Between Now and Forever

by Margaret Duarte

  The next aisle over, Jason and his father were examining a chart featuring the many posters available for sale. I favored the one depicting before and after images of the Supernova 1987A. Jason, however, chose one titled Crab Supernova Remnant. “I can see why you like this cosmic stuff, Dad. It sort of gives you a wider perspective.” What was going on here? Father reaching out to son? Son reaching out to father? A little of both? Had they dodged the emotional and attitudinal hot buttons that undermined their relationship via a common interest in cosmology? If so, for how long?

  Aware that I had witnessed the father and son moment, Ron winked at me. I gave him a thumbs up and turned my attention back to the rest of the students.

  After locating Luke, Shawn, and Ethan at the cash register with their merchandise, I discovered that the girls had taken off without notice. It only took seconds for me to deduce where they’d gone. I informed Ron of where I was headed and, after a few stops to catch my breath, found the delinquents in the basement huddled around the placard commemorating James Lick. Fearing a repeat performance of earlier, I hurried forward.

  On my approach, Codi said, “Angelina’s cured.”

  The word cured stopped me dead.

  “Tessa’s got the touch,” Codi said, pulling her leather moto jacket more tightly around her.

  I glanced at Tessa and felt an odd pain in my chest, unable to determine if this was good news or bad.

  “If my cancer’s gone,” Angelina said, “I’m going to become an oncologist.”

  Cancer? The sound of footsteps and male voices coming from the stairs to the basement kept me from asking why no one had notified me of her disease.

  “What’re you guys doing?” Jason called from a short distance away.

  Angelina rubbed her forehead and quoted James Lick as she had earlier. “‘So far in life, I have borne my yoke patiently, and I will not shirk my duty now.’”

  Ron halted on hearing her words.

  “Angelina hears stuff,” Jason told him.

  “Probably a quote she read somewhere,” he said.

  “Nope.” Jason looked at Angelina with the pride of being friends with such an extraordinary human being. “She sees and hears dead people.”

  After a quick glance at me, Ron looked away, probably struck by the compassion in my eyes. No matter how hard you try, it’s almost impossible to comprehend that some people can see and hear things you can’t.

  “How about you?” he asked his son.

  Jason waved his hands as if warding off flies. “Nah.”

  Ron closed his eyes and released his breath.

  ***

  I lagged during our walk back to the minivan, giving my students time and space to absorb and share what they’d experienced during our first and likely last excursion from the classroom. Tessa giggled and Codi jabbed her in the side as they tottered along, oblivious to the frigid temperature that had me longing for the protection of wool socks, snow pants, and full-finger gloves. Shawn walked alongside the girls, observing them in silence.

  “I figured out what I want to be when I grow up,” Angelina said, skipping backwards in front of her friends. She looked more the angel than ever, rosy cheeks, full lips, plaited hair. All she lacked were the wings.

  Though out pacing his classmates by at least six feet, Luke had no difficulty following their conversation. “I hope it has nothing to do with astronomy or cosmology,” he called over his shoulder.

  Codi snickered.

  Luke turned and gave her a reproving look.

  “What?” she asked, all innocence.

  “How’d you decide?” Luke asked, ignoring Codi.

  Shawn’s focus on Angelina sharpened.

  “A little help from a friend,” Angelina said, pulling the Pandora bracelet from her wrist and tossing it to Tessa.

  Tessa caught the bracelet before swinging her gaze to Angelina. “You’re going to tell?”

  “Shush,” Codi said.

  “Tell what?” Somehow Ethan had kept pace with his friends without lifting his gaze from the astronomical photos he held.

  “We better get a move on,” Ron said on reaching the minivan. “We’ve been darn lucky with the weather, but the road still gets treacherous after dark.”

  Getting out of here before nightfall was an excellent idea. My bones had turned into ice, not only due to the fifty-degree temperature and wind gusts but also the strange happenings beneath the Lick Observatory telescope.

  Had Angelina communicated with James Lick or had she picked up thoughts left behind from another time by someone long dead—thoughts now part of the web surrounding the living?

  More importantly, and just as incomprehensible, had she been cured?

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  MONDAY WOULD BE PRESIDENTS’ Day, followed by mid-term break, so I had ten guilt-free days to spend with Morgan and Joshua. When I arrived at the farm, however, Morgan’s broad chest and capable hands were covered with manure and blood. He beamed at me from behind a calving cow. “She’s having trouble, so I’m helping her along.”

  I looked on, feeling frustrated and neglected. Then, somewhere between the cow’s blares and Morgan’s encouraging words— “Come on girl, push. You’re doing fine” —I heard a chant in my head. Thought equals form, mind manifests through form. Frustration turned into pride. My sweet, erotic lover was a cow doctor, a self-taught vet, and he was comforting this large animal with his gentle hands and softly spoken words, “It’s okay, girl, you can do it.”

  While the cow pushed and blared, relaxed and shivered, my eyes burned. Five minutes, ten. “Come on girl,” I whispered. A nose. The head. “Good girl, good girl.”

  The calf slid from its mother’s birth canal in a warm, steamy gush and landed on a soft bed of straw.

  “Oh my God.” I couldn’t look away. Instead of feeling revulsion at the afterbirth dangling from the cow’s behind and seeing her turn and lick the birth fluids from her calf, I realized I was witnessing a miracle. The calf shook its head, wet ears slapping, then gave a little kick.

  “In thirty minutes, he’ll be licked clean,” Morgan said. “Then he’ll try to stand.”

  “So soon?”

  “He needs to nurse within the first four hours after birth. That’s when his mother produces colostrum with a heavy dose of antibodies to protect him from disease.”

  “Poor thing.”

  Morgan laughed. “After a few tries, encouraged by his mother’s licking, he’ll find his feet and you’ll see him switching his tail in contentment.” Morgan stripped off his elbow-length synthetic gloves and dropped them into a bucket. “You okay?”

  I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket, thinking about the great effort needed for a butterfly to pass through the tiny opening of its cocoon, pushing fluid from its body into its wings. Without struggle, it wouldn’t be able to fly. “That was beautiful.”

  “Kind of bloody and smelly,” he said, looking at his hands.

  “It smells of the earth, natural and therefore beautiful.”

  He grinned. “Tell me that in a year.”

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  “Wait until it’s time to wash my coveralls.” He picked up the bucket and exited the maternity corral through a steel gate.

  “That’s what the heavy-duty washer in our utility room will be for. Drop the dirty clothes in, and it’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Greenhorn.”

  “I may be a city girl, but I know what I like.”

  He peered at me from below the bill of his John Deere logo cap, then shook his head and walked to an outdoor faucet where he stripped off his coveralls and rinsed his hands. “How about a hug?”

  I stepped into his embrace, but before the quick squeeze could turn into a full-fledged cuddle, small hands clasped me from behind. “Marjorie, Marjorie.”

  The tightening of Morgan’s arms revealed a reluctance to let me go, but the choice wasn’t his
. Or mine. Joshua tugged on my sleeve, impatient with my slow response to his cuteness. “Marjorie!”

  I backed out of Morgan’s arms and turned. “Sweetie. I swear, you’ve grown another inch since I last saw you.” It had only been a week. And he’d been in a hospital bed, but still…

  Joshua stretched to his full height, all four feet, nine inches. I thought of Ethan, who was small for his age. “You’re only seven and you’re almost as tall as one of the thirteen-year-olds in my class.”

  He hugged my middle.

  Ten days. Ten days of this. And then?

  “Oma says breakfast is waiting,” he said.

  Dutch pancakes. Bacon. Sausage. My stomach grumbled at the thought of Carla’s, aka Oma’s, hearty breakfast.

  “Go on while I finish up,” Morgan said.

  Gabriel, who’d dashed out of his carrier on our arrival, appeared at our feet as if he’d slipped through one of those invisible portals Jason had access to. He twined himself around Joshua’s legs and purred. Joshua bent down to pet him— “Hey there, buddy” —before peering at the maternity corral with a frown. “Was it a heifer or bull calf?”

  “Bull calf, fourth one this week,” Morgan said.

  Joshua shook his head. “Another one for sale.”

  “Sale? When?” I asked, hurting for the calf and its mother.

  Morgan exchanged a glance with Joshua. “Some parts of farming aren’t pretty.”

  “When?” I repeated, knowing the news wouldn’t be to my liking.

  Morgan’s dimples deepened to where I could slip dimes into them and they’d hold. “If I kept every bull calf born on this farm, we’d be out of business in no time. They’re expensive to feed and serve no purpose.”

  “How about for breeding?” I asked.

  “I buy sires from outside the herd to prevent interbreeding.” Morgan was kind enough not to mention this should have been a no-brainer. He smiled at my look of embarrassment. “The question gets asked a lot.”

  “So, bull calves don’t earn their keep,” I said, stating the obvious and wishing it weren’t so.

  Morgan shifted his feet as though expecting the next question most greenhorns ask: “What happens to them after they’re sold?”

  Instead, I turned to Joshua. “Come on, kiddo, breakfast is waiting.”

  Some aspects of farming, like nature, aren’t pretty. I would have to accept the good and adjust to what I couldn’t change, or marry someone else.

  And that was unthinkable.

  ***

  Our future home was taking form. The plumbing was in and the walls had been sheet-rocked, textured, and were ready to prime. During breaks between chores, Morgan, Joshua, and I drove to the hardware store for supplies. The rest of the time, we sanded, vacuumed, and painted. “Getting tired?” Morgan asked Wednesday afternoon.

  “It’s giving us a chance to catch up,” I said, withholding the part about it also giving me a chance to keep thoughts of my West Coast students at bay.

  By the look in Morgan’s eyes, I sensed he craved some alone time to fuel the passion that had been simmering between us for days. “We need an outing,” he said.

  Joshua dropped his paint brush and clapped his hands. White paint streaked his face, clothes, and hair. Gabriel, on the other hand, appeared paint free and impeccably groomed.

  A wink from Morgan before he suggested a trip to the woods for a picnic the following day. “But tonight, I’m taking Marjorie out to dinner.”

  “Someplace fancy?” Joshua wanted to know.

  I met Morgan’s intimate green gaze; one that spoke an inclusive language I’d come to understand and hold close to my heart. “You bet. She’ll have to get all gussied up.”

  “In a dress and high heels?” Joshua asked, his eyes wide as a fawn’s.

  “I hope so.”

  And gussy up I did. At least the best I could, considering I was using someone else’s facilities. Fortunately, Carla didn’t begrudge me the time and privacy needed to accomplish the task. “Go make yourself gorgeous,” she said with a wistful look in her eyes.

  One would have to be blind to miss the flirtation between Morgan’s parents each day: a pat on the rear; a quick peck on the cheek; a hug; a kiss blown into the air. Which bode well for Morgan and me. Kids learn from their parents.

  Morgan’s hands clung to my behind like magnets after I entered the kitchen in my little black dress and spiked heels. Yes, even in front of his family. I, on the other hand, showed about as much passion as a fish, uncomfortable with displaying my ardor in front of an audience. But later, when we were alone, I would prove that some fish have warm blood and can reach some high body temperatures.

  After that, when Morgan and I were in a more talkative mood, I would tell him about my struggles at West Coast Middle School. He would hold me tight and tell me to resign, that I needn’t go through such heartache and he’d take care of me. I would answer no, as he knew I would, and he’d say he loved me. I’d tell him I loved him back. Then we would kiss, secure in each other’s arms. That’s what lay ahead once we were married, and that’s what I wanted. But first I had a job to complete. Struggle was a natural part of growth. It would help strengthen my wings.

  ***

  I took a trip to the woods for a picnic all right. Alone.

  Morgan had an emergency in the milk barn, involving something as trivial as a worn-out bolt. That’s how it is on a farm. Minor break downs often turn major and take hours to repair. Morgan called it putting out fires.

  Joshua received a last-minute invitation to join his cousins for youth hockey practice.

  Did their desertion upset me? Sure. But it also eased the guilt I felt at being absent from their lives for weeks at a time. I turned down Morgan’s offer to saddle a horse for me, not about to be caught alone with such a large animal, regardless of how docile Morgan claimed her to be. I also turned down the use of the farm pickup truck and ATV. I preferred walking the four miles to the woods, where I would hang out for a while, get back on track.

  My first thought on entering the woods was: It’s alive. I saw squirrels and cottontails and an occasional deer. I saw blackbirds and hawks, vultures and crows. I heard harsh checks and high tee-eeks, emphatic kee-uks and loud descending caws. I smelled musty vegetation and damp soil. My second thought was: I’m part of this. My root. My anchor.

  When I reached the eight-hundred-year-old oak Morgan had introduced me to on my last visit, I sat below its massive branches and relaxed into a yoga pose that felt as natural as the setting. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, absorbing the positive vibes rippling around me in rotating columns like the tame tornado that had whisked Dorothy to Oz. After what could have been minutes or could have been hours, in that altered state where the perception of time is malleable and illusive, I opened my eyes. Time to get real, admit I was mad.

  Not at Morgan and Joshua, but at Dr. Matt and Charles Lacoste. For withholding their support from the gifted students who needed it. Dr. Matt had put me in charge of seven fragile, thirteen-year-olds, grappling with chaos and pain. He’d claimed that I came highly recommended by two people whose opinions he valued, that he’d been waiting for the right teacher—me—qualified in ways not taught in a credential program or learned through classroom experience. I’d accepted the challenge, jumped right in with both feet. And then… Nothing. A black hole so dense even light couldn’t escape its gravitational pull. Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration. I would only be at West Coast until June, so Dr. Matt wasn’t likely to fire me. But still… Seven kids and their futures were at stake here. While prodding them onto paths unknown, I had no guarantee they’d find their way home.

  Where should I go from here? Whom could I call on for advice?

  Granny Max? What for? To bake more cookies? Ron Ardis? Hell no. From what I’d observed during our field trip to the James Lick Observatory, his son’s gifts, and those of his fellow students, scared the bejesus out of him. Cosmolog
ist or not, he was still a scientist with a reputation to uphold. How about Dr. Tony Mendez? Ha. I could already predict the outcome. “Trust your gut,” he’d say.

  I picked up the insulated bag containing my uneaten lunch and squared my shoulders, decision made.

  No more playing it safe.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  ON MY FIRST DAY back at school, I had a visitor. And it wasn’t Dr. Matt.

  After my initial shock at finding Charles Lacoste wandering about in my classroom, I asked, “How’d you get in here?”

  He eyed me in a way I thought rather predatory, making me wonder what I had that he wanted. A classroom with a view? “Manuel let me in.”

  I shook my head.

  “The custodian,” he said.

  “I know who Manuel is. The question is why?”

  “Because I asked him to.”

  “I figured that much.” I tried not to let my impatience show. “Why did you want to come in?”

  “It was cold outside.”

  “Why didn’t you wait until you knew I’d be here?”

  “Because I wanted to talk to you before you became distracted.”

  He handled the students’ ceramic pieces and navigated the classroom as if it were his instead of mine. I wondered how he’d feel if the situation were reversed. Not happy, was my guess. I dropped my briefcase onto my desk and walked to the thermostat to turn up the heat. “I’d offer you refreshments, but you caught me by surprise, coming in unannounced and all.”

  “That’s all right.” He hiked up his pants, adjusted his shirt, and said no more.

  I took a seat behind my desk. Lacoste walked to the window and looked out. I removed papers from my briefcase and sorted them into neat piles. He turned. “I’m here to warn you.”

  His small unblinking eyes reminded me of Snake Eyes, the outcome of rolling a single pip on each die, the lowest possible roll, winner or loser depending on the game. But dice weren’t part of this game and his opinion was not my law.