The Emerald Horseshoes

by Jane Josephs

  The beep from the coffee machine broke the silence. Alison startled.

  “The coffee’s ready.” Nick extended his hand, smiling to try to ease the tension he read in her beautiful face. He hadn’t meant to scare her off. Or to admit openly to the intensity of his feelings for her. Not yet at least. In his own bull-headed way, he’d all but issued an ultimatum: talk to me or else. Nick’s gut heaved and the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding came out in a rush when Alison took his hand.

  A tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth, wavered a second, then held. “Okay. Let’s get the coffee and cookies and sit on the sofa.”

  “You made cookies?” No way was he going to refuse those, even if today wasn’t a cheat day on his food plan. And if he kept his mouth filled with cookies, maybe there wouldn’t be room for his foot to intrude in the conversation. Maybe.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tension rolling in her stomach, Alison’s hand shook as she put the cookies on a plate. She hadn’t wanted to talk about her past until she knew Nick better. If ever. Why had she blurted out that inane remark about needing scotch? That chapter in her life had been over for years. She’d talked it to death in counseling, hadn’t she? Had come to understand herself better and had moved on. She glanced at Nick. Would he let it go? Could she maneuver the conversation back to handwriting? Alison picked up the plate of cookies and started toward the living room, determined to take charge.

  “Do you take cream or sugar in your coffee?” Nick asked.

  Startled out of her thoughts, she shook her head. “No, just black, same as you.”

  Nick picked up the coffee mugs and followed her to the sofa. She set the cookies on the coffee table and settled herself in the corner of the sofa, her legs tucked under her. Nick handed her a mug and settled a little distance away.

  Alison sipped her coffee and concentrated on taking slow, steady breaths. At last, feeling more settled, she nodded at the clipboard and pens she’d set on the coffee table. “Do you want to see what our handwriting has to say about us?” She leaned over and set her coffee down, then reached for the clipboard. “Do you want me to go first?”

  “Sure. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Picking up a pen, Alison wrote her name at the top of the paper, relieved to see her hand had stopped trembling. She held the paper out for Nick to see.

  He nodded and smiled. “Very neat, and artistic, too, especially your A and D. So, you don’t use the G in your signature?”

  “How’d you know my middle name starts with a G?”

  “It’s on the towel in the bathroom.”

  “Oh, right. You noticed.”

  “Comes with the training. So, what’s the G stand for?”

  “Grace.”

  Nick nodded. “Alison Grace. That’s beautiful. And very fitting.”

  Warmth spread all through her at his gentle words. “It’s Grandma Kate’s sister’s name. You’ll find this interesting: she’s the organist and choir director at a large Presbyterian church in Sacramento.”

  “So, you have a woman of faith in your family. That’s wonderful. Anyone else in ministry?” Nick picked up his coffee and took a couple of swallows.

  “No, just Aunt Grace. Grandma Kate was very close to her, but Aunt Grace doesn’t have much vacation time, so I’ve only seen her once since Grandma’s funeral.” Alison held out the pen and clip board, determined not to get waylaid by God-talk. “Now let’s see your handwriting.”

  Nick put down his coffee and took the pen and clipboard, glancing at her before bending his head to write. “Why is it I feel like I’m in trouble? My signature’s nowhere near as graceful and flowing as yours.” With sharp movements, he half wrote, half printed his name and held it out for her to see.

  Alison shifted so that she was sitting with her body up against his. She took the clipboard from him. “Hmmm. Interesting. Almost straight up and down. Not sure what that means. If it was slanted to the right, that means you like to work with new people; to the left means you prefer to keep to yourself.”

  “Well, I’m both those things to some degree, I suppose, but I don’t have a choice about working with new people every few weeks when a new class of SWCC hopefuls arrive.”

  Alison nodded. “And all those friends of yours don’t give you much of a chance to keep to yourself, I imagine.”

  “No, they’re great friends. The best. What else can you see?”

  “Well, it’s interesting how you sprinkle a couple of cursive letters in with the printed ones. And see the way you dot your ‘i’?” Nick leaned in to look. Alison pointed at his first name, then his last. “In both of your names it’s right above the letter, close. My dot is up high.” She pointed to her signature. “That means you’re organized and detail-oriented. I, on the other hand, have an active imagination. But we’re both confident and comfortable in our own skin.”

  “And just how do you know that?”

  “Legibility. It’s a sure sign of confidence.”

  “So, a person whose signature is unreadable is not confident? I don’t buy it.”

  Alison picked up the plate of cookies. “Yeah, I’m not sure about that one either. But it’s common ground for us. That counts for something, doesn’t it?” She held out the plate of cookies to him.

  Nick bit into a snickerdoodle and nodded. “These are good.” He took another bite and chewed a moment. “What else does your signature reveal about you? What about the ‘l’?”

  “See how open the loop is? That means I’m spontaneous.” She pointed to the ‘o’. “But a closed ‘o’ indicates I tend to keep to myself and am sort of introverted.”

  “Spontaneous I can see. Introverted? No way.”

  “You say that because you’ve come to know me better in the last few weeks. And you’ve forgotten our conversation in the truck on the way to Tony’s house after the Warrior Fit competition.”

  Nick chuckled. “Oh, right. You said that you’re borderline introvert-extrovert.” He brought his arm around her shoulders. “So.” His eyes pierced hers. “Which one of you . . . used to drink scotch?”

  Chapter 16

  Alison’s head jerked up. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning to him. The weight of his arm around her shoulders did nothing to comfort her. “You’re not going to give up about this, are you?”

  Instead of answering, he took her chin in his hand. For a long moment he stared at her, his expression gentle. Then, bending his head, he brought his lips to hers, tasting her with exquisite tenderness. The feel of his lips on hers brought a wave of desire she couldn’t deny, and she responded by pressing against him. This was familiar territory; what every guy wanted. Nick wasn’t really any different after all. How long would it take before he made his next move? Alison settled in to enjoy his kiss. And just as abruptly, it ended. Her eyes popped open. Nick got up from the sofa.

  “Would you like some more coffee?” He picked up their mugs, his gaze calm, as if he hadn’t just set her body on fire with longing. Was he really unfazed by the kiss they’d just shared?

  “Oh, ah, I guess.” Confused, Alison shifted on the sofa as Nick left the room. How could he turn it off like that? And what would be his next move? Alison shut her eyes, knowing the answer, instinctively. Acceptance washed over her. There wouldn’t be a next move. Not a physical one, at least. How she knew that, she couldn’t say, except that their kiss hadn’t gone where she thought it would. Nick wasn’t that kind of guy after all. He might give in to temptation once, but he wouldn’t again. Why not tell him everything? All the sordid details of her life? He was already conflicted about his feelings for her. Why not give him an out? Tears sprang to her eyes. She didn’t want to lose him. Not that she’d ever had him.

  “Here you go,” Nick said, handing her a mug of coffee before sitting ba
ck down on the sofa, this time several feet away.

  “Thank you.” She sipped her coffee, feeling the hot liquid burn a path to her stomach. The silence in the room was broken only by the faint hum of traffic outside on Harbor Drive. She counted the seconds. Why didn’t he say something? Finally, unable to stop herself, Alison gave voice to the confession that wouldn’t stay hidden. The truth that would condemn her in his eyes. “I started drinking scotch my sophomore year at Berkeley.” She gripped her coffee mug tightly with both hands. “Just after I began having an affair with an older man who was in one of my classes.” She looked down at the hot brown liquid in the mug, seeing instead a cut-glass tumbler with a splash of warm amber-colored scotch. “That’s what he drank . . . so I made it my drink too.” She licked her lips and rushed to finish the sordid tale. “He was a married man with grown children and a wife who suffered from depression. The story ended badly—for all of us.”

  Nick remained quiet, his expression thoughtful. Alison silently squirmed, hating herself. Disgusted anew that she’d fallen for the oldest line in the book, with a man who was her father’s age. The aftermath was a wound that wouldn’t heal, hard as she’d tried to stitch it closed. Putting her life back together had been grueling work. A work still in progress. Could Nick ever understand and forgive her? Probably not. Alison sniffed involuntarily, wanting badly to cry.

  “It’s not an uncommon story. Except the age difference, I guess,” Nick said. “I assume he promised to divorce his wife, but never did.”

  She met his stare momentarily, then resumed her story, “Actually, it’s worse than that. He did divorce her. But not so he could be with me. He had another girlfriend waiting in the wings.” She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “When the whole story came out, his wife committed suicide.” Alison’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t look at him. How could anything but revulsion for her be found in Nick’s eyes?

  “That had to be a very hard time for you. I’m so sorry, Alison.”

  His gentle voice nearly undid her. Pity was the last thing she wanted from him. Lifting her chin, she laughed, a dry sound without the least touch of mirth. “Yeah, well, it was a long time ago, and I got over it.” Liar. She looked down at her coffee, her bravado short-lived, her anguish threatening to spill. A woman was dead because of what she’d done. She sucked in a deep breath. “I keep a bottle of scotch on hand for my dad, but I never touch the stuff. I can’t think why I mentioned it tonight. Maybe to warn you. I’m not a good person, Nick.” Tears pooled in her eyes.

  His voice husky, Nick countered, “And you think I am? That I haven’t got plenty in my past that I’m ashamed of? Believe me, I’ve got my own share of regrets . . .” He took a deep breath. “When it comes right down to it, all of us have messed up. We’re all broken. But there’s good news, too. His name is Jesus, and he offers atonement—for anyone who believes.”

  Alison shook her head, her tears spilling. She dashed them away and met his gaze with the little pride she had left. “It can’t be that easy, Nick.” She put out her hand to stop him when he started to protest. “How can someone else atone for the things I’ve done? It’s impossible. I have to make up for it myself. And I can never do enough, given the pain I caused . . .” She swallowed. “I’m responsible. Me. I started things that ended very badly for all of them. There’s no going back. Doing whatever good I can is the process that helps me accept things and move on. That’s my purpose now. One day at a time.”

  “I can see that’s what you believe. But how good is good enough? How will you know when the good works you’ve done are sufficient? Who’s to judge?”

  “I don’t know that part. I just know I have to keep trying, okay?” She got up and took her coffee mug to the kitchen.

  Nick followed her and set his cup beside hers at the sink. He put his hand on her arm. “It’s getting late. I should go.”

  Alison nodded. “I’ll get your jacket for you.” She moved past him, walking briskly to the closet in the foyer. She turned to find Nick right behind her and nearly threw herself into his arms, begging him not to hate her. To love her. Impossible . . . now. Remorse flooded her. Why had she been so stupid all those years ago? And why couldn’t she have kept quiet about it?

  Nick took his suit coat from her and put it on without speaking.

  Alison’s spirits plummeted. Would she still be welcome at his ranch, or to ride his horse? She looked away, her hands clasped in front of her, impatient now for the evening to end so she could cry her eyes out in private.

  Then, in a move that totally surprised her, Nick pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, almost reverently. The warmth of his caress flooded through her and she wrapped her arms around his back, wanting him with an intensity that scared her.

  His hand cradled the back of her head and he kissed her hair, lingering there. He finally leaned back but didn’t release her. “Thank you for a special evening, Alison. Almost as special as you.” His hand caressed her cheek. “And for the record . . . God loves you just the way you are. No matter what you’ve done.” He stepped away and opened the door. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Alone in the dark, his truck engine purring steadily, Nick navigated the curves on Route 67 while Alison’s story played in his head over and over, like an old stuck phonograph record. Dear sweet God! A lump lodged in his throat. An affair, at what? Nineteen, twenty years old? What had he expected? That she’d never been with a man?

  Nick shook his head. That was the way God intended it, of course. Until marriage. But how often did abstinence win? It hadn’t in his case. But a man in Alison’s class, a guy old enough to be her dad? With grown kids, probably Alison’s age, and a wife who killed herself. Nick itched to find the guy and punch him out.

  He groaned, remembering the feel of Alison in his arms, clinging to him. She had been so vulnerable, so fragile, trapped by her own pride and shame. Trying to find atonement in all her good works.

  “You came to set the prisoners free, Lord. Please help Alison see that you are the key to her freedom, and that you love her, always, unconditionally, even in all her sin. Open her jail, Jesus. And help me be a minister of reconciliation someway, somehow, please Lord.”

  Nick parked in the driveway and glanced at the dashboard clock before getting out. A little after midnight. He walked to the edge of the path to the barn. Running a hand around the back of his neck, he looked up at the star-filled sky. Easter was a week and a day away. Resurrection Sunday. The greatest day in history. The day Jesus rose from the grave. Would Alison go with him to one of their church’s services if he asked her? It couldn’t hurt to talk to her about it, could it? She might be far from God, but He wasn’t far from her. Of that, Nick was confident. God loves you just as you are, he had told her tonight. And he knew it to be true.

  But what he hadn’t told her, Nick thought as he walked down the path to check on Dotty, was that he loved her, too. Nick stopped, a swarm of butterflies in his stomach giving flight. Since their horseshoe game, he’d been wrestling with it. Was afraid to call it by name. Didn’t begin to know where or if it might lead to something more than just feelings. I love her! Somehow, she had got to him with her compassion for the homeless and her zeal for living. Breaking into a jog, he made his way to the barn. And began a steady stream of prayers that didn’t end until much later when he prayed himself to sleep.

  ~ ~ ~

  “You look tired, Emma. Bad night?” Emma closed the car door and Alison pulled away from the curb. She yawned, still trying to come fully awake after a fitful night of tossing and turning. How could she face Nick today after what she’d told him about her past last night? Even a generous amount of makeup couldn’t totally hide the bags under her eyes. Or the shame in her heart.

  “Yeah, got in late and something didn’t settle this morning. Puked it up so no
w I’m hungry again. Can we stop at Starbucks?”

  “I hope you aren’t catching the flu. Or do you think it’s food poisoning?”

  “Nah, it’s nothing. I feel fine now.”

  “Okay, there’s a drive-thru up ahead in a couple of minutes.” Careful to keep the anger out of her voice, Alison glanced at Emma slouching in the passenger seat and asked, “I suppose you were with Travis last night?”

  “You know I love him, Alison.”

  Ignoring Emma’s rude tone, Alison said, “So you’ve told me. But how do you know it’s the real thing?”

  Emma rolled her eyes, sighed, and shook her head at her. “You’re hopeless.”

  Alison shrugged. “Maybe so but humor me. I think I might be in love myself. How can I be sure?”

  “With Nick?”

  “No, with the man in the moon. And you haven’t answered my question about Travis. How do you know he’s the one?”

  “Look, I know you’re in love with Nick. Everyone knows it. You get this look in your eyes every time he’s around. Like there’s no one else but him.”

  Was she that transparent? Heat raced to her cheeks. Why bother to deny it? Hopeless though it was. “Is that how it is for you? With Travis, I mean?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you think he feels the same way about you? I mean, is he with you—exclusively?”

  Emma turned away from her. “Of course. I guess. Mostly.”

  “Oh, Emma, you need to be careful. If he’s with other women, you could get an infection.”

  “It’s fine. See, he knows lots of people. He stays a bunch of places. And I can’t have him at my place. It’s against the rules. When I get a job, then we can get a place and be together. Just us.”

  How naïve she is, Alison thought, exiting the freeway to get coffee. “Speaking of a job, how’s your studying coming for your GED?”