Dreams for Stones

by Ann Warner

  ‘“Glory be to God for dappled things—’” Kathy spoke softly. ‘“For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim.’” She paused, looking at the fish, at its speckled side with its faint rosy glow. “You know, I’ve always loved that poem, but I never understood that last line until now.”

  Alan moved the fish gently back and forth in the water before loosing his hold on it. The fish lay motionless for a moment before moving away, gathering speed as it realized it was free.

  Kathy watched the swirl of water behind the fish, but she was thinking about Alan’s reaction to the poem. For an instant, his face had held a look of such anguish, she began to reach out to touch him, to ask what was wrong. But then he’d shifted, his face had smoothed out, and her hand had stilled.

  The spell cast by the trout and the poem lingered, but for only a moment before Alan stood and helped her up. “You ready for dessert?”

  She set aside his odd reaction for later reflection. “There can’t be any more food in those saddlebags.”

  “We could stay out a week.” He gathered up the fishing equipment, and they walked back to the horses. When he re-stowed the rod, he took a small tin out of the saddlebag and offered her a cookie. Sitting in the early spring sun, her stomach full and her body pleasantly tired, she yawned.

  “You sleepy?”

  She nodded. “I better get up and move around.”

  “I have a better idea. Stay there.”

  She watched as he pulled the saddle off Siesta, brought it over, and set it down near her.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Same thing.”

  He unsaddled Sonoro, placed the saddle on the opposite side of the blanket and lay down. After a moment, she lay down as well. The chitter of a squirrel and the chuckle of the stream wove together with Alan’s quiet breathing.

  Into that peace, the memory of the look on his face when she’d recited the poem intruded. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed a melancholy in him. Grace had seen it as well and labeled it loneliness. But that seemed unlikely to Kathy. After all, the stories he told about his students indicated he was a popular and well-liked professor, and he had his family and friends.

  Maybe, like her, he was recovering from a failed relationship. He’d never mentioned anyone, but she’d not told him about Greg, either. And that was odd, come to think of it. That given all the time they’d spent together this winter, that their conversations continued to be. . . well, almost impersonal, really.

  In some ways it was a relief. To spend time with someone who simply let her be. For sure, she had no interest in revisiting her engagement.

  But shouldn’t the pain of a failed relationship have faded by now? Certainly hers had. And yet there was no denying that something had stilled his body and stretched the skin of his face into that fleeting mask of agony today.

  How he must have loved her.

  If that was what it was.

  And even if it wasn’t the case, how much longer could the two of them continue the way they were, spending time together, but without sharing more of themselves. And what did that say about her that she preferred this partial connection to her relationship with Greg?

  Greg, an open book. Early reader level. Not a deep thought to be found. Had they stayed together, likely she would have been bored inside a year. But Alan. He had a supple, curious mind and a quick wit that made exchanging opinions with him fun. Unlike Greg, he even "got" her sense of humor.

  A man like Alan would infuse the lives of those around him with surprise and delight. Although Greg had managed the surprise part, come to think of it.

  So, where did she and Alan go from here? And why did their relationship still feel distant? A distance demonstrated clearly by their relative positions at this very moment. He, lying propped on a saddle on the far edge of the blanket, and she on the opposite side. Did he make sure he brought a large blanket in case this very thing happened?

  She glanced over at him. He had his hat tipped over his face, and his breathing was deep and regular. Even his dog seemed to know his role was to lie between Alan and anyone who might think about trying to move closer.

  Her thoughts trailed off, and her eyes drifted shut. Breathing in the scent of sun-warmed pine, her breaths began to match Alan’s. Slow and deep.

  The next thing she knew, she was waking up, and Alan was no longer lying propped on the other saddle.

  Momentarily disoriented, she sat up, running fingers through her hair. Then she saw man and dog walking toward her, the sunlight glowing around them. The man lean and graceful, his face in partial shadow. The dog dancing at his side.

  Her breath caught at the sight. “You should have awakened me.”

  “You looked too peaceful to disturb. Besides, there’s no rush.”

  She looked away, her heart startled into a quicker rhythm at the thought of him watching her sleep. But she’d done the same to him, after all.

  “I’m going to get the horses saddled. You want privacy, that clump of bushes over there would work.” He pointed.

  It was a second before she realized what he was suggesting. She thanked him and afterward walked over to the stream and rinsed her hands and face with the icy water, washing away the last vestiges of drowsiness. Then she watched Alan as, with smooth, easy movements, he re-saddled the two horses.

  Riding back, she knew that no matter how long she lived she would never completely forget this day. A day when she knew her recovery from her broken engagement to be complete. The day she realized she was now ready for more than a casual friendship with Alan Francini.

  But Alan gave no indication he wanted more.

  ~ ~ ~

  He should have known better than to take Kathy to Meg’s special place. But he'd thought, mistakenly, that it was the way to begin to alter the aura of the place.

  And it had seemed to be working, in the beginning. He’d managed Kathy’s ordinary everyday questions about the lake’s name and his finger, the one that got broken defending Meg, with only brief glitches of pain, until she quoted the Gerard Manley Hopkins poem.

  Meg had loved that poem. The last time he heard those words. . . a bright, warm day, very like today. His head in Meg’s lap, his eyes closed as he savored the sound of her voice and the images painted by the words.

  Then, the poem finished, she tickled him with a blade of grass, and he opened his eyes to see her looking down at him.

  “I’ve decided on a name for the lake.”

  When he raised his eyebrows in question, she said, “Lago de Lágrimas. Lake of Tears.”

  “Why tears?”

  She looked away, a small frown creasing her brow. “I think. . . ”

  “What?”

  “That’s supposed to be its name. You know, like naming a foal, or a dog or. . . I suppose, a child. If you wait awhile, you just know what the name should be, and after that nothing else will quite do.”

  Then she’d smiled and kissed him, and there had been neither tears, nor talking, for a time.

  In loving Meg there had been no doubts, no shadows, only joy. They were each other’s safe harbors. Best friends. Lovers. Soul mates. How many of those do you get in one lifetime?

  Still, he’d had high hopes when he and Kathy started out this morning. But when she'd quoted the poem, the dark memories had swirled around him, erasing the sunny day. Thank God she hadn’t noticed. Thank God she'd agreed to the nap.

  He had lain there, beside her but carefully separate, breathing slowly and deeply until he could tell she'd fallen asleep. Then he stood and, careful not to disturb her, had looked down at her. She looked peaceful and sweet, and his heart clenched with pain because she wasn’t Meg.

  Everyone told him it took time. That eventually he’d feel better. Not that he’d ever forget Meg, but that it would gradually get easier, until someday he’d wake up and realize his memories had lost their sharp edge of sorrow.

  There was a time when he
didn’t believe it.

  But these last months—sharing them with Kathy, Grace, and Delia—they had been easier somehow.

  Until today, which reinforced what he already knew.

  He couldn’t let anyone get too close or matter too much.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You’ve been mighty pensive the last two days.” Jade looked across at Kathy who was picking green peppers off a piece of pizza. “You know, we could always order it without the peppers.”

  “You like them, and I don’t mind,” Kathy said.

  “What gives?”

  “Alan.”

  “Hmm. Thought so. Has something happened?”

  “We went on a picnic Saturday. It was. . . ” Kathy propped her head on her hand, remembering. “We caught a trout.”

  “The former cold fish gives you a fish.” Jade grinned at her. “There has to be something deeply meaningful in that, but beats me what it is.”

  “Does anyone have a clue what they’re doing when they fall in love?” Kathy passed the last piece of green pepper over to Jade.

  “Stop. That’s quite a leap you just took. Do you think you’re falling in love with him?”

  “It’s just. Well. I like him. Rather a lot, actually. And Amanda is definitely smitten.”

  Jade grinned, shaking her head. “Amanda, huh. And what about Kathy?”

  Kathy concentrated on her pizza.

  Jade touched her wrist. “Do you know what made you think you were in love with Greg?” Her voice was no longer playful.

  Sometimes, the way Jade asked questions reminded Kathy of Emily. Kathy chewed the bite of pizza, thinking about the question.

  “Let’s see. He was fun to be with. Intelligent. Good-looking. Settled. Knew what he wanted from life. Had a good career picked out.”

  “Interesting list. Especially that bit about him being settled. By those criteria our postman comes close to qualifying.”

  Kathy, picturing their middle-aged, slightly pudgy postman, smiled.

  “So what made Greg special?” Jade persisted.

  Kathy shook her head. “Darned if I know, now that I think about it. But being single. Dating. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Years and years of kissing frogs, hoping she wasn’t missing the one who might turn out to be the prince. Then thinking Greg was a prince, only he’d turned out to be the biggest, ugliest toad of all. It made her tired to even think about starting again.

  “Yeah. I’m glad I’m done with all that,” Jade said.

  “How did you know Dennis was the one?”

  Jade put her piece of pizza down, looking thoughtful. “Before I met Dennis, I was engaged to someone else. I took him home and asked Mom what she thought. She said what mattered was what I thought, and if I had to consult her to figure that out, he wasn’t the one for me. Then I met Dennis, and I didn’t need to ask Mom or anyone else their opinion.” Jade smiled a secret, inward smile.

  “You make it sound simple.” And it couldn’t be. It was the most difficult thing in the world, making the right decision about who to marry, wasn’t it? After all, look at how many people got it wrong.

  “Actually, it is simple, once you know how it feels.” Jade sighed. “Relationships. The good ones, well, you just know. Whenever you have to work hard on one, though. Chances are there’s something wrong with it you’re trying to beat into submission.”

  It was a moment before Kathy remembered the piece of pizza she was holding. She took a bite, thinking about what Jade had said.

  It was suddenly clear how hard she’d had to work to convince herself Greg was really the one after he announced he was moving to San Francisco.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I always eat way too much when we come here.” Kathy took another bite of Tandoori chicken.

  “I thought it was the appropriate place to mark the beginning of your class. How’s it going, so far?” Alan asked.

  “I think it’s going well. They’ve been very patient with me.” She debated whether to tell him what had happened the first night of the class. She’d looked up to find three of the students standing in the doorway with the look of a delegation.

  “Ms. Jamison, we wanted to ask, that is we just wondered—”

  One of the girls gave the boy who was speaking a poke in the ribs and took over. “We want to know why you’re teaching this seminar instead of Professor Francini?”

  There was enough hostility in the question, Kathy hesitated before answering. “I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that. You’ll have to ask Professor Hilstrom. I believe she’s responsible for teaching assignments.”

  “Oh,” The girl who’d spoken tossed her head before leading her two cohorts to their seats. The three of them whispered furiously until the other students arrived, but once class began they were attentive and pleasant. Kathy was relieved about that, but their question left her with a slight unease.

  “It’s one of our more talented groups of grad students,” Alan said.

  “You were supposed to teach it, weren’t you.”

  Tipping his head, he glanced over at her. “I've taught it the last four years.”

  “Was it your choice not to teach it this year?”

  “Why do you ask?” His tone was wary.

  “The students expected. . . you to teach it, and I want to apologize if I got crammed down your throat and theirs.” She glanced at him. He hadn’t moved, but he didn’t seem as relaxed somehow.

  “Not your fault.” He seemed to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to his plate, all of a sudden.

  His ambiguous response verified that she had been forced on him. And not only that, Hilary had tried to make him share his office with the usurper. No wonder he hadn’t been very friendly in the beginning.

  And a change in subject was clearly a good idea. “You know what I’d like to do after dinner?” Usually they parted outside the restaurant. She drove home to the Costello’s while Alan drove out to the ranch for the weekend.

  “What’s that?” Alan asked finally looking up.

  “It’s a beautiful evening. Perfect for a walk. We could go over to Cheesman or to City Park.”

  “Your choice.”

  She’d take that as a yes. “City Park then. There should be ducklings.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Only a few people were scattered around the park—a family having a picnic, a young man lying on a blanket with a book open over his face, a couple curled together kissing. Kathy looked away from the couple, feeling a momentary stab of envy.

  “I’d forgotten about the tennis courts,” Alan said, getting out of his car, which he’d parked behind Kathy’s.

  “Do you play?”

  “Haven’t for a while.”

  “I have a couple of rackets in my trunk.” She raised her eyebrows in question.

  He shook his head. “You weren’t the only one eating too much.”

  “Excuses, Professor Francini?” She threaded a challenge into her voice. “There’s a practice wall. If it looks like you can give me a game, we can come back some evening before we stuff ourselves.”

  He looked at her a moment before nodding. “You’re on.”

  She opened her trunk and got out a can of balls and two rackets, handing him the one her folks had given her for Christmas.

  They stood about six feet apart, taking turns hitting the ball. As she might have guessed, Alan had a fluid, easy stroke.

  Not only was he going to be able to give her a game, she would have to be in top form to give him one.

  After several minutes, she sat down on one of the benches, lifting the hair off the back of her neck to cool it. Alan continued hitting the ball, switching between forehand and backhand, not even working up a sweat. He finally caught the ball and walked over to her.

  “One can only hope your serve sucks,” she said.

  “Yep. Not only weak, but erratic.”

  As if she would believe either of those things. “You a tennis hustler?”

  �
��It’s only a hustle if money’s involved.” He sat down next to her. “So, how’s Amanda doing these days?”

  “Good. Over fifty thousand words.” She twirled the racket, glancing over at him. He looked perfectly relaxed, his long legs stretched out in front of him. She was tempted to reach over and tickle him. Would that lead to something, or would he just move away from her touch?

  Before she could decide whether or not to do it, he spoke again. “About that walk. Didn’t you say something about ducklings?”

  He offered his hand to pull her to her feet, but as usual, he let go once she was up. They wandered over to the lake where they found a brood of ducklings being shepherded by their doting mother.

  Intensely aware of Alan standing beside her, Kathy pondered their relationship as she watched the ducklings.

  Usually it was the man who pushed too quickly for physical intimacy, but Alan seemed to be doing everything he could to avoid it. Given her experience with Greg, that had been a relief in the beginning. But not anymore.

  She was ready for. . . something. So was it up to her to make a move? But what if she did, and he rejected her? Better maybe to leave it as it was, at least for the time being.

  And if things continued the same way?

  Well, she could make a decision about that later.

  ~ ~ ~

  Although it was a dangerous escalation, Alan suggested a walk after dinner the following week.

  They settled on a visit to the botanical gardens. When they arrived, Kathy pulled out her membership card. “My treat. I live only a couple of blocks from here. Seemed silly not to be able to come whenever I want.”

  Strange that after all these months, he still didn’t know where she lived. He nodded toward the two apartment buildings rising above the trees on the northern edge of the gardens. “Over there?”

  “No. I live with this wonderful old couple, the Costellos. Over there.” She pointed in the opposite direction.

  The information surprised him, and yet he could picture it easily. “In order to help them out?”