Overwhelmed

All the fabulous treats on the table at Coral's Easter Egg Hunt nearly distracted me, especially the Rocky Road, the macaroons, peanut brittle, and the vanilla slices.

Shield Coral from Ruby, I eventually thought, though my intended support evaporated as I balked as usual in confronting the brunette. 

I scoffed my last chunk of the creamy slice, fringed in behind Coral like her shadow and jammed my sticky hands in my pockets.

"Church will find a chink in your conscience," Ruby fired, "Honey, they'll weasel in and make you feel bad about yourself. Besides, they don't practice what they preach. Don't go; play sick. Your excuse is in front of you: a tummy ache from excess chocolate!"

Ruby snatched a chocolate macaron within reach and shoved the treat towards her girlfriend's lips.

My bestie swayed and jerked her head back, her height leaving Ruby's fingers and the meringue cookie dangling mid-air. Coral stopped eating her vanilla treat and sucked in air whilst Ruby's extended static hand made her look like a statue.

My bestie flicked Ruby's ponytail high, disregarding the proffered macaron.

Her mouth empty, Coral said to her girlfriend, "I can take care of myself, Rubes. Don't you ever doubt it?"

And her immediate taking care of herself involved finishing her slice of French vanilla cream. I saw her tongue rotate clockwise as she gathered every sticky scrap of icing and morsel of fluffy custard at the edges of her lips.

Ruby crushed the macaron into her uneaten Rocky Road and huffed off, leaving a dreadful mess. Coral clumped some tissues and cleaned up the table.

Instantly forgiving, she strolled to Ruby, touched her shoulder, and pronto, as a team, they marshalled the egg hunt. They handed out cute mini cane baskets next to the garage, the hunt's starting point. Josh was playing basketball. He looped a basket and sideswiped his girlfriend's attempt to pass him a basket.

He relaxed in shorts and a white T-shirt, throwing additional hoops, flanked by two school friends at Coral's netball ring. Coral called Josh again, swinging another basket she had selected.

He said, "I don't need one," and threw another shot.

Coral ceased swinging and stared into the empty basket.

Eventually, she told Josh, "Okay, we can hunt together."

She started sharing rules for the hunt with everyone who listened, hinting at where to search and the out-of-bounds areas. My attention strayed to Ruby, who crouched, ready like an athlete for the starter's gun. Everyone scattered into Coral's enormous garden, hunting mini eggs, egg-sized and giant Easter treats — in a blink.

One super-sized egg lay cunningly hidden in the yard by Coral's mum. Ever so competitive, Ruby scampered. 

Coral idled, swinging a basket and waited as Josh shot hoops.

I wandered, hunting eggs alone. I started near the garage. Under a shrub, I scored a couple of mini eggs.

Though my thoughts strayed to church in the evening, Coral's concession to attend the sermon outweighed her generosity in having me at the hunt. Dean possessed an uncanny ability to personalise his sermons, where they grafted to your conscience, making you feel guilty. I loathed the idea of Coral feeling she needed to be remorseful.

The parson's exhortations from the Friday services and Sunday morning meshed and messed in my head. I tried to clear my mind of his last sermon. He admonished Peter, who had denied his Lord three times.

Denying - the word made me squirm on the hard pew.

Dean preached that the Lord would deny you forever if you denied Christ.

I couldn't picture denying my friends.

I summarised Dean in my head; Peter denied his best friend, Jesus. A best friend denied; never! Not once. You deserve an actual hell if you deny a friend three times.

Yet Jesus forgave St. Peter?

Dean, I pondered, missed the forgiveness part!

Heat saturated the early afternoon, and I searched for a cool breeze in the shade. I wandered to the tree-screened far side of Coral's house. I did not encounter egg searchers as the hunt revolved in the large garden. I realised there were no eggs planted along this side of the house.

Yet Coral stood alone and visibly upset; her hands flapped wildly. As I reached for her hands, her shoulders slumped downwards. Holding my cane basket double-handed, I positioned myself beside her.

She twisted at her waist, and her head sagged on my shoulder. I garnered the hellish scene disturbing her. A bird was perched in front of us on the grass. A mother starling flapped terse, jittery and frantic, hovering next to her dead fledging.

My eyes alternated rapidly between the bird and Coral's wet cheek, dripping with tears. My bestie re-composed as she wiped her eyes, one finger to each corner. A smear of red remained, clashing with her green orbs.

"The bird?" Coral implored in a whisper.

I dropped my cane basket and held her hand. Several foiled eggs bounced out of the basket onto the grass. I felt as helpless as the starling, and its distress hurt Coral's and my own heart.

My bestie's fingers trembled inside mine. The bird fluttered in instinctual agitation. Its eyes looked human. The starling's sadness was gut-wrenching, and its despair overwhelmed us.

The starling's wings thrashed, and our souls convulsed. Coral gripped my hand, her hands enclosing my hand. We wished the starling's rising, unending anguish ended. Hap-chance freed the starling, removing its throbbing ache. Three egg hunters careened in loud and fast. They startled the bird, and it flew away. Jolted into the immediate, Coral released my hand and waved away the high-spirited searchers. She avoided her guests, seeing the dead fledging.

She spoke rapidly, "There are no eggs in the shade. Hunt on the other side."

Even more quickly than they bumbled in, the trio disappeared.

"What do you want to do?" I asked Coral.

Coral smoothed her dress, "Help me bury it."

I picked up the scattered eggs and walked beside her, clutching the basket, chest high. 

She guided me to her home's garden shed. 

I dropped my egg-hunting basket outside the shed door. 

Coral provided a pair of garden gloves and a small spade. We retraced our steps, solemn and silent. I buried the fledging near the fence in a flower bed. 

My bestie snivelled as l levelled the dirt.

I started, "I don't understand-"

I removed the gloves and propped the spade on the side fence. My wish was to hug her deeply, but we were just friends. 

I sensed that the hug truly belonged to Josh.

"Are you okay?" I asked, knowing she wasn't.

Her face dipped in the shade, adding to her gloom, "No."

I reassuringly touched her forearm.

"The poor bird tipped me. There is more."

I opened a palm towards her; my other hand dangled awkwardly. Coral was left without a cuddle.

She continued, "Josh wouldn't hunt. He called it kiddy nonsense, and he kept throwing hoops."

Her foot tapped, and her fingers pattered on her hip.

I would have hunted eggs with her from dawn 'til dusk.

"Did you come here to deliberate or dwell?" I pried.

"I dropped the silly basket at his feet and hurried away."

"Did he try to stop you?"

Surely!

"No, he shot another hoop."

Her hands cradled her cheeks.

"We better store these," I directed, snatching at the gloves on the spade handle and tilting the spade.

It fell and disturbed the fledging grave. I knelt and collected the spade, patting over the mussed earth. We walked, speechless, to the garden shed. Coral pointed to where to wash the gloves, brush off the spade, and ensure a general tidy. I realised she acted busy because she remained unsure of her next step. She overdid excessive spick and span.

With indisputably nothing left to make shipshape in the shed, she wrung her hands, unlike Coral.

Like a flat tyre, she stated, "I'll go inside."

Except she didn't leave. She spread her feet and ground her heels.

"What about the egg hunt?" I asked.

Her special day verged on the sour. 

I knelt and hiked my egg basket. 

I poked it forward, praying that my bestie's fingers latched onto the handle.

In a mature voice, she weighed, "Josh was right. We are too old for this kind of fun."

Yet her tapping feet demanded joy.

She implored, arms raised, "What's a girl to do?"