Sparkles

by Michael Halfhill

  “Are you saying you want another man in your life?”

  Jan shook his head. “I’m not sure what I’m saying. Michael’s dementia robbed me of five long years of loving. I feel more empty now than ever before.”

  “Well, you are still young, and you’re überrich. It shouldn’t be difficult to find someone.”

  “Tim found me, and I found Michael. Maybe I’ll be found again. What do you think?”

  “Sounds lazy to me.”

  Jan let the remark hang between them, then said, “I’ve been invited to a party at Larry Sinclair’s townhouse.”

  “Go. It will get you out, and it would do you some good.”

  Marsha picked up her teacup and took a sip.

  Jan considered her suggestion. “Hmm, perhaps.”

  “May I count on seeing you tomorrow? There’s a stack of papers that need signing.”

  “Marsha, you sign my name as well as I do.”

  “Better!” she said, laughing.

  “All right, I’ll be there. Now get out of here. I have some work to do.”

  Jan walked his office manager to the door. She looked over his shoulder at the room beyond. “Like you, it never seems to change, does it?” she said. “Think about Sinclair’s party. Give your heart a rest.”

  Jan merely nodded. After Marsha left he returned to his study. He did not turn on the little yellow light. An e-mail from his son, Colin, waited.

  Dad, do you have time for a long weekend visit? Zan and I would love to see you before the holidays.

  Jan checked his calendar, and typed, How about this coming weekend? I’ll bring Amal along, if I may. Dad.

  Chapter 3

  Home on the Range in Big Sky Country

  IT WAS early morning. The sun had just begun to make a hazy appearance behind a bank of clouds that stretched far into the distance. Jan and Amal had been traveling for almost two days, first by Jan’s private jet to Ennis, Montana, with an overnight stay at a local inn, and then a long drive in a rented SUV. Outside, the air was cold. Snow squalls had slipped in and out of the area sometime during the night.

  The car rental agent drove. They rode in silence, Amal in the backseat, Jan in the front passenger side. The driver, a taciturn middle-aged woman named Millie, turned off the road and headed up a gravel path, just wide enough for the car to pass without clipping the snow-coated branches of the trees that crowded close to the edges. After about a mile, she parked the car on a small concrete pad. To the right of this was a tiny cabin made of hand-hewn clapboards painted chocolate brown. Three horses and a pack mule stood huddled together in a corral off to the side. To the left of the parking pad, a chain, heavy with rust, that was normally suspended between two stone pillars had been let down. Beyond, a narrow bridle path wound over a knoll, and then disappeared into a thick band of hemlocks. Everywhere, the world was white with unblemished snow.

  “Well, here we are,” Millie said. She pressed a button that released the car’s trunk lid, adding, “Do you want me to hang around till you see if anyone is here to meet you?”

  “No thanks, Millie. Two of the horses are for us. We have someone meeting us.”

  Millie gave Jan an up-and-down glance as if to say, Are you sure you can handle one of those? She shrugged her doubt. “You’re the boss.”

  Jan handed Millie a tip for driving, while Amal pulled their bags from the car.

  “You okay?” Jan asked Amal as they headed for the cabin.

  “Of course, Effendi. The Sahara gets much colder at night than it is here.”

  “How about the horses?”

  Amal rolled his eyes in answer. “Have I ever let you down?”

  Jan smiled. “No, never.”

  As they climbed the steps to the cabin, Colin’s wife, Alexandra, opened the thick wooden door. She wore a red flannel shirt stuffed into blue jeans and square-toed riding boots. A wool felt wide-brimmed hat was pulled down to just above her ears. “I thought I heard a car. Come in quick, or we’ll lose the heat.”

  The cabin was a square, bare one-room structure. Small rectangular windows set high in the walls let in light. Bunk beds stood against each of the sidewalls. Against the back wall a low dry sink squatted under a shelf loaded with canned food. Next to this, a cast-iron wood-burning stove provided heat and a place for cooking. A table surrounded by four chairs took up the center space. Jan noticed three of the chairs had leather chaps draped over them. “Cozy,” he muttered.

  Known to her friends and family as Zan, she pulled off the hat and shook out her long auburn hair. Jan immediately thought of Tim. His hair. Of course it would be. She is, after all, his daughter. “Zan, you look lovely. Country living agrees with you.”

  Zan gave Jan a kiss on his cheek, then pulled away. “You’re such a liar,” she said, laughing. “I look like Ma Kettle. My hands are dried out from mucking out horse stalls. I’ve had to swap my Oil of Olay for Corn Huskers Lotion! By the way, Colin will meet us tonight. One of our dogs had a litter of puppies. They’re weaned now so he’s taking them out to our Indians.”

  “There are Native Americans here?” Jan said as he took the bags from Amal and set them down. “Zan, you remember Amal.”

  “Of course I do,” Zan said as she offered her hand.

  Amal took a step forward and bowed slightly, touching his breast with the tips of the fingers of his right hand. “I am grateful that the mistress of this beautiful land welcomes me. If I may be of service, please let me know. Many years ago, when I lived in Cairo, I too cleaned up after animals, camels I mean.”

  “Don’t tempt me, Amal, I may take you up on your offer.”

  Zan turned to Jan. “About the Indians, we have four families, plus a schoolteacher-cum-paramedic living on the property. They don’t refer to themselves as Native Americans. But they do use First Nations or First Peoples. Mostly they just say Indians.”

  “Were they here on the land when Colin bought it? I don’t remember him saying so.”

  “No, he invited them. They look after the wind farms and make sure they’re all working. Colin pays them very well for that. They also keep the deer herds thinned for us, and in return we provide housing. It’s a win for everyone.”

  “Except for the deer,” Jan said.

  “Except for the deer,” Zan agreed. “But a bullet in the heart is not nearly as terrifying as being clawed or bitten to death by a cougar, or a wolf.”

  Jan turned his attention to the chaps. “Those for us?”

  “Yes, do you know how they go on?”

  “I do,” Jan said. “I looked them up on the web.” Pulling up the leg of his jeans, he said, laughing, “We even have boots!”

  “Impressive. We’ll see if we can scuff them up before you leave.” Zan grabbed her chaps and a pair of spurs and headed for the door. “I’ll put these on outside and cinch up the saddles. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

  THEY RODE single file. Zan led, with the pack mule tagging along. Jan and Amal came in close behind. The trail wound along the low side of a string of hills covered with shiny hemlocks, interspersed with aspen that had turned autumn gold. It began to snow just as they cleared a ridge. Jan looked back at Amal, who smiled. Pointing at the aspens, he mouthed, “Beautiful!”

  Not far from the trail, a log house cantilevered out from the side of a steep hill. Zan stopped and turned in her saddle and pointed it out. “We call that a safe house. Colin lets mounted state troopers live there rent-free. We’ve got seven in all spread out along the trails. Everyone around knows that all the big spreads have troopers. We’re very remote out here, and I feel safe knowing that at any one time we have at least two off-duty officers nearby.”

  Curious, Jan said, “How do they get here?”

  “The troopers keep their cars in a garage at the cabin where we met. When they have to go someplace by car, they stable their horses at the cabin. We have a woman who stays in the cabin when there are horses there. She takes care of them.”

  “You’ve got
quite a setup here,” Jan said, impressed.

  “It’s all Colin’s idea. He’s amazing. You’ll see what I mean when we get home.”

  An hour later they passed a one-room line shack. The sun was getting low in the sky. Horses and riders were covered in a thin coating of snow. Jan was beginning to wonder how much longer it would be before they would stop. He urged his horse to a trot, catching up with Zan. She pointed to a dot hiding in the trees about a mile away. “Home. We’ll be there by sunset.”

  Jan nodded but didn’t reply. Relieved, he fell back in line.

  The snow had stopped. The barn door was open. Probably sensing that food and rest awaited them, the horses quickened their pace. As Jan and Amal moved up to Zan, she pulled a key fob from her coat pocket and pressed a button. Light flooded all around them. The sound of barking dogs split the silence.

  Jan laughed, and Amal looked puzzled.

  “I thought Colin said you two were living off the grid!”

  “We are,” Zan said, “but you know what a gadget freak Colin is. Let’s get the horses in for the night and I’ll show you the house. You won’t believe it!”

  “Are those guard dogs I hear?” Jan asked.

  “Anatolian Shepherds,” Zan answered. “They keep me company when Colin is out on the range. When it’s dark and the wind howls, it can get a little creepy being alone in the house.”

  THE SINGLE-LEVEL house was made from hand-hewn logs. The living room had a cathedral ceiling made of smoothed redwood boards. A large fireplace on the north wall, and a floor-to-ceiling window set into the south wall, dominated the room. Leather sofas, flanked with end tables, faced the hearth. Homespun rugs covered much of the pine flooring. Behind the sofas, a trestle was laid out for a meal. All that was required was the food. “Stunningly refined rustic” was how the magazine Architectural Digest had described the house when it was featured in one of their lead articles: “Living off the Grid with Elegance.” Jan remembered that while the magazine had had free access to the house, both Colin and Zan had refused to pose for photographs. In a letter to Jan, Colin explained that he was proud of his house, but his privacy was off-limits.

  Zan pointed to a hallway. “Amal, your rooms are that way. There are four, so pick any you want. As soon as you’re settled, we’ll eat.” Zan hung her hat on a peg by the door.

  “Zan,” Jan said, “I have to ask. Where does the power for all these lights come from?”

  “From Colin, where else? He’s terrified of a house fire. The way his mother died has haunted him all his adult life. Everything is electric, even the fireplace.”

  Jan knew the story. Angela, along with her parents, had been burned alive in a house fire when Colin was just fourteen. “Yes, his aunt Elaine told me. Colin never talked to me about it.”

  Zan propped her boot on a saddle stand and began removing a spur.

  “I’m not surprised,” Zan said without looking up. “It took me a long time to get him to open up about it. After we decided to come here, Colin went all out with renewable energy schemes. This house, the police houses, and all the line shacks are solar heated—lights, and cooking too. He also set up two wind farms. He’s very proud of it.”

  “I’m proud of him.” Jan looked around the room. “He’s come a long way from a frightened boy to all this.”

  “You’re telling the wrong person,” Zan said as she stripped off her chaps. “I’ll get supper started. I know Colin will want you to ride out with him early tomorrow, so we’ll have an early bedtime.”

  Jan watched Zan walk toward the kitchen. Her tone had been sharp. He wondered if it was about him, or Colin.

  Chapter 4

  Starry Night

  BRILLIANT VENUS shone like polished silver through the darkness that had fallen hard around them. Jan lay on the ground, his back nestled on a bed of fragrant pine needles, his head resting on his saddle. He had cocked his hat low over his brow and pulled a woolen blanket up to his chin. Colin added a new log to the fire to ward off the night air, and then joined him, settling his back against his own saddle. After a while Colin said, “Can we talk? I mean… about you and my mother.”

  Jan pushed his hat back and looked upward. He had dreaded this conversation ever since, on a snowy New Year’s Eve, Colin’s aunt Elaine callously dropped Colin off on Jan without warning, without ceremony—unless a shouting match with Elaine could be considered ceremony. At the time Colin was in his midteens. Colin, the son Jan never knew he had, suddenly became inextricably a part of his life. Now alone, with only silent Venus to eavesdrop, and after so many years and so many missed opportunities, Jan understood that Colin wanted answers.

  After a pause, Jan said, “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know what she was like. Was she ever happy? I… don’t remember her being happy.”

  What was she like? So much of their brief marriage was made up of angry fights, silent nights, and emotional walls made thick with Angela’s bottomless need and Jan’s complete lack of understanding those needs. Defining her without hurt would be almost impossible. Jan’s devil whispered in his ear, Come on, you’re a lawyer. You know how to make a mud brick look like a gold bar. Jan’s good angel countered, He deserves to know. He’s waited a long time for this. Don’t let him down.

  “Happy?” Jan said. “Yes, when we first met she was happy. She was studying voice at Saint Joe’s the same time I was there. I was the one who was unhappy, or more to the point, angry. My relationship with Tim was in trouble. I was tearing it apart, and furious with myself because I didn’t know how to stop…. Then your mother came along, just when I needed to be with someone who didn’t make me so mad at the world.”

  “Did she know about your relationship with Tim?” Colin probed.

  “Your mother was a smart woman, but she wasn’t shrewd. She knew I lived with Tim, but I don’t think she thought beyond that, not until after we were married.”

  “You mean because of the sex? Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….”

  “I know what you meant,” Jan said softly. “No. Sex, or the lack of it, was just a symptom of deeper problems…. This is hard to express.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not made of sugar. I want to know.”

  Jan thought about the first time he met Angela, and smiled. “I heard your mother’s voice before I even laid eyes on her,” he said. “She was in one of the studios at the university. It was in September. The day was warm and the music department’s windows were open. As I passed by, I heard this strong soprano voice singing Let the bright seraphim in burning row, their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow.”

  Jan closed his eyes for a moment and let the memory sweep over him.

  “Go on,” Colin urged, clearly eager for answers to questions that had plagued his mind since he was just a boy.

  Jan looked over at Colin, who’d now rolled onto his side, watching his father closely.

  Jan continued, “I was curious. So I went to see who belonged to that voice. I introduced myself and complimented her singing, and her choice of Handel. We talked after her rehearsal, had coffee, and set up a date…. That went on for a few months, plays, movies, horseback riding—she loved horses. She laughed at my jokes. She sang for me. I liked her, and she liked me. Most important to me, she cooled my rage. I found someone who didn’t threaten me, someone who liked me, not for the fancy address, or the money, or for the eye candy. For her part, I believe she was looking for someone to love her the way she wanted her father to love her. That was a role I neither understood nor wanted. A year after we were married, she began binge eating, followed by starvation diets. Nothing I did pleased her, and everything I didn’t do sent her into rants about other women, and eventually about Tim. There were two more years, two more years of crying, fighting, eating, followed with the inevitable divorce.”

  “Did you hate her by then?” Colin asked.

  “No. Never. The love was gone, killed, but that space was not replaced… just… empty. On our last night to
gether, she wanted to make love. One more time for Old Glory, as she put it. The next day she left in a taxi for the airport. I never saw or heard from her again. I sold the house in Society Hill and sent a check to her parents. I never got a response.”

  “Didn’t you miss her at all?” Colin’s voice blurred with emotion.

  “I missed the woman I’d met… in those early days, but the last? No. I didn’t miss the helpless anger. I wish for your sake I could say so. I suspect that’s what you’d like to hear.”

  They sat quietly for a while—father and son. A soft breeze stirred in the treetops. Colin broke the silence. “Dad, in the end, when it was finally over between you and Mom… did you regret it all?”

  Jan shook his head in the campfire’s half-light. “When I look at you, Colin, I have no regrets, except the hurt… not my hurt, but yours. Fathers ache when their children cry. You were so broken when you came to me, sad in your soul, and very angry because I was the only one you could rely on. You were so sore… I… I didn’t know how to reach you. I’m….” Jan suddenly realized that perhaps he’d said too much. “Colin, I’m sorry, this has to be hard for you to hear.”

  “No. I asked for the truth. It’s just… I wonder what it would have been like to have had a father… you know, all the time. I wonder what might have been.”

  Jan shook his head and murmured, “Might have been… I think those are the sorriest words we ever say.”

  Jan looked up at the sky, now crowded with stars. “Looks like Venus has gotten some company for the night.” He looked over at Colin. Were those tears he saw, reflecting in the firelight?

  Chapter 5