To my relief, she was moving around better when I arrived. I left two full bags on her kitchen table, kissed her goodbye, and sped home to get ready for my husband’s return.
As I unpacked my own groceries, the fading sun dropped behind thickening clouds, and the short winter day threatened early darkness. I phoned Alice, my horse-sitter, who said she’d bring Looney and Bob home within the hour.
Out in the barn, I took down the pitchfork and cleaned Looney's stall, putting all of it in the two-wheeled cart to take out to the manure pile. After scattering a half-bale of fresh straw for her and her colt to lie on, I poured a two-pound coffee can of oats into her manger, adding a small scoop of alfalfa pellets. It felt good to be back in the routine.
As I refilled the water buckets, I heard nickering, and a clear, high voice singing. Alice slid down from Looney’s bare back and handed me the lead rope. Together we put the horses inside, and I drove Alice home.
Except for a spotlight on the corner of the barn, her property was dark. I pulled up in the dirt expanse that served as a front yard.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said.
“I’ll wait for you to get in.”
She went around to the back of the house. When I saw lights go on in the kitchen, I tapped the horn and backed out. As I drove away, the house looked small and isolated in my rearview mirror.
Looney had her nose in the manger when I returned. I took down the curry comb and brush and worked along her neck and flanks as she ate. Bob, still wary, watched me for a few minutes, but soon hunger overcame caution and he began to nurse.
In the quiet of the barn, the only sound was that of Looney snuffling around the hay and munching it down. The tension in the stall dissipated. As I brushed, I felt the warmth of her smooth coat, the strength in the lines of her muscles and tendons. She was a magnificent animal, and I hoped she would soon trust me again.
I placed a step-stool near her towering flank, the better to reach along her spine from withers to rump. When Looney acted unperturbed, I leaned across her, putting weight on her back as if to climb aboard.
She stopped eating and raised her head, her ears laid back.
When half a ton of equine attitude tells you to back off, you listen. I climbed down, resumed brushing, and began to tell her about my day. Looney listened, her ears flicking back and forth as I worked my way forward. I hoped she found my voice reassuring, but when she whipped her head around and tried to bite me, I tossed the brush in a bucket and called it a night.
HOURS LATER, TEDDY Roosevelt Regional Airport was pretty much deserted. The few cars in the parking lot were in employee parking. No humans were visible outside the terminal. The temperature was well below freezing, so I’d bundled up accordingly. As I darted across the parking lot, I wondered if mascara could freeze.
The terminal was tiny, about the size of a golf course pro shop. It was almost eleven, and employees were already switching off lights. The monitor said Curt’s flight was on time. I went over to the window to watch it land, a little thirty-seater out of Dallas-Fort Worth.
He came through the door with a dozen other passengers, tall and weary, his gaze sweeping the gate area. When our eyes met, he grinned and dropped his bags. I ran into his arms, and he swept me up and kissed me until my knees went wobbly.
I couldn’t describe in words what it felt like to have this man in my life after thirty years apart. To have his arms around me, my nose pressed against the warm, fragrant skin of his neck, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, saying my name. When I was with him, I felt grounded. I felt safe.
Home. He is my home.
Chapter 27
“SO I FIGURED I’D GET the Roadtrek out of the garage and drive it around a bit, relearn the feel of it.” I was happily washing up our breakfast dishes while Curt sipped coffee and read the paper.
“Always a good idea,” he mumbled, his eyes on the Dickinson Press.
“The Black Hills in July? Nothing better,” I said. “It’ll be wonderful to see everybody together in one place again. Jessie’s bringing the kids. And Fern and Belle said they were looking forward to getting to know you.” I turned off the faucets.
His eyebrows, those beautiful dark brows now shot with silver, were knitted together over deep-set eyes. They seemed to darken as he looked at me.
“What?” I hung the dishcloth on the neck of the faucet and went to sit across from him at the kitchen table.
He folded up the newspaper. The Press wasn’t much. It was thin and barely hanging on by a thread, and mostly supported by bank notices and obituaries. He reached for my hand. His was warm. Mine was cold, from the dishes. Or what I saw in his eyes.
“I want to run something by you,” he said.
When had those words ever led to anything good?
He caressed my hand, rubbing circles around the knuckle of my index finger. “Pete, the guy that hired me, was real happy with my work.”
“I’m sure he was. Everybody knows you’re the best in the biz.”
“So, anyway.” He reached for my other hand and held them both. Doubly ominous. “He gave me a name, somebody with the National Geographic people. Did you know they have a cruise line? Smaller ships, going to more exotic, out of the way places.”
My concern faded. “You want to take a cruise? Fantastic. Where and when?”
“That’s the problem. It would conflict with your camping trip to South Dakota.”
“Couldn’t we schedule it around that?”
“Not really. It’s a long cruise.”
How long could it be?
“Ten months.”
I pulled my hands back. No way. Almost a year on a ship? I could think of a dozen reasons not to do it. Expense, inconvenience, lack of privacy...leaving my farmhouse. “You’ve never mentioned cruising before.”
“It’s business. The Nat Geo people offered me a contract to be a guest lecturer, and I thought it would be fun.” His eyebrows rose in an approximation of hope. “I’d be the resident geological expert, giving talks onboard and conducting tours on land.”
“Curt, honey, even if you could see yourself doing this, what would I do all day? It would be fun for about month, but after that? I don’t see how that would work.”
“Actually, it’s a package deal. They’ll pay you as my support staff—” At this, he grinned, clearly enjoying the prospect of being my boss. On paper, anyway.
I frowned back.
“But Karen, they’re giving us a full suite, with a balcony.” He jumped up and paced the kitchen, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. “It’s a beautiful vessel. They have a chef who’s Michelin-good. Got the workout room, a theater, hot tub. They’ve got a wonderful conference room with all the latest technology. I’d feel like a professor again.” He came over and grasped my shoulders from behind, leaned close, his head against mine. “I know it’s a long stint, but baby, think of it. Everything from the Tahitian islands to polar regions.”
My heart was pounding so hard my whole chest was shaking. I never expected anything like this. On the one hand, it could be a blast. A bit long, but still, what luxury, and the things we’d see. Nobody in their right mind would turn this down.
Curt was so happy, so excited, and all he needed was for me to smile, nod, and agree. I didn’t want to hurt him, but all I could think of was Aunt Marie.
“It’s such an opportunity,” he said. “We’ll be going to exotic places, and at virtually no cost. How many other people get such an offer? And they’re planning to go far north, where sea lanes are opening up for the first time in a geological era.” He ran his hand through his hair.
I knew that gesture. It was frustration. He wanted to do cartwheels, but I needed time to think.
I went to the kitchen sink, filled a glass with water, and drank from it. Outside, a pair of ravens hopped around in the front yard, fighting over a bit of food. I set the glass down and turned to him. “When would we leave?”
“May first.”
“Tha
t’s only six weeks.”
“I know, it’s not much time. We’d drive to Los Angeles with our stuff and leave our truck at a storage place. We could probably find a renter for the duration. And Alice could take the animals.”
The air in the kitchen seemed to have gotten colder. “Aunt Marie’s going downhill.”
“But she has family living right there.”
“Lorraine isn’t taking care of her.” I filled him in.
“Have you talked with Lorraine about your concerns?”
I shook my head. Until this morning, there’d been no need.
He heaved a great sigh. “Karen, I know you’re worried about her, and I can appreciate that you’d planned to scale down and kick back. I did, too. But this came along, and it’s a chance in a million. It’ll be a lot of fun, and we’ll be creating great memories for when we’re older.”
I nodded, pretending this carried as much weight as Aunt Marie’s mortality.
Outside, the ravens had moved their battle to our porch. They were crowing and cawing loudly. Curt came over to the window and stood by me, his hip touching mine, the warmth of his bicep against my arm.
“Remember when I was in Florida, and then Georgia, you kept asking me to settle down with you. You even left me over it.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched.
“You wanted me to try being a farm wife, and I’ve loved it. For the first time in my life, I’ve found a balance between work and family. I’ve learned to cook. I have a garden. I have horses.” I swallowed hard. “Now you want me to change again.”
“It’s not a change. It’s just a very long vacation.” Shoulder to shoulder, we stared out the window.
There was nothing to look at. It was March in North Dakota, there hadn’t been much snow, and we were technically in a drought. The trees were bare, but here and there, confused sprigs of grass were coming up way too early. They wouldn’t make it to maturity. The weather had been all haywire the last few years. We’d get a warm stretch and then it’d freeze and everything would die.
“The ship will have internet most of the time. We can do video calls with Aunt Marie. And you’ll have email.” He was talking to the window.
“What if she dies while we’re admiring the North Pole?”
Curt turned away from the window and gathered me into his arms. I wanted so badly to give him what he wanted.
“Karen, you have to decide.”
“You mean, choose between Aunt Marie and you.”
“I hate that you would put it that way.”
We fell silent. I didn’t know what to say. I felt sick. I needed to get away. I needed time away from him, and his question.
I broke the clinch, stepped away. “I need to go to Regent, to see my friend Glenda at the medical clinic where she works. I just finished a job for her, and we had a meeting set up for today.”
He reached for my hand, trapping me. “I know it’s bad timing, and I’m sorry for that. But what an opportunity. Can you try to see it that way?”
I wanted to. But there was too much at stake.
DRIVING SOUTH THROUGH snow-dusted farm fields, I considered listening to music, but left it off. My mood was cold, and I wanted to sit with that, and not be influenced by song. I wanted my thinking to be as cold and logical as the wind blowing past my truck. My future, maybe even my marriage, depended on it.
A few years ago, a friend taught me a visualization strategy. Doc, one of the CRS Ladies, said if you did it, your subconscious could see things invisible to the conscious mind. The trick in this visualization was to keep the circumstances small and immediate. See and feel the first morning after the decision, waking up and knowing it was now a fact, and going through the first day, now that it was no longer up in the air. You wouldn’t imagine words or speech, only what you saw and felt. Although you’re supposed to lie down and close your eyes, I was going a mile a minute down a two-lane highway. So I tried my best to imagine while driving.
In the first visualization, I pretended we’d decided to leave, and saw Curt hugging me with joy before hurrying to his office to make the call. As I drove to Regent to report back to Glenda, I imagined her hugging me goodbye. I saw myself at the farmhouse, with a lot of packing boxes spread around, and the kitchen cabinets empty.
As I went through my imaginary first day, imagining the arrangements necessary to leave home and live on a cruise ship for almost a year, one feeling predominated: fear. Fear of Aunt Marie dying while I was gone, of course, but also fear of discomfort and risk. Storms at sea, boredom, lack of space.
Then I switched to the opposite decision, imagining we were staying put in North Dakota. Curt, although unhappy, would have accepted my decision. I tried to imagine us moving around the kitchen the morning after the decision, what our day would feel like, the afternoon, and how the first night would unfold. The predominant emotion was regret, in seeing my husband’s disappointment.
Neither scenario spoke to me, although the idea of pleasing Curt carried a lot of weight. But at what cost?
I had been a hard-working person all my life, and work had given me stability. Even after leaving Global, even after I started my consulting business out of a trailer, and even after achieving financial security, I still loved my job, for the stability and continuity it gave me. Now, as a nominally retired person, I had enough contacts and work that I could support myself if necessary. I knew the fear was unreasonable, but that’s who I’d been all my life, and I wasn’t going to change now. If I put everything on hold for a year, I would lose most of my clients.
Plus, I’d just undergone a seismic shift in my way of life. After overcoming my workaholism, I’d married Curt, settled down, and devoted myself to becoming a broader person, exploring the domestic, peaceful side of life. As a happily retired farm wife, I’d learned to spend more time with family and friends; to relax, think, and sleep better; to garden and ride horses, to revel in my downtime. I’d grown to love my quieter life.
That metamorphosis had been a challenge, given I’d spent most of my life as a squirrel-brain. But since marrying Curt, I looked at the years ahead as a creative project: the art of my life. I wanted to shape it into something beautiful and multifaceted instead of monochromatic.
A ten-month cruise would add another dimension, but at what cost? I’d been a thousand miles away from my mother’s deathbed. I couldn’t bear to experience the same pain twice.
A STRING OF BELLS JANGLED as I pulled open the heavy glass door of the old five-and-dime. Now a medical clinic, its walls were covered with children’s artwork, and mirrored mobiles hung suspended from the ceiling, reflecting sunshine around the room. I could never walk through the door without remembering my first visit, more than five years ago. Glenda had wanted to show me around, and we were in the middle of the tour when a young farm wife brought in her bleeding husband. His hand had been mangled in a threshing machine. That was how I came to know Lanie, with her backbone of steel and take-charge attitude. After John was loaded into an ambulance, she’d tasked me, a total city girl, with the afternoon milking of the family cow, so she could pick up her kids and speed to the hospital in town.
Now, I said hello to the receptionist, a cheery woman with her hair pulled up on top of her head in a casual bun. She took off her blue plastic reading glasses and went to find Glenda.
“I can’t believe it. You’re home.” My friend, towering and calm, came out of her office and hugged me. She wore her caramel hair in a careless do, styled by the North Dakota wind. Today she wore pink scrubs and the usual stethoscope around her neck.
She pulled on a heavy coat and a knitted cap. “Elise, we’ll be outside.” The receptionist beamed and nodded.
We climbed up on the picnic table where the employees ate lunch in warm weather. The thermometer hanging on the side of the building said it was forty-five degrees, and the sun was out. A warm snap.
For all the warmth of her greeting, when we were alone outside, Glenda was morose. The state managemen
t team was talking expansion, wanting to turn the clinic into an urgent care facility. “The new director in Grand Forks—he’s this kid just out of school—said it’d allow us to scale up. Like we’re a new dot com or something. Said it would take off.”
“Will it?”
“Like mold on cheese.”
“So that’s good, right?”
“Depends on who’s doing it. And I don’t feel like it.” She looked at me with those bright blue eyes. “I dunno. Maybe I’m getting old.”
“Getting?”
Glenda poked me with an elbow. “Enough about me. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
I eyed her in surprise.
“Girl, it radiates off you,” she said. “Now, talk.”
The sun was doing its job. I pulled off my cap and scarf. “Curt is all excited about this great opportunity, and he needs me to agree to go along with him, and I can’t.” I explained the situation. “So it comes down to this: either I make my husband unhappy, or I desert my dying aunt. And that, I will not do.” Saying the words, my throat closed up. I thought I might start bawling right then and there. I was bereft at the thought of losing her, and I felt an aching detachment from Curt because he didn’t seem to feel the same way.
“Is she really dying?”
“Pardon?” I croaked. “You mean, what are her symptoms?” I started to recite them but Glenda interrupted me.
“I mean, is she on her deathbed?”
“Maybe. She’s had mini-strokes. She’s fragile and elderly and she’s been in the ER a couple times recently. So who knows? But I don’t feel like jumping on a ship right now. And Curt does.”
Glenda looked off across the expanse of brown stubble left in the fields from the last harvest. “Don’t be mad, but I think you’re wrong.”
“You think I should go?”
“I would.” Her tone was flat.
This wasn’t like Glenda, my lighthearted friend. Almost every time I visited the clinic, she’d be down on the floor of the sunny waiting room, playing with the farmworkers’ children. Laughing. Singing. Hugging. “Why am I wrong, Glen?”
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