when Lucy returned. Erika checked the time on her phone with anxious glances while watching for Lucy out of the corner of her eye. Finally, there she was, right on time.

Well, hello there! Erika called when Lucy approached. Startled, the woman stopped in her tracks. She leaned on her knees to catch her breath, then looked all around her, up and down, trying to locate the speaker. Standing in the brilliant sunlight, she couldnt see into the porch. Over here! said Erika, rising. She was less careful of Habermas this time and needed to use her reflexes to rescue the book before it landed on the floor and spilled its pages.

Lucys mouth curved up. She had the kind of smile that could light a darkened room. Erika? Is that you?

It is, said Erika, opening the door. I hardly recognized you without the collar.

Lucy blushed a little, which Erika found charming. As she came near, Erika could see the faint freckles on her face. Without makeup, Lucy looked wholesome and girlish.

Its so nice to see you again, said Lucy, stepping into the porch and offering her hand.

I see youre out for your morning constitutional. As she took the womans hand, Erika looked directly into her green eyes because she so much wanted to gaze into the cleavage below. Glistening with a faint sheen of perspiration, it simply begged for attention. Dont look , Erika mentally ordered herself. Dont! Lucy turned, distracted by the footsteps of a runner passing by, and Erika stole a quick glance down her shirt. Good God! She managed to return her gaze to Lucys face just in time.

I try to get in a walk every day, Lucy explained. I dont always succeed.

Youre looking quite fit, so it seems you do.

Lucy laughed softly. Thank you. Good genes, I think.

Would you like a cup of coffee? Erika asked in her most casual voice.

Lucy pulled the phone out of her armband and checked the time. A quick one. I need to be back by 9:30 for my bereavement group.

I could drive you to the rectory.

Which would defeat the purpose of the walk, said Lucy with one of her solar flare smiles.

Well, come in. It takes only a minute to make a cup. Liz gave me one of those single-serve coffee makers for my birthday. Highly efficient.

I understand that Germans value efficiency.

Yes, we do.

Lucy followed Erika into the cottage. This is so charming, she said, looking around. Erika wondered what she really thought. The furniture was all second hand, perfectly serviceable, if a bit shabby. The New England colonial style had always struck Erika as kitsch, but in Maine such furniture was cheap and abundant. The summer residents furnished their cottages from the second-hand stores masquerading as antique shops along Route 1. Erika drew the line at nautical knickknacks or clutter of any kind. Perhaps Lucy would think the local watercolor seascapes were a bit stark. Erikas mother had painted the few cheerful ones.

Have a seat, said Erika gesturing to the small table in the kitchen.

Again, Lucy looked around, taking everything in. When did you get back? she asked, gazing at the pile of boxes in the corner.

Last night. I was reading a bit before I tackled unpacking. Its a daunting task. Ive brought more than usual. This time, Im staying through the winter.

You are? asked Lucy, a hopeful note rising in her voice.

Im on sabbatical.

Thats great! Well be neighbors now.

Not exactly, replied Erika for no good reason. Obviously, Lucy wasnt trying to be precise, just making conversation.

Do you have a project for your sabbatical? Lucy pulled a Windsor chair away from the table. The legs made a little scraping sound on the linoleum.

Ive been writing a book for years. This summer, I hope to finish it. Now that Ive resigned as chairman of the department, I have more space in my brain for scholarly pursuits. Erika tapped her temple with her fingertip for emphasis.

Whats the subject of your book?

Jrgen Habermas and his theories of political discourse. Apt, I think, given the current state of affairs.

Lucy nodded. Erika wondered if the woman had the least idea who Habermas was. No matter. She was intelligent, and certainly, there were other things to talk about besides philosophy. After thirty-five years of teaching the subject at Colby College, Erika had certainly had her fill.