by Rebecca Rode
The family has asked to be involved, and will be in before the viewing. They want to dress her, then do her makeup and hairstyling. We don’t usually refrigerate people, but since this woman won’t be embalmed, I slip her into the refrigeration room until tomorrow’s viewing and interment.
I walk into my room at seven thirty, just in time to hear my wake up alarm ring.
I shower and get ready quickly while I listen to the silent house, waiting for Mom to get up. While I’m flipping pancakes and eggs, she comes into the kitchen fully dressed and ready too. She’s always been an early bird, and I’ve had to learn to get up before her recently so I can help her with breakfast. Today, I want to spend some time with her before my date with Trev.
As I finish cooking, I pull down two glasses and plates. “Morning, Mama. Would you like some orange juice?” When I open the fridge, Mom’s gloves, with several fingers pulled inside out, are sitting behind the jug.
“Yes. Juice would be nice,” she answers.
While I pour her a glass, I try and ask questions to see how she’s feeling this morning—some days she can answer my questions, and some days she’s confused about what I’m asking. “Did you sleep well? That wind didn’t keep you up, did it?”
“No, I slept fine. Didn’t hear the wind at all.”
I’m excited that there were two full sentences in her response; it will be a good day. On bad days, she gives one-word answers or no response at all, and she looks at me suspiciously from the corner of her eye.
She isn’t wearing the GPS tracking bracelet I gave her. I wish I could find something she couldn’t take off quite so easily. I pass her a couple of plates. “Could you set the table?” She looks at me blankly, and I motion to her with the plates.
“Set...the table. Yes. I can do that.” She shuffles a little, but takes the plates and silverware.
I run to her room to grab the bracelet. It’s not on the nightstand or dresser. I pull back the blankets. It’s there. I grab it and run downstairs. Maybe I should get her a GPS necklace, without a clasp she can open.
Ruth arrives at ten forty five. Mom rushes to the door and pulls on Ruth’s arm, seating her on the couch, saying, “I got new shoes.” Mom turns her feet this way and that, modeling the shoes.
“Oh, I love them, Rachel. Do you like them too?”
“Yes. They’re new. She bought them.” Mom points at me.
Ruth stands and hugs my mom then me. “It will be okay, Zara. Her heart still knows you even if it doesn’t always show.”
Moments later, I’m in the car headed to Trev’s house with Elena and Chase, who picked me up for our double date into Denver.
“Did your razor break?” I ask as I buckle in.
“No.” Chase answers.
“We can’t go anywhere if he looks like himself,” Elena adds. “So we plan ahead to have a disguise. This weekend, it’s facial hair and this.” She holds up a green trucker cap with a tractor on it.
I guess I never think about Chase being famous. The lead guitarist of Fool’s Angel is a big deal, but I always just see Elena’s boyfriend. Now he’s one of us—a guy who lives in a small town in Colorado. A few minutes later we pull into Trev’s driveway.
Before I can hop out to go get him, Trev steps out, locks his door, and jogs to the car.
Labor Day weekend is big in Denver. The day’s plans are sealed in yellow envelopes with the time written on the outside, but no one else knows what’s next until the envelope is opened. Oh, I love surprising people.
The last event of the night is attending a charity concert for the families of veterans held at the National Western Complex. Chase is only doing one song, an acoustic piece he wrote for Elena, and other bands are participating too. It should be fun to go backstage and meet everyone. Chase and I both know about this one, but it will still be a surprise for Elena and Trev.
We stop in Boulder, and I hand the first envelope to Chase. He tears the end off, pulls out the paper, and reads, “Walk the Chalk. University of Colorado Coors Event Center.”
After we arrive and park, we walk into the event, grab a voting sheet, and take off. We spend a couple of hours walking around looking at 3-D chalk art of bridges over chasms, reproductions of famous art pieces, scenes from outer space, and waterfalls flowing down a sinkhole in a road.
Before we leave, we check out the vendor booths that ring the parking lot. “Hey, let’s get our caricatures done.” Trev takes my hand and leads me over to the chairs that are set up. When we sit down, he keeps my hand in his and scoots our chairs together. Trev is a warm-up person. He’s super shy until you know him. Then he’s fun, and kind, and playful.
I have a ripple of excitement and imagine myself telling the artist to take his time. I like it right here.
The artist doesn’t ask us what we want, but starts working. I watch, fascinated at how quickly he draws, choosing different chalks to use. When he’s finished, Trev pays him, and we walk to the side to look at the piece.
He drew Trev as Thor, holding me, dressed like Jane Foster, all medieval in a flowy white dress, in his arms. I can’t help thinking that this a fun little fantasy right here. All afternoon, we’ve traded jokes and nudges, and now looking at myself in his arms, suddenly like the bolt of lightning on the picture, I realize that this is more than a game of flirt. He’s becoming important to me, maybe something beyond friendship.
Back at the car, Trev opens the second envelope for us. “Taste of Colorado. Yes! I’m starving.”
We wander through the booths, getting little bites of this and that. The mini taco is next to the stand with gelato, and on the other side is sushi.
Because the walkways are crowded, Trev often places his hand on the small of my back as we walk through the masses. My skin tingles each time he touches me. Given the choice, I now steer for the thicker crowds. It’s amazing how fast you can get full on sample sizes of food.
As we walk back, Trev leans toward me, his breath tickling my cheek. “Today’s been a lot of fun. I owe you. How about a date next Saturday? My turn to surprise you.”
“You’re on, but this isn’t over yet. One more surprise.”
Trev leaves his arm around my shoulders, and I wrap mine around his waist. The closeness makes my heart jump.
“Time for the last envelope,” I say when we get in the car, and pull another envelope from my purse.
Elena turns sideways in her seat, and holds the envelope up to her forehead like she’s psychic and guesses, “Tattered Cover Bookstore.”
“Not even close.”
Then she asks, “Is it the iMax theater?”
I shake my head, letting a smile start, and she tries again, “The Denver Art Museum’s Native American art display?” and again, “Broncos game?” and again, “The zoo?”
“Just open the envelope.” Chase is leaning forward, excited about his surprise for Elena.
She pulls the slip out, reads it, and squeals. “Chase Dermott of Fool’s Angel at the Complex.” She flies across the front console and wraps her arms around Chase’s neck, kissing him—a lot. Apparently, they’ve forgotten we’re here. It’s noisy, and a bit awkward, really.
I clear my throat a few times. When that doesn’t work, I flick Chase on the shoulder. “Let’s get going.”
“Sorry,” Chase mumbles as Elena says, “I’m so excited.
Yup, looked like it.
We pull up to the security gate in the parking for the talent, where Chase hands over his papers and our drivers’ licenses, which are scanned and handed back. We stick our arms out the windows and are fitted with black VIP All Access wristbands.
I’m stoked and look at Trev to share the excitement, but he’s closing an email app on his phone. Without looking at me, he shuts his eyes and leans his head back against the seat. His face seems strained.
8
Trev Cooley
THE EMAIL FROM THE ACCOUNTING firm we hired to audit our records said they have ruled out fraud from our suppliers, client
referral firms, and the businesses listed as accounts receivable and payable. That narrows down their focus. They suspect that it’s an inside job—embezzlement.
Someone I trust, someone I probably hired, is stealing from our company.
I press my head against the back of the seat. Preliminary reports show that much more is missing than we thought. I wipe my hands off on my pants. Whoever is doing this has done a great job hiding how they’re stealing from us.
My brain runs through the possible scenarios. What happens if we can’t find the source of the drain? I guess the business folds and we lose everything. What if we find the source? We could restructure, lay people off, consolidate—but at least stay open in some form. I guess if it’s not too bad, I go back to California and it’s business as usual. Of all the possibilities, it surprises me that the last one feels the worst.
If I’m honest, it’s because that means I won’t see Zara.
Zara opens my door. “Hey, hustle up. Let’s get in there. I’ve never been backstage before.”
She reaches for my hand as I exit the car, and I hang on like it’s life. It feels like an anchor for me. At any other time, it might be killer to have backstage passes then reserved seating for a concert—any other time.
Instead, my mind feels consumed with the betrayal of someone close to me. I’ve held out hope that it wasn’t.
I catch myself running through the names of employees, wondering if it could be this one or that one. Imagining how they might have access to the funds.
Backstage is a large room with a buffet set up and people milling around. No wild party—kind of boring, actually. We grab some drinks and sit together at a table.
I adjust my chair and focus more on our table’s conversation.
A man approaches Chase. “Mr. Dermott? “We’re ready for you.”
“Time for me to go. I’ll come find you after my song and watch the rest of the concert with you.” Chase kisses Elena and leaves.
I need to push my corporate problems away for now. There’s nothing I can do about it. The firm we hired is going to get to the bottom of this, and then I’ll leave. A hole cracks open in my chest. I thought I’d be happy when they solve the issues, and I will be, but that means my time with Zara is limited.
Half an hour later, another man leads us to a VIP section to watch the concert. Chase is the third act on the program—I can make it that long. Though the decibels would deny the possibility, I’ve hardly heard the first two sets. Part of me tells myself to relax and enjoy it—I can handle it.
I’m not buying that. I swing my arm around Zara’s shoulder and lean over to borrow her strength. That works until she and Elena stand up to dance.
As Chase is announced, my phone buzzes. Another text from the accountants.
There might be more than one person involved.
My stomach hits the floor, and before I know it, I stand to leave. I hold my phone toward Zara and say, “Sorry, but I have to take this.” I don’t stop until I’m back at the car. Now what? I don’t have the keys. How long can you stand in a parking lot before security gets suspicious?
My phone’s in my hands, as if I’m strangling it. I swipe the screen to call Nolan.
The phone rings and eventually goes to voicemail. “Hey, I’m doing something better than sitting around waiting for you to call. Leave me a message if you want.”
“Hey, Nolan. Call me.”
My brain gets ultra rational. Zara deserves better than the chaos I can offer her. In the next nine months, I’ll either be broke or I’ll be working my guts out to save this business. Either way, I won’t have time to do more than ignore a relationship.
I answer my own thought. Then maybe you’re not ready. Slow things down. Take care of yourself before you commit to a relationship, then you’ll have something to give. Pull back. Way back.
“Trev?” Zara’s voice pulls me out of my head. “You...okay?”
I’m sitting on the ground next to the front bumper. My elbows are on my knees and my hands are over my eyes—pretty sure she’s already answered that question for herself. Nope, not even on the same planet as okay.
“Sure. I’m waiting for a call from a friend.” I stand and lean against the car, trying to appear more casual than I feel. “You don’t have to miss the concert.”
She pulls the keys out of her pocket and punches the fob twice to unlock the doors. “I stayed for Chase’s song—it was amazing. Elena cried.” She slides in the back and leaves the door open. “Then Elena and Chase went down to his dressing room, and it was a good time for me to leave. I needed to check in with my mom anyway.”
Zara scoots to the middle and pats the seat beside her. “I think we have some time to chill.” When I don’t slip right into the seat, she adds, “I think I’ve come on too strong. I admit that I wouldn’t mind a relationship, but for now, we can just be friends. It looks like you might have some intense things going on.”
“My life is a little complicated right now. But yeah, we can be good friends.”
“That’s fine. I’ve got my mom and work. I’m busy too. This will be great.”
I can almost believe us both.
***
I knock on Zara’s door. I switch my weight from foot to foot while I wait. Last week, I asked her for a date, then made it clear we weren’t dating. Now I’m picking her up for a date. I thought this would be different. My brain can make rational decisions all it wants, but my heart is going to ignore them all.
“You own boots and a hat?” Zara asks as soon as she opens the door.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looks a bit on the urban cowboy side with sequins around the rounded neckline of a black T-shirt. She glances down at my feet and her wavy hair shining in the light. “They don’t even look new.”
Leaning forward I answer, putting a little drawl in my voice. “No, ma’am.”
“Are you going to ‘ma’am’ me all evening?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I tip my hat and give her my most charming smile.
Zara’s eyes open wide and she returns a smile that could bring me to my knees. “I guess that’ll be all right by me. Let me say goodnight to Mom, and we can go.”
I can hear her in the kitchen. “Thank you, Ruth.”
“Don’t thank me. Go have fun. Shoo! We have girl things to do.”
“Goodnight, Mom.”
There’s no reply, but a moment later, Zara comes out, grabs my hand, and leads me toward the door.
Longmont is a short drive from Peak City, and the Stand-Off Cafe is on the highway a couple of miles before we get there. Our family used to come down the mountain to this restaurant for birthdays and other special occasions.
Everything looks the same. The outside of the building resembles a huge old barn that’s falling down. The roof sags, and oversized metal sculptures of tumbleweeds and Saguaro cacti populate the landscape around it.
“You might want to stuff your purse in the console—I’ll lock it. It’s kind of hard to dance with.”
“You weren’t kidding, were you?” She fishes out her phone and slides it into her pocket, then tosses her purse in the console. “We’re really going to country dance.” Zara’s eyes are bright as they look into mine.
It makes every muscle I have tighten. She’s got to stop doing that if I’m going to have any chance of keeping her in the friend zone during this date. I’ll just keep lying to myself—that should work.
“Yes, ma’am.”
There’s an open, hardwood dance floor between two large wings of the building off to each side for the dining rooms. At five o’clock, we’re a bit early for the dinner crowd, but not for the country dancing lessons. Several couples and a large group of teens are already waiting.
During the lesson, we laugh and twirl, but don’t get to talk a lot. Fine by me—I could watch her move all day and listen to her laugh. And each time I do get to hold her in my arms, a little voice in my head whispers that someday, I won’t be able to let
go.
“I don’t think this is the first time you’ve done this, Trev. You’re a little too good.”
“I had to take an elective PE credit in college and thought it would be a good way to meet girls.”
“Did it work?”
“A little. I might not have appreciated the finer points of dancing back then.” He takes my hand and leads me to the floor when the music starts.
The first song is a line dance. I’m slow at catching on, but I kinda love when we turn, and I watch him scoot his bootie. He’s obviously done this dance before and moves through the steps and kicks without missing. I, on the other hand, often turn to face him—oops, wrong way. Or kick when I should have stepped—again. “Sorry.” I cringe.
He laughs it off, so I don’t think I left a bruise on him. “Maybe you need a tutor,” Trev says. He steps up very close behind me, his left hand around my waist, and whispers in my ear. “Heel, heel.” We move in sync with the rhythm, his warm breath on my shoulder. I would have to say, he’s a very fine teacher.
When we turn, he’s beside me, but close enough to keep his hand on the small of my back. I’ve never been a big fan of country music, but it’s definitely growing on me.
I don’t have to pay quite as much attention to the steps now. On the next turn, I’m behind him. I’m a pretty quick study and slide up close.
“Is this right?” I ask, and whisper the steps behind him this time.
“Hmm. I’m not sure. I’ll let you know in a minute.”
On the next turn, the music fades away and that dance is over, but Trev takes my hand and spins me, saying, “I think you’re a natural.”
The next dance they teach is a two-step. This one is easy. All I have to do is follow Trev’s lead. We’re still moving quickly to the music, so I can’t snuggle into Trev’s chest, but he’s holding me tightly.
After the lesson, we’re seated in a booth for the best steak dinner I’ve had since I moved away. We both save room for the restaurant’s specialty—the Nekked Rocky Mountain Sundae. It’s served in a cast-iron frying pan loaded with chunks of brownies topped with scoops of ice cream. It’s plain, or “nekked,” and then you take that to the toppings bar and go crazy.
