Wishes and Dreams

by Lurlene McDaniel

  But the summer before and with no warning, he’d run up against wanting something else. Someone else—Dec had been right about that. Ciana’s image drifted into his mind’s eye. Beautiful Ciana, with hair and eyes the color of cinnamon. He remembered the times he’d held her, the way she’d moved in his arms, and her hot-blooded responses to him. But no more. Not after what had happened. All his fault too. He had hurt her deeply. And no matter how clear-cut his reasons had been at the time, no matter how noble the cause he and Ciana had both recognized and accepted, there was no undoing what he’d done. He knew he had betrayed her, and why would she ever forgive him?

  Eden sat on the porch of the grand Victorian house sipping a glass of wine and waiting for Ciana to join her. Another day gone. September’s Indian summer would soon retreat to let October have its moment on the stage of this tumultuous year. Time, like a river, flowed around Bellmeade and Eden’s life. She felt adrift. She sighed, not with discontent, but with ennui. Where was she going? Her whole world was centered on this place, a place that wasn’t even hers. She glanced across the slope of the freshly cut lawn, felt some pride knowing she’d clipped the grass today on the riding mower. No big deal for farm women, but Eden wasn’t like Ciana and her mother. She had no stake in the farm, just Ciana’s friendship, which gave her a room upstairs in the old house.

  Eden took another sip of the wine, savoring the complex flavors of the Chianti. She closed her eyes and saw the landscape change from Tennessee to the rolling hills of Tuscany. She envisioned once more the lovely villa Ciana had rented. She remembered the sparkling pool water rippling in the summer breeze, rows of olive trees lining the driveway with leaves fluttering to show silvery undersides. In the distance she heard an engine from the road that fronted Bellmeade and thought of Garret’s green scooter and the rides they’d taken together.

  Eden tasted the wine along with the memory of the way her arms fit around him, the way he’d smiled whenever he saw her coming toward him as he stood waiting by the fountain in Cortona. His face lit up and his eyes glowed. No one had ever looked at her that way before. She heard him say “G’day, mate!” to greet her. And she recalled the last night they’d been together, and the way he’d kissed her when she had promised to meet him at that fountain and join him on his walkabout. A meeting that had never happened.

  “I miss you, Garret,” she whispered into the evening air. Ciana missed Jon the same way, Eden knew, but Jon was stateside, while she and Garret were an ocean apart. And while Ciana had ways of reaching Jon, Eden had none for reaching Garret Locklin. She swallowed another gulp of wine to force down the lump in her throat.

  Inside the house, in what had always been her grandmother’s study, Ciana studied the computer screen and swore at the software bookkeeping program that wasn’t cooperating. After buying seed and feed and other supplies, the numbers of “income vs. expenses” were still stubbornly stuck in the red zone. She slumped back in the chair and rubbed her temples.

  “Eden’s waiting for you outside,” Alice Faye said from the doorway.

  Ciana looked at her mother, forced a smile, and killed the image on the screen. “I’m just about ready to go join her.”

  Alice Faye studied her daughter. “You’re just like her, you know.”

  “Eden?”

  “No, your grandmother. She wouldn’t give up on this place either.”

  “Oh, Mom, not again.” Ciana quickly backed out of the software program, preparing to shut down the computer. After a hard day of work she needed a glass of wine, not another lecture from her mother about selling off Bellmeade.

  “Calm down,” Alice Faye said. “I don’t want to start a fight. I just hate to see you worry so much.”

  “Part of being a farmer, isn’t it?”

  Alice Faye walked to the desk, searched Ciana’s face with a soft kind gaze. “You need help around here, what with fall coming on and all.”

  “Help costs money.”

  “Do you ever—” She paused. “Have you heard from that nice young man Jon? He was wonderful help.”

  Ciana stiffened in the chair, tried to make her expression impassive. Jon. He was the only other subject outside of selling the farm she didn’t want to talk about with her mother. “He has no reason to keep in touch,” she said crisply, preparing to stand.

  “When he was here, it seemed to me he had every reason to keep in touch.”

  Her words sounded wistful, but they cut through Ciana like a knife. “You sent him his final check for the work he did, didn’t you?”

  “You know I did. I sent it in care of his mother in Texas, like he asked me to.”

  The check had never been cashed. “Then why bring him up? He’s been paid in full. He’s gone. End of story.” Ciana stood, walked around the desk to the doorway.

  Alice Faye stopped Ciana cold, saying, “I have his address any time you want it.”

  “And I have his cell number, so getting hold of him is never a problem.”

  Alice Faye waved her hand in dismissal. “You are like Olivia in every way. Stubborn to the end. A word, Ciana: don’t let your pride stand in the way of a chance at happiness.”

  Ciana tossed her hair and hustled out of the room, which was suddenly too small for them.

  “Did you save some wine for me?” Ciana asked, breezing out onto the porch and taking over the rocker next to Eden.

  “Always.” Eden poured wine into the glass she’d set aside for Ciana and handed it to her. “How goes the number crunching?”

  “Never ending.”

  “If you need some money …”

  “I’m not desperate.” Ciana hated taking money from her friend, although a few loans from Eden had really helped her through the spring and summer. She took a long sip from the wineglass, trying to calm herself after her mother’s words. A chance of happiness. As if Ciana didn’t want that. “So tell me, what have you been out here thinking about?”

  Eden didn’t want to confess that her mind had been on Italy and Garret. Ciana needed distractions, not memories. “I was thinking that I’m one lucky homeless girl to be living here with you instead of under a bridge along the interstate.” She raised her glass in a toast.

  Ciana burst out laughing. “Too funny! You’ll never be homeless as long as I can hang on to Bellmeade.”

  Eden tipped her head and her glass toward Ciana. “Well, then teach me how to run that tractor of yours. If I can ride the lawn mower, why can’t I help you harvest?”

  Ciana giggled. “You’re a good friend. And because you are, stay off my tractor.”

  Eden harrumphed, but knew she was better off in the garden with Alice Faye. “Okay … no tractors. Here’s to another day in paradise.”

  Ciana clinked glasses with Eden, their laughter spilled like music into the September night.

  “Remind me why I let you talk me into coming here.” Ciana had to shout to be heard above the roar of the country music and shouts of the mostly drunk crowd inside one of the hottest nightclubs in Nashville.

  “Because you’re my friend. Because we’re both going stir-crazy at Bellmeade every night. Because we need to dance and drink and have some fun!” Eden shouted, ticking off the reasons.

  “Are we having fun yet?”

  “After one more beer.”

  Ciana poked Eden’s side, making her say “Ouch.”

  The place was packed, and it reeked of booze, spicy chicken wings, and flowery perfume. Photos of famous country entertainers covered the walls, which were also awash in dollar bills stapled to every vertical surface not covered by photos. These places were never at the top of Ciana’s fun-things-to-do list, but she’d come because Eden liked coming. And Eden was right. They needed to blow off steam. They needed to find the balance that had been lost in both their lives since their return from Italy and since April, that sad and terrible month when so much had changed.

  Two men sidled up to Ciana and Eden. One asked Eden, “Want to dance?” She smacked her half-empty beer bottle o
nto the bar and said, “You bet!”

  The other guy eyed Ciana hopefully. “How about you?”

  She set her barely tasted beer beside Eden’s and with a lot less enthusiasm said, “Sure.”

  “Name’s Kyle.”

  “Pam,” Ciana lied. She never gave out her real name in these places. For starters, she and Eden used fake IDs because they weren’t yet twenty-one. For another reason, she was a Beauchamp, and her family’s name and standing had been drilled into her since birth, especially by her grandmother Olivia. Rule one: Beauchamp women always watched their backs, never compromised or besmirched the family name. A heavy mantle she’d carried all her life.

  “You look like a Pam,” Kyle said. “The reddish hair and all. You’re very pretty.”

  She surmised that he must have once known a Pam with her coloring, and offered a smile.

  Kyle spun her around the dance floor, or at least, he tried. Little room for movement with so many dancers crammed into the space. “First time here?” he asked. “My buddy and I come here a lot, and I would have remembered seeing you.”

  “First time,” she confirmed.

  The upbeat music lasted a few minutes; then the band announced they were taking a breather and would be right back. To mollify the crowd still in the mood to dance, the band turned on digital tracks by famous country singers before splitting from the stage. The first tune was slow, and Ciana found herself wrapped in Kyle’s arms. The guy was nice enough, but it wasn’t where she wanted to be. “Maybe we should grab a seat.”

  “No way. I like having you up against me.” He buried his face in her hair. “You smell like strawberries.”

  Since she knew the evening with him would go no further, she edged away. As she did, the song by the singer coming through the amps slammed into her consciousness. “Our lives are better left to chance.… I would have missed the pain … but would have missed the dance.” Ciana froze. Not this song. She couldn’t listen to this song right now.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Kyle asked.

  Ciana pushed off from him. “I—I need to leave.”

  “What! We’re just getting started.”

  “That song—not a favorite.” Ciana turned, bulldozed through the crowd to the door.

  Kyle came after her. “It’s just a song. It’ll be over in a minute.”

  She paid him no mind but pushed through to the outside.

  “It’s Garth Brooks, lady. Who doesn’t like Garth?” Kyle called.

  A bouncer at the door stopped Kyle from following her, and Ciana rushed away from the nightclub. A fine, soft rain was falling in a world lit by streetlamps and neon signs shining from the doors and windows of other bars and clubs along the city’s famous strip. The streetlights turned the night an eerie golden color, while neon streaked blurs of reds, blues, and greens, swirled together like on a painter’s palette. Ciana moved at a fast clip down the slippery sidewalk, far away from the noise of music and laughter. Yet even as she moved and the sounds faded, she realized that no matter how far she went, she could never outrun the memories that chased her. Memories were the kind of baggage you never left behind.

  The western sun beat down from a clear blue sky, a heat tinged with the coolness of the approaching autumn. Jon was in Colorado now, still chasing the circuit. He stood at the side of the large corral and watched a black bull charge out of a chute, hell-bent on tossing the rider seated on its back. The cheering crowd packing the fairground bleachers went wild. The spectators saw such contests as a matchup between man and beast, and while they might cheer for the rider, everyone knew that the fifteen-hundred-pound bucking, twisting bull had the advantage. Staying seated on the bull until the buzzer sounded was important. Staying seated to standards set by the judges was the difference between winning and losing on points.

  Jon mentally gauged the rider’s chances. The rider held on to a handle on a wide leather strap around the bull’s girth with one hand, but he’d slid and was listing to the left. Jon didn’t ride bulls, only bucking horses. He got on well with horses. To Jon, bulls were mean and dumb.

  Suddenly, the bull did an amazing twist and snap back and the rider lost his grip, plunged off sideways, and landed sprawled on the ground. The crowd gasped, stood in unison. The bull, head down, went after the rider. If the animal caught the man, the beast would gore him and stomp on him. The thrown rider scrambled to get to his feet and out of the angry animal’s path.

  Declan shot out from the side of an enclosure in his clown getup, waving his arms and shouting. The bull whipped around, charged. Horses and riders were coming fast to get between the two men and the enraged bull. Dec was fast; the bull was faster. His horn caught Dec’s pant leg, tossed him high just as a rider dropped a lasso around the animal’s thick neck, and his well trained horse braked to a stop. The jerk of the rope stopped the bull cold. It didn’t stop Dec from going over the bull’s back and high in the air like a rag doll. He hit the ground so hard, Jon heard a bone snap.

  Jon leaped over the railing and into the corral on a dead run. He dropped to his knees beside his friend. The spectators went quiet. Men with a gurney pushed Jon aside, but not before he realized that Dec wasn’t moving, and maybe not even breathing.

  “There you are!” Eden came beside Ciana breathlessly. “I couldn’t find you. When did you cut out?”

  “I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I had to get out of there.”

  “You could have told me.”

  “It happened fast. I just ducked and ran. Sorry.”

  They were together in the Riverfront Park on the banks of the great Cumberland River flowing through downtown Nashville, just blocks from the nightclub. The concrete path had been designed especially for joggers, walkers, and bike riders. On summer evenings it was usually crowded, but because of the rain, Ciana was pretty much by herself, which was how Eden had found her so quickly.

  “Was the guy you danced with a complete jerk?” Eden hooked her arm through Ciana’s.

  “No. He was turning out to be a nice guy. I … I just wasn’t interested. How about your guy? Did I ruin it for you?”

  “No. Turns out I wasn’t very interested in him either. Guess it wasn’t such a good idea to come out tonight after all.”

  “I’m just a party pooper.”

  “But that’s always been the case.”

  Ciana snickered. “Please don’t sugarcoat your words on my account.”

  The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and humidity settled on them like a cloak. “What were you thinking about so hard? You looked a million miles away when I came up.”

  Ciana stared out across the water, watched the droplets hitting the river’s surface fracture the lights reflected from downtown buildings. Tears from heaven, she thought. “Believe it or not, I was thinking back to the day we graduated. We were like, ‘Hey, world, here we come. Get out of the way!’ ”

  “Hard to believe that was two years ago. But you’re right. We thought we owned the world. It was a great day. Even my looney mother behaved herself.” At Eden’s urging, they began to stroll.

  “And my parents and grandmother were there. And remember how Arie—” Ciana stopped abruptly, unable to finish the sentence. It was crazy how grief could so easily blindside her these days. She could be thinking happy thoughts and without warning sadness would sneak up and get her in a choke hold. She cleared her throat. “Well, that was then. This is now.”

  “You know what we should do?” Eden didn’t wait for an answer. “We should go back to Bellmeade and break out another bottle of good Italian wine, watch a sad movie, and cry like thirteen-year-olds.”

  Ciana smiled because Eden understood. Both of them had learned that grief was a far lighter burden when it was shared between friends. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  As the rain started falling more intensely. Eden glanced heavenward. “We should start toward the parking garage. Let’s hurry.”

  “Why? Can’t get any wetter.”

  Eden shrugg
ed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  They looped arms and walked slowly back to Eden’s car.

  “Stop sneaking round my room, Jonny-boy.”

  The sound of Dec’s groggy, drug-soaked voice drew Jon up short. He’d come into Dec’s hospital room as quietly as possible, dodging beeping machines, to stand next to the bed. In the dim light, the old cowboy looked nothing like the robust man Jon knew. Dec’s head was bandaged, his right arm was in a fresh cast, and he looked smaller, as if he’d shrunk a size. Dec pushed a button and elevated the head of the bed. “They said your jaw was broken, yet you still talk?” Jon chided quietly.

  Dec managed a deep throaty laugh. “Wired shut at the back, but I can get out some words. Fact is, I’m flying so high, I might just get up and walk out of here.” Dec’s words were muffled, and consonants were hard for him to pronounce, yet Jon could understand his speech. Dec motioned Jon closer, so it seemed that he wanted to talk.

  “Don’t you mean ‘crawl out’?” Jon moved nearer, rolled tension out of his shoulders. “Been worried about you.”

  “How’s the rider? He come out better than me?”

  “Sprained wrist, cuts and bruises, but he’s okay.”

  “And the bull?”

  Jon grinned. “Grazing like nothing happened. You didn’t scare him one bit.”

  “Good. Hate to see a good bull get shafted.”

  “You need me to do anything while you’re laid up?”

  “Association’s looking after my stuff, but I’d feel better if you’d keep eyes on my horse. I’m going to be here a few days.” The Rodeo Association was a group that took care of hurt riders. Everyone paid dues, knowing the money might one day go to help one of them through an accident or disaster.