Chasing the Dream

by Paige Lee Elliston

  Amy watched as the couple descended the steps. There seemed to be a marital quality to the moment, a casual but intimate intensity. Jake, his back now to Amy, said something to Mallory that Amy couldn’t hear. Mallory laughed again, and the tinkling sound struck Amy’s heart like an arrow.

  Jake and Mallory were unaware that they were being observed. Amy scuttled to the side, putting the end of the Airstream between herself and the couple. After a moment she turned away, tugged at Bobby’s leash, and began the walk back to her Jeep. The few seconds of what she’d seen replayed in her mind as vividly as a movie on a screen. She swallowed hard as she walked, trying to force down the painful lump of emotion that had risen in her throat. The parking lot and her Jeep seemed very far away, just as far away as what she’d been fantasizing about Jake Winter.

  The announcer’s voice, distorted by the inefficient PA system and the distance, welcomed everyone to the Porterville Rodeo and promised them they’d have a day to remember.

  Amy pulled a page advertising car insurance from under her windshield wiper, crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it into her backseat after she unlocked the door of her Jeep. She took Bobby’s bowl and a bottle of water from the cooler and poured the liquid into the bowl. Bobby lapped it up quickly. She opened another bottle for herself and drank deeply. After a moment she recapped the bottle, motioned Bobby to his spot on the passenger seat, and climbed in behind the wheel. A fine film of dust and grit had settled on Amy’s windshield. She started her engine, turned on the wipers, and pressed the washer button. In a quick minute the windshield was clean, but there was still a shimmery texture to her vision. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand angrily and shifted into first gear, spinning her tires as she pulled away from her parking spot and rocked across the field to the road.

  Again, there was next to no traffic. Once Amy passed through Porterville, there was none at all. It was as if she was alone in the universe. OK, I’m a fool. I admit it—just like I was a fool with Tom. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes. Maybe I’m not quite as smart as I thought I was about relationships since my disaster with Tom, but I saw something happening between Jake and me. Was I completely wrong about that? Is he a good enough actor to pull me into some sort of a triangle? Why would he do that? What’s the benefit to him? Or, is he one of these “new millennium” guys who can’t—or refuse to—commit to exclusivity, to love?

  Bobby whined in his sleep, and Amy scratched his side, keeping her eyes on the road.

  The ride was uneventful. She wasn’t quite sure whether the tears she wiped away every so often were from sadness or from anger, but after a while they no longer came.

  Amy pulled into her driveway and tucked her Jeep into the garage, thumbing the button on the door control to close the overhead. She entered her home through the door into the kitchen, for once ignoring the cheerful scents and welcoming atmosphere, and walked woodenly into the living room, where she dropped onto the couch. Bobby stopped at his bowl with his leash dragging behind him. After cleaning up the scraps he’d left earlier that morning, he stretched out in front of Amy, ready for a nap.

  The house was midday quiet. Amy hugged a pillow to her chest and rested her heels on the coffee table in front of her. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jake and Mallory.

  “I don’t need this!” Amy said loudly enough and sharply enough to startle Bobby from a sound sleep. Is this another phony romance, another Tom, that I’m becoming involved in here? Not this girl! I had enough pain and tears the last time around. This... this drugstore cowboy had me fooled.

  A hard little smile that wasn’t really a smile appeared on Amy’s face. Good—it’s better to be angry than to be hurt, she told herself. One Tom in my life was enough—much more than enough. I’m not going to let Jake Winter or any other man hurt me like that again.

  Too agitated to sit still now, Amy tossed her pillow aside and began pacing, her boot heels loud against the hardwood and quiet as she walked on carpeted areas. The sounds—the end of the heavy silence—seemed to help lift her mood slightly. Bobby, anticipating a game of some sort, followed a half step behind Amy. She was a stride beyond the wall telephone in the kitchen when it rang. Amy stopped, and Bobby banged his nose against the back of her knee. She turned, allowed the phone to ring twice more, and then answered. Even before she spoke she heard the crowd and the announcer’s voice as loud as if the rodeo was being held in her living room.

  “Amy Hawkins,” she said. Her voice sounded tight and hostile, even to her own ears.

  The audience racket at the other end of the line swelled, and the announcer shouted something unintelligible to Amy, something that ended, “...put a fine ride on that little pinto from Jake Winter’s string.”

  “I shouldn’t have called from the booth,” Jake said. “I was worried that something had happened, an accident or something.” He waited for a moment. “Amy? You there?”

  “What is it you want, Jake? Why did you bother calling me?”

  “I... I don’t understand. Is something wrong? We had plans to spend today together, right?” He said something else, but audience noise swallowed the words.

  “This is ridiculous.” Amy snorted. “I can’t hear you. Come to think of it, I don’t even want to hear you. Good-bye, Jake.”

  She banged the receiver into place as if the telephone was somehow the cause of the problem. Almost immediately, it began ringing again. Amy fumbled around on the side of the instrument’s plastic casing, found the tiny ringer-mute switch, and clicked it forward, slicing a ring in half. Then, the telephone was quiet. “There,” she said. She watched the phone for a moment and then went back into the living room and flopped down onto the couch. As she reached for the throw pillow, a thought stopped her in midmotion.

  Suppose I’m wrong? Suppose the whole thing was completely innocent? She shook her head. I know what I saw, what I heard. They laughed together; she had her arm around him. She kissed him, for goodness sake!

  But no matter what Amy had seen, she had a hard time believing that Jake would string her along, that he would pursue her and Mallory at the same time. I’m not that poor a judge of character.

  She sighed. Still, the truth is that even if everything seemed to be moving slowly, maybe in my mind it was going fast. Jake is entitled to his feelings. Maybe he should be my neighbor, my friend—and nothing more.

  Amy was glad when Bobby scratched at the back door a half hour later. She’d been staring at the wall of her living room, playing an endless tape of Jake and Mallory in her mind. She opened the door and followed the collie into the backyard. It wasn’t quite five o’clock, and the sun had not yet started on its downward swing. She breathed the hot air deeply and meandered after Bobby as he searched for precisely the right place.

  Amy was surprised and curious when Bobby dropped his rawhide toy and snapped to attention, facing the front of the house, ears pricked. A half second later she heard hooves in her driveway and Wes’s voice calling, “Miss Amy! Hey, Miss Amy!”

  She walked around the garage to the front yard. A tall, rangy black horse stood in the driveway. Wes, on the porch steps, called to her again. “Miss Amy, you here?”

  “I’m right here, Wes,” she answered the old cowhand.

  He turned and took off his Stetson. “Well,” he said. His face showed concern and perhaps some confusion. “I wasn’t sure you were OK. I was just checkin’.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be OK?”

  “Well... see, Jake called me not more’n a few minutes ago, all worried. He said you was supposed to be at Porterville, and when he called you, you sounded strange. He asked me to check and make sure you were all right. I tossed a saddle on a horse and hustled over.”

  Amy forced a smile. “As you can see, I’m fine, Wes. Thanks for coming, though. I appreciate your concern.”

  “Well,” Wes repeated. After a long moment, he said, “I recall you told me you were going to the rodeo. Then, I seen you early this morning setting out with Bobb
y sitting next to you.” He paused again. “Something happen to your car, Miss Amy?”

  “No. I got there. Then I came home.”

  “But, then, why ain’t you...”

  Amy shook her head. “I don’t want to go into it right now, Wes. I’m sorry.”

  Wes nodded. He put his hat back on. “Maybe there’s something I can do for you?” he asked gently.

  “No... no, thanks.”

  “OK, then,” Wes said. “Should I tell Jake you were there at the rodeo?”

  She shrugged and looked at the ground. “If you want to.”

  The old cowhand made eye contact with her. “I guess maybe you saw Mallory there in Porterville.”

  Amy made a dismissive motion with her hand, not quite trusting her voice.

  “Miss Amy, you gotta understand—”

  “Please, Wes, let’s not talk about it now.”

  “OK,” he said. “One other thing: Jake tol’ me to tell you he’d be coming over here Sunday night soon’s he gets back from Porterville. He wanted me to be real sure I told you that.”

  Amy sighed. “Thanks for delivering the message, Wes. I... I gotta get inside now. Good night.”

  Wes reached up with his right hand to tip the brim of his Stetson, but Amy’s back was already to him as she headed for her front door at a fast walk. Amy watched through the picture window as the old man rode down the driveway toward the road, his shoulders slightly slumped and his back not quite as rif le-barrel straight as it usually was.

  Sunday dawned sunny, bright, and warm. Amy went through her morning ritual—shower, start coffee, go out with Bobby, feed Nutsy and Bobby, drink coffee—just as she did every morning. She’d slept poorly, and the bright sunlight began to generate a throbbing headache during the short time she was outside with her pup.

  Ian’s early service, as usual, was well attended. Amy sat toward the rear of the small church, nodding to those people she knew, offering a smile to those she didn’t. Ian’s sermon, which covered charity and unselfishness, was interesting and well presented. She found comfort in the church and the muted light streaming through the new stained glass window and in the words of Ian Lane. She promised herself she’d take a closer look at her charitable contributions. And, she decided, she could spend some time each week as a volunteer at the animal shelter or the hospital—whichever needed help the most. The images of Jake and Mallory hadn’t faded from her mind, but the elapsed twenty-four hours offered some distance from the sharpness of the pain.

  The fellowship hour following the service brought Amy and Julie together at the coffee table. Danny, Julie explained, had been called away at 4:30 that morning to attend at the birth of a foal and had gotten home at 8:00 and fallen into bed, exhausted. His visiting friend, also a veterinarian, had gone with him on the call. He, too, was still sleeping. “So, here I am, alone. How’s your weekend been?” she asked Amy.

  Amy stepped a little closer to her friend. “Horrendous. I’ll tell you about it next time we get together.”

  “How about now? The men will be sleeping, and we can sit outside and talk.”

  Amy considered the offer and then declined. “Not today, Julie—but thanks. I’ve got to put the whole mess straight in my mind before I can talk about it and make any sense.”

  “Sounds serious,” Julie observed. “You sure you don’t want some company? I can come to your place if you like.”

  “Thanks, Julie, but no. Not today. I’ll call you during the week, OK?”

  “Sure,” Julie agreed. “That’ll be good. I’ll look forward to your call.”

  Two other women joined them, and as the talk turned to church projects and then horses, Amy was able to slip away. She finished her coffee, tossed the Styrofoam cup in the trash basket, and headed to the parking lot. As she started her Jeep she mentally kicked herself for turning down Julie’s invitation. It’d be good to talk to Julie, to share what I’m feeling with a person I respect and trust and feel safe with. So, why didn’t I do it? Still arguing with herself, she started her engine and drove out of the lot and away from the church.

  Halfway home, Amy slowed, foot hovering over the brake pedal, and waved to one of the girls from the bakery in town who was riding on the opposite shoulder of the road, her horse looking shiny and freshly shampooed. The teenager—Kristin, Amy recalled her name—recognized the Jeep and waved.

  A dark cloud moved into Amy’s mind as she resumed speed. Could the reason that I didn’t want to get together with Julie for a talk today be that I realize on some level that I’ve blown the entire situation with Jake Winter out of proportion? Was I assuming too much about us—wanting too much?

  Bobby, on a light staked chain in the early morning shade of the garage, yipped a greeting to Amy as she pulled into the driveway. Not only his tail but his entire hindquarters whipped from side to side with happiness. She went to the dog and unhooked the chain from his collar. Bobby danced at her feet and then dashed off to fetch his toy, which he brought back and offered to her as if it were a piece of fine jewelry.

  “No time to play, Bobby,” she told the collie. “I have things to do.”

  Things like what? Sitting in front of my laptop like a lump of clay, waiting to see if Jake will really show up here tonight? Yeah, I have important things to do, all right.

  She took the proffered, saliva-dampened rawhide knot, leaned back, and hurled it as far as her best pitch would take it. Bobby streaked after it. The game continued until Bobby was tired and Amy’s throwing arm was sore.

  Just now, her home didn’t radiate the sensation of welcome that Amy so enjoyed. It seemed impersonal—like a hotel room in a strange city—and was without the warmth that generally greeted her as she walked inside. Standing just inside the front door, she looked around her living room and into the kitchen. Of course, nothing had changed, Amy realized. What was different was how she was feeling about her life.

  She moved to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, more from habit than from hunger. Nothing appealed to her, and she closed the door. Her laptop seemed to be glaring at her from the kitchen table. An unusual nervousness seemed to have taken her over; there was no comfort on her couch, and after moving to her favorite love seat, she found no ease there, either. It was disconcerting—she felt emotionally off balance, tense, as if she were waiting for news that she knew would be bad, painful, difficult to accept. She changed from her church clothes, not paying much attention to the jeans and shirt she put on. As she was coming down the stairs from her bedroom, she had an idea. “Why not?” she said aloud. She called Bobby to her, grabbed her purse, and went to her Jeep before she had time to change her mind.

  There was never much traffic around Coldwater, and on Sundays even the farm vehicles and delivery trucks were absent. Amy had done lots of exploring when she first moved in—following roads to see where they led, stopping at roadside stands to buy vegetables or flowers, learning a bit about her new locale. She’d seen the sign she was looking for a couple of times in her wanderings, and she had a general idea of how to find it again. Should I be doing this? she wondered. Answering herself, she repeated the words she’d said at home: “Why not?”

  A long, gradual curve to her left seemed familiar, and then, almost immediately, she saw the sign in the front yard. The house was an old one but well maintained, with crisp white paint and an inviting porch that extended the full length of the front of the house, complete with a pair of hanging gliders and three wicker rocking chairs. There was a small building to the rear about the size of a small barn. The lawn wasn’t a lush green—none of them were at this time of year—but it was neatly trimmed. The long driveway wasn’t paved but had been recently rolled and covered with a layer of crushed stone. There was a parking area next to the house, and then the driveway swung off to the front of the smaller structure.

  Amy pulled into the parking area; her car was the only one there. She shut down her engine and listened for a few moments to the ticking of the cooling motor, wonderin
g if anyone were home. Bobby excitedly sniffed the air through his few inches of open window. Amy opened her door and stepped out; Bobby followed the briefest part of a second later, brushing past her, standing with his head raised, tasting the air.

  Zack greeted them before Ben did. Bobby’s brother dashed around the side of the little barn and skidded to a stop in front of Bobby. There was none of the stiff-legged, raised-hackle sort of introduction older male dogs performed instinctively. Instead, the pups touched noses and looked one another over for a moment, at first tentatively. Then, Zack yipped and charged off across the grass, and Bobby followed right behind him. Together they charged a sparrow that’d been searching the lawn for insects; their puppy-barked challenges brought a smile to Amy’s face. Ben, his hair, shirt, and jeans tan with a coating of sawdust, grinned and hurried his pace as soon as he saw her.

  “Amy! Good to see you. What brings you out here on such a fine Sunday morning?” His smile was warm, welcoming—and very pleasantly surprised.

  “I had to turn down your invitation earlier this week, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t make it then. But I really wanted to see that sideboard you mentioned, so I wasn’t doing anything after church and I thought... well...” Her words sounded a bit rapid to her own ears, and she felt heat in her face.

  “I’m glad you’re here. I was going to call again later on today.” He held out his hand but started to withdraw it. “I’m all saw-dusty.”

  Amy took the offered hand and held it for a moment. His palm and the inside of his fingers were hard with calluses, but his grip was gentle and dry. “A little sawdust never hurt anyone,” she said.

  “C’mon,” Ben said. “Let me show you my shop.” He glanced over at the dogs, who were now rolling over one another in some sort of ferocious fake battle. “I see the guys have reunited. They’ll run each other ragged. Good thing I just filled Zack’s water dish—they’ll need it.” His eyes found Amy’s. “I’m glad you stopped by.”