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A man in stylish glasses and a hip yoga outfit, beaded bracelets and necklace included, offers us the infamous joke, “I just flew in from Cleveland and boy, are my arms tired.”
This gets more laughter than warranted. It succeeds in relaxing everyone. A tension released.
He offers, “I’m Steven, from Portland.”
A woman who looks to be in her thirties, asks. “Keep Portland weird, is that still their slogan?”
“Yep.”
“But Austin says that, too,” a non-binary person says, eyeliner and jewelry juxtaposed with masculine vest over striped slacks, no shirt and scars slightly exposed and displaying a breast-removal surgery. To Gemma I’ll later describe them as looking like a punk-rockstar on break from a tour. Very fashionable. Very hungover. “That’s where I reside. Now, anyway. I’m moving to New York soon. ”
Two women in their early twenties, traveling together, one redheaded and one blonde, chime in, taking turns in talking. “That’s where we’re from.” “Brooklyn.” “Hit us up when you check it out.”
“I’ve been. That’s why I’m moving.”
“Fair enough,” the blonde smiles. “I’m Michelle.”
“Sienna,” the redhead offers. “What’s your name?”
They answer, “Didn’t say my name, did I? Dax.”
“Dax,” the thirties-woman says, almost to herself. “I like that.”
I ask her, “What’s your name?”
“Oh! Laura. From New Hampshire.”
“No sales or income tax.”
“That’s right,” she smiles. “But the property tax…yeesh.”
I laugh, liking her instantly. Sometimes you just get a sense for someone, and by the way she’s looking at me, she feels the same. My instinct gets cemented as she says with earnestness, touching her short, dirty-blonde shag haircut, “Your long black hair is stunning! Sheaths of it! What do you do, eat raw eggs three meals a day?”
“Ew.”
She laughs, which means she gets me. Yay!
Maggie addresses the final retreat-goer, “You’re the last of us!
“Marco,” he says, eyes and demeanor walled-up as he explains in a thick accent, “Sorrento, Italy. Divorce. Needed to, how you say…get away.”
We all nod, except for Dax who goes back to staring out the window. “Anyone have aspirin?”
“I do,” both Maggie and Laura offer. Maggie wins on pulling it from her bag first. She hands it over the back of her seat to where Dax sits behind her. Their thank you is a sigh of relief. Yep, hungover.
From the front of our shuttle bus comes the host’s deep voice, “You all know that I’m Jaxson Cocker. It doesn’t say on the website though, that I was born and raised in Atlanta, and I moved up to our destination right out of high school, when I bought the property. Met my wife in elementary school.” The Brooklynites both sigh loudly. “Rachel, who you’re about to meet. She moved to New York when we were ten. Came to visit later as an adult and I stole her from your city.” They both sigh again at the romance. There’s a smile in his voice as Jaxson adds, “She moved onto my ranch, and then we started Sunflower. Rachel’s a travel writer, and I’m a homebody, so it gave her a chance to meet people from all over the world, like she does with her work, and I get to stay home. Take care of our livestock, and my other business. I provide the local grocery stores and farmers markets with the milk they turn into various artisan cheeses. Silvia, her best friend from New York City, also moved down and she runs the place with Rachel. I’m more of a handyman, fill in where they need me, type of guy.”
Maggie asks, “No kids?”
Expertly maneuvering the shuttle bus left onto a hilly road with more trees than Venice has on three blocks, Jaxson takes a moment to answer, “We have a son. Ben. Just the one. I’m one of six brothers and most had more than one. Other than Jett. He and I just had one, each.”
“We have four children.”
Her husband speaks for the first time, “That was enough. You’re lucky to have the one.”
She playfully smacks him. “Pete!”
“They’re a lot of work!”
