“His father used to joke that Graeme belonged to the milkman, since he looks nothing like Rob.”
“Rob—that was your husband?”
“Yes. I met him here at school.”
“I remember you telling me that, too.”
Stephen picked up a worn Spanish Bible that sat next to Graeme’s picture on the shelf.
“What’s this?”
“It was my mother’s Bible. I don’t usually keep it here, but I used it the other day in a class.”
“Really, what for?”
“Oh, just an illustration.”
Stephen’s eyes, tired as they seemed before, were bright and earnest now. “Tell me about it.”
“Oh, I started with one of Benjamin Franklin’s sayings from Poor Richard’s Almanack. You know, he’s famous for many of the clichés we all use today, such as ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover.’”
Claire walked over to Stephen and took the Bible in her hands. She touched the cracked binding gingerly with the ends of her fingers.
She explained casually, “I just showed this to the class and we talked about what it looks like on the outside. The students gave input about that, how old and ragged it is, and ugly. Some said how they would never pick it up or buy it in a store.”
Claire looked from the Bible to Stephen, who listened with rapt attention.
“And then I just opened it and talked about what treasure there is inside because the Bible is so valuable. If nothing else, it’s an important literary and historical document. Christianity gets such a bad rap sometimes from intellectuals, and many students don’t get that, don’t respect it.”
Stephen nodded. “Hmm.”
“Then I told them that this one is also priceless to me on a personal level because it was my mother’s and it represents her faith and my own.”
“You told them that?”
“Yes.”
“That’s neat that you could share that with your students.”
“I didn’t really go any further.”
Claire’s voice trailed off as she said those words. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go any further with Stephen about issues of faith, either.
His eyes held hers for a long time as though he was holding on to the subject, but finally he said, “I like your office. Now I can picture you here.”
“I like yours, too—the clinic, I mean.”
Stephen smiled. “It’s nothing compared to my sister’s. A bit bland, I think, but I’ve never been as—colorful—as Maria.” He looked down as though to inspect himself. “I apologize again for how I’m dressed. I got held up, and I didn’t want to be any later so I didn’t change.”
“You look fine to me.” Claire admitted to herself, though not to Stephen, that she’d call that an understatement.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. There’s a great little bistro here downtown. Would you like to go there?”
“Sure. Sounds great.”
“Well, I’m not taking any work home, which is a first, so all I need is my purse.” She grabbed it from the bottom drawer of her desk and snatched her scarf from the hook behind her door. Stephen shut it behind them, and Claire locked it.
The front desk area was empty. Claire turned off the lights and locked that door behind them, too. She couldn’t help but think, as she led Stephen out of the building, that the English department in Irby was sealed up like a fortress. It was as tight as her heart—or as tight as it had been, before she met Stephen.
“Where are you parked?” As they stepped out of Irby, Claire scanned the parking lot that seemed all but deserted
“Just there.” Stephen pointed to his truck, which was not only in a red zone but also up over the curb.
Claire winced when she saw it. “Oh my! Well, I was going to drive, but we better get you out of here before you get a ticket, if you haven’t already.”
“I guess that is pretty bad, isn’t it? I was in a hurry.”
“The campus police wouldn’t care about that. The students call them ‘Parking Nazis.’ I’m surprised they haven’t already nailed you.”
Stephen opened the door to the passenger’s side, and Claire climbed in. He shut the door carefully behind her. While he was walking around to his side, Claire buckled her seat belt and again recognized the scent of wood smoke. She marveled at how clean and neat it was inside Stephen’s truck, which she knew he used for farm work, as well. There was evidence of that in the backseat, where she saw a rope, gloves, and a sack of feed cubes.
“I guess you’re going for a ride in the redneck-mobile,” Stephen joked, pulling away from the curb with a bump.
Claire smiled at him. “It feels like quite an adventure.”
“Well, you direct me to this little bistro of yours and I’ll try to park more appropriately.”
They pulled in front of a downtown strip that housed the place in question. The sign above the door read SPUTNIK.
“What kind of name is Sputnik?” Stephen inquired. “Do they serve apricot blini?”
“I don’t know,” Claire answered. “I think it’s a sort of Zen name. You know, a bit random, to draw you in.”
“That’s interesting. It could be a political statement.”
“Yeah, it could be, but I don’t think so. I’ve gotten to know the manager.” Claire jumped out before Stephen could get there to open her door.
“And what about you? Are you trying to make some kind of political statement?” he teased.
“What do you mean?”
“By not letting me open your door. You’re going to have to quit doing that!” he scolded.
“Why? I can open my own door. I’m not helpless.”
Stephen looked hurt. “I know you’re not helpless—believe me. And I’m not much of a gentleman. But I’d like to be, if you’d let me.”
Claire hadn’t thought about it that way. When they reached the door of the restaurant, she stood and waited for him instead of blazing her own way through.
“That’s better!” He laughed as he opened the door and held it for her.
Claire felt conspicuous, like she was in some honored position, and she told him so.
“I think that’s the idea.” Stephen smiled as he held out her chair.
The lighting in Sputnik was dim and the décor simple. The bistro was contained in an old building in downtown Alamosa, and the owner had chosen to expose the antique brick walls and the copper pipes and electrical work in the ceilings. The floor was grey concrete.
There were candles on each table, assorted colored tapers stuck in empty wine bottles that had melted—layer upon layer—into their own unique designs over time. Batik tablecloths covered the tables. A variety of music was served via the owner’s CD collection, which was as eclectic as his menu. Pearl Jam was the band du jour.
“What’s good here?” Stephen asked.
“Well, I like the halibut, and their soups are always good.”
The waiter arrived with stemmed goblets of water. “Ready to order?”
Stephen nodded toward Claire.
“I’ll have the lobster bisque and a dinner salad—house dressing on the side.”
“And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have this shrimp skewer with steamed fresh vegetables.”
“We’ll have that right out for you.” The waiter smiled as he took their menus.
“That’s like Abuelita,” Claire observed, squeezing lemon into her water.
“What?” Stephen asked.
“She asks me what to wear and then completely ignores my suggestions.”
“Oh—the halibut.” Stephen made a face. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t like halibut.”
“That’s okay.”
They both laughed.
“How is your abuelita doing?”
“She’s as feisty as ever. Her latest thing is beating Graeme at Dino-checkers.”
“What’s Dino-checkers?”
“Oh, it’s a game he invented w
here you play checkers with several species of plastic dinosaurs.”
“I see.”
“When I walked in the other evening, Abuelita was gobbling up his apatosaurus, I believe, with her T. rex.”
“Sounds vicious.”
“She’s very Darwinian when it comes to Dino-checkers. ‘Survival of the fittest’ and all that.”
The waiter appeared, setting Claire’s soup in front of her and a basket of hot, buttered sourdough bread between them.
“Mmm.” Stephen sniffed appreciatively. “Could I have a cup of that?” he asked the waiter.
“No problem, sir. I’ll be right back.”
Stephen cleared his throat. “So,” he began cautiously. “Do you feel like talking about what happened the other night at Art and Sol? Can you tell me why you left?”
He seemed to be treading lightly, but Claire knew she should account for her flighty performance.
“My goal for our next date—I mean, if there is one—” Claire colored slightly, swallowing the lump that was rising in her throat. “My goal would be to not begin with a need to apologize to you for stupid behavior.”
Stephen grinned at her.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yes, I do. Again. I behaved badly. There’s no way around it.”
The waiter returned with Stephen’s cup of lobster bisque, and they both dug in.
“That’s good,” Stephen commented.
“Told you so.” She grinned.
“Claire, what I would like to know is whether I did something to scare you away. Was it presumptive to come there, hoping to see you and asking you to join me and my friends for dessert? Did I put you on the spot? Am I rushing you? I don’t want to do that.” He seemed wholly sincere.
“I don’t think so, Stephen. In my right mind I am happy—flattered—that you came to see me. But, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m not always in my right mind. Just like the other day—I get frozen by fear.”
Stephen’s eyes were warm and sympathetic.
“Well, let’s treat those cold feet. What exactly are you afraid of?”
“Abuelita says I’m running away.”
Stephen squinted his eyes, like he was trying hard to read her, like he wanted to understand. “From me?”
Claire looked into the cup of soup as though practicing some form of seafood divination. She felt like she did once as a kid, the first time she jumped off a diving board at the public pool in Manassa. Now an older and supposedly wiser Claire Caspian was standing at the edge, staring down at nothing but deep water. What is there to lose at this point? She decided to take the plunge.
“From the love of God.”
The waiter came to the table, bringing the rest of their food and refilling their water glasses. He seemed to sense that the air was charged, because he left their ticket on the table.
“If you need anything else, just ask,” he said as he quietly stepped away.
Claire noticed tiny lines come into Stephen’s face and then vanish, as if an invisible hand had drawn them, thought better of it, and quickly erased.
“I understand that,” he said. “I’ve been there myself.”
“Tell me about it,” Claire urged.
“I’d rather talk about you, if you don’t mind.”
Claire did mind, but she wasn’t about to push him away again. Not now. “I’ve done some thinking about it since the other night, when Abuelita and I talked.”
“What did she say?”
“She says I think too much—I need to trust more. But I don’t know how to do that.”
“Well, let’s break this apart into pieces we can manage.”
Claire could see Stephen’s scientific mind working, and it excited her, even if what they were talking about was scary.
“It seems there are two things going on, really. You get cold feet with me so you try to put distance between us, but you’re also having problems trusting God. Is that right?”
“I’d say that’s probably right, Doctor.” Claire’s tone was playful, but her words were serious. “Do you have any recommendations?”
“Well, in all seriousness, Claire, I understand why it’s hard for you to trust. You’ve lost a lot, and none of the bad things that have happened to you in your life make sense.”
“That’s true. But I know Abuelita thinks I should give up trying to make sense of everything and just live. Or what she actually says is, ‘Let the Spirit of God live His life in me.’”
“She sounds like a pretty wise old woman.”
“I get exasperated by how simply she puts things that seem impossible for me, but in the end I can’t argue with her. She has suffered too—she knows a lifetime of loss—and yet there is this presence of God with her, not just as a metaphysical concept, but as a daily existence. It’s an experience that is very real to her and, I have to admit, real to me as I look at her life.”
“That sounds like a very pure gospel. Especially from someone who has lived with her.”
“It is. But I think the question is how to make it my own? I haven’t been able to find that answer.”
Stephen looked at Claire for a long time, studying her. When he spoke again, his words seemed to come from a raw place.
“I think I’m learning the answer, at least for me—or I hope I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, after everything that happened with my ex-wife, I had a bit of a death experience. I died to a lot of things that had been very important to me.”
Claire knew all about death experiences. “Like what?”
“Dreams. Goals. Most specifically, my pride. I won’t say that it’s never a struggle for me anymore, because it is. But when your wife cheats on you, you truly realize what it means to be humiliated.”
Stephen stirred the soup he hadn’t yet finished.
“I didn’t tell you this before, Claire, but another bad part of that whole thing for me was church. My wife and I went to a big church in Tulsa. We were pretty involved, at least on the surface. Gave lots of money. But when all of that happened, I was excommunicated.”
“No way!” Claire gasped.
“Well, not literally, not like you’re thinking.” Stephen smiled at her. “It was subtle, more like I wore a scarlet “D” for Divorce from there on out. Of course, there were other divorced people in the church—tons of them—but I guess this was sort of high-profile. I embarrassed the church. And in my Sunday school class, the group we hung out with, well, I found out I didn’t really have many friends.”
“That’s horrible!” Claire felt sick.
“It was horrible. But looking back after eight years now, I can understand it somewhat.”
“How? That’s ridiculous!” The thought of it raised Claire’s ire.
“Well, you’re right. The response of many people was poor. But my response was worse.”
“How did you respond?”
“Well, I responded to my wife’s affair by throwing her out of the house.”
“That was justified, if all you’ve told me is true.”
Stephen’s eyes grew darker—and flat. “It was all true, but you know, Claire, I wasn’t much of a husband. I see that more and more all the time. What I needed was someone to help me—straighten me out—but I wasn’t ready to be helped. At least most of them didn’t coddle me just for the money. I have to give them that. You see that happen some places, where sin is just overlooked if the money is big enough.”
“Yes, but what about ‘judge not’? What about brotherly love?” Claire was utterly stricken by Stephen’s experience.
“Well, there was some instance of kicking a guy when he was down—that’s true. But I’m sure many of them didn’t see it that way. Janet made it pretty clear what a crummy husband I’d been. Many of their sympathies were with her, and probably justifiably so. But I got out of there pretty soon, anyway.”
Claire’s sigh carried bit of a groan. “Well, what is it you’ve learned? How has th
is translated into your learning the answer to how to live the Christian life—to knowing God experientially?”
“Well, my world came crashing down—and with it, my sense of self. I could no longer scientifically manage and control it all—”
“I have to admit that sounds sort of familiar.” Claire dipped her fork into the dressing and then stabbed a bite of salad.
“At first I didn’t think I had anything left. But then I realized I still did have a little bit of faith.”
“Like a mustard seed?”
“About that much.” Stephen’s boyish smile showed itself again, for the first time since much earlier that evening.
Chapter Twenty-three
“Dare I ask if you want dessert?”
Claire narrowed her eyes at Stephen and grinned. “Not here,” she said. “They have great desserts, but I’m ready for something a little lighter.”
“As in fewer calories?” Stephen asked.
“As in lighter atmosphere. And lighter conversation.”
“I see.” Stephen nodded, grinning at her. “Well, that sounds good to me.” He stood up, stretched his long legs, and grabbed the ticket.
“I think I’ll go to the ladies’ room.”
Stephen paid for their dinner, leaving a handsome tip. Good service was sometimes about leaving people alone, which their waiter seemed to understand. When Claire emerged from the ladies’ room and walked across the restaurant toward him, he could hardly believe she was with him.
“You know, you’re really beautiful,” he told her. “Is it okay to tell you that?”
“Nothing offensive in that statement,” she answered, flashing him a resplendent smile.
He opened the door, followed her outside, and offered her his arm, which she took as they crossed the road.
“Where would you like to get dessert?” he asked her.
“You know, I don’t think I want any dessert, if that’s okay with you. Why don’t we just take a walk here along the water? Then I really must be getting home to Graeme. I haven’t seen him since this morning.”
“That sounds great.” Stephen was glad she didn’t let go of his arm.
The road in front of Sputnik was bordered on the other side by public parking and a sidewalk that encompassed Alamosa City Park. The sidewalk, parallel for a quarter mile with the road, also ran parallel with the Rio Grande, which ran through the edge of the park. Two bridges leading from the sidewalk traversed the river and led pedestrians over it and into the grassy section of the park, where there were ball fields, playground equipment, and picnic tables.
Love Finds You in Romeo, Colorado Page 17
