Junk Love, page 17
He took the phone, tapped it, and gave it back. “Weapons free.”
His home screen photo was a silhouette of a dark brown moose in a river surrounded by reflections of crisp evergreens. A Holy Bible icon perched in the upper right corner.
“That’s pretty. Did you take it?”
“Yep. Guardsman Pass.”
“He looks so close.”
“I was sure he was going to run and wreck the reflection. I zoomed in some. And a slow approach.”
The air was loaded with soul-scrubbing pine and clean sunny earth, and the early afternoon sun that streamed through the tall trees kissed Holly’s skin. What a perfect day to be alive, on a perfect date with a perfect gentleman. Part of her didn’t want him to be a gentleman. She wanted him to back her up against a tree and kiss the hell out of her, splinters be damned.
Seriously. When was she going to have her own back? What about Danielle’s idea, Meena’s idea: no premarital sex? Right. Like that would happen. Unless… Jacob was Christian. Would he want to wait until marriage? Christian men want Christians. Remember Samson and Delilah? Her toes hit a rock and she stumbled.
Jacob’s hand flew to her elbow. “You okay?”
She nodded, breathing through the adrenaline dump and the fleeting contact. “I’m just gonna say it.”
“What?” He hefted the backpack.
“Is this missionary dating?”
He laughed, “What?”
“You’re Christian, so…”
“Catholics are Christians.”
He thinks I’m Catholic? The thought stole her breath like a fox with its claws wriggling in her heart’s hen house. From my stupid nun joke?
“Everything okay?” he asked, waiting a couple of steps ahead.
“Nothing against Catholics,” she said, trudging toward him, “but I like my wine to stay wine.”
“Sorry. I know. You’re formerly Unitarian, firmly agnostic, and currently exploring the idea that a creator with a mind might have made all this.”
Oh, thank god. Of course, he didn’t think she was Catholic.
“You okay?”
“Mm-hm.”
“I’m glad you didn’t join a nunnery.” He rubbed her back as they walked.
“Has anyone told you you’re a good listener?”
“Sorry, what?”
“Goof.” After Holly pushed his arm, all she could think about was his solid, springy bicep.
“Any recent developments in your hard waffling? A little polytheistic whipped cream? Some Buddha berries?”
“Good thing we ate, or you’d be making me hungry. The waffle’s gotten squishier, that’s all.”
“Now I’m hungry.”
“Got any snacks in there?” As she reached for his backpack, Jacob spun to defend it.
“Don’t change the subject,” he smiled.
“Hang on.” She trotted backward ahead of him. “You’ve never explained your coffee comment.”
“Why I like coffee? What’s not to like?”
“Amen to that. You said you didn’t always believe in God. What’s that about?”
“You’ll have to stop walking like that first. If you trip, I might not be able to catch you—again.” After she fell in step beside him, he said, “I grew up in the church. Boy Scouts. Mark and I used to do some pretty stupid shit, but we never got hurt. Really hurt. Like we were in God’s pocket. Until college Biology.”
“Biology?” she smiled.
“Got handed a steaming pile of horseshit and gobbled it up like pudding.” His eyebrows scrunched. “There was no questioning Darwin. People say Christians have blind faith… Look at this.” He threw out his arms. “It’s so fricking intricate. Like the eye.” When he stopped, she stopped with him. “Are yours blue or green?”
“Blue.” His were gorgeous, officially now her favorite shade of green.
“Thought so.”
They hiked in silence. Holly checked the phone. The dot was closer.
“I can stop ranting.”
“No, I’m interested.”
He sighed. “Doubt got the better of me. I got depressed. Criminal Justice made sense, so I went with that. Want to talk about sports?”
“What made you have faith again?”
“Evil.” His hand wrapped around the back of hers, turning her on while he turned the screen to face him. “Not much farther.” Letting go, he asked, “Doing okay? Need any water?”
A cold shower. She shook her head.
“I had no clue how evil people could be until I joined the force.”
“My brother says evil isn’t a thing. He’s Christian, too. He says it’s the corruption of something good.”
“Exactly.”
Swallowing her fear that this would elicit an irreconcilable difference, she asked, “Do you believe in adaptation and natural selection? There’s evidence to support it.”
“Sure. That’s how God designed life: ‘Improvise, Adapt, Overcome.’”
Like what I told Owen.
“Your turn. Squishy waffle time.” A breeze pushed his scent her way. Blue jays yelled at each other.
“I was raised Unitarian. After my parents divorced, my mom stopped going. My dad went full Jesus when I was in high school. He ruined UU church for me. Said it was a spiritual salad bar where people picked out the bits of religion they liked and left all the hard truth stuff behind.”
Jacob grinned. “Your dad sounds cool.”
“He’s fricking amazing. When I was little, I believed in God—not the Christian God necessarily, but I prayed and believed in a higher power who loved me. But I also believed in Santa and the Tooth Fairy. At one point, I had an imaginary friend named Betty. She was a centaur.”
“Go big or go home.”
“Not sure when Betty jumped ship.”
“College?”
She played an invisible drum kit. “Ba-DUM-dum TSSS. I used to be sort of jealous of people I know who have strong faith. You guys have, like, an aura. Not saying y’all are perfect.”
“Crap.”
“My brother Brett was insufferable. Then he found Jesus and his wife, and now he’s tolerable. Most of the time. Mark reminds me of him. Not in a bad way.”
Jacob nodded. “Mark straightened up in the Air Force.”
The phone hung forgotten as they walked. The Christmas photo at Vicki’s house came to mind, with Jacob’s arm around that beautiful woman. Was that his ex-fiancée? Did she break his heart? An ex of Paige’s once told her that his ex-girlfriend was his one true love—a downright shitty move on his part, but it could happen. Remembering how wrecked Paige had been—her rock-solid Paige—Holly was tempted to take off down the path and send Jacob a goodbye note.
But electric warmth encircled her hand. His hulky hand looked like a dream around hers.
“This okay? Your gears were turning like you were about to take off.”
A gear. That’s what it felt like—the hot, solid locking of it. She’d shaken his hand before, but this clicked into a familiar and freaky belonging. Of course she couldn’t share that, so the proximity of their goal was timely.
“Hey.” She showed him the screen. “We’re almost there.”
A zipping airborne thing whirred right in front of them and stopped her, then Jacob. The coppery hummingbird assessed them with its big black eyes, then buzzed away. Holly waited, willing it to come back.
“If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it,” Jacob whispered, “but you’re crushing my hand.”
“Sorry!”
“Just have to get the blood circulating before I lose a finger.”
Around the bend, a cluster of Ent-worthy Ponderosas welcomed them to the red dot on the map.
“What now?” she asked.
“See if there’s a clue.”
Clicking on it, she read, “Get back to your ‘blank.’” Instead of asking his opinion, she yelled, “Roots!”
He chuckled. “That’s the fastest I’ve seen anyone solve one of these. Good thing there are only a couple.” A meshwork of tree roots surrounded them.
“Let’s split up. I’ll take this side of the path. You take that one.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He trudged left.
Past him at a rise in the hill was a massive trunk, like the wrist and fingers of a hand that had gotten stuck reaching into the earth.
“There,” she called, pointing to it. “If I were hiding something, I’d hide it there.”
He surveyed the truncated-hand trunk, then turned and held out his hand. She jogged up and took it. This time, his touch was only happiness. Satisfying, present-day happiness. They walked over the uneven ground until they stood beside the giant.
“Dang.” Holly craned her neck to find the top of the enormous thing. One space under a root finger—more like a thumb—was almost tall enough for her to walk beneath. She approached it and put her hand against the bark.
“You go ahead. I’ll look out here.”
“Okay.” Ducking into the aboveground root bulb, she crouched inside and gazed up at the burly roots. So cool. The twisted tentacle was powdery. The tree-being seemed undecided, as if it had been waiting to be fossilized but might rather vanish into dust. Jacob’s boots came in and out of view as she searched the interior.
In a crevice, her fingertips touched metal. “Found something!”
Jacob barely fit under the burled wood canopy.
An Altoids tin came easily from the gap, and she smiled, holding it out to him.
“Do I need one?”
Inside the open box lay a golf pencil, a penny, and a tiny booklet containing names and dates and scrawled messages. “Our names go in here?”
“First names or initials,” he said, unzipping his backpack.
In the tight space, his sweet, musky scent overwhelmed her. As she let herself inhale—she did have to breathe—she hoped she didn’t stink. She wrote at the end of the list:
JD + HS, 7/9/16
Blushing at the plus symbol, she checked the stubby pencil: no eraser. When Jacob held out his hand, she closed the miniature book and handed it over, hoping he wouldn’t open it, but he flipped to the last page.
“Glad you didn’t carve it in the bark. Bad for the tree.” Winking, he reached into the backpack. “You usually take something, leave something, but that’s tight.” He offered two closed fists, fingers down. “Choose. But choose wisely.”
She tapped the back of his right hand; he turned it over and opened his fingers to disclose a tiny plastic unicorn.
“Grace has outgrown these guys.”
“She’s so mature.” Holly took it. “I was still into unicorns at her age.”
“And centaurs. Ballsy imaginary friend.”
“Seraphina, my Palomino, was an upgrade, even from a centaur.”
“You had a horse?”
“Still do. She’s with my dad in Colorado.”
“Did you tell Grace?”
“She was telling me about her gymnastics competitions, so I told her about show jumping.”
“That explains My Little Pony here.” He revealed a horse figurine and nodded at her toy. “That’s from her dad calling you a unicorn—a woman you don’t find every day.”
Crouched in the charmed root arch, Holly tried to keep her face in check, but she was sure her smile shot through her pores.
CORA
Sunday, July 19, 2016
Beneath the foyer’s lofty chandelier, Cora waited for an answer, holding open the tall front door. “Bye!” she yelled again, hovering between the central air laced with pancakes and the fresh breeze pungent from roses.
“Enjoy your walk!” her mom called back from the kitchen.
Click. Outside the door of the palatial yellow Victorian, the ground was littered with candy apple red petals, like a bed ready for romance. Cora wanted to laugh, “Where are all my candles?” since this was probably the closest she would get to such a gesture. Trailing her hand over the delicate railing for balance, she waddled down the steps.
As much as she loved her brother, she did not want to have breakfast with him, even though she was kind of hungry. Wes had been an unmitigated twit. No, she was not going to marry Aiden. No, she would not be wishing their dad Happy Grandfather’s Day. And no, she wasn’t going to get rid of her apartment since she didn’t need a hook-up place anymore.
Although that was a harder decision. It would be cheaper to move back home, and she was already spending weekends there. But babies are loud and disruptive; she didn’t want to walk on eggshells. And it would be even more disheartening to live as a single mother in her parents’ house when she clearly needed to start adulting.
It was fortunate that the childbirth class didn’t start until tomorrow, with Aiden in town to see his dad. He was so interested in the birth plan—she still hadn’t read the latest article he’d sent her about water births—that she might have let him come. Yesterday hadn’t been too terrible. Aiden looked even better than when he’d left for Seattle: happy, healthy, and most importantly not flirty. Still intense and serious when he’d asked her to tell him if she changed her mind—about anything—but not flirty.
From the downhill slope of Beryl Street, she turned onto Frontier.
Was staying the right thing? Maybe Seattle could have worked. Aiden was striking the perfect balance of helpful and distant as if agreeing to her terms to dance holding the opposite ends of yardsticks. He picked up on every inch of resistance she gave.
It had just been too much, too much change, the idea of moving away, trying to make University of Washington work with a new baby. When she pictured struggling alone there with a crying baby—a fouled-up version of her old fantasies, first as an independent woman and then as Aiden’s partner—even the imagined misery was an impossible weight.
After Frontier Street joined the wood-chipped hiking trail through Ashley Creek Park, the water burbled from below. Smiling, she breathed in the cool air loaded with negative ions. High voices of children in the playground sang over the sounds of the creek.
Staying home was the right thing. She could count on her family; she couldn’t count on Aiden. She couldn’t even talk to him really. Cora had prayed for God to create an opportunity to ask him about drug use, whether he’d be willing to get counseling before she would leave him alone with the baby, but so far, nothing.
When the path reconnected to Frontier Street at the park’s end, a family in dresses and ties was clambering into a car, muttering about being late. Church. Maybe another day.
Cora’s favorite shoe store was beyond the plaza. Bright sale signs plastered the window where an orange “Mephisto” sticker loomed large. Were Julie’s still in the cave—if there had even been a cave?
Then, the smell of bacon and eggs announced a hip-looking couple sitting at a diminutive patio table outside a painted restaurant window.
“You want this, don’t you?” the man smiled.
His table mate grinned. “Yes, please.”
Shaking his head, he asked, “Why don’t you order your own?” and handed her a slice.
The woman ripped off a bite with her teeth, pointing to her mouth and shrugging as if an answer would have to wait because she did not want to be rude. Her oatmeal smelled nutty. Past them, Cora’s stomach grumbled over the man mumbling to his friend.
Or girlfriend. Or wife. Things she might never be. The thought or the man’s low voice, which reminded her of someone, made Cora nostalgic and sad, tangled in a net of lost futures.
Beside her on Gersham Street stood a grayish robed woman of stone, cupping her cheek with one hand. Her other hand lowered a long torch. It wasn’t a fountain anymore; the water had been disconnected, but at one time the torch had touched down into it. Like Moses with his staff, redeeming bitter desert water for the Israelites to drink. That would have come in handy in Cora’s desert. Maybe a deworming stick.
Jacob. Her toe scuffed the sidewalk. That’s who the bacon man reminded her of: Jacob. There were good men in the world. Jacob would be a good boyfriend. And husband. And father. She wondered how he was doing, if he was happy. Did he have kids?
Flashing to piggyback rides, she was on Jacob’s back, clinging to his capable, broad shoulders where she felt safer than she ever had with Aiden. And she flushed. Passing an older man walking his dog, she hoped the lust on her red face wasn’t too obvious. She hated how she blushed—all splotchy and bright and public.
Her hormones had mellowed to a reality-based equilibrium by the time she reached the intersection on Pinyon Boulevard. Women’s voices drifted across it while Cora hit the “Walk” button.
Two Hispanic women traipsed up a gravel driveway beside a sign for Alchemy Hot Yoga. Their dark hair trailed from messy ponytails, maybe even dripping onto their tank tops.
“Flex. I’m serious,” the teenager smiled, pulling the older woman’s wrist.
“No!” She chuckled and reclaimed her arm.
The girl gripped it. “You’ve got biceps like Terry from Brooklyn Nine-Nine.”
The woman laughed harder. “I do not!” Opening the back of a silver 4-door, she tossed in rolled-up mats and towels.
The teen called from the passenger’s side, “Honey lavender iced tea?” and grinned over the roof like she knew her bright smile was a key to unlocking things.
“Yes, Isabel. You earned it.”
Holly
Saturday, August 6, 2016
Drumming her fingers on the open driver’s window, Holly squinted at the coffee stand menu. She wanted something different from her usual black Americano, but the featured drinks were too sweet. At least they weren’t pushing pumpkin spice yet.
An image from Parks and Recreation flashed in her head: Tom and Donna sporting hedonistic grins asserting, “Treat Yo Self!”
