“You can’t see this in Los Angeles,” he said.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Not far,” he replied mysteriously.
We walked through fragrant pines until they gave way to a grassy meadow. I could smell the lake not far away and heard the loons calling their eerie, hollow cry. The wind moving through the trees on the mountain whispered that the forest never really slept. The half moon cast distinct shadows beneath our feet. A million flecks of light studded the sky as if some giant hand had flung a basket of diamonds across its breadth.
Michael stopped abruptly and pulled the pack off of his shoulder. As he began to remove its contents, I realized it was a telescope.
“My father used to bring me out here when I was a kid. He was a fanatic about the sky. I had a dozen constellations memorized by the time I was six.”
He set the tripod up on a pad of cement half buried under tall grasses. While spinning the lenses into place he explained, “This time of year, my favorite is Orion. He shows up in the south and moves across the sky during the winter.” He stooped and adjusted the trajectory of the lens. “Ah, there’s my buddy.” He took my hand and pulled me to the eyepiece. “Here, take a look.”
I adjusted the eyepiece until I could see the stars, brilliant white lights set against a velvet backdrop.
He continued, standing so close I could feel his warmth. “The Greek story goes that Orion got himself into trouble chasing the Pleiades, lost his life, and was flung up into the sky with his two hunting dogs which are Canis Major and Canis Minor.”
For some guys, that would truly be heaven, an eternity of hunting with your dogs, I thought.
Michael’s deep, gravely voice continued in the dim light. “Canis Major contains Sirius, which is the brightest star in the night sky. It was one of the first ones my father taught me to pick out. Can you see it to the left? Here.” He checked the scope. “It’s in the center now.”
I peered through the lens again.
“There are eighty-eight modern constellations.” He placed his warm hand on the back of my neck, and suddenly I was not seeing anything in particular through the lens. I was short of breath and my heart beat so loudly in my ears I was afraid he would hear it.
I cleared my throat. “Oh, yes, I see it,” I said.
His hand slid to my shoulder, and when I stood, he pointed to the far end of the meadow.
“In the spring, we have a thick crop of bear grass up here. You know the flowers that are tall stakes with a fat, downy ball of white flowers on top? I have never seen it grow as thick as it did this year. The stalks were three feet tall, and they carpeted this area under the trees.”
“It must have been nice, coming up here as a kid, spending time with your dad. I wish I had known my father. I don’t know if Jack told you, but …” I hesitated. Should I be sharing this? What would he think of the jagged structure of my beginnings? A chilled breeze blew and I pulled my jacket close around me. “There is a chance my real father may still be alive somewhere.”
“Jack mentioned it. How do you feel about that?” His voice was calm, soothing in the dim light.
I tried to think of a way to sum up my feelings: anger, fear, resentment, hope. I shook my head. “It’s pretty crazy. The man I thought was my father died when I was still a child. I always wondered what it would have been like to know him, wondered if I was like him. Now, to think my real father is out there somewhere, that I may be able to find him, that I may have the chance to see him. It’s an opportunity to find my roots. But I don’t know anything about him. He could be an ax murderer for all I know. It may be a Pandora’s box I will wish I had never opened.”
“I can understand that.”
I furrowed my brow. “There is something I learned that could help me find this man, but it is really a long shot. There was a land deal of some kind. My mother seemed to be really disturbed about it. Something about some land of this man’s father’s that had been lost somehow, here in the Missoula area. I actually found an address in some of my mother’s old papers. I am thinking about going to the courthouse to see if I can find the deed—any legal papers with names on them to track this man’s family down. Maybe I could find him that way or find someone who knows him.” It was a thin hope, but something deep in my heart called upon me to try.
“It sounds like that could work. Good luck with that,” he said, encouragement in his tone.
As we talked, one of the trees at the edge of the clearing seemed to break into slow movement. I strained my eyes and saw the spiked rack of a buck emerging from the dusky shadows. A doe soon followed.
“Oh, look,” I whispered.
We watched them move gracefully across the other end of the meadow. They stared at us unconcerned, bending long enough to graze, becoming erect and watchful as they chewed.
“They’re beautiful,” I said.
A dog barked not far away, and abruptly the pair of deer took flight, bounding toward the trees. They leapt effortlessly over a fence, suspended in air, defying gravity for a long moment until they cleared the top rail, then faded into the gray understory.
Michael packed up the telescope, and we followed the path back toward the cabin. Coming around a small stand of trees, the cabin came into view. I could see our friends inside, grouped in the living room, wrapped in conversation as they sipped hot cocoa from steaming mugs.
“Do you come up here often?” I asked. “It’s so beautiful.”
“As often as my work will allow. It was a godsend when Lisa was sick. A peaceful place she could rest. I made whatever foods she could eat and took care of Emma. In the afternoons when it was warm, I’d row them across the lake in the boat. The water was vibrant and alive, yet so soothing to her.”
He gazed out over the water, gone somewhere I could not see, someplace sacred.
We stopped by an aged stone birdbath, its base covered with deep green moss. “Watch your step here,” he said, taking my elbow to help me find the broad flagstone stairway in the darkness.
When we stepped inside, the group was so intent on their discussion of politics they hardly seemed aware of our absence, except that Bobbie arched an eyebrow at me.
Jack and Elizabeth gathered their coats and salad bowl.
“B-ball? This Thursday, right?” Jack said, punching Michael on the shoulder as he headed for the door. “We are gonna clean their clocks, aren’t we?”
Bobbie and I soon followed, saying our goodbyes and collecting our dishes we brought.
As Bobbie slid onto the car seat, Michael stood on the porch, wringing a dish towel in his hands. “Thanks for coming,” he said. He traced a knot in the wooden floor with his shoe, then looked into my eyes. “I’ll see you.”
“Thanks for asking us,” I said, nearly backing into the wooden bear sculpture at the bottom of the stairs. “And thanks for the star tour,” I said.
A
“So, what was that all about?” Bobbie quizzed me on the way home.
“What?” I asked innocently.
“You guys go out for the newspaper or something? Whad’you do?”
“We talked about hunting,” I said, lost in thought.
“Right,” she said.
Chapter 18
dc
Derek arrived on my doorstep engulfed in an oversized bouquet of red roses.
“Hey, beautiful,” he crooned.
“Oh, thanks. These are … amazing.” I said. He had never brought me flowers before. I wondered what was up. There had been a change in his mood, a shift in the wind I was leery of.
We went to dinner at a noisy restaurant, where I listened with difficulty to him talk at length about his meeting with the partner in Spokane and the probability of his advancement in the company. My thoughts drifted to the night in the meadow near Michael’s cabin by the lake. I remembered the soothing call of the loons, Michael’s smile, his warm hand on the back of my neck, the starlight on his hair.
Derek said he had been to the car
dealership in Spokane. He was thinking of upgrading his Vette.
After dinner, as we got into the car, he gave me a sidelong glance. “I have a surprise for you,” he said.
“Oh?”
“I’ll give it to you when we get to your place.”
Surprise? Spontaneity was not a strong suit for Derek. Another first. Now I knew something was up.
We pulled up to my house and as I was getting out of the car, I noticed the shadowed form of a man just slipping away from my side door. He disappeared over the low cement wall toward the rear of the property in one fluid motion.
My eyes narrowed. “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“I think there was a man by the door. He ran off as we drove up—jumped over the wall. I wonder what he was doing there?” Even in the dimness, something about his size and the way the man moved seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“I hope you didn’t forget to lock your door. Living in Missoula—you could lose your edge. You wouldn’t get away with that in LA.”
I took out my key and went to the door, Derek trailing behind me. I went in and looked through the house, checking behind doors. Nothing was amiss, still, something felt wrong. I worried about the writing on my window. Was it the same man? Was I being targeted? Or was the graffiti just unrelated juvenile vandalism?
Derek waited in the foyer, scrolling through the screen on his phone. I went into the kitchen and peeked through the window in the side door. No one was in sight, but I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I went back into the living room.
“Hey, come here a second,” Derek said, pocketing his phone. He reached out to me with a smile. “Now for that surprise.”
He pulled me close, kissed me, then reached into his jacket pocket.
I bit the nail on my forefinger nervously as he pulled out a small, black velvet jewelry box.
“So, part of the surprise is that I have been offered the transfer to Missoula … permanently.”
He waited for my response. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I didn’t think I was ready for what he was about to say. After he said it, I was sure I wasn’t.
“And so now it’s time for that talk I mentioned last time on the phone,” he said, his voice solemn. “I think it’s time to take our relationship to the next level.”
I started to hyperventilate. It was like trying to drive a stick shift for the first time. All the gears started to grind in my head.
He flipped open the box, revealing a small silver necklace with a round opal.
He kissed my hand. “You know you mean a lot to me. I think that since I will be here full time, we should move in together. It will be more convenient for us both.” The light from the lamp on the foyer table cast a soft glow on his golden hair. His blue eyes sparkled. He had never looked so handsome. I had never been so angry.
“We should be together,” he said.
I bit my lip, a flush rising from my neck.
“Of course, you have your job here, and I will still travel a lot with work—a week or so each month,” he went on calmly, rationally. “But we can make things simple. We’ll be together when we can. Sharing a condo here will save me—us—some money. Residency in Montana can cut my taxes quite a lot, especially on the car.” He smiled sweetly. “We can arrange everything.”
I pulled free from him as an explosion grew inside me, like a volcanic eruption in slow motion. “Derek, I don’t want an ‘arrangement.’ I want something warm and meaningful.” He looked puzzled. “I want to feel important to someone, even indispensable. I want to know if I put time and effort into a relationship that person will be around for me when I need it. People shouldn’t be disposable like some cheap plastic razor.” I gathered steam, pacing back and forth. “I want someone to rely on, and I want to be the kind of person someone can trust. I want someone to take care of me if I get sick, someone who will listen to my problems whether they are stupid or not. I want to be important to someone, not just a convenience. And I don’t want to feel like a guest in my own house. And I want kids. I want them to know they have a father who loves them. Somebody that will be there every day to protect them and provide for them and … and play with them.”
My face was burning, my hands clenched.
Derek held up his hands. “Oh, hey, I didn’t say anything about kids. Kids just hold you back. And I’ve already seen the effect they have on Italian leather,” he said indicating his shoes.
“You just don’t get it.” I threw my hands into the air. “Life isn’t about the next purchase or the next hot trend. It’s about family.”
Derek fidgeted with his car keys; his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “You’ve changed, Jenna. In California, you were reasonable. Now you want too much. In LA it was easy. It was enough to just be together, to enjoy life. Now you are just being difficult.”
“No, Derek, I haven’t changed. I just forgot who I really was. I thought I could carve out a nice, neat little life for myself that wouldn’t be disrupted by all those annoying little emotions like love and human kindness. It was just an empty game. Since I came back, I feel like I can breathe again.”
“You’re just making things complicated,” he said, his voice rising, a hand on his hip. “You can’t expect all that. It just isn’t realistic.”
“You can if you look for it,” I said. I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing back the locks that had fallen against my hot cheeks. “You can if you choose it. It’s not rocket science, Derek. It’s a life well-crafted. And it takes thinking about someone else a little more than yourself.”
He folded his arms, a hard line forming on his jaw. “I don’t understand what you expect of me.”
I sighed and sat down on the arm of the couch, shaking, my hands spread on my knees. “I know you don’t, Derek,” I said, resigned. “That’s just the problem.”
A
The next morning as I was getting ready for work, my cell phone rang. It was Bobbie.
“Hey, there. There’s a sale at Dillards. Want to go check it out?”
“I don’t know,” I said. My voice betrayed my misery.
“What? Fifty percent off shoes and you’re not interested? What’s the matter now? Talk to me, girl!”
I sat down on the bed, a pair of socks gripped in my hand. “Derek came by last night.”
“Yeah, so?”
Maybe I was crazy, I thought. Maybe Derek was right. Maybe the sort of life I wanted was simply not cut out and waiting on a shelf for people like me. Maybe I was just dreaming.
“He wanted to move ahead in our relationship.”
“Did he drop the L word on you?”
“No. He … he just wanted us to live together and be together whenever we had time.”
“Well, that’s about as romantic as a mashed potato sandwich. What did you tell him?”
“I told him goodbye.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I don’t know, Bobbie. Could I really have something better than that anyway? It’s like I can see it, but I can’t believe it.”
“Are you kidding? My cat and I have a better relationship than that. Wanting it is half the battle.”
“Thanks, Bobbie.”
“Now, about the shoes …”
Chapter 19
dc
We all have our fall backs. Whenever life crumbles around us, we resort to those pillars that have served us well in the past. Chocolate for some, a spa treatment or a candlelit bubble bath for others. For me it is a good movie. An hour and a half of escape to another world. So, it was no surprise the next night to find myself with Bobbie and a friend from her work, seated in a soft chair, in a dark room, with my arm around a tub of buttery popcorn. It was a sloppy, romantic Romeo and Juliet in jeans and T-shirts drama, made all the better by the close resemblance of the dark-haired hero to Michael Callahan. A cry and sigh kind of movie that made me feel worlds better.
When Bobbie drove me home, I invited her in
to see pictures of Angela’s wedding.
Inside, I sorted quickly through the mail while Bobbie sat on the couch, removing her pointed-toed, red shoes. She rubbed her feet with a look of relief.
“Why do you wear those things if they hurt your feet?” I asked, perplexed by the phenomenon of beauty at the price of pain. As much as I tried to persuade myself, a soft brown loafer always won out over a strappy high heel.
“They make me feel thin,” she said, holding up her crimson shoe with a loving gaze.
I opened an envelope on the top of the stack of mail and read aloud. “You are eligible to borrow up to a zillion dollars.” I tossed it in the trash. “Oh, and look, a discount truckload tool sale. Let’s go.”
Bobbie smiled.
A manila envelope addressed in crimped handwriting rose to the top of the pile. “Hey, what’s this?” I said. “It’s from my former general manager, Debra, in LA.”
I opened the manila envelope and a thick white envelope fell out. The return address said Jane Crawford.
“Jane Crawford? I don’t know a Jane Crawford,” I said, puzzled.
“Isn’t she the actress? Anyway, I think she’s dead,” Bobbie said, reclining against the many fat pillows on my couch.
“Debra says, ‘Dear Jenna, hope you are doing well in Montana. The place here isn’t the same without you. Mrs. Crawford came to the desk and asked that we get this package to the Jenna with the auburn hair in Montana. Figured it was you.’”
Mystified, I sat down by Bobbie on the divan and tore open the packet. I opened the lid on a thin box inside, revealing a shiny silver coin.
“Hey, that’s one of those pure silver, one ounce coins,” Bobbie said. “My dad collects these. It’s like the old-fashioned silver dollar everyone used to use, but worth more. The U.S. Mint makes them. I think my dad has like a million of them.”
I handed the coin to Bobbie to examine.
“Why is a dead actress sending you money?” Bobbie asked, holding the coin up to the light. The mirror finish flashed its brilliance.
“This is Jane Crawford, not Joan Crawford,” I corrected her as I shook a letter from the envelope. I unfolded the paper and squinted my eyes in an effort to decipher the feathery handwriting.
Heartbeat of the Bitterroot Page 13
