“Great. Let’s get started.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, sure I looked stupid under the hat.
“You got the drinks?”
“It’s not very Chinese, but I made lemonade. There’s also beer and soda in the fridge. What else can I do to help?”
“Can you cook the rice?”
“I’m on it.”
“Where do you keep your knives?”
“Knives are in that drawer. The cutting board is below the sink.”
While I put the rice in the rice cooker, Matthew began dicing the carrots, garlic and onions. When he was done, he threw the vegetables into separate pans to sauté. Before long the kitchen smelled wonderful. Fumbling with chopsticks, I picked up one of his carrots from the pan, blew on it, then dropped it in my mouth. “Ooh, that’s good,” I said.
“I sauté all the vegetables in garlic butter. The garlic is key.”
“I love garlic,” I said. “Though usually not in the early dating phase.”
“I disagree. Garlic is the great revealer. A relationship that can withstand garlic is worth pursuing.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“My secret to a great fried rice is to make sure that each ingredient tastes delicious on its own and don’t overdo it on the soy sauce. People always overdo it on the soy sauce.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“You don’t need to,” he said. “You can always just ask me to make it for you.”
“I like that,” I said.
He was cooking the chicken when Charlotte walked into the house. “Mom!”
“In here, sweetie.”
She walked into the kitchen, then stopped and stared at us. “Hi, Mom, where’d you get the hat?”
“Mr. Matthew brought them. He brought one for you too. Do you want to put it on?”
Her face lit with excitement. “Uh-huh.”
“Come here then.” She ran to me and I set it on and tied it around her chin. She looked adorable. “Tell Mr. Matthew thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Matthew.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Charlotte. We’re celebrating the Chinese New Year. Do you know what that is?”
“We had enchiladas for New Year’s,” Charlotte said.
Matthew smiled. “You’re a smart girl. Americans celebrate New Year’s on January 1, but in China they have a different calendar and their first day of the year is different than ours.”
I could see her thinking about this.
“Chinese New Year is a really big deal in China. It’s their biggest holiday, like Christmas is here. All the people get together with their families and have big meals and share presents. At night they do fireworks, and in the morning the parents give their children red paper envelopes with money inside them.”
“I would like that,” Charlotte said.
“You know something else they do? Every year before the New Year begins, all the families clean their houses really well so they can sweep away all the bad luck from the old year and make room for good luck in the new year.”
Charlotte nodded. “My room is clean.”
“Then I guess we’re ready.” Matthew smiled at me. “I think we’re all ready for a good year.”
The rice was delicious, as was the conversation. Matthew had a genuine interest in Charlotte and seemed fascinated with everything she had to say. After the meal Matthew handed out fortune cookies and we broke them open.
“Something you lost will soon turn up,” I read.
“That’s intriguing,” Matthew said. “Did you lose something?”
I looked at him and nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Just then Charlotte handed me her fortune. “Read mine.”
“ ‘You will live a long and happy life.’ That’s a good one. What does yours say, Matthew?”
“A good reputation is something to prize.” He looked at me and frowned. “That’s not really a fortune. Fortune cookies should tell you something that will happen in the future, like, ‘You’re going to win the lottery,’ or ‘Your house will burn down.’ I mean, what’s the point of this?”
“Don’t you think it’s better not to know the future?” I asked.
“Why do you say that?”
“If we knew how everything was going to turn out we might not even try.”
His countenance fell. “Maybe,” he said. After a while he stood, then said, “All right, let’s do the dishes.”
“No, I’ll do them later.”
“It’s a lot faster if—”
I reached over and put my finger on his lips. “I’m not in a hurry. I’d rather just spend the time with you. Let’s go for a walk. Charlotte, do you mind being left alone for a few minutes? We’re just walking down the street.”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
We got our coats and walked outside into the frigid, February air. I was hoping he’d take my hand but he didn’t, so after a minute I reached over and took his, intertwining my fingers with his. “That was a lot of fun,” I said. “You make a mean fried rice.”
“I told you I did.” He looked at me. “So what you said about not knowing the future. Do you really mean that?”
I nodded. “I think so. I mean, if I had known that Marc was going to cheat on me, I’d never have married him.”
He looked thoughtful. “I think you still would,” he said. “Or you wouldn’t have had Charlotte.”
I thought about it. “You’re right.”
We walked a ways in silence. It was nice being with him. I loved his sense of humor. I loved the way he talked to me. After the second time around the block I said, “I better get back to Charlotte.” I squeezed his hand and smiled. “I’m sorry I was so tough on you at first. Thank you for persevering. I don’t know why you did it, but I’m grateful that you did.”
“I had a hunch that you were worth persevering for.”
“May I take you out next time?”
“I’d like that.”
“When are you free?”
“I’m unemployed. I’m always free.”
“Right, the life of a gentleman of leisure. How about next Friday?”
“Friday it is. What time?”
“For what I have in mind, we’ll have to leave early. Like around four-thirtyish. We’ll be gone until late.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“What should I dress for?”
“Dress very warm. Heavy coat, hat and gloves.”
“Outdoor surprise. Nighttime snow thing?”
“Don’t overanalyze it,” I said. “You might ruin the surprise.” I leaned against his car door, blocking his escape. It was cold and our breath froze in front of us. “Are you going to kiss me this time?” I asked.
He looked at me as if he was thinking it over. “Of course,” he said. He leaned forward and gave me a quick peck on the lips.
My heart fell. Why didn’t he really kiss me? Then a thought came to my mind that both comforted and stung—maybe he was still in love with his wife.
“You still miss her, don’t you?”
“Because of the kiss,” he said. “I’m sorry about that.” He nodded slowly. “I’ll miss her the rest of my life.”
“What was she like?”
He looked at me sadly, then said softly, “She was a lot like you.”
I looked down, unsure of what to say. Nearly a minute passed in silence. He spoke first, “You know your fortune—something you lost will soon turn up? What did you lose?”
I brushed my hair back from my face. “Trust.”
“Do you think it will turn up?”
I looked into his eyes, then smiled. “I think the cookie was right.”
I took Matthew on a romantic, moonlight ride in a horse-drawn, open sleigh. I feel like I’m living in a Hallmark commercial. Whatever happened to too good to be true?
Beth Cardall’s Diary
Friday afternoon I got off work at two-thirty
to prepare for our date. I packed an overnight bag for Charlotte, then dropped her off at Roxanne’s house to spend the night. I came back home and put together a picnic dinner of pitas stuffed with chicken salad, red grapes, two large pieces of butter-cream-frosted chocolate cake, a large thermos of steaming hot cocoa and a bowl of fresh homemade granola with cashews and cranberries to snack on during our drive to northern Utah.
I hoped he would like my surprise. When I was fourteen, I went with a group of friends on an outing to the Hardware Ranch; a 19,000-acre wildlife management area in eastern Cache Valley in northern Utah. (Cache Valley was named after the early mountainmen and trappers who used the area to cache their beaver pelts.)
We took a ride on a horse-drawn sleigh through the herd of more than six hundred elk that are fed on the ranch. Even at that age I remember thinking it would make for a romantic date. Our first year of marriage I told Marc about it. We were sitting on the sofa watching a Jazz basketball game on TV when I brought up the idea for our upcoming anniversary.
“Where’s this place?”
“Hardware Ranch. It’s just outside Logan.”
“That’s almost two hours away.”
“Yes, but we’ll be together. We can talk.”
“I don’t have that much to say,” he said. “It sounds cold.”
“That’s part of the fun. We get to snuggle under a blanket.”
He kissed me on the forehead. “We can do that here,” he said and went back to the game.
I hoped Matthew would feel differently.
Matthew arrived at my home at four-thirty sharp. He pulled his car in next to mine, then climbed out wearing a thick wool coat and a cowboy hat. He looked a little like the Marlboro man, both masculine and boyishly cute.
“Nice hat,” I said. “You look cute in it.”
“Wasn’t really going for ‘cute,’ but I’ll take it.”
I smiled. “Are you ready?”
“Absolutely. Shall I drive?”
“Okay, spoiler alert. Where we’re going is two hours away through a snowy canyon.”
We both looked at my old Nissan. “Maybe I should drive,” he said.
“Good idea,” I replied. “I still need to get a few things from the house.” I ran inside, then came back a few moments later with my coat, a stocking cap, and a woven picnic basket.
He stared curiously at the basket. “That’s a real picnic basket,” he said. “Like on the Yogi Bear cartoons.”
“Did they have Yogi Bear in Italy?”
“Of course.” He opened my door for me. “After you,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, sliding in.
He took the basket from me. “Should I put this in the trunk?”
“No. There’s some granola in there for us to snack on, on the way.”
“I’ll just put it in the back.” He set the basket on the back seat, then climbed in to the driver’s seat and threw his hat in back. “Which way?”
“North. Like you were driving to Idaho.”
“Idaho?”
“Don’t worry, we’re not going that far. We’re going to Cache Valley.”
“What’s in Cache Valley?”
I looked at him and smiled. “My surprise.”
The drive north was pleasant. We talked the whole way, though as I think back on it, I learned very little about Matthew. Every time I asked him a question about himself, he turned it back to me. I didn’t so much sense that he was hiding anything, rather that he just had very little interest in talking about himself—a rare trait in most of the boys I’d dated. Nothing I revealed about myself seemed to surprise him. He asked a lot of questions about Charlotte, like how she did in school, special aptitudes, and if she had any boyfriends, which made me smile.
Around North Salt Lake we got caught in rush-hour traffic, but it thinned out by Layton, where we stopped at a McDonald’s for Cokes. As we waited at the drive-in window, I reached in back and brought the bag of granola out of the basket. I opened the plastic bag and offered him some.
He popped a handful in his mouth. “Delicious. I love it when you make this,” he said.
I looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean? I’ve never made it before.”
He turned and looked at me then smiled. “I meant to say that I love it that you made it. I love granola.”
The woman at the drive-thru window handed him our Cokes and he passed one on to me. Then we drove back to the highway. As we pulled from the ramp onto the highway, he said, “So when are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“I suppose it’s about time. I made reservations for a moonlight sleigh ride at the Hardware Ranch.”
I carefully watched his face for a reaction. To my relief, he smiled. “I’ve always wanted to go on a sleigh ride. Ever since I saw that old movie Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.”
“Really?”
“I really have. I just thought it seemed so romantic.”
I stared at him in disbelief. He actually said “romantic” without smirking. Best of all, I could tell that he was sincere. He looked like an excited little boy on the way to an amusement park. Where have you been all my life? I thought.
As we drove the last ten miles through Sardine Canyon, Matthew began singing a song I had never heard before. “That’s pretty,” I said when he finished. “What’s it called?”
“ ‘Truly Madly Deeply.’ ”
“Who sings it?”
“A group called Savage Garden.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He looked over and smiled. “They’re an Australian group.”
“Savage Garden,” I said. “I’ll look for them next time I go to a record store.”
A peculiar grin spread across his face. “Let me know if you find them.”
We arrived at the ranch after dark, but we’d made good time, arriving a full half-hour before our reservation at seven. Matthew pulled the car into a small, plowed lot near an illuminated visitors center.
“Here we are,” he said. “The Hardware Ranch.”
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“In spite of eating almost all of your granola, I am. What’s in the picnic basket?”
I reached in back. “I made my not famous, but still very good, chicken salad pitas.” I pulled one out of the basket and handed it to him. “There you go. And I brought hot cocoa to drink. Oh, and for dessert there’s chocolate cake.”
“Nice,” he said. He unwrapped the cellophane from the pita and took a bite. “Should be famous,” he said.
“Fame doesn’t make it taste any better.”
“No, it just confirms your suspicion that it’s good.”
We finished everything except the cake. At five minutes to the hour we walked in to the visitors center. We picked up our tickets, then walked out on the patio behind the building. The mountain air was biting cold, as the temperature had dropped to single digits.
A man wearing a felt cowboy hat with a rattlesnake-skin band, a sheepskin jacket, and leather chaps and gloves, was standing next to a long black wooden sleigh hitched to two huge Clydesdales. The sleigh had four benches inside and there were electric spotlights connected to the front of the sleigh.
“I’m Roger,” he said with a western drawl. “I’ll be your driver tonight. Welcome to the Hardware Ranch. We’ll be riding over a few of our acres, not all of them,” he said grinning, “as this is a moonlight ride, not a sunrise ride.”
“The Hardware Ranch was originally a cattle ranch back in the early 1900s. But as people started moving into the valley, the natural feeding places for the elk began to disappear. So the State of Utah purchased the ranch in 1945 and turned it into a wildlife preserve. Each year we feed more than six hundred head of elk. At night you won’t be able to see the herd as you would during the day, but I venture we’ll see a few and you most certainly will smell them. I guarantee it.”
/> We climbed aboard the sleigh with about five other couples and a family with two small boys, who sat on the front row to be close to the horses.
There were thick wool blankets folded on the bench seats, and Matthew and I unfolded one and pulled it over us. Roger said, “Giddup,” and slapped the reins, and the sleigh jerked forward behind the powerful animals across a pristine, snow-covered meadow that rolled out ahead of us like a great, moonlit sea.
Throughout the ride, Roger pointed out wildlife and answered questions, most of them from the young boys or their parents, but his voice was like a conversation at another table at a restaurant. We weren’t there for a tour. We were seated on the back row of the sleigh with another young couple who were cuddled up and leaning the opposite direction, leaving a space between us. “This is beautiful,” Matthew said. “Look at the stars.”
I leaned back to take them in. In the absence of city lights the stars were highly visible, crisp and bright, as if they’d been polished off and hung above us as part of the ride.
“Beautiful and cold,” I said, my teeth starting to chatter.
He smiled. “Isn’t that the idea?”
“Whatever do you mean?” I said playfully.
He put his arm around me, pulling me tightly into his warm, firm body. With his other hand, he grasped my arm beneath the blanket, slid his hand down to my hands, which were clasped in my lap, and held them. I lay my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, disappearing into his warmth, the sound of the horses’ gait, the smooth glide of the sleigh and the cold, wet air against my face. I felt so amazingly happy and secure—happier than I had felt in years.
For the rest of the ride neither of us spoke, and I wanted to believe that it was because words were too clumsy for what we were feeling. I wondered if Matthew was feeling the same thing and hoped he was.
About an hour after we’d started out, the lights of the distant visitors center came back into view. I sighed. “I don’t want this to end,” I said. I looked up into Matthew’s eyes. “Ever.”
He was gazing at me intensely but sadly. “Me too,” he said. Then he said softly, “How can you love the stream and not love the source?”
I looked at him quizzically. “What?”
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