Loving Chloe

by Jo-Ann Mapson

  “Wow. Guess I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

  Teresa added, “It’s serious stuff. We’ll take him for you. But we ask that you never come back, not even to visit. It’s too confusing for the animal.”

  “They become attached, just like humans,” Anne said. Then, as if she felt compelled to remind him, she said it again. “They grieve.”

  So he and no-name got back on Highway 17 and headed north, committed to whatever adventure they were in, together. Forty miles later, Junior spotted the turnoff for Schnebly Hill Road, and decisively set his blinker. Tunnel vision was required to skirt Sedona’s New Age advertisements for “authentic” sweat-lodge experiences, crystal readings, and so forth. He deserved a reward, and time spent with Chloe was certainly that. It might only be the view from the cliffside of what seemed like a miniature Grand Canyon, the occasional comically formed butte, and a glimpse of the clean, rushing gorge under the cypress, juniper, and pines. Well, if so, he’d still come out on the good side of things.

  Only careful drivers could manage the high, winding ride up unpaved road to the cliffs of the Mogollon Rim. On its new tire, the Cherokee seemed up to the task. Junior drove the twisting road slowly, filling himself up with the nearly painful splendor of it, keeping a sharp eye out for Pink Jeep tours and the occasional hikers, which could appear out of anywhere. Here he wouldn’t have minded stopping to change a flat tire. Any excuse was a good one, if you were waylaid in the presence of the earth’s most eloquent prayers. Chloe wasn’t coming; she knew better than to tempt herself. He was about to pull over and take a walk, when he came up behind the Chevy truck ahead of him, the old California plates calling out like a beacon.

  He followed her for awhile, heart pounding at her bravery. Well, those New Agers insisted Sedona had the power. Maybe this was proof of it. He flashed his high beams twice. As she casually stuck her arm out the window for a hand signal, he could tell she’d been aware of his presence the whole time. He followed her to the lookout point. He shut down the engine, cracked the windows, and told the wolf-pup to behave himself.

  She hiked ahead of him to the ledge, then sat down in the dirt, the pines casting shadows over her shoulders. Reed was awake in her arms, beaming her smile toward Junior, her tiny fingers tangled in her mother’s yellow hair. Chloe spread out her jacket and laid the baby down. “Find a hobby, Junior.”

  “I have one. Hanging with a girl who can’t stand my face.”

  “How about jewelry making? I heard there’s big bucks in that.”

  “No kidding. I’ll give that serious thought. Can’t be too difficult compared to what I’ve been doing.” He patted the ground, the pine needles under his fingers long gone to dusty mulch. “Come on over here, Chloe.”

  “Give me one good reason why I should.”

  “So I won’t pull a muscle reaching all that way to kiss you. You don’t want me to get a hernia, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I want. You with a big, fat, total-body hernia that lands you in a hospital far, far away from wherever I am.”

  “All you’re doing’s getting me hot. You could read me ingredients off the side of a cereal box and set me on fire. Come on, baby, have a little mercy on old Junior. He misses you something awful. Hasn’t he been following all your rules, staying away?”

  “No. He shows up wherever I go.”

  “In your dreams?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “That means something.”

  “Probably trouble.” Reed cooed, and they both looked down at her. Chloe said, “Last week I drove all the way to Tucson, then I chickened out. I’m such a coward.”

  It wasn’t a word he would have ascribed to her. “Chickened out from doing what?”

  “It isn’t the first time. I did it two weeks ago, too.”

  “I’m listening.”

  She sighed, leaned her head back to look at the sky, revealing the neck he’d covered with kisses that night in the motel. Where her collarbone arced away from her body, leaving that wonderful dip at the base of her neck, there must have been a bundle of nerves, because when he’d kissed her there, her body had come off the mattress and fitted into his own, as if they had really been making love, not just teasing themselves into a fever playing at it.

  “It’s all Kit’s fault.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Meant well. That’s Kit’s long suit. Forget it, it’s a really long story. Boils down to, I got this letter. It has to be my mother; the pieces all fit. I have her address. I thought maybe I could drive by and just look.”

  “I don’t think you can ever have too much family. Of course, this advice’s coming from a father who’s just now getting to know his son.”

  Chloe frowned. “It’s like turning over some big rock, Junior. Scorpions live under rocks. Whole families of them.”

  “Or you could be shining a light on something that only needed a little attention in order to grow into something wonderful. How are you going to know if you don’t look it square in the eye?” He scooted himself closer. Reed was now between them. He put his hands on Chloe’s shoulders, so near that hollow of skin in her neck he shivered a little. “Hey, I decided something today. Something important I want to tell you.”

  “Spare me, okay? I’ve got enough problems.”

  He shook his head, disgusted. “You think I give a damn, Chloe? I’m only saying this for me. Pure selfishness. I love you. I’ve said those words a bunch of times, yeah, but this time my heart’s saying them with me. I want you to come away with me. Maybe we should get married. Never wanted that before, but seems like I want it now. We belong together.”

  “What about what Hank wants?” Her brown eyes filled up with tears. Slowly they overflowed, and with his printless fingertips, Junior smoothed each one into the skin of her cheeks. Then he pressed his mouth against the invisible salt trails left behind and kissed them clean. He covered her closed eyes with his lips, tracing his tongue over the globe of eyeball beneath the quivering lids. He kissed her nose, her chin, stopped himself at her neck, and left her mouth entirely unexplored. When he broke away, she opened her eyes and looked at him, startled, perhaps, that he’d stopped.

  She blew out a breath. “You can’t know how hard this is for me.”

  He tasted bitter laughter and exploded. “Well, that’s a freakin’ insensitive comment coming out of your mouth! You want to discuss difficult? Thanks to you, I got a wolf-dog back there probably tearing up the interior of my new Jeep because he wants to know how the damn thing’s constructed. Thanks to you, here in my chest I got a heart so sore from wanting you there’s mornings I wake up wondering if I’m having a myocardial event. And thanks to you and only you, little amá, there’s this other matter of what it feels like to sport an erection for three solid months with no relief. I mean, that’s arguably the least of my difficulties, but let me tell you, it’s not pleasant.”

  “So fuck somebody else! I’ve seen how Corrine looks at you. She’d take you to bed. So would a million other—”

  He took hold of her chin firmly. “I don’t want Corrine! I don’t want nobody except you. You let me kiss you, you show up at the motel, what am I supposed to think except you want that too? Jesus, Chloe, make up your mind.”

  He plucked Reed from the jacket and stood up. Walking to the cliff’s edge, he saw the afternoon light filter through the trees and paint the red rocks scarlet. It was a color he sometimes witnessed in select pieces of coral, a red straight from God’s own palette. The rock seemed to be covered with shimmering light, bathing itself in the shafts of waning radiance. Reed’s little hand shot up into the air, as if with her limited coordination she was trying to capture a shard of that light for herself. Junior began to smile, and he laughed out loud, feeling his voice echo across the chasm. He took hold of her tiny hands and kissed them, whooping with the simple joy of this child’s trying to touch the light, at how reasonable wanting all the magic things in life seemed to h
er. Reed lived in Sami Gee’s moment, twenty-four hours a day. He hefted her body higher in his arms, matching her beauty to that of the canyon. Her whole body was washed in the falling-away sun.

  Then, surprisingly, he felt Chloe’s touch against his shoulder. This acquiescence flattered him, excited him, scared the holy crap out of him. He turned and they cradled the baby between their bodies and kissed, as long and hungry as two people ever could when separated by a four-month-old baby.

  Junior followed her truck until they were within a mile of the Trading Post. There she made her left turn, and he kept going straight, to Aaron’s. The small hole in the passenger’s seat, courtesy of no-name’s intelligence factored with curiosity, seemed like a small price to pay for the afternoon. Holding Chloe in his arms, hearing her say that just for one night they’d think of themselves, not Hank, that she’d find a way, that she’d go away with him, Junior could live with a rip in the fabric of the universe. I feel like I’m going insane, he’d told her. No part of this is sane, she’d replied. He nodded, agreeing; he’d have said anything to keep her there a minute longer. Hearing the yes in her voice, he wanted to take her back to Aaron’s, make love to her all night. Name that bed or any other space they could call their own.

  Then, at their cars, he’d almost blown the whole thing asking when.

  You have to let me say when the time’s right or forget it, she’d cautioned. I won’t hurt Hank, not while his mom’s in such a bad way. I might be a faithless bitch, but I’m not cruel. I won’t go ripping his heart out just because you and me have got hot pants.

  If only hot pants were all it was. Back at Aaron’s he took the wolf-dog for a long walk, hoping to tire him out. He studied the night sky and felt the cool air chilling his skin. The constellations were so bright, so steadfast, little silver promises of constancy in the universe. Junior relived every moment of the day, savoring the images and feelings. He watched falling stars streak across the sky and calculated which formations he could recognize and which were probably just airplane lights. Then an idea struck him, and he hurried the dog inside to begin unpacking the boxes he’d had shipped out from Massachusetts.

  All night he set up his equipment, arranging things, making sure his tools were sequential, each within easy reach. When he was satisfied that it made a working environment, he began to sketch out his drawings, to make plans for the silver.

  21

  Every day since she’d made that promise in Sedona, Chloe was up before dawn, frying eggs over easy, the way Hank liked them, filling a Thermos with coffee for him to take to school, throwing herself into whatever chore might possibly untangle that knot of guilt beneath her heart. Hannah and Reed didn’t mind that their afternoon walks were fueled by Chloe’s agonizing indecision. Fresh air and exercise almost made up for the mandatory grooming sessions that followed each trek. In a burst of household ambition, Chloe went so far as to strip the kitchen’s tiny linoleum floor and give it a gleaming coat of wax. She found a great buy on tile down in Flagstaff, and had the bathroom Hank wouldn’t let her work on when she was pregnant ready for grout before he arrived home. Domestic activity met with Hank’s surprise and approval. Chloe did her best to try to make him happy, including waiting until he’d driven off to school before she started in working with the horse.

  No matter what the weather—and in April they’d seen it all, from freak snowstorms to days so warm she took her shirt off and stood in the sun wearing only her boots, jeans, and bra—Thunder suffered from an unrelenting case of spring fever. The arena wasn’t big enough for the kind of ideas the colt dreamed up. Some days the fence could barely contain him. Chloe wondered if this indicated he had natural potential as a jumper. Be patient, and horses generally revealed their inclinations, which was how she liked to approach training. His mother had come off the track in Caliente, and her half of the gene pool was evident in his lust for speed. On the longe line, he ran long, slow circles, his elegant muscles rippling, a sight so reminiscent of her lost Absalom that it made her throat close up. She knew Thunder would never be that one-of-a-kind horse, but he was better than no horse at all. Just before a rain Chloe could count on his explosive fits of bucking, sometimes lasting as long as an hour. However, as soon as the first drops began falling, he became docile and reasonable, not minding at all that he was getting wet.

  Today, looking out the kitchen window, she saw the idiot horse had got it into his mind to rear. His well-trimmed hooves pawed the air in front of him, like an equine attempt at the macarena. Half of her heart sent him a big olé. All that power tucked into the youthful body, the joy of being able to announce it. The antics appeared playful enough to the uneducated eye. Thunder was simply a rear-engine animal discovering that depending on how he threw his weight around yielded amazing results, but rearing was one of the few lines she drew with horses. She tugged a sweatshirt over Reed’s head and strapped her into her stroller, parking it twenty feet from the arena. No matter what Hank thought, she could keep an eye on the baby while she taught the colt some manners.

  Boosting herself up on the fence, she took the bullwhip in hand. Snapped properly, it made a noise as loud as a firecracker. Thunder had no one-on-one experience with whips, but instinct made him pin his ears. He circled Chloe a few times, curious, then broke into an extended trot. Now and then, he’d rodeo to a halt, change directions, those gorgeous muscles snapping under the chestnut coat. But he wasn’t about to give up his new trick just because she held that scary stick in her hand. He was bent on convincing her that rearing was his God-given right. Every time the horse leaned back, began the telltale settling on his haunches, she gave the whip a crack against the fence. The lash landed nowhere near the horse, but it sang as it reverberated in the metal gate, humming an unmistakable warning. After six tries at rearing up, and six cracks of the leather, Thunder broke out in a nervous lather. What the hell? he seemed to be asking the gods. I learn a wonderful new trick that makes me feel like I can kick the ass out of the universe, and she decides that’s wrong?

  “Give it up,” Chloe said evenly. “You can be my horse, eat delicious hay, and drink fresh water every day of your life, or you can rear your wicked heart out all the way to the auction block. Ralston Purina’s got a going operation down there in Flagstaff. Dog chow or quiet horse, it’s your pick. I’ll be here when you’ve made up your mind.”

  Thunder shook his large head, never taking his eyes off the whip. After a ten-minute standoff, he wandered casually over to the water trough and dipped his muzzle for a long, slow drink. Chloe sat motionless, the whip across her knees. Had she won that easily? Reed cooed excitedly from her stroller.

  Chloe turned her face to study her daughter. “You’re finding this all very entertaining, aren’t you, young lady? You probably have your silver cup bet on the horse. News flash. You don’t know your mother.”

  In reply Reed cut loose with a smattering of delightful baby noises. If anything, the olive cast to her skin at birth had deepened. Her brown eyes were a deep shade of sable, her dark hair thick and straight. She looked just ethnic enough so that in public, after people remarked on the pretty baby, they spent far too long looking at Reed’s parents, wondering about gene pools. Hank, who didn’t like anybody to feel uncomfortable, was given to saying things like, “We think she looks like herself,” but Chloe knew where that dark coloring might have come from: her side of the family. Sometimes she could hardly look at her daughter without being reminded that she lacked the courage to seek the answers. Even Junior said to check things out. But why the hell should she, when life ran smooth otherwise? Why rock a floating boat? The baby had a schedule. Reed seemed to be adjusting to the bottle, nursing only in the evenings. Chloe looked forward to Reed’s grins, her increasing attempts at laughter. It was as if seeing the same old mother every morning constituted the highlight of her daughter’s day.

  Hannah wandered into the barn as Chloe stowed the bullwhip among the tack. She gave her dog a pat. Hannah was more active now that warm
er weather had arrived. The northern Arizona winter hadn’t been so kind to her aging bones. Because she’d come to Chloe full grown, abandoned, her age and background were uncertain. The stiffness in her rear quarters could be arthritis; she could be that old. What she wouldn’t be able to hack was too many winters like this one. Chloe threw the white shepherd a hoof trimming and watched her retreat to the fenceline to work on it. Then she brought out the horse blanket she’d bought from the Navajo last summer. After shaking out the dust, she walked into the arena, allowed the colt to sniff it all over, then began rubbing its coarse weave all over his body.

  She remembered that rainy night when she’d helped Gabe Hubbard move aside the dead mare’s guts to give Thunder his only chance. She had rubbed the horse dry, using slow, circular strokes, just like this. It was a miracle they’d been able to save the colt, who didn’t have a clue that Chloe was responsible for his having a life, and maybe in the long run that didn’t matter, but one fact remained: Thunder was an orphan horse, and the potential for vices would always be with him. Without enough to keep him busy, he’d become a cribber, a biter, the shifty kind of animal that would allow no human being to develop a bond. He needed a job to do, to be kept exercised, and to end each day feeling sweet exhaustion clear down to his heart. Softly at first, then with larger gestures, murmuring that it was all right whenever he got to snorting and blowing, she laid the blanket across his back. An hour later Reed was fast asleep and the colt was wearing not only the blanket, but a bareback pad as well, the girth fastened only one notch away from where Chloe wanted it to be. She laid her body across his back and let him get used to her weight. At once, he took a few steps forward. Forward, that was real progress. She took hold of his halter, led him around the arena, then out onto the prairie where they walked and explored and he tasted new grasses until she could tell he was worn out with all the new sensations. Chloe led him back into the arena, untacked him, and threw him a flake of hay. He was so tired he took a halfhearted mouthful and began to doze, his back against the fence, security he knew and understood. Tomorrow she would try it all over again. In a few days, if all was proceeding, she’d try getting up on his back, just for a moment, then lavish him with praise and thin slivers of apple. Praise and acceptance: A horse couldn’t get enough of those in the training stages. Neither, she guessed, could a baby.