by Michele Hauf
It had taken her almost nine hours from the time she’d left Vegas until she pulled into the driveway in Gordon’s Grove, exhausted and weepy. She’d been surprised but grateful her dad hadn’t been home. Unlike her, he’d left a note telling her he’d gone to her uncle Stu’s cabin fishing for the week. Uncle Stu wasn’t really an uncle. He’d been Dad’s friend for as long as she could remember, like Mitch was hers.
Cleo had called Mitch, as promised, and then had spent two days closeted in her bedroom, crying and feeling sorry for herself and calling herself every kind of fool imaginable for falling in love with a man as unattainable as the moon. Even if he wasn’t a stripper, he was still out of her league.
On Wednesday, she’d declared her pity party over. She’d come out of her room and cleaned the house from top to bottom. Physical labor always put things in perspective for her. She’d fallen into bed exhausted, but it hadn’t stopped the dreams—nothing stopped the dreams.
Yesterday, she’d worked up the nerve to empty the suitcase she’d taken to Vegas. In the pocket of her silk pants, she’d found the card he’d sent with the flowers the afternoon he’d gone to Ely. She’d opened it.
Cleo,
Thanks for a wonderful afternoon. I’m looking forward to the rest of our time together and hoping for more than just the weekend. Think about it.
Love,
Sam
He’d offered her more than the weekend; he’d offered her the rest of her life, and she’d walked away from it.
She’d shed a few more tears, and then she’d locked the note away in the small strong box where she kept her important papers. The marriage license was still there as was the photograph, the cheap brass ring, and the memory card from her camera. She couldn’t look at the pictures she’d taken just yet.
After she’d washed the things she’d worn to Vegas, she put some of the items away in the bottom of her cedar trunk. She would never wear her wedding dress or the parachute silk outfit again. The skimpy bikini had gone in there, too. She couldn’t wear it to take her students swimming, so why let it take up space in her drawers? She couldn’t convince herself to just give the clothes away though, so they would sit in the cedar chest for now.
Her transfer papers had arrived yesterday. She had until Tuesday to make her decision. Leaving Gordon’s Grove was the right thing to do, but how would Dad take the news? Could she really go and leave him here alone?
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway signaled Dad was home. Cleo stood and went down the steps to meet him.
“Hi, honey. How was the convention?” He seemed more chipper than he’d been in a long time. She swallowed her sorrow and grinned.
“It was good. Mitch had a terrific time. Made lots of contacts.”
“What about you?” Cleo heard concern in his voice. “Didn’t you have fun?”
“I had the time of my life.” That was certainly true. “I got to see the Hoover Dam and Lake Mead. I walked on the Skywalk and had a champagne brunch at the edge of the Colorado River. It was incredible. You and I’ll have to do the Skywalk someday.”
“The Skywalk’s a long way from Vegas. How’d you end up there?”
“I got a great deal on a helicopter tour.” That was putting it mildly.
“Good for you. I got to thinking this weekend that I’d been rather negative about your holiday, but for someone who had a great time, you don’t sound happy about it.”
“I am, Dad. I’m just tired. Too much fun. I had to come home for a rest. How was your fishing trip?”
“It was more than a fishing trip. Help me get the car unpacked, and I’ll fill you in. Your Uncle Stu is a sly old dog.”
“A bereavement camp?” Cleo was stunned. How in the world had Uncle Stu managed that?
“Yeah. Stu showed up Friday morning, and when I let it slip you’d gone away for the weekend, he swooped in like a vulture, insisting I spend some time fishing with him. Apparently, he turned his fishing cabin into a retreat for bereaved men about three years ago. I wasn’t too happy about it when I found out. I threatened to walk back home. I’d left the car at his place in Carson City. Never trust a psychiatrist. When I think about it, I realize he’s been trying to get me up there for some time, but I’ve been too stubborn to go.”
“How did he convince you to stay? I know how determined you can be.” She chuckled. When was the last time she’d made that sound? Saturday night? Sunday morning? No. She wouldn’t think about Sam now.
“He told me Catherine would be disappointed in me,” he admitted. “It was all he needed to say. He was right. I’d done my best never to disappoint her when she was alive, and I would be damned if I would do it when she was dead, but that was exactly what I’d done.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t go sooner. Sitting and talking with those five other men who’d lost someone they loved made me realize how unfair I’ve been to you, your mother, and myself. Catherine wouldn’t have wanted me to wallow in self-pity like I’ve done, treating you like my own personal servant. It’ll take time, kiddo, but as much as I hate to admit it, she isn’t coming home, and wishing she were won’t make it happen.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. What she wouldn’t give to have her mother here right now, but he was right. Wishing it was so wouldn’t make it happen.
“Oh, Dad, she’ll always be with us. I know how much you miss her—I do, too. Nothing’s ever going to change that—but we have to remember the good times.” She swallowed as images of Sam floated through her memory. Pushing them aside, she smiled. “I have news of my own. The transfer to Alamo came through. I have to let them know by Tuesday, but maybe it’s better if I say no this year. You’re going through a lot now…”
The all-knowing smile she hadn’t seen in a long time split her dad’s face. “What does your heart tell you?”
That it’ll never be whole again. “That it’s time for me to move on. I’m twenty-seven. I need a life of my own. I would’ve moved out two years ago if Mom hadn’t died. I need to find my own way, but I don’t want to leave you, not if you need me.”
“Catherine Cleopatra James, you’ve spent too much of your life indulging this stubborn, old man. If there’s one thing I learned at that boot camp, it’s that you can’t stop the clock or turn it back. It’ll take me a while to accept losing your mother, but you can’t put your life on hold any longer while I try to cope with mine. Alamo is closer to Mitch. I know you miss her, and I’ve been a crotchety old sod these last few months. Did you know I took your mother to Vegas the year we moved back here from Calgary?”
Cleo was stunned. “You and Mom in Sin City? I don’t believe it.”
Her dad chuckled, a sound she hadn’t heard in years. “There used to be more life, more fun, less criticism and censure in these old bones. Vegas wasn’t quite as nice then as it is today, but your mom loved the lights and the magic. It was something else I didn’t want to share. Well, enough of that. Go put on your prettiest dress, and we’ll go out and celebrate this new phase in our lives. It’s about time we made a few changes around here.”
Two weeks later, Cleo sat on the swing reading the galleys for Mitch’s newest book, or at least trying to. Every time she looked at the book she thought of Sam, and then the letters blurred. She and Dad had talked a lot recently, and she’d even attended a bereaved family meeting with him, something she thought might help her with losing Sam. It was satisfying to know her father was going to be fine, even if she wasn’t.
The screen door opened, and her father came out with two glasses of lemonade.
“Busy?” he asked.
“Not really.” She reached for one of the glasses. “I can’t seem to concentrate. It isn’t the book—that’s fine, it’s just...” She shrugged. “What’s up?”
He sat beside her, angling his body to look at her. “I got a letter from an old friend last week. At the invitation of the Peruvian government, he’s putting together a team to spend a year at Machu Picchu. He’s asked me to join the team. I want
to go.” He sipped his lemonade.
“What about your classes?” Before Mom had died, he’d often gone off for several weeks, but a year?
“I’ve got plenty of sabbatical time stored up with the university, so that won’t be an issue. Working in the field will be good for my two graduates students, too. This is something I’ve dreamed of doing, and I think it will help me heal. Your mother would want me to do this.”
Tears filled her eyes. “That’s wonderful, Dad. Mom would definitely want you to be part of that expedition. When will you leave?”
“Three weeks.”
“That soon? And you’ll be gone a year?” It seemed as if her world had suddenly shrunk.
“I know it isn’t a lot of time, but it coincides with your move. We can stay in touch online. A change is something we both need.”
Cleo looked around the yard. “What are you going to do with the house while you’re gone?”
“I’m going to sell it, Cleo. Holding on to it isn’t a good thing. There’s a new anthropology professor the university hired last year who’s looking for a house, preferably outside the city. The man has three children and needs space. This house is way too big for me alone. Your mother always complained about the time it took to clean a five-bedroom house. We’d talked of selling just before she died. When I come back, I’m going to get an apartment in Reno. It’ll eliminate the commute. It’s something I should’ve done years ago.”
“You’re a wise man, professor.” She used his title the way she used to do as a child when she’d ask him what she thought were difficult questions.
She’d already planned to leave the only home she’d ever known, and not being able to return would be hard, but the place was full of memories of her mother—good and bad—and Dad would never move on here alone. But she would take some of her mother with her.
“I’ll dig up a couple of Mom’s rosebushes and take them with me in patio pots. What will you do with all our stuff?”
“We’ll divide it up, sell what we don’t want, and I’ll store what I need until I get back. You take what you want to Alamo. The appliances will stay with the house; it’s easier that way. And there’s this.” He handed her an envelope.
“What is it?” She looked down at her hand.
“It’s money to buy a house—I hope one with a guest room so I can visit. Be happy, Cleo. Find your place in the world and embrace it. It’s what your mother would want you to do, and what I forgot for a short time.”
Cleo sat on the swing looking up at the night sky. She and her dad had been to the cemetery earlier today to say their farewells. Together, they’d shed healing tears. Dad would be okay. Mom would understand their leaving. A comet streaked across the sky.
She should’ve made a wish, but what could she wish for? Dad was right. You couldn’t go back in time and undo the past. She’d loved and lost, and like her father, she was so much richer because of it.
This was their last night here. Tomorrow the movers would come and load up two separate trucks—one with a storage container for her father, another with what she would take with her to Alamo. The rest would stay, a condition of the sale.
“There are a lot of things I’ll miss about this house, and this swing is one of them.” Her dad sat down beside her. “I rocked you on it when you were a baby, sat and cuddled here with your mother on more nights than I can count. You used to sit here and swing your blues away. Cleo, I know something happened to you in Vegas. You haven’t been the same since you got back. I don’t think my decision to go to Peru and sell the house is the cause of it either. The light’s gone out of your eyes. We never used to have secrets. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”
His words and concern touched her deeply. The floodgates opened, and Cleo cried as she’d done so many times since returning from Vegas. How could the human body hold so many tears? While she didn’t tell him everything—there were some things a dad didn’t need to hear—she admitted she’d fallen in love and ached inside for what could never be. He held her as he’d done so often in the past and let her cry herself out.
“A weekend isn’t a long time,” he said softly when her tears had abated, “but sometimes, it doesn’t take a long time to fall in love. I knew your mother was the one for me almost from the moment I laid eyes on her. Maybe you just need to give him more time. Did you have an argument?”
“Not exactly. We just can’t be together. It’s his work. It takes him away a lot. I just don’t think we’re suited. I miss him, but I’ll get over it. Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that part of the grief process you’re learning now? I just have to take it one day at a time, like you.”
“Cleo,” he held her away from him. “I believe love is worth fighting for, and anything worth fighting for calls for sacrifice. I loved your mother with every ounce of my being. It’s another reason why I can’t stay here in this house. Stu made me see that. I thought it would comfort me to stay here, but it’s made me weak and kept me from moving on. I stagnated here and dragged you down with me. It’s the last thing your mother would’ve wanted, and each day I refused to move ahead is a day I dishonored her memory. You need a life of your own with a man who loves you. Think about what I’ve said. If your young man is as miserable as you are, you need to do something about it. People change jobs all the time; some involve travel, others don’t. As I recall, the best part of going on those digs long ago was coming home to you and your mother. You’ve never been a quitter Catherine Cleopatra James, and by God, you shouldn’t start now.”
“I love you, Dad.” If only it was that simple.
“I love you too, darling, and I’ll miss you. You’ll come spend the Christmas break with me, and I’ll be back in no time. By then, I hope all this will have worked itself out, and you’ll be your happy self again.”
So did she, but that was as unlikely to happen as a real alien landing in Alamo.
Six weeks later, feeling less glum but still melancholy after seeing Dad off and making the move to Alamo, Cleo got down off the chair and looked around the room, satisfied with what she’d done to make the small house her own. Mitch should arrive soon. Cleo had been craving the Astral Burgers’ Martian Combo all morning. She’d battled stomach flu for the last three weeks. It felt good to have her appetite back, and that place made the best fries in Alamo.
The three-bedroom house hadn’t been in the best shape when she’d bought it, but the price had been good and the location—within walking distance of the school—had made it ideal. With a lot of elbow grease, the talents of the local handyman who was an absolute marvel, Mitch’s own Mr. Fix-it skills, and new paint and paper, they’d turned the dowdy dowager into a bright, cheerful place.
Cleo was particularly pleased with the upstairs. While doing so had been bittersweet, she’d created a mural with her photographs of the Grand Canyon, Lake Mead, and the Hoover Dam. Contrary to what Mitch said, her wall of memories wasn’t designed as self-torture. Quite the opposite. It was a permanent reminder of the most wonderful day of her life.
There were no pictures of Sam—that would have been masochistic—but she’d printed them all and put them in a photo album along with the infamous wedding picture and license. Someday, when the pain wasn’t as raw as it was now, she would look at them and remember the happiness she’d felt with him. A single tear slipped down her cheek. Damn. She was still too moody and needed to snap out of it soon.
Going back down to the kitchen, she put the water on to boil. Her backyard was shaping up nicely. The area directly behind her home was part of one of the new alfalfa farms, so she enjoyed a splash of green in the tan desert. The aquifer ran under her property as well, so Mom’s rosebushes had transplanted nicely, and while they probably wouldn’t bloom this summer, the plants were healthy and green. She would find peace here, and if she was lonely, well, a rescue dog named Sam would help with that.
“That’s it, Cleo. Six tests, six different brands, and each one gives the same results,” Mitch said, the smug l
ook on her face unnecessary. “Pink plus signs, blue lines, even the actual words, and look at this one—it says three weeks plus. Face it, girl. I was right. You don’t have stomach flu or an ulcer. You have a bun in the oven. You need to see a doctor.”
“God, this can’t be happening. I don’t look pregnant. I’ve lost weight,” she argued, although she had to admit her breasts were tender and her period, irregular at best, hadn’t made an appearance since June.
Cleo collapsed into the recliner and hugged herself. Sammy, her dog, a pug-bulldog mix someone had abandoned, curled up at her feet. What was she supposed to do now?
Mitch sighed. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You were married at the time you conceived this child, even if you probably aren’t now. The child you’re carrying is the legal heir to megabucks. You may not want the father, but think of the life he can provide for his child. We can prove paternity. I don’t think ‘Mister I Gave Thousands to Save the Whales’ would neglect his own child.”
Not want the father? Mitch didn’t know the half of it. She craved the man the way a dying man in the desert needed water.
“Of course he wouldn’t, but do I really have to tell him? I mean he doesn’t know where I am—at least he hasn’t bothered to contact me if he does. Do I want a man in my life who isn’t interested in me, a man who got me out of his system probably faster than a jackrabbit goes through a head of lettuce? Besides, he’ll think I did it on purpose to trap him or extort money from him. He doesn’t have a high opinion of women. You’ve read the recent scandal sheets yourself. You’re the one who emailed me that picture from the London newspaper with Sam and Lady Whatshername.”
“Yeah, but I did that to make you feel better not worse. I thought if you saw he was getting on with his life, you would get on with yours … This changes everything.”
