Stephen smiled at him. “You know you love it.”
“How far we going?” Joe finished stretching and then danced around Stephen like a boxer under the street lamp.
“You’re the coach.”
“Ah, that’s what I like to hear. Let’s go.”
They turned left out of Joe’s driveway and headed west. The town was still asleep, except for a few people in stray cars here and there who were either leaving for work in one of the bigger towns or returning from a graveyard shift. The only light was provided by street lamps, which cast an eerily phosphorescent glow.
Joe said he’d clocked a new route for them that would make nine miles, if Stephen was up for it.
“What if I’m not?” Stephen asked him, gasping for breath.
“I guess that’s too bad.” Joe grinned and stepped up the pace a little bit.
“That’s what I thought.”
They passed Dempsey Park, which honored Jack Dempsey, the town’s most famous son; then they passed the Catholic church and the church of the Latter-Day Saints.
“Hey, you know how Manassa got its name?” Joe asked Stephen.
“Isn’t there a Manasseh in the Bible?” Stephen managed to ask in between heavy breaths. “He was one of Joseph’s sons.”
“Aren’t you the scholar,” Joe ribbed him. “There sure is. The LDS who named this place named it after him—the dark-skinned boy—and his lost tribe.”
“Ooh. I didn’t know that.”
“It used to be a big deal out here. There was a rivalry between Manassa and Sanford, which was named for one of their heroes. He was a white boy.” Joe talked like he was lying in a hammock, while Stephen’s cells were pleading for oxygen.
“Well, good thing Sanford doesn’t have a football team, or they’d be in for some Manassa maulin.’”
“You got that right.”
They ran in silence for several miles, and Stephen was thankful for the time to catch his breath. It was a great feature of their friendship that they’d always had, this ability to be quiet in each other’s presence and feel perfectly comfortable. But there was something he wanted to talk to Joe about.
“Well, I hadn’t mentioned anything to you, but I met someone last week and thought I was interested in her.”
Joe almost tripped over his feet. “Are you kidding me?” He stopped and stared at Stephen, who blew past right him.
“Calm down, and come on. It was over before it started.”
Joe caught up quickly and was back beside Stephen.
“What do you mean?”
“This woman came into the ER with her son, and I don’t know—she just seemed amazing. Different. She wasn’t wearing a ring, and then I ran into her again at your game on Friday. We talked a little bit. She was with her son, and I didn’t see anybody else around, but then I found out on Monday that she’s married.”
“Oh, no, man. No way!” Joe’s face made a painful expression, and he shook his head.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure? How’d you find out?”
They turned onto Joe’s street and started walking to cool down.
“Well, you know Carlos Caballeros, the nurse who works with me.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know Carlos.”
Stephen panted. “Well, he knows her. Grew up going to high school with her in Manassa, in fact. Her grandmother’s sort of a legend around here, at least to Carlos—a real rich lady. And I guess this woman and her husband just recently moved back here to be close to her. Get this—he’s a lawyer.”
“A lawyer? What’s her name?” Joe asked.
“Claire. Claire Caspian. She kept her name, I guess, because the boy is Graeme MacGregor. I stooped to looking it up on his chart.” Stephen laughed.
Joe turned and slapped Stephen on the shoulder. “Well, my man, I’ve got some good news for you, then,” he declared with a broad grin.
Stephen couldn’t possibly imagine why he was grinning. “What?”
“She ain’t married—not anymore.”
“How do you know?” Stephen’s heart rate began to escalate again.
“Well, it’s crazy, but you know what small towns are like. Manassa’s no different.”
“What is it?”
“Somebody tried to set me up with her.”
“You?” Stephen didn’t even try to hide his surprise.
“Wait a minute, man, what are you saying? She could do a lot worse!” Joe chided. “In fact, if she ends up with you, well…” He raised his eyebrows.
“Who tried to set you two up?”
“A guy with the hots for Frieda, who happens to be in the booster club.”
“Sheesh, this sounds like a soap opera.” Stephen shook his head.
“You’re telling me. You ought to live here, coach here. I love it, but it gets interesting sometimes. Anyway, I said no way.”
“Why?” Stephen asked him. “I mean, are you that tight with Frieda?”
“I’d like to be. If I can keep from messing it up. And your girl’s not my type, if you know what I mean.”
Stephen did. “Well, good for me.”
Back at Joe’s, he spread out a couple of towels he’d brought to protect his seat from sweat and climbed into his truck.
“Have a nice one, man!” he called to Joe.
Joe waved on his way up the steps. “You, too, Romeo!”
Stephen drove through Manassa just as most of its residents were starting to brush the sleep from their eyes. He pulled back onto Highway 142 toward Romeo and slowed, as much as he dared, when he drove by the Casa de Esperanza—the House of Hope. The sun was rising. He’d passed by this place a hundred—maybe a thousand—times in the years since he’d moved to the area. The extensive grounds, the white stucco mansion with its terra-cotta tile roof, the outbuildings and the great iron gates that encased it all—these had been of mild interest to Stephen in the past. He’d admired it from the window of his truck and occasionally when he and Joe had run by. But this time he studied it with greater intensity. Somewhere in his heart, something tiny stirred like a seed buried deep in long-fallow ground. She isn’t married—not anymore.
Chapter Seven
It was early September, the time Rob’s family in Arkansas called “Indian summer.” Rob was leaving for a business trip to New York on Monday so they’d committed themselves to “doing nothing” over the weekend. “Doing nothing”—a term they’d affectionately coined during grad school—really meant that they were free from other demands and could do whatever they wanted.
“Let’s check it out,” he had said that Saturday morning over coffee when she pointed to the advertisement in the paper. And just like that, they packed a picnic, loaded Graeme in his car seat, and took off.
For about two hours they drove scenic highways from northwest Arkansas, where they lived, to the Arkansas River valley and a town called Paris. The highest mountain in Arkansas—a mere hill by Coloradan standards—was there, and the town was hosting its annual Butterfly Festival in honor of the many species that call Mount Magazine home.
They found a spot by Cove Lake, the small but pristine lake at the foot of the mountain, and spread out Abuelita’s butterfly-patterned quilt. It was Claire’s favorite quilt, and Rob poked fun at her for bringing it that day. “Leave it to you to be thematically correct,” he’d joked. She fished a book on butterflies out of the basket and gently whapped him on the arm with it. “And who brought this?” she’d retorted playfully.
Graeme took Rob by the hand as he toddled toward some wildflowers that were growing nearby. Her guys. Claire admired the outlines of their shoulders. Rob’s were broad and sturdy underneath his denim shirt, and he leaned over slightly to reach Graeme’s hand. Graeme’s shoulder blades curved like little angel wings under his white T-shirt. As Rob ran his free hand through sandy blond hair, which was thinning, she smiled at Graeme’s mop of dark curls. “You’ve got twice as much hair as your daddy,” Rob had joked that morning when he gave Graeme a bath.
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They began gathering sunflowers, black-eyed Susans, white zinnias and aster, along with a few orange flowers Claire couldn’t name, which were sprinkled like confetti along the water’s edge. As she unpacked the wine, cheese, and Gala apples, a delicious breeze caressed her, and she breathed it in, fixing the scene in her memory.
Graeme ran back to her on chubby legs, beaming, with a bouquet of the flowers. She kissed him and thanked him, arranging them as the centerpiece of their picnic. He sat bouncing on her lap, and she looked down for a moment to spread peanut butter on a piece of wheat bread. She was adding banana slices to make eyes and a curved row of raisins for a smile when she felt Rob’s breath on her neck.
“Mariposa.”
Rob’s hands. Cupped, then open. The calluses on his fingertips from years of playing guitar. His wedding ring.
The Silver Checkerspot flickered for a moment right in front of her face before floating in the direction of the water. Claire could smell Rob’s aftershave, and she turned to kiss him, to see his face. But he was gone from her, too. Just like the butterfly.
She clutched Graeme tightly in the dark. Her pillow was wet when she awoke.
Claire tiptoed into the bathroom, so as not to wake Graeme, and splashed water on her face. The ornate clock on the vanity showed a little after six o’clock, which meant it was seven in Arkansas. Grabbing her cell phone out of the bedroom, she noticed the sun was rising. A lone truck was slowly passing by on Highway 142 near the front gates. She returned to the bathroom and closed the door gently behind her. She sat down on the rug and dialed a number she knew by heart.
“Hello?” A cheerful voice answered. “Hello?”
Claire’s jaw was frozen shut.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
Claire opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
The person on the other line said “Humph” and hung up.
Claire’s hands were shaking as she dialed the number again.
“Hello?” the voice answered again, this time edged with irritation.
“Moira?”
“Claire? Is it you?”
“Oh, Moira, I’m so sorry.”
“Claire! No, no—it’s okay! You know you can call me anytime. I’m so glad to hear your voice. How are you? Has something happened? Is Graeme all right? Tell me what’s going on.” Moira’s voice was soothing.
“I had a dream. It’s been a few months since I’ve dreamed about him, but he was there. Right there beside me.”
“In the bed? Was it like the old dreams? Were you in his hospital bed with him?”
“No. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t a nightmare, really—well, except for the end.”
Moira sighed her relief. She’d stayed with Claire at night for six months during the last stages of a disease that had killed her brother. “Tell me about it.”
“We were on a picnic. Rob and Graeme and me. On Mount Magazine—by the lake. There were flowers and butterflies—it was so beautiful.” Claire’s voice cracked.
Moira waited, then affirmed, “I remember you telling me about that day.”
“It was before the diagnosis. Months before. We didn’t have a clue anything was wrong. I was happy—so happy. I don’t even know that person anymore—the person I was in my dream.” Claire tucked her knees up under her chin.
“What happened in the dream? What happened in the end?”
“Graeme brought me a bunch of flowers. He sat down on my lap and I was making him a sandwich, and Rob came up behind me. He kissed me on the neck. I could smell him, Moira!” Claire reached for the roll of tissue and blew her nose.
Moira, too, remembered the rugged, clean smell of her brother. “I know,” she said to Claire.
“Then—then he held out his hands in front of my face. They were strong and full, like they used to be—and his ring was on. It still fit. They were cupped around something. He opened them—I could see his calluses. A little butterfly flew out of his hands. It was so delicate and playful. Graeme giggled and reached for it when he saw it. I turned around to see Rob—to kiss him—but he vanished.” Claire’s voice sounded desperate now. “And then I woke up. I wanted to sleep forever and stay in that place with him—to try to find him again—but I woke up!” She closed her eyes like a dam, to try to hold back the tears.
Moira spoke slowly. “What a blessing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this is the first time you’ve called me after a good dream. What a blessing it is to hear of this beautiful memory—this wonderful day that can never be stolen from you.”
“But he vanished. He’s gone!”
“I know. And we must wake, and live, and go on. And I believe you are doing that. I believe even this dream is a part of that.”
“But it hurts. It still hurts so much.”
“I miss him, too. We will always miss him. But we honor his life when we choose to live. I know it’s what he would have wanted for you, for Graeme, for all of us.”
The bathroom door opened and Graeme stumbled in, rubbing his eyes. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and he was wearing Batman pajamas.
Claire pulled him into her arms, and he snuggled into her lap there beside the bathtub.
“Is that Aunt Moira?” he asked.
“Yes,” Claire answered, handing him the phone.
Chapter Eight
Stephen dialed the number, not thinking about the fact that it was only six fifteen in the morning. A groggy voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Maria? It’s me. Did I wake you up?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t thinking about the time. I’ve been up since four-thirty.”
“That’s why I’m a specialist and you’re insane,” she told him. “But your rounds aren’t usually this early, are they?”
“No. I went running with Joe. He’s a slave driver.”
“Oh. Well, you’re both insane.” Her voice was still sleepy.
“Look, I really am sorry. Why don’t we get off and you can go back to bed?”
“Oh, no, it’s fine, babe. Fine. I need to get up anyway. Besides, I’d better talk to you when I’ve got the chance. Did you get my message on Saturday?”
Stephen felt a twinge of guilt. “Yes—sorry I didn’t call back. Busy weekend.”
“Were you on call?”
“Uh, no.” She sounded like his mother. “I had a lot of stuff to do on the ranch.”
“Okay. Well, what about the movie? Do you still want to see it?”
“Yeah, sure. How about this weekend? Do you have anything going?”
“The symphony on Saturday.”
“What about Friday night?” Stephen asked her.
“That would be fine. When can you get here?”
“I’ll check the schedule, but I think around six. Is that good for you?”
“Perfect. You want to go to Rumors?”
“Sounds great.”
He could hear her rustling around on her bed. He knew she often fell asleep reading and was probably looking for her glasses.
Maria offered, “Are you going to stay over?”
“Maybe—I’ll have to see what’s going on Saturday. But that would be cool. You could make us pancakes for breakfast.”
“Or you could,” she countered.
“I’ll call you when I check the schedule, just to make sure.”
“Okay—talk to you then.”
“Love ya.”
“Love you, too.”
That evening after he finished up at the clinic, Stephen grabbed a bite to eat and drove north to Alamosa. Pulling into a parking space marked VISITOR in front of the Student Union at Adams State, Stephen turned off his truck and grabbed his backpack from the passenger’s seat. Rummaging through it, he found the brochure titled, “Talk to Me: A Seminar in Bilingual Education for Modern Medical Professionals.” There was a map on the back which directed him via sidewalk from the Union, past a small chapel, to the imposing red b
rick building that housed the Honors College. The building bore the name GUNTHER.
Even though it was dusk, the grounds were well-lit and Stephen located the building without any trouble. Passing through the broad double doors at the entrance, he saw a sign that pointed to the auditorium. He followed the arrow and soon found himself in a room full of people. The only seats left were in the front. He sat down in one of them just as the seminar started. A woman with great legs in red heels was walking toward the podium.
“Buenas tardes. Soy Claire Caspio, profesora del inglés aquí en Adams.”
Stephen’s heart skipped a beat when he heard her voice, her name. He looked up to see her face, and she met his gaze.
“Me han pedido hablarles esta noche sobre la importancia de la educación bilingüe en el campo de la medicina. Pero primero, necesito advertirles que soy ex-convicta y acabo de escaparme recientemente de la carcel. Tengo una condición mental seria. Todos ustedes están en peligro grave, y deben llamar a la policía. Cuántos de usted pueden entender lo que estoy diciendo?”
Two or three people besides Stephen raised their hands. An older-looking man laughed, and a woman glanced in the direction of the door.
“Great.” Claire walked toward Stephen. “Dr. Reyes, can you tell everyone else what I just said?”
“Well, I didn’t catch all of it, but I know you said your name,” he began.
“That’s good, Dr. Reyes.”
Everyone laughed.
“Then you said you’re an English professor here and you were going to speak to us, something about using two languages in medical practice.”
“Okay, fine. What else?”
“Then you said you were hungry and in danger of starvation, and we should call in a pizza. Something like that, I think.”
“That’s actually close, Dr. Reyes.” Claire smiled at him and walked back behind the podium.
Stephen sensed he was being teased.
The older man who had also raised his hand cleared his throat. “That’s not exactly what she said.” His hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he looked like he just stepped out of a Louise Erdrich novel. He wore several big turquoise rings.
Love Finds You in Romeo, Colorado Page 6
