Playing in the Rain

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  Even though I could see every star in the sky, the powerful shadows of the mesas played tricks on my eyes, and I snuggled into his side, the solid warmth reassuring.

  He sighed contentedly.

  “If I’d known how good this feels, I’d have put this moment on my wish-list,” he breathed.

  “I wish I could spend a lifetime just like this,” I said, happily.

  He paused before speaking again.

  “Maybe we can make a lifetime from this moment.”

  Then I felt him press a kiss into my hair.

  I woke several times in the night, the soft sand surprisingly uncomfortable as the temperature dropped further. Each time Cody shifted subtly, his eyes gazing at me, then pulling me in closer, our shared warmth chasing the cold away.

  We both lurched awake when Joe honked the jeep’s horn, his version of our 5AM alarm call. My heart hammering unpleasantly, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and turned to see Cody’s warm expression.

  “Sleep well, pretty girl?”

  “Best sleep ever,” I lied, rubbing my back to iron out the kinks. “How about you?”

  “Oh yeah! Definitely best sleep ever—even though I didn’t sleep much.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too busy looking at you.”

  “Oh.”

  That deserved a kiss, and I didn’t care about morning breath or the soft rub of stubble from his chin and cheeks or the fact that we were still in public.

  Eventually, his large hands gripped the tops of my arms, and he levered me away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just, um, getting a little too excited,” he said, raising his expressive eyebrows.

  “Oh.” What was it about this man that left me with the vocabulary of a two-year-old? “I guess we should get up.”

  “You first,” he coughed slightly. “I need a minute.” And then he muttered under his breath, “I’ve been up all night.”

  My whole body flushed scarlet as he sat there grinning at me.

  “Don’t forget to shake out your boots, pretty girl.”

  The sky was lighter now, gray replacing the silky black, and the bright moon was slowly sinking behind the Hogan.

  Drowsy from lack of sleep, I pulled on my jeans and boots, smiling to myself when I saw Cody’s eyes glued to my legs. I couldn’t help returning the favor, grinning to myself as he turned his back shyly.

  His cheeks were pink when he looked up, and I smiled to myself as I helped him pack away our sleeping bags.

  Joe herded us into the jeeps, and we tore off down the valley, the fresh wind whipping against our faces and through my hair as we raced the sunrise.

  When the jeep jolted to a halt, we leapt out and struggled up a massive sand dune, then stood silent, hand-in-hand, watching color leak back into the world, until the sun rose, a fiery, blood-red, painting the mesas with a blaze of orange and gold.

  “That was…” I couldn’t find the words.

  Cody hugged me tightly.

  “A new day,” he murmured, to himself.

  The heat began to gather as the sun swept higher, reminding us that the desert in summer was not for quitters.

  Joe honked the horn again to summon us, and we slid down the dunes like a couple of kindergarteners, spitting out mouthfuls of sand, and shaking it from our hair. I definitely got the worst of that deal, because Cody just brushed a hand through his, whereas my wild mop wouldn’t be tamed this side of a shower and bottle of conditioner.

  Joe grinned at us then pointed over his shoulder, and we saw the outline of horses walking toward us, led by a dark, saturnine man with wide, deep-set eyes.

  Cody was first to greet the horses, gently rubbing their noses and sharing his breakfast cereal bar with them. They whickered and tossed their manes at him, before pushing their shaggy heads against his shoulder, trying to summon more food.

  My horse was named Nastas, which meant ‘fox tail’, and Cody’s horse was Niyol, or ‘the wind’.

  Nastas was squat and ugly with one wall-eye. I approached him slowly as he glowered at me balefully. I half expected to be bitten or bucked off, but Nastas stood there placidly as Cody helped me into the broad, western saddle, where I sagged uncomfortably like a sack of potatoes. I envied his graceful ease as he swung a long leg over Niyol, settling into the saddle as if he’d been born there.

  “I thought you said you’d ridden ‘once or twice’. Something you want to tell me?” I asked, quizzically.

  “Three years of junior rodeo,” he admitted, with a shy smile.

  “So you were good?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Why did you give it up?”

  He shrugged and looked away. “Life happened.”

  I waited for a further explanation, but none was forthcoming, and Cody was saved further questions by Joe signaling that we were heading off.

  The horses plodded along in Indian file through the uncompromising heat. The air was bone dry and their hooves kicked up small puffs of dust as they walked. It could have been a hundred years ago or five hundred years ago, and only the clothes and the horses’ metal hooves had changed.

  As the morning passed in a haze of sweat and sun, we explored Big Indian Spire, Castle Butte and other stops along the Mitten trail, my irritation at Cody’s continuing silence melting away with the grand and rugged beauty of the ancient landscape.

  We stopped several times to take photographs, posing with the cluster of sandstone buttes, soaring a thousand feet into the sky, letting our voices echo among the stones, and I wondered how far those sounds could travel. It felt like forever.

  When we remounted, we slowly wound our way through the towering and silent rocks.

  Last stop was Grandman Yatzi’s hogan, an octagonal wood and mud-built hut.

  A tiny woman, whose face was creased and lined like the valley she lived in, greeted us in Navajo, welcoming us to her home.

  Joe translated.

  “Grandma Yatzi can speak English, but these days it’s easier for her to speak her own language. She will give a demonstration of traditional yarn spinning. If you have any questions while she works, feel free to ask her.”

  There was a nervous murmuring as we all wondered who was going to go first. The old lady’s eyes, black as beetles, watched us, humor hinted at in her flat gaze.

  Her crabbed hands began to spin, and Joe kept a narrative of the techniques she was using, describing the sheep the wool had come from, and how dye was fixed into the yarn. When Grandma Yatzi was finished, she looked up and pointed a bony finger at me, the knuckles swollen with rheumatism and age.

  As she beckoned me forward, I threw a nervous look at Cody.

  “Grandma would like to braid your hair,” said Joe.

  I knelt in front of her and she combed my hair with her gnarled fingers, laughing huskily when she shook sand out of it. Then she wound the newly-spun yarn into my hair, turning it into a long and colorful braid down my back.

  A childhood memory filled my eyes with tears, and Joe spoke with slow emotion.

  “Grandma says your mother used to do this for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “But not for a long time now.”

  “No.”

  “Grandma says your mother watches you, and will see you again one day, but not for many, many years.”

  I couldn’t speak. Cody knelt next to me and held my hand, squeezing my fingers tightly.

  The old lady patted me on my shoulder, then laid her hand on Cody’s cheek.

  “She says you will begin your journey soon and that you know this,” Joe intoned.

  Cody nodded, his eyes still on me.

  Joe cleared his throat.

  “Grandma says to tell you that love can last many lifetimes.”

  “Yeah,” said Cody. “I’ve been figuring that out.”

  He turned and placed a soft kiss onto my braided hair, making the other women in the group swoon quietly.

  A little embarrassed, I clambered to
my feet with Cody’s help, and muttered a shy ‘thank you’ to Grandma Yatzi.

  As we rode away, she stood stiffly and raised her hand in a silent farewell. Cody smiled and both of us waved.

  Arriving back at the campsite and tourist shop was like suddenly sliding into 2014 from a quieter, slower century. It was something of a shock.

  We grabbed a quick sandwich for lunch, said goodbye to Joe and the others, then headed back to Cody’s truck. With luck, we’d be back in San Diego shortly before midnight. I was aware that we’d be leaving something magical behind.

  We took turns driving, swapping every two hours to try and keep ourselves awake. Cody looked exhausted and I wondered how much he’d slept the night before. With the stubble on his cheeks and the dark rings under his eyes, he looked older than 18. Mind you, I was no oil painting. I was dusty and dirty, with sand in my hair and other unmentionable places. I was longing for a hot shower and my own bed.

  Cody drove the last leg, kissing me awake as he parked outside my apartment.

  “Oh, I was fast asleep then,” I groaned, stretching my back and rubbing my eyes.

  “I think I was, too,” Cody admitted. “I just happened to be driving at the same time.”

  “Do you … do you want to come up?” I asked, suddenly shy.

  He looked thoughtful and my heart sank.

  “Yeah,” he said, at last. “I’d really like to come up.”

  I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face and he grinned back at me. Then I leaned forward, grabbed his t-shirt in my fists, and kissed the hell out of him.

  “I guess that was the right answer,” he chuckled against my lips, when we both came up for air.

  “I guess it was,” I agreed, my heart light.

  We climbed out of the truck and walked toward my door.

  I jumped when I heard a familiar voice in the darkness.

  “Why are you home so late, Ava, and who is this boy?”

  I turned around, wishing with all my heart that this wasn’t happening. But no: he was real enough.

  “Dad! What are you doing here?”

  My heart began to pound, and I glanced at Cody, whose face wore an unfamiliar expression of gravity as his left hand clutched mine tightly.

  “Good evening, sir. My name is Cody Richards. I’m a friend of your daughter’s.”

  “I can see that,” said my father angrily, ignoring Cody’s outstretched hand. “I’ve been watching you maul her for the last five minutes.”

  “Dad!”

  Cody ignored his rudeness and turned to me, holding my face between his palms.

  “Do you want me to come in with you, Ava? Explain things?”

  I kissed him sweetly.

  “No, that’s okay. Dad and I need to have a long talk. But thank you.”

  “Can I … can I call you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll hunt you down if you don’t.”

  He laughed sadly.

  “I’ll hold you to that, pretty girl.”

  He brushed a soft kiss over my lips, ignoring my dad’s furious huff of disapproval, and climbed wearily into his truck. He smiled, waved once, and was gone.

  “We have some talking to do, young lady,” threatened my dad.

  “Yes, we do,” I agreed. “There are some things I need to say to you.”

  Dad and I talked for two hours. Well, maybe ‘talked’ isn’t the right word. He shouted, I yelled. He barked, I roared. When he insisted I go back to Fayetteville, I refused. He ordered, I refused again. Then he begged and pleaded, and I tried to explain.

  “I need to make my own decisions, Dad, good and bad. I won’t always get it right, but that’s how I’m going to learn. You have to let me make these choices.”

  “Even when coming to San Diego has been nothing but a huge mistake?”

  “I don’t see it that way, Dad. I’m managing on my own. I won’t say it’s been easy, because it hasn’t.”

  “And this new ‘maturity’ that you insist you have, your refusal to come home to your family, it’s nothing to do with this boy you’ve met?”

  Ah, he had me there.

  “Partly,” I admitted at last, ignoring Dad’s triumphant glare. “Cody has become important to me. He’s taught me that life isn’t something to take for granted; it’s a privilege and I have to make the decisions that are right for me.”

  “Very profound,” he sneered. “And what does he do, this boy?”

  “As I said, his name is Cody, and he’s important to me, Dad. Please respect that.”

  Dad was silent for a few seconds, then he said in a more conciliatory tone, “What does he do?”

  “He volunteers at a homeless shelter.”

  For a moment, Dad was nonplussed. I knew what he was thinking: minus points for not having a paying job; plus points for the volunteer work.

  “That’s hardly a career,” he said, at last.

  “Not everything is about money. This is about giving something back to the community,” I said firmly.

  Our eyes locked.

  “Are you going to come home?”

  “My home is here, Dad.”

  He looked so shocked and upset that I almost caved, but I knew that if I went back with him, I’d regret not trying to stand on my own two feet.

  “Dad, I don’t say this to hurt you, but I’ve been your little girl for so long that you haven’t wanted to see that I’ve grown up.”

  He sighed. “There is some truth in that.”

  I smiled and reached for his hand. “I met a real live Navajo medicine woman today.”

  “You have been having some adventures lately,” he smiled, sadly.

  “Yes, I have. Grandma Yatzi made this braid for me.”

  “It looks pretty.”

  “Thank you. Grandma Yatzi told me that she knew Mom used to do this for me.”

  He sucked in a sudden breath.

  “She said that?”

  “Yes. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “I do remember your mother doing that,” he said, softly. “She spent hours fussing with your hair.”

  “And she said that Mom was watching me, from the stars, just like you used to say.”

  I felt his hand tremble.

  “You’re so like your mother,” he said, his voice edged with warmth and sadness. “So full of life. I could never tell her anything either.”

  Tears pricked my eyes even as we shared our laughter.

  Eventually, my dad left; back to his hotel and to the red-eye flight that he’d take by himself in the morning. I promised to phone him more often, and he promised to do his best to let me live my own life.

  We hugged, and then he was gone.

  When I woke up the next morning, the sun was high in the sky and it was almost midday. Grumbling to myself, I staggered out of bed, but not before realizing that the sheets were full of sand.

  Sighing, I pulled them off the bed and trudged down to the laundry room. Then I had the longest shower in history and fortified myself with coffee and toast, before dragging my wearing backside into work.

  The day passed slowly, even with an afternoon and evening shift at the coffee shop, but swapping texts with Cody kept a smile on my face.

  I explained what had happened with my dad, and he said he was proud of me. I was kind of proud of myself, too.

  As I only had to work until lunchtime the next day, he suggested a picnic at the beach.

  That sounded all kinds of perfect to me.

  Cody picked me up in the early afternoon. After a good night’s sleep for once, I was feeling almost human again.

  I thought Cody still looked a little drawn and I wondered if he’d lost weight, but he was freshly shaven and smelled of my favorite spicy cologne. He was dressed in board shorts and an old t-shirt that strained across the muscles of his chest. In other words, he looked delicious.

  His grin was so wide that I could see that cute dimple popping out. Oh, I was going to have some fun with that later. I’d made up my mind.r />
  He aimed for a light peck on the lips when I climbed into his truck, but what he got was a full on lip-mashing, tongue-tangling, breath-panting, hands-groping San Diego ‘hello’.

  His face was flushed when I pulled away, his eyes dark, and when he licked his lips, I could see that my assault had left them slightly swollen. I felt rather proud of myself—as well as uncomfortably turned on, although Cody’s condition was more obvious than mine. I couldn’t help checking out his ‘condition’; it was impressive.

  Now I was the one licking my lips.

  Cody cleared his throat.

  “That was … wow. I guess that was what you call good afternoon.”

  I smirked at him. Normally he was so composed, but now he looked downright flustered.

  “That’s just for starters,” I said, buckling myself in.

  He groaned softly and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  We sat for a moment.

  “I thought we were going to the beach?” I commented, at last.

  “We are,” he said, dryly. “As soon as some of the blood in my body returns to my brain.”

  “Oh,” I giggled. “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not,” he challenged.

  “No, I’m not. Do you want me to drive?”

  He shook his head, took a deep breath, and started the engine.

  I hadn’t been to the beach at La Jolla Shores before, but was glad that I hadn’t, because it meant that it was another first for both of us.

  We parked at the top of the hill, and Cody shouldered a large bag full of food and drink, while I carried one of his sleeping bags to use as a blanket. The hill sloped steeply for a short distance, fringed at the top by palm trees and shrubs. Soon, we were looking down onto a pale crescent of sand, anchored by a pier at one end.

  It seemed to be a place favored by active beachgoers, and I could see people swimming, paddling out on kayaks, and even a few surfers, although the waves were small and mellow today.

  Cody found us a quiet spot in the hollow of a dune a short walk from the water’s edge. I spread out the sleeping bag and collapsed onto it, smiling up at him.

  His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, so I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he looked like he wanted to say something.

  I held out my hand to him, and he dropped the bag of food onto the sand and stretched out next to me.