Page 1 of Butterflies and Hazel Eyes
CHAPTER 1
You often hear about places like this. Places where the clock ticks slower than anywhere else, and where the townspeople stay because they know deep in their soul there is no better place than where they are. Places where when the sun shines, be it summer or winter, the magic it reveals steals your breath and holds you captive. When I arrived at the only campground in Plentiful, Wisconsin, last night at nearly eleven, the deepest part of my soul told me it was one of those places. Even the sky told me so. The stars didn’t twinkle. They sang to each other in a melody of light. The breeze didn’t whiz past you in a hurry to reach its next destination. It caressed your face softly to welcome you to its home.
I travel this country for a living, and I know how rare it is to find a place that offers that kind of soul-deep peace. “What do you think of Plentiful, Mojo?” I asked my lumbering oaf of a dog as we hiked up the street. “It’s a quintessential small town, that’s for sure,” I answered since he didn’t. “What do you think? Should we stay here for a few weeks before we head to our next job?”
Honestly, Mojo couldn’t care less. As long as he was fed, had a place to sleep, and got an occasional hot dog, he was happy. Mojo is, well, a muttstiff. His mastiff lineage shows in his height and the shape of his back end, but it’s the rest of his lineage that earns him the mutt moniker. Mojo has the face of a collie, the ears of a Doberman, the feet of a sheepdog, and the hair of a schnauzer. Some would say he’s homelier than a mud fence, but I promise you, when he’s at my side, no one bothers me. Presently, he was staring me down, his eyebrows furrowed as if to ask,Are we there yet?
I rubbed his big head and checked the address on the sticky note stuck to my computer bag. I was searching for 100 Industrial Road, which meant nothing to me since the town consisted of a marina, a campground, a bar, a diner, and a small grocery store. Come to think of it, maybe this wouldn’t be such a great place to hang out for a few weeks. “Are we lost, Mojo?”
I spun in a circle, wondering how on earth I was supposed to find a place that didn’t exist. I’d done my homework and had indeed verified that a company called Butterfly Junction existed and was run by a Mr. Gulliver Winsome before I took the job. What the heck they did at Butterfly Junction, I had no clue, nor did I care as long as I got paid. Get paid to do what exactly? Some people like to call it hacking. I prefer to call it being a server patch technician. Sometimes it’s all about how you spin things.
While I did my homework on the man, I should have mapped the address on Google Maps before setting out. I grabbed my phone from my pocket while I searched the street signs for clues. I might have to ask Google about this one.
A woman was walking toward me and waved excitedly when she got closer. Mojo stood at attention in front of me, his protection mode activated.
“Hello!” she called from thirty feet away.
“Chill, Mojo,” I said before she reached us. He huffed and plopped his butt onto the sidewalk, bummed that I wouldn’t let him play guard dog.
“Hello,” I said to the woman when she stopped in front of me.
“You must be new here,” she said just as she noticed Mojo and took a step back. “Hello, doggy.”
I chuckled and motioned at him. “This is Mojo. He looks scary, but really he just wants to know if you have any hot dogs.”
The woman tossed her head back and laughed, the sound spreading out across the sky like a sparkle of happiness. “Not with me, but I do own the diner up the street. We have plenty of delicious treats there. Well, now I know the dog’s name. What’s yours?”
“Oh!” I said, laughing with her. “I’m Charity Puck,” I said, thrusting my hand out to shake hers.
“Nice to meet you, Charity. I’m Lucy Havens. My husband, Kevin, and I own the diner in town. You should stop in for the breakfast buffet. It’s to die for.”
“Now that’s something I can get behind,” I said, a smile on my face. “First, I have a job to do, and I can’t find the address. It’s 100 Industrial Road.”
Lucy’s brows went up. “Oh, that’s Butterfly Junction! It’s right there,” she said, her arm pointing out to her right. I followed her finger and spotted a brick building behind the marina that I hadn’t noticed before.
I put my hand to my heart with relief. “Well, I’m glad I ran into you, Lucy. I would never have found that without help. I thought that was part of the marina.”
She brushed her hand at me. “That’s a common mistake. Butterfly Junction is a hidden gem in more ways than one. I better let you get to work, but it was nice to meet you, Charity. You, too, Mojo,” she said, smiling at the dog. “Be sure to stop in for breakfast if you get a chance before you leave town.”
I promised to do just that and waved as she departed. Mojo and I trucked toward ours and discovered a beautiful piece of shoreline that swept to the right of the Butterfly Junction building.
“Lucy was delightful,” I said to Mojo as we trotted up to the door. “I bet she’d even give you a hot dog, big boy.”
I chuckled to myself at the image of Mojo sitting next to me inside the diner chowing down hot dogs while everyone looked on.Totally normal, folks. Carry on.
I adjusted my computer bag on my shoulder when I paused in front of the double glass doors etched with the wordsButterfly Junction.“Time to work, buddy,” I said, patting his head.
I would do the job Mr. Winsome required of me and then stay in Plentiful for a few days to recharge. Maybe I’d take a boat ride on the lake, or a spin around town on one of the bikes I’d noticed at the campground today.
The job at Butterfly Junction might be my last as a freelance white hat hacker. Why? Well, two weeks ago my dream job landed unexpectedly in my lap. I was finishing a job in Florida when I got the call from the parent company of a hotel conglomerate. They were looking for a lead IT technician with white hat skills. I was more than curious. Since I’d already agreed to the job at Butterfly Junction, I stopped in Gary, Indiana, on my way here for an interview. What they were offering me was everything I’d been searching for over the last nine years. My home base would be in Gary, but I’d have the opportunity to travel around the country occasionally to do work on location at their hotels. I’d worked for myself for years because I could never find a position within a company that encompassed what I do, so this offer was intriguing.
What was holding me back? The part about my home base being in Gary, Indiana. Not because of the geographical location, but rather the home-base part. I wasn’t sure if I could stay in one place like a normal person. I’d been roaming around this country for so long, I wasn’t sure I could stop. I had three months before I was required to be there, but I didn’t have any other jobs lined up after this one. I had plenty of offers, but I hadn’t taken a break from the road in six years, and my body was tired.
When I woke up in Plentiful this morning and looked out my window to see the sun glinting off the waves of Lake Superior, I decided this was the place to stay for a few weeks while I considered the job offer. I wasn’t good at making important decisions about my life without weighing every aspect of the change first. Since I loved finding out-of-the-way places I could explore, Plentiful was a good place to hang out while I made the most important decision of my life.
I took a deep breath and let it out at the thought. I have time for that later. First, work. As stressful as driving around the country is, the work I do is often more stressful. As a white hat working for big-name companies and smaller no-name businesses, my skills were a race against the clock. I was always called inaftersomeone’s business had been hacked or their data stolen, and it was my job to patch their security to keep it from happening again. As I said, stressful.
I checked out my reflection in the spotless glass doors to be sure I was presentable before I went inside. My curly, long blonde hair was covered with a child-sized straw fedora I’d picked up at a flea market in Nevada. It was probably worn once to church by a young boy before being discarded a year later as too small. It was perfect for me considering I would be small forever. This morning I’d dressed my four-foot frame in cargo shorts and a plain white tee complemented by a tie-dye scarf around my neck. I suppose most people would call the stylehippie.I call it thrift-store chic. Considering I live in a motor home and love thrift stores, I guess I do have a little bit of hippie in me. I smoothed the shirt down and nodded at my reflection.Charity Puck, white hat extraordinaire, at your service.
