Fourteeners

by Sarah Latchaw

  “We’ve been here before,” he said.

  “It feels different this time.”

  “Hmm, yes. This is the right time.”

  I thought of our night spent under the stars after Angel and Danita’s wedding, on the Lyons baseball field, finding constellations. “Timing is crucial,” Samuel had explained. “Not only the season, but the hour…”

  I took his hand in mine, touched the tiny white scar between his index finger and his thumb. “Remember Canes Venatici, the hunting dog?”

  Warmth filled Sam’s eyes. “That constellation isn’t up until April. Have I taught you nothing?”

  Molly, ever impatient, gave our backs a little shove toward the door. “Hunting dogs my foot. More like a couple of slaphappy Pekingese yapping after a squirrel.”

  When we’d finished at the recorder’s office, Samuel tucked the envelope inside his suit coat and slid into the backseat next to me. “Not so bad, even when the clerk implied we lacked a certain commitment to warrant a license.”

  “Kaye did just change her name from Cabral to Trilby, back in April,” said Danita.

  “My favorite part was when he realized who you were and asked you to sign the back of his water bill,” said Molly. “Oh! And then he suggested you put all of that income into a big diamond for Kaye.”

  “I happen to agree. She’s earned that sucker.” Danita was not known for her frugality.

  Samuel played with the blunt edges of my fingernails. “The ring is already taken care of and is in Angel’s capable hands.” He threaded his fingers with mine. “You are the main show, not the diamond.”

  My face flushed. Though I’d known him forever, Samuel’s admiration still caught me off guard. From the strong Latin angles of his face to the surprisingly delicate turn of his mouth, he continually gave me a moment’s pause.

  “I can’t believe you gave that clerk your autograph. Hopefully it bought us five minutes before he shared it on Instagram,” said Molly.

  Sam shrugged. “We should be long gone from the courthouse before anyone tracks us down, thanks to Danita’s in-laws.”

  “The Valdezes can only lead them up and down I-25 for so long. Ave Maria Purisíma, those pests are all over you like Tia Lucia on a swap-meet. How are you going to get through Denver International?”

  Bingo! We were flying somewhere for our honeymoon. I gave Samuel a sly look.

  He narrowed his eyes at his sister. “Fantastic, Danita.”

  “What? I didn’t tell her where you’re going.”

  He turned to me. “We’re not flying out of Denver International. We’re spending the night in Estes Park and taking a chartered flight to O’Hare tomorrow morning.”

  “The Stanley Hotel?”

  His eyes brightened with desire, and desire also stabbed through me as I too thought of tonight. “You’ll see.”

  A small gathering waited for us in the lobby of the county courthouse, a non-descript office complex with a few interesting windows. Many happy, but hesitant, faces. Well, that was okay…our first marriage had caused so much turmoil.

  My mother wore her special occasion dress, a pretty thing she’d bought a decade ago for her annual heirloom tomato growers’ banquet and had worn precious few times since. I smoothed a hand down my own little-worn dress and frowned at how scary-similar we were.

  Samuel’s mother bounced on her heels, ready to fly across lobby and embrace her boy, but Alonso kept her patient. Both Sofia and my mother had matching paper white corsages upon their wrists. Tears pricked my eyes and I turned to Dani.

  “Did you…of course you did.” I pulled her into my arms. “Gracias, mi hermana.”

  “It was no trouble. Every wedding needs a touch of elegance.”

  Cassady was also there, as well as the Valdez brothers—Angel, Hector, and Santiago. Hector had brought Jaime Guzman as a date. She was biting and abrasive, but she’d also made an effort to befriend me. When a person’s livelihood dealt out heartbreak on a daily basis, a remarriage was probably a nice change of pace. She gave me an awkward pat.

  “Trilby. Don’t screw this one up or I’ll charge you triple for retainer fees.”

  “Pretty sure that’s unethical. I appreciate the sentiment, though.”

  Hector tried to meet my eyes, but I couldn’t look at him. Nauseating images forced their way into my mind, of him and Luca strolling through the avalanche’s devastation like they didn’t have a care in the world. I walled them up and out.

  Jaime jerked a thumb behind her. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom before the show begins. All that morning coffee.”

  “Around the corner and to the right,” said Molly.

  She snorted. “Yeah. I know. Divorce attorney, remember?”

  I watched her retreat and avoided Hector’s uneasy gaze. He had that look, the one that signaled a singular focus, usually directed at the perfect snow or a leggy woman. This time, it was turned toward me. He beckoned me over. I sighed. While Samuel kissed his parents’ cheeks and the others exclaimed over Lieutenant Angel Valdez’s crisp dress blues, I gave Hector a hurried hug. I tried to pull away, but he gripped my elbow.

  “Kaye, please don’t go through with this.” His words were quiet, rushed. Oh cliffhuck.

  “Let go of my arm.” I twisted in his grip.

  “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “You bet I am,” I said through my teeth.

  “He’s going to leave again, someday. You know he will. As your friend—”

  “As my friend, you need to shut up and let me go, right now.”

  “You’re being stupid.” He dared me to make a scene.

  I saw red. Mustering an old self-defense maneuver, I launched a knee at his tender parts and brought my pointy heel down on his toes. Not hard, but unexpected. He oofed and dropped his hands. Effective. I wasn’t subtle, either, because half the wedding party’s conversations suddenly stopped.

  I lifted my chin. “You’re lucky I didn’t go for your eyes. How’s that for a doormat, amigo?”

  He coughed. “Mamacita—”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  By now, Samuel had noticed that Hector and I weren’t exchanging best wishes. His questioning gaze met mine.

  Angel rushed in to diffuse the situation. “Dude. Is everything…”

  “Okay, okay.” Hector brushed him away. “I was just telling Kaye I’m happy she’s happy.”

  Liar. My blood still boiled. I closed my eyes and breathed. Not today. Today is yours and Samuel’s. “Perhaps I’m a bit high strung.”

  Samuel’s face was like a mannequin’s—hard angled and impassive. I knew that look, and it meant anger pulsed beneath the polish. “Hector, glad you could be here, man.” He held out his hand, but his other hand rested lightly on my hip, claiming me.

  “Congrats, Cabral.”

  “Congratulate me in twenty minutes, when Kaye’s my wife.”

  Good lord, there was nothing to be done for it. Hector and Sam were grown men, but they circled each other like two toddlers after the same Tonka truck. I exhaled. “Hector, are we done here?”

  “We’re done here.”

  “So are we.”

  None of us heard Jaime return (her neon orange moccasins afforded her a stealth the NSA would appreciate). I didn’t know how much she’d seen. But Jaime was a lawyer for a reason and, despite her repugnance of the human race, she was a crack shot at reading people. She took one look at Hector, Sam, me…and knew. She rounded on me, finger in my face. “Hands out of my cookie jar, Trilby.”

  “Hey! Is that necessary?” Samuel said, just as I reached for the sky and said, “No cookies here!”

  Spinning on that stealthy heel, she strode right past us and down the hallway. Hector ran after her.

  “Chíngale. Jaime—”

  “I’m not going to wait around while you chase Kaye Trilby Cabral for another ten years. You bring me to a wedding then make a play for the bride? ¡Vete a la verga, Valdez!”

  “This has nothing to d
o with making a play for anyone. This is about keeping my friend from making a big mistake. Jaime!”

  Then he grabbed her elbow, mistake number two. For the second time in as many minutes, a woman jabbed him in the gut.

  This time big brother Angel smacked Hector upside the head. “You’re the only one who sees it as a big mistake, manito. Apologize to Kaye and Sam and then go after your woman.”

  “Trilby.”

  “You’d better leave, Hector,” I said.

  He clenched his jaw, then turned and slammed through the door after Jaime.

  Nine faces stared at me, their expressions ranging from baffled to horrified. I buried my head in my hands. Samuel rubbed my neck, but all his reassurance couldn’t ease my humiliation. Despite my classed-up hair and heels, I felt too much like a Maury Povich guest for peace of mind.

  My mother frowned. “Jaime Guzman’s an angry young woman, isn’t she? And that Valdez boy’s equally rash.”

  I dropped my hands in resignation. “Rash like me?”

  Mom pursed her lips in answer.

  Angel shook his head. “Nah. Hector just runs hotter than the rest of us Valdezes, and that’s saying a lot for a Latin man. He’ll cool off tonight and kiss Kaye’s feet tomorrow.”

  “Except Kaye will be on her honeymoon tomorrow,” Alonso pointed out to his son-in-law.

  Mom shook her head. “Hector and Jaime will never work, the same reason you and Samuel didn’t work. A torch to gunpowder, that’s what they are.”

  I loved my mother. What she’d done for me and Samuel in Boston had been amazing. The way she’d guided us through the fall-out of his manic episode with cool logic…she’d set aside her usual callousness and made her daughter her priority. Perhaps I’d hoped for the same support today. For goodness’ sake, I was a twenty-eight year old woman, perfectly capable of knowing my own mind and standing behind my decisions, naysayers be damned. Still, that tiny seed of self-doubt sprouted.

  But Samuel, who knew me better than anyone, saw that seedling poke through the ground. He turned to our families. “Well, Papá, it looks like we’re not bucking all of the traditions. A Mexican wedding isn’t complete without drama.”

  “I call dibs on the centerpieces,” said Danita.

  “Leftover cake is going home with me,” added Angel.

  Santiago sheepishly pulled a flask from his inside pocket. “I’m covered.”

  Alonso and Sofia stood there, trying to piece together what had just happened. Then she winked at me. “What did I say? Jacked up.”

  Alonso tossed up his hands. “Niños.”

  “And that’s how you diffuse a bomb. Come here, firecracker. Let’s chat outside.” Samuel tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow, and I had never loved him more.

  My bare legs turned to gooseflesh, but I removed my heels anyway and let the icy brown grass crackle beneath my toes. The judge agreed to an early lunch while Samuel and I walked toward Boulder Creek. Samuel also removed his shoes and socks, and a shock of cold jolted through his legs. A clicking camera caught our attention… a car across the street.

  “Let’s wander over to the tree line,” I suggested.

  “They’ll still take pictures.”

  “We’re walking, not stripping naked and going at it in the brush. Let them take pictures.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that.” He flipped up the collar of my red wool coat and led me beneath bare aspen branches.

  Before we saw the creek, we heard its gurgles and plops. Every crag and snowy slope of Boulder’s gendarmes was visible on this crystal clear day…a day for avalanches. I averted my eyes. We gingerly picked our way across the near-frozen ground and into line of evergreens until we reached the creek, swollen with autumn rains. I tested the water and shivered deliciously. Samuel’s gaze skimmed down my body and rested on my feet. He fidgeted with the edges of his hair, but it wasn’t the manic fidgeting of a month ago.

  He cleared his throat. “I need to say something, and I want you to truly listen to me before you rush to conclusions.”

  I wrapped two protective arms around my waist. “Are you…are you calling it off?”

  “Well, that was counterproductive, wasn’t it?” He drew me into his arms and soothed my rigid body until it relaxed. I felt the rumble in his chest as he spoke.

  “I need to be sure. I can’t go into this marriage if divorce is on the table for you. I can’t…” A tremble ran through him, leaked into his voice. “Despite his appallingly poor tactic, Hector’s concern for you is valid. I know what I’m asking you to do, firecracker. Spending the rest of your life with someone is a huge commitment. Throw a bipolar diagnosis into the mix…”

  I pulled back so I could see his face. “This isn’t ‘ol’ Aspen Kaye being rash’ again. I know the choice I’ve made.”

  “And I know what lies ahead for us. Days, weeks when all I’ll want to do is roll over in bed and stay there forever. When simple tasks like eating or showering are as daunting as a mountain climb. Or the next time I run again, you’ll be terrified because I’ve simply vanished. I’m asking you to commit to a lifetime of this.”

  I slipped out of his arms and meandered along the bank of the creek. “Samuel—”

  “But I’m also asking you to commit to a lifetime with a man who would give his right arm so you could have a minute of joy. And for a right-handed writer, that’s saying something.”

  Love tugged at my mouth. “There’s voice command software.”

  He chuckled but didn’t relent. “I mean it, Kaye. I will always make sure someone is there for you, even if it can’t be me, for the rest of my life. And I swear I will always come back to you as soon as I can.” His voice cracked. “Can you promise to stand by me the rest of your life? Even if someday you feel trapped and just want to catch the first flight to Saint Lucia?”

  There were precious few times Samuel let me see beneath his carefully-cultivated exterior. Since we’d found our way back to each other, he’d made a herculean effort to show me the real him, rather than the fairy tale. Vulnerability was in his eyes. He jiggled his hands in his pockets as he waited for my response. I could say ‘yes, I promise,’ but that old, old fear of his would still be there. Unless I also laid myself bare, he would always wonder if he’d forced me into a dismal life. So I spoke to him in a language he understood.

  “Let me tell you a story.” I dipped my toes in frigid creek water. The image of a wild-haired boy, skin browned by endless hours in the sun, splashed through my mind.

  “Once upon a time, there was a girl…oh, let’s call her Cottonwood Cat.”

  Samuel snorted. “That’s a terrible name.”

  “Shush, we can’t all be writers. CC for short. CC meets this boy when she’s, like, five.”

  “Four.”

  “Four. He fascinates her, pushes her away and pulls her in. She worships him because he’s older, wiser, and makes her feel more treasured than a pile of diamonds. He answers her inane questions, like ‘why do dogs go pee-pee on trees instead of toilets?’”

  “And he secretly loves her inanity.”

  “Hold up, this is my story. She lives in a fairytale and this boy is her Prince Charming. But the fairytale gets real.”

  The smile left my face. “Charming hits a grand slam and, in the thrill of the moment, tells her he’s going to marry her someday. Little does this boy suspect, he’s just put real money down on her fairytale. Boom, now CC has a life strategy, and that strategy begins with a capital ‘S.’ Of course the fairytale goes south.”

  “Kaye, I did love you.”

  “No interrupting, please, though I appreciate the clarification. It goes south, but CC learns some lessons along the way. The first is that this concept of fated soul mates is bogus.” I began to pace again as I explained my theory. “How many people buy into this idea and then end up disappointed when their spouse says or does something very un-soul-mate-ish?”

  “Un-soul-ma—?”

  “Oh, let’s say their soul mate ha
s halitosis. They wonder if maybe they jumped the gun on marriage, that their true ‘soul mate’ is wandering the streets, strumming a guitar and wailing their name, waiting for fate to throw them together.”

  He watched my mouth, his own lips pursed to hold back laughter. I put his hand over my heart, feeling its chill through the opening of my coat.

  “The truth is, you choose your soul mate. Heck, they don’t even become your ‘soul mate’ until you bare your soul to them, and that’s really hard. But we’re doing it right now, so it is possible. That leads to CC’s next life lesson.

  “CC thought she didn’t have a choice, that this boy was her destiny. And because she saw love as fate rather than a choice, she didn’t work at it. Hey, if it’s destiny, it’ll happen. Right? Wrong. Prince Charming fails her, she’s disillusioned, The End. Divorce.”

  Samuel’s eyes shone. “I think Prince Charming suffered from the same questionable fallacies.”

  “CC did make a choice—she chose to love that boy. But she didn’t follow through on her commitment, so she was a slave to her washouts for seven years. She failed miserably.”

  “Kaye—”

  “She did. We did.” My throat began to close so I swallowed. “The thing is, I’m not wallowing anymore. I’m taking ownership of my choices, and I’m going to love you with everything I have. I promise to stand by you. And if, God forbid, you run again, I swear I will exhaust all options. Divorce won’t even be on the backburner. It’s locked up in a cupboard.”

  “And I swear I will never underestimate you again.” Samuel weaved his hand into my pinned up hair, careful not to ruin my artful construction, and pulled my mouth to his. “I’ve always chosen you, Aspen Kaye Trilby…tried to, in my warped way. But I can’t view us as two separate lives anymore, can I? There’s only us.”

  “I really love us.”

  Sam found my racing pulse. “Your mother was wrong. We’re not a torch to gunpowder.”

  “Unless it’s in the bedroom. Because truthfully, once we find our groove again, I think we’ll be pretty explosive.”