by Cronk, LN
While I sat there, I thought about the day I had given Lily away and I remembered giving Meredith away, too. Both of them had cried right before I’d walked them down the aisle, and I wondered now if Grace was going to cry, too. (Somehow I doubted it. Grace was a lot like Charlotte – a petite, red-headed Charlotte – fiercely proud and rarely letting anyone see her vulnerable side. But of course, even stoic Charlotte had teared up just before I’d given her away, so I guess you could never tell.)
Eventually Dorito came and got Laci to escort her down the aisle and her sisters lined up in the vestibule, ready to be paired up with the groomsmen and finally I found myself alone with Grace, my youngest daughter.
I looked at Grace, hoping she was going to give me a chance to tell her how much I loved her or something, but she refused to look back at me, instead choosing to check her makeup in the mirror again for the umpteenth time. Then the parlor room door cracked open and Marco stuck his head into the room.
“What are you doing in here?” Grace shrieked when she saw him. “You’re supposed to be sitting down already!”
“Come here for a minute,” he said, beckoning to her.
“Why?”
“Just come out here,” he demanded, sounding exasperated.
“What’s wrong?” Grace asked, standing up and staring at him with alarm on her face.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he insisted. “Just come out here!”
She finally cast a glance in my direction and then pursed her lips, stalking to the door that Marco held open for her until she and her dress had made it safely into the hallway.
I eased over to the door and opened it a crack, seeing the two of them just a few yards down the hall. Marco had his hands on Grace’s arms and he was talking to her intently. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I had the feeling he was telling her how much he loved her (even though she had been nothing but abysmal to him since the day we’d brought him home).
Finally Grace gave Marco a nod and he kissed her on the cheek and then they hugged each other. I backed away quickly from the door.
“Everything okay?” I asked innocently when she came back into the room with wet eyes.
She nodded and marched over toward a box of Kleenex that was sitting on an end table.
“Stupid Marco,” she muttered, dabbing at her eyes and still refusing to look at me.
“You know, Grace,” I ventured, “there’s nothing wrong with crying every now and then . . .”
“I do not want to cry,” she said through gritted teeth, stomping her foot and glaring at me with angry eyes.
“Right,” I nodded.
She shook her hair out behind her and checked her veil in the mirror one more time.
“You ready?” I asked.
I held my arm out to her and she nodded, but before she could take it she began to cry in earnest.
“Shhhh. It’s okay, Grace,” I soothed, rubbing my hand across her back. “I’m very proud of you and I love you so much–”
“Stop it!” she cried, stomping her foot again. “Don’t make it worse!”
“I’m sorry,” I said, deciding to shut up. She dabbed at her eyes again and shook her hair out one more time and then finally took my arm.
“I’m ready now,” she declared, nodding at me and then holding her chin high into the air, reminding me once again of Charlotte.
I nodded back at her.
“And,” she went on, looking away, “I love you too, but I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”
“Right,” I agreed again, nodding one more time.
We went out into the hallway and down to the vestibule and then she let me kiss her on the cheek before we entered the sanctuary. As I took Grace’s arm and we began to walk down the aisle, I couldn’t help but shake my head, wondering if poor, old Andrew had any idea what he was getting himself into.
~ ~ ~
SHORTLY AFTER THE wedding, Laci flew to Mexico while Tanner, Dorito and I headed to Alaska.
We spent a few days fishing for halibut from a charter boat on Resurrection Bay, and after that we drove about an hour inland, where Dorito had reserved a cabin for us at a tremendous resort on the Kenai River.
Someone showed us to our cabin and helped us drag our bags up to it. We were told to take a few minutes to settle in and then come down to the lodge so that we could have lunch.
“This place is fantastic,” Tanner said, looking around.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s great. Good job, Dorito.”
He grinned at us as he unzipped his duffle bag. I walked to the door and stood against the frame, listening to the sound of the Kenai River flowing while he and Tanner unpacked.
I watched Tanner as he took a Bible out of his bag and set it down on the nightstand next to his bed. Like he’d told me he was doing months ago, Tanner had been reading his Bible every day. He still refused to talk to me about God, however, and I found it unbelievable that someone could read the Word every day and yet remain so apparently unaffected.
Standing there, watching Tanner, I wondered if maybe – just maybe – this trip (with the rushing river and the snow-capped mountains, the bald eagles and the . . . the grandeur . . .) would make Tanner realize that simply believing in God wasn’t enough – that it was about something more.
I had felt for a long time that God was working persistently in Tanner’s life and that it was only a matter of time until Tanner reached out to God, but . . .
You need to try to talk with him about it.
This was not the first time that this thought had come into my mind and as it did, I forced myself to not focus on all the other times I’d tried to do talk with Tanner about God, but had failed.
While we’re here. Before you go home.
I needed to.
I knew that I did.
And so I made up my mind that before we left, I was going to have a talk with Tanner.
After we had unpacked, we walked back down to the lodge for lunch. When we arrived, our guide was waiting for us.
Her name was Cora.
She was pretty and maybe ten years younger than Tanner and I. As she introduced herself to us I didn’t notice a wedding ring and I glanced uneasily at Dorito and then at Tanner (who already had a mischievous look on his face).
“Seriously?” I asked Dorito, after Cora and Tanner had set off toward the dining room, already fully engrossed in a conversation and completely ignoring us.
“I . . . I had no idea that we’d get a female guide,” he insisted.
“No,” I agreed, “you probably didn’t. Tanner just magically draws women to him somehow.”
Dorito grinned and I managed a laugh, but inside I felt my resolve slipping away. I had a feeling that somehow I was going to have a very hard time keeping the promise I had just made to myself.
Cora spent about an hour working with us on fly-fishing and (even though we were right in front of the lodge where people were practicing their casting techniques all the time) we actually caught a few fish. The best part though, in my opinion, was when a brown bear ambled across the river, about fifty yards upstream from where we were.
We had seen a couple of bears while we’d been on the charter boat, halibut fishing, but they’d been a long way off. This bear was only about fifty yards away and I stood there, looking at it with my mouth open, until it disappeared into the woods.
I looked at Dorito and Tanner and whispered, “That was awesome!”
They both smiled at me and Cora told me that I hadn’t seen anything yet.
After that, Cora drove us a few miles upstream where we got in an hour or so of “real” fishing and saw two more bear. When it started getting dark, Cora drove us back to the lodge for dinner and then advised us to get a good night’s sleep.
“You’ll want to be rested up for tomorrow,” she promised.
Over the next few days we fished some of the upper stretches of the Kanai and took a float plane to the Nushagak River in Bristol Bay where we fished from
a boat and saw a lot more bears. The best part of the trip by far, however, was when we flew in to Big River Lakes.
Big River Lakes (it turns out) is just one lake. It drains into Big River where it forms swampy areas full of channels to navigate and fish. When we fished these channels we could actually see the fish moving beneath the surface, churning up the water as they swam, and more often than not, we caught a fish every time we threw out our lines. We’d caught our limit each day so far, but never as fast as we did while we were at Big River Lakes.
On our last full day in Alaska, we decided to return there, but after we’d landed on the lake and gotten into our boat, Cora surprised me by not heading back to Big River.
“Trust me,” she said when I protested.
This time we went to Wolverine Creek (which flows into Big River Lakes). There, we were actually fishing with the bears, and it was the coolest thing that I’d ever done in my life.
Not surprisingly, when I found that our last evening in Alaska was upon us, I also found that I had not yet managed to talk with Tanner like I’d promised myself I would. We packed our bags before dinner and when Dorito and Tanner finished before I did, they both headed down to the lodge.
Alone in our cabin I resolved – one more time – that I would talk to Tanner.
Over the past few days we had developed a nightly habit of sitting around the huge stone fireplace, enjoying coffee and chocolate fondue, but it was a nice evening and I made up my mind that I would invite Tanner to sit with me, out on the deck that overlooked the river.
After dinner, however, I made the mistake of going to the restroom before nabbing him and when I got back, he was nowhere to be found.
“Where’s Tanner?” I asked Dorito.
“He and Cora went off somewhere.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“This surprises you?” Dorito asked.
“No,” I said, shaking my head and sighing. “It disappoints me.”
“Why?”
I looked away.
“What’s the matter?” Dorito persisted.
“I . . . I just worry about him,” I finally admitted, shaking my head again.
“I really think they’re just talking.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.”
“What then?”
It looked like I’d be talking with Dorito on the deck tonight instead of Tanner.
“You wanna go out there?” I asked, pointing outside.
After we settled into chairs and stared at the river for a moment, I finally told him what was on my mind.
“I don’t know how much time I have left,” I said, looking at him to make sure that he understood what I was saying.
He did.
“And there’re some things I’m really worried about,” I went on. “I mean, if I could just know some things before I’m gone, it would just really give me some peace of mind.”
Dorito looked at me for a moment. “What kind of things?” he finally asked.
“Like Tanner,” I said, motioning my hand in the direction I’d last seen him. “I know he says he believes in God and I know he says he reads his Bible every day, but . . .” My voice trailed off.
“You want to know that you’re gonna see him again one day?” Dorito suggested when I didn’t finish.
“Yeah,” I nodded, relieved that he knew exactly what I’d been trying to get at. “I mean, I think it’s gonna happen and everything, but I wanna see it happen, you know? I want to know that I’m going to see him again one day.”
“You might not get to know that,” Dorito said gently.
“I know,” I said, and I looked away again.
“And all that’s really important is that it happens, not that you know it happens.”
“I know,” I said again, sighing.
“What else?”
“Huh?”
“What else are you worried about?”
“Oh,” I said.
I looked back at him.
“Amber,” I finally answered.
This time it was Dorito who looked away.
“I want to see her get married,” I told him. “I want to walk her down the aisle like I did with Grace and Meredith and Lily. I want her to have kids. I want to know that she’s okay.”
“That might not happen either,” he said quietly, still not looking at me.
“I know,” I agreed. “I’m just telling you what I want to have happen.”
He nodded and finally looked back at me.
“What else?”
“I want to know somehow that your mom’s going to be okay,” I said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this is going to be hard for her,” I explained. “I worry about how she’s going to be able to handle everything.”
He smiled and said with a little laugh, “You don’t have to worry about that one! Mom’s going to be fine.”
I looked at him questioningly.
“Dad,” he exclaimed, raising an eyebrow at me. “You have six kids! Do you honestly think we aren’t going to make sure Mom’s okay?”
“I just worry about her.”
“I know you do,” Dorito said, putting his hand on my arm, “but we’re going to take care of her.”
I nodded, and then I told him, “I want her to move back to Mexico after I’m gone.”
“What?”
“The only reason she’s in the States is because of me,” I told him. “She belongs in Mexico. You know that’s where her heart is.”
“No,” Dorito smiled. “Her heart’s with you.”
“Listen to me,” I said, shaking my head. “Even if it’s a really long time from now – even if she can’t really work anymore – I want you to move her down there with you and take care of her and let her spend the rest of her life down there once I’m gone. That way she can still go to the orphanage and visit and stuff.”
“Okay,” Dorito nodded.
“I hate to put a burden on you and Maria like that,” I said, “but if I just knew she was going to go back there one day . . .”
“It’s not a burden” he assured me. “I promise I’ll bring her back down there.”
I looked at him for a moment and knew he was telling me the truth.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling a bit better about one thing at least.
“No problem.”
“You gonna drag Tanner to a revival for me?” I smiled. “Make sure that gets taken care of too?”
“I don’t know,” Dorito said uncertainly, glancing toward the lodge. “I think we just might need some Divine intervention there.”
“I just feel like I haven’t done what I’m supposed to,” I said, shaking my head. “Every time I try to talk to him about God, he always manages to get out of it somehow. I thought that maybe having him trapped here in the Alaskan wilderness would be a good opportunity, but no . . . he’s managed to escape yet again.” (Of course I had missed plenty of other opportunities through no one’s fault but my own.)
“Maybe when you’re in Montana?” Dorito suggested helpfully. “When it’s just you and him?”
“And Hawk,” I reminded him. “Don’t forget about Hawk.”
(According to Dorito, who had also been in charge of making all of the arrangements for our Montana trip, someone named “Hawk” was going to be our guide while we were elk hunting.)
“Maybe it’ll turn out to be a really good thing that I’m not going along,” Dorito said. “Maybe having some time alone with him is exactly what you need.”
“Maybe,” I agreed doubtfully, “but with my luck, Hawk’s going to wind up being some unattached, blonde bombshell.”
~ ~ ~
THREE MONTHS LATER, Laci flew back down to Mexico (to be there when baby Chelsea arrived) and Tanner and I flew to Montana, where I discovered that “Hawk” was not an unattached, blonde bombshell – not by a longshot.
Hawk was a scrawny, weathered, old man with a strong drawl, rope-like arms, and
enough facial hair to put Grizzly Adams to shame.
He met us at the airport in Billings with a beat up pickup truck and then drove us to the main hunting lodge at breakneck speeds. The trip took about forty minutes, (but I’m pretty sure that if anyone else had been driving – even Tanner – it would have taken at least twice that long). The curvier the roads became, the faster he seemed to go and I kept double-checking my seatbelt. As we swerved along I also kept glancing over at Tanner, wondering if perhaps this near-death experience could possibly be his “coming to Jesus” moment, (but unfortunately he actually looked as if he were having the time of his life).
By the time we arrived at the lodge my muscles were so tense and I felt so sick that it was all I could do crawl from the truck. Tanner bounded out, inhaled deeply, and stretched his arms wide.
“Smell that?” he asked, probably referring to the strong scent of pine and hemlock that was in the air.
“I’m just trying not to throw up,” I muttered. Tanner shook his head at me in that disgusted way he had mastered over the years, and grabbed his duffle bag and archery case before heading up the steps to the lodge.
The lodge was very impressive and when I saw a hot tub on the deck just off of the dining room, I made a mental note to forgive Dorito for the ride I’d just experienced. Hawk took us on a brief tour of the grounds and then showed us to our rooms so that we could dump off all of our stuff and “freshen up” before we ate.
Dinner that night rivaled anything I’d ever tasted, even trumping the food we’d had at the lodge in Alaska. Tanner hoped out loud that the chef was going to be accompanying us on our trip.
“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head. “I think it’s just you and me and Hawk.”
“He’s doing the cooking?” Tanner asked doubtfully.
“I think so,” I nodded. “But maybe the chef makes everything up ahead of time and Hawk just kind of warms it up once we get out there.”
“I hope so,” Tanner said, taking a bite of elk tenderloin that the chef had prepared to get us “in the mood for elk hunting,” (just in case we weren’t already).