“What game is that, hija?”
Claire drew her legs underneath her and gazed soulfully at Abuelita. She could feel her neck tingling and knew it was probably breaking out into a hundred red hives.
“It’s life. A game where people get massacred doing the will of God and never come home. A game that kills a little boy’s daddy with pancreatic cancer. A game where there’s war and hunger and abuse and a million other things I don’t understand.”
Claire didn’t intend to challenge Abuelita when she started talking, but she realized now that it came out that way.
Her grandmother didn’t take the challenge. In fact, she didn’t say anything for a long time. Claire’s words hung between them in the air like mushroom clouds.
Finally, Abuelita spoke up. “I don’t understand those things either, hija. And I am so very sorry for how you have suffered.”
“It’s not about me—not really. I know you have suffered, too, Abuelita.”
Abuelita nodded, her gaze steady.
“But you keep going,” Claire continued. “You keep reading the Bible; you keep praying; you keep living this impossible life. I admire you, and it seems to bring you peace, but I just don’t get how you do it.”
Abuelita chuckled a little. “I know it aggravates you for me to say this, but I don’t do it. I couldn’t do it, for the same reasons you can’t. But He can.”
Claire furrowed her brows, and Abuelita reached over to smooth them out with the pads of her fingers.
“He can, hija. Stop thinking so hard. It’s not something that comes from the head, but His work within the heart.”
“You know that everything in me rails against such an idea, Abuelita.” Claire smiled at her grandmother, but her words were serious.
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
Then Abuelita cocked her head to one side and grinned impishly. “So, did you enjoy your time at Art and Sol? You seemed a little flushed when you got home. I guess Martina worked you pretty hard, eh?”
Does nothing get past her? “Well, actually, I was ready to get out of there. I felt like I was suffocating by the time I left.”
“Suffocating? How on earth do you mean?”
Claire sighed. She might as well come out with it; sooner or later, Abuelita would fish it out of her. “Dr. Reyes came in there with his friend. They wanted to take me—and his friend’s girlfriend—out for dessert.”
“Oh! Buena idea! What a nice idea. Why didn’t you go?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“What do you mean you didn’t want to?” Abuelita looked at Claire like she’d just grown horns.
“I just didn’t feel like it.” Claire rose to go. “You’re right that waiting tables wore me out; I’m tired. I think I’m going to go to bed.” She bent over to kiss Abuelita on the cheek. “Buenas noches.”
Abuelita kissed her back. “Buenas noches yourself. But before you go, I have one observation to make.” Abuelita squinted her coal-black eyes at Claire.
“What is it?” Claire smiled at her from the doorway.
“You’re not tired from waiting tables. You’re tired from running away.”
Chapter Nineteen
Stephen didn’t stop in Romeo after climbing into his truck at Joe’s. He passed the iron gates of Claire’s abuelita’s mansion just outside Romeo, went through Romeo proper, and kept going when he came to the turn onto County Road 7. Highway 285 led him past the grain elevator in Romeo and through the towns of La Jara, Estrella, and Alamosa.
It never ceased to amaze Stephen how the villages were laid out. When the train came to the area in 1880, it had to stop for water every seven miles. So, just like that, these dusty little towns were born along its tracks at seven-mile intervals.
At least some of them had kept their original names, or at least been named for appropriate things, Stephen thought. Like la jara, the willow, or estrella, star. Poor Romeo, which outsiders incorrectly associated with Shakespeare, was instead a corruption of the common surname “Romero.” Some railroad worker, keeping official records and obviously off on his Spanish, converted it.
Stephen shook his head at the thought. He was nursing wounded pride himself and suddenly stirred by the injustice of it all.
Unlike the train, Stephen didn’t stop for water or anything else. At Poncha Springs, he turned onto Highway 50 toward Salida and called Maria.
“Steve?”
He could hear loud techno music in the background.
“Where in the world are you?”
“I’m at the gym. In an aerobics class. Where are you?”
“They let you take your cell phone into the class?”
“I’m a doctor, remember?”
The music abated, and he assumed she’d stepped outside of the class.
“When’s your class over?”
“In about fifteen minutes.”
“Do you want to meet at Rumors?”
“Where are you?” she asked him.
“I’m just driving into town. I can almost see S Mountain.”
“Well, I’m sweaty. I can’t be ready for Rumors very soon. Why don’t you just go to my house and I’ll meet you there? Do you still have your key?”
“Yeah.”
“Go in and make yourself at home. Do the laundry or something.”
“Ha ha.”
“I’ll be there in about half an hour.”
“Okay.”
The exterior of his sister’s house was so Maria, just like the interior was. It was a large pueblo-style adobe, with solar panels for heat and light. The flower beds were full of useful cacti, like Aloe Vera, and blended with herbs and peppers and other plants Maria used for cooking. Rocks she’d collected from various expeditions in the mountains, or on drives along back roads, complimented the landscaping. Stephen recognized several from his own ranch.
Turning toward the porch, he saw her latest acquisition: Old Betsy, one of his elderly cows who had not made it through the last winter. He’d cringed when Maria hauled the cow’s skull home in the trunk of her hybrid Beamer. But he couldn’t argue with the result. Old Betsy’s skull, bleached and cured in the sun, hung from a leather strap by the front door. Stephen imagined it would be distasteful anywhere else, but here it was totally natural, even beautiful. Artistic along the lines of Georgia O’Keefe.
Wiping his feet on the mat, he turned the key and went inside. As if company was expected, there were soft lights everywhere and music playing. Stephen recognized Beethoven’s Ninth symphony. He set his keys on the table by the door, picking up a picture of Manuel and Maria on their honeymoon in Hawaii. They were wearing leis, and Maria was more flamboyant than any of the flowers, shimmering in her white linen dress beside the dark-tanned Manuel.
You are one lucky man, Stephen thought as he looked at his brotherin-law’s image.
He set the picture down and walked straight ahead into the living room, where he sat down on the couch and popped a chocolate from Maria’s candy dish into his mouth. He picked up the remote. Directly in front of Stephen was a red wall, which was mostly taken up by a stone fireplace that ran from the floor to ceiling. A huge oil painting in reds and golds on a background of gray blue was the focal point of the fireplace above the mantle, its violent distortions of shape reminiscent of Picasso’s Guernica.
Stephen pressed a button on the remote and the painting disappeared, revealing a fifty-two-inch, flat-screen TV. He turned the channel to Headline News. He wasn’t in the mood for silence.
As the “news from around the globe” droned on, Stephen decided to surprise his sister. He walked to the laundry room, which was just off the kitchen, and put in a load of laundry. Maria washed her own scrubs, and as he picked through the light ones for a load of whites, he noticed Bugs Bunny, Tweety Bird, characters from The Incredibles and Nemo, and a dinosaur he didn’t recognize—presumably a cartoon for each day of the week. Stephen chuckled to himself as he dumped in a scoop of Cheer.
Grabbing a bottle
of water from the fridge as he walked back through the kitchen, he spotted a note on the refrigerator door that was held there by a magnet. It was from Maria’s husband, who was still in Colombia.
My dearest Maria,
The days here are long and the need great—but God’s grace is sufficient for all things. I trust you are finding His grace sufficient at home.
Everywhere I go I see you in front of me then reaching out find it is only a mirage. I keep myself going with thoughts of your beautiful face and the sound of your laughter.
Only three more weeks until we are together again.
Pray for the people of Colombia.
Te amo,
Manuel
Okay, so maybe she was lucky, too.
A few moments later, Stephen heard the sound of the automatic garage door opening.
“Stephen?” his sister called through the back door.
“I’m just in here—doing your laundry!”
She rounded the corner of the kitchen and smiled at him. She was wearing a white terry-cloth jogging suit and had a bright bag emblazoned with the British flag slung over her shoulder.
“You do beat all!” she said, reaching out to give him a hug.
Stephen squeezed her tightly, inhaling the smell of lavender soap.
“To what do I owe this honor?” Maria deposited her gym bag in the laundry room and shut the door. She grabbed her own bottle of water from the fridge and sat down on a bar stool in the kitchen, staring at her brother.
“Oh, you know, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.” He joined her on the nearest bar stool.
“Whatever! What’s going on? I thought you had another date tonight with that cute little professor, Princess Caspian.”
Stephen’s eyes darkened.
“I’m not so sure she is a princess after all.”
“What do you mean? What did she do to you?”
Maria set down her water, looking like she was suddenly ready for a fight. Her show of protectiveness lightened the mood for Stephen. He had to laugh.
“She didn’t do anything to me. That’s kind of the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know, Joe and I went to that new Mexican restaurant in Romeo this afternoon. Some people he knows just opened it. Frieda—that’s Joe’s girlfriend—was working there for them and we thought Claire might be there, too, because the woman running it is her best friend. This was the grand opening so everybody was pitching in, helping them out.”
Stephen took a sip of water.
“Okay,” Maria said, “I think I followed all of that.”
“Anyway, we were going to see about taking them out for dessert, maybe roasting some s’mores or something at the ranch. But when Claire saw me she would hardly say a word. Turned us down flat about dessert. It was more than a little awkward. She said she’d wait on us, but once she brought our food, we never saw her again. Martina—she’s the owner—came and told us Claire had to go home.”
“She was waiting tables?” Maria looked shocked.
“Yeah, they were really busy. She was doing it to help her friend out.”
“That’s kind of cool.”
“I thought so, too, until she lit out of there.” Stephen shrugged his shoulders.
“So what did you do?”
“We ate, and then Joe took me to his house to get my truck. He was going over to Frieda’s. I was headed toward home, but I decided to drive up here and see my therapist instead.”
Maria smiled. “So, you want my professional opinion?”
“That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
Maria looked directly into Stephen’s eyes. “You better run like your hair’s on fire,” she said. “This woman’s not worth your time.”
Chapter Twenty
“Are you serious?” Stephen nearly fell off his bar stool.
“What do you mean?” Maria asked him.
“I mean, just like that, you think I should forget about Claire?”
“Why not?”
“What about all of those conversations we’ve had about my marriage to Janet and how I should forgive her for what she did—how insensitive I’d been—how selfish. You and Manuel have both preached to me about how relationships are hard work, and they take two people. What about all of that?”
Maria rubbed her lips together, trying not to smile.
“What about it?” she asked him.
Stephen got down from his stool and walked over to the couch, sinking into it. He held his head in his hands, fighting off anger.
Maria turned on her stool to face him.
“Why are you so angry, Steve?”
He looked up at her.
“I’m confused and, frankly, surprised at you. After all of the times you’ve told me the whole thing with Janet was partly my fault—because I wasn’t there for her—and now you think I should just walk away from Claire? She’s the one woman I’ve cared about since then. I don’t get it, Maria.”
Maria got down from her stool at the bar and walked over to where Stephen was sitting on the couch. She sat down beside him and touched his knee.
“Are you listening to yourself?” she asked gently.
“No, I feel crazy.”
“Well, that’s why you’re here for therapy.”
They both laughed, diffusing the tension that had been there a moment before.
“Steve, I broke the first rule of counseling awhile ago when I told you what I thought you should do. But I didn’t really do it to give you my opinion.”
His eyes were unsteady, questioning her.
“I did it to help you find out what’s in your own heart.” Maria touched him gently on his chest, and the light of realization began to dawn on Stephen. But now he wasn’t sure he wanted to go there.
Maria pressed him. “What have you heard yourself say? I think there’s a lot you’ve said that’s important here.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, first, you’ve said you care about Claire. She’s the one woman you’ve cared about since Janet. That’s pretty significant.” Maria’s eyes were blue crystals, boring holes through him.
“Okay, that’s true. I do care about her—a lot.” Stephen took a deep breath.
“The other things you said were about Janet. Do you believe you were at fault in your divorce?”
“I know that it wasn’t all her. I am partly to blame because I wasn’t there for her. I was caught up in myself—my career. I know that.”
Stephen felt like a cork had popped off his soul and the contents were spewing forth at a rate he couldn’t control. He was also aware—and thankful—that it was safe to be with Maria. That’s why he’d come here.
“But Janet didn’t have to have an affair and play me for the fool—that was wrong of her. And I was wrong in how I dealt with things, both before and after. I was a prideful jerk. I was horrible to her, really.”
Several years of remorse washed over Stephen like a melting glacier. And though the cleansing felt good, Maria stopped him from drowning in it.
“Well, let’s don’t go too far. Janet’s no saint.”
Stephen straightened his back. “What about Claire?”
“Who knows?” Maria wagered. “One difference here is that you aren’t married to her. You really could walk away and may need to. She may not yet be ready for another relationship. I certainly don’t know her well enough to say.”
Stephen searched a spot on the wall for the answers.
“What do you truly believe in your heart, Steve? What do you believe about this woman? Is she worth your time? Does she have the character you are looking for in a woman? Or is she a flake?”
“I thought when we had that incredible time together that she was amazing—like a mine full of diamonds. There was so much more I wanted to learn about her. I didn’t think she was flaky at all.”
Stephen blew out a loud sigh and clapped his hands on his knees. “But she really seemed to
push me away today. That was hard to take.”
“Do you think she could be scared of you? Scared of getting closer?”
“Maybe. But I thought from what she said that she was ready to try, or at least open to trying.”
Maria looked him straight in the eyes. “Well, it seems like you have a decision to make. Get out with this minimal investment, or take a chance on her and risk your own heart—without knowing whether she’ll give you hers. This could be a test for you to see how well you can swallow your pride.”
“I’m not real good at that.” Stephen allowed.
“How well I know.”
They both grinned.
“I really do think she’s worth it, Maria. I could be wrong, but I believe she is. At any rate, I guess I have to find out.”
“Well, you’ve answered your own question, then.”
They sat in silence for awhile, watching the headlines run across a TV that had long since been muted.
Finally, Stephen spoke up. “Thank you—for listening.”
Maria stood to her feet. “You’re welcome, but it’s going to cost you.”
“Huh?”
“Dinner at Rumors. You’re buying.”
Maria changed into a cashmere sweater and jeans, and soon they were sitting at their favorite table watching the Arkansas River roll by.
Maria ordered grilled mahi mahi with garlic mashed potatoes, and Stephen had a salad.
“I had a late lunch, remember?” he explained when she looked at him crossways.
“Oh, yeah. That elucidates it.” Maria flashed her eyebrows up and down at him, challenging his vocabulary. It was a little game they’d always played, to try to find a word the other didn’t know.
“You’re irascible.”
“Quick-tempered? How? I don’t think that’s really fair.” She crossed her arms and frowned at him.
Stephen corrected himself. “That’s not the word I meant. I meant incorrigible.”
Love Finds You in Romeo, Colorado Page 15
