Love Finds You in Romeo, Colorado

by Gwen Ford Faulkenberry

  She brightened. “Oh, like inveterate.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the same as incorrigible. I think I got you that time!” Maria gloated.

  “Have you been sitting around reading the thesaurus?”

  “Well, I have been pretty lonely.”

  For the first time that night, Stephen thought he saw clouds skim across her sky-blue eyes. It could have been the lighting, but he didn’t think so.

  Just then a waiter with multiple piercings came to the table with their food.

  “Mmm.” Maria cut into the flaky meat of the fish with her fork and dipped it into a buttery-looking sauce.

  Stephen took a bite of raw spinach that was covered with a Korean red sauce and sprinkled with bacon. Delicious.

  “How’s Manuel?” he asked her.

  “He’s doing great. I mean, I think he’s pretty lonesome, too, but it’s a good work they’re doing.”

  “What kind of stuff is he seeing over there?”

  “Everything. He says he’s seen it all. But the most amazing thing that’s happened is supernatural healing. He says many of the people they deal with have childlike faith—they’re very open and trusting. He says when they pray they really believe.”

  “What a novel idea,” Stephen remarked.

  “I want to go sometime. Wouldn’t it be amazing to be in that setting—where people recognize the Lord as their only hope? I mean—He’s our only hope here or anywhere, but sometimes our wealth and sophistication keep us from seeing that.”

  “I hope Manuel doesn’t get a wild hair and try to carry you off over some shark-infested waters to live. It’s bad enough him being over there all of these weeks.”

  “Oh, Steve, honestly. It’s been the trip of a lifetime. He wrote that the other day he rode in a boat down the Amazon River to another village. On the way they saw pink dolphins!”

  Stephen was thinking about Claire’s parents, who were murdered on the mission field, but he decided not to mention that to Maria.

  “That’s cool. Did he get pictures?”

  “He says he got some good ones.”

  “Well, how are you surviving? When did you start reading the thesaurus?”

  Maria shrugged. “It’s just sort of hit me lately. We’re halfway through, and I guess it’s just started seeming a little long.”

  Suddenly a thought came to Stephen, a way he could treat his sister to something unusual.

  “Do you still like s’mores?” he asked her.

  “Who doesn’t like s’mores?”

  “Well, Claire’s loss is your gain. I’m going to take you on a little adventure after we get done here.”

  High above Salida on S Mountain, Stephen built a little fire in the moonlight with some sticks he and Maria gathered. They were facing southeast, down toward the twinkling lights of the town. The rivulets of farmland and forest beyond that inched upward, away from Salida, and peaked at the snowy mountains. The night air was chilly, and the friendly firelight flickered and breathed out the earthy smell of wood smoke.

  Stephen grabbed the Mexican blanket, which he kept under the backseat of his truck, and spread it out next to the fire. Then he used his pocket knife to carve two skewers out of the limbs of a young juniper.

  Maria, for her part, assembled chocolate bars and graham crackers on a paper plate. Stephen toasted several marshmallows, and she captured them between graham crackers as they came off the fire. The melted chocolate oozed off the sides of the s’mores and tasted delectably sweet.

  They sat there on the Mexican blanket, two kids from Oklahoma. Two medical doctors who looked as different as any two people could look on the outside. They listened to the sounds of a Colorado nightfall, eating s’mores and not saying a word until most of the lights of Salida had gone out. Then, like the twins that they were, they gathered their things in silent agreement and drove back down the mountain toward Maria’s home.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When Claire arrived at her office Monday morning at eight thirty, she had fifty-six e-mail messages. Scanning through her inbox for a place to start deleting, she spotted one from Martina and one from Moira. She clicked on Martina’s message, which was posted late Sunday night.

  Claire Claire,

  Thank you again for helping me yesterday. It was fun having you at the grand opening (till you left), and Jesús and I have laughed many times at the idea that we had a professor and a rocket scientist on our wait staff. Quite impressive for a first day! In all seriousness, it meant the world to me that you were there. And also that you took care of my baby for me. Please thank Abuelita again for her part in that.

  I have had a good day of rest, which I desperately needed. I hope this schedule will work out well, being off Sunday and Monday.

  I won’t write about it here (I still don’t fully trust computers), but remind me to tell you something important about Mickey. Something very upsetting happened on Saturday night, which I am still processing.

  XXOO

  Martina

  Claire smiled at her friend’s use of the old childhood nickname “Claire Claire.” Martina had called her that starting in first grade, when they met another boy in their class whose parents called him “John John.”

  The second e-mail of interest was from Moira, Rob’s sister in Arkansas. It had been sent Friday night at ten o’clock from her e-mail address at Arkansas Tech University, where Moira taught biology.

  Claire imagined her sister-in-law—wire-bespectacled green eyes, wavy, russet hair going every direction, no makeup, wearing a faded jean skirt with a Grateful Dead T-shirt—sitting in her lab typing on a laptop with dry, cracked fingers fresh out of some chemical solution and scrubbed with antibacterial soap, while she timed an experiment.

  Claire.

  How are you? Any dreams lately?

  Your in my prayers.

  I have two things to tell you: One is that I would like to have Graeme come and stay with me sometime in the summer if you (and he) are up to it. You could come to, of course, or could consider it a little break for yourself and be kid-free for a couple of weeks. The other is that I feel a new sense of joy as I pray for you. A new hope. I believe that the Lord is doing a new thing in your life, and I want to encourage you to expect it, even embrace it!

  Must get back to work. We’re doing fruit flies in Genetics lab on Monday.

  Moira

  Claire’s inner editor cringed at Moira’s use of “Your” where it should have been “You’re,” and “to” when she meant “too.” How could a scientific genius, which Moira certainly was, use such abominable grammar? It must be a left-brained thing, which Claire would never understand.

  Claire reread the email, this time ignoring its mistakes.

  No way will I be up to letting Graeme go to Arkansas alone, she thought, even though she knew he needed to see his father’s family. Maybe they could both go. There were few people she loved and trusted more than Moira.

  And what was this “new thing” Moira wrote about? Her sister-in-law could be a little “out there” in her ideas sometimes. But Claire had to admit that Moira was a spiritual rock for her, the only other person she really confided in besides Abuelita.

  Suddenly it struck Claire. Surely she isn’t talking about Stephen Reyes?

  On the drive home that afternoon, Claire called Martina.

  She answered after the first ring. Claire could hear the sound of cars going by in the background and imagined her friend in the backyard.

  “So tell me about Mickey,” she said. “That was so mean of you to e-mail it like that and have me wonder about him all day.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Is he okay? Are you? Can you talk about it? I mean, is he around?”

  “No, but there are little ears. I’m in the backyard pushing Gabbie on the swing.”

  “Well, do you want to tell me later?”

  “Let me see if I can go over here and water the plants. Can you pump awhile, sweetie
?” Martina called.

  Claire couldn’t hear Gabbie’s answer, but it didn’t sound very favorable. She also heard the sound of running water.

  “Okay, can you hear me? I’m watering my plants on the patio.” Martina spoke very softly.

  “I can hear you.”

  “Well, it’s awful.”

  “What happened?”

  Martina’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Mickey went to a party Saturday night and was drinking!”

  “Saturday night? I thought he was at the restaurant!” Claire exclaimed.

  “He was. He washed dishes for us until ten o’clock, and then we let him go. He said he had plans with his friend Juan. They were going to spend the night over at Juan’s house.”

  “Martina, are you crying?”

  “Yes, but I can’t let Gabbie see. Just a second.”

  There was the sound of a nose blowing and then Martina returned. “Okay. I have to stop that. It’s doing no good.”

  “Oh, Martina, I’m so sorry. I know you are very hurt. But is Mickey okay?”

  “Yes, he is okay. He’s in lots of trouble, but he’s okay.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Juan’s mother called me Sunday. Oh, Claire, this is the worst part.”

  Claire waited on the other end of the line.

  “I didn’t know it, but Juan’s parents are separated. Apparently the boys spent the night with his father and there was a party over there. He bought the alcohol.”

  “Oh, Lord.”

  “I’ve been so absorbed with getting this business going that I haven’t kept short accounts with Mickey like I usually do. I trusted him so much. Too much for a teenager, I guess.”

  “He has been so trustworthy.”

  “I know, but they still need guidance.” Maria sniffed. “Mickey came home the next day—he was supposed to meet us at church but he missed. He was home when we got here, just said he was too tired to make it. But he was acting so strange all day and then she called, and he finally told us about it.”

  Claire sighed. “I’m shocked, and I know you are very disappointed, so I don’t want to make light of it, Martina. It is a big deal. But Mickey is a good boy.”

  “I know he’s a good boy. I just can’t believe he did this!”

  “How are you handling it? I mean, what are you and Jesús doing for consequences?” Claire, who couldn’t help but sympathize with Mickey a little, waited for the bomb to fall.

  “He’s grounded forever. And he had to tell his coach—we took him over there on Sunday. He broke a team rule. The coach is making him run.”

  There was a pause, and Claire could hear Gabbie calling her mother.

  “Martina?”

  “What?”

  “Everybody makes mistakes. You’re a good mom and Mickey’s still a great kid. We all have lessons to learn.”

  We all have lessons to learn, Claire thought a minute later as she pressed the END key on her cell phone. Her own words troubled her a little. Just a few days ago, Abuelita had all but told Claire she did too much thinking and not enough believing. Not enough trusting. Now Moira wanted to keep Graeme in Arkansas for two weeks, by himself. She also wanted Claire to embrace a “new thing” in her life, which could mean only one thing: Stephen. But Claire didn’t trust her own heart, and she was afraid to trust God’s love. Trusting had taken her to some painful places in the past. What kind of lessons did she still have to learn?

  On a whim, she flipped through the numbers on her cell phone. “REG FAM CARE” came up on the tiny screen, still there in the phone’s memory from the time she called about her mole. Claire selected the number and pressed SEND. Her heart pounded as it rang.

  “Regional Family Care, this is Irene. How may I direct your call?”

  “Is Dr. Stephen Reyes available?” Claire had no idea what she’d say if he was.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, is Dr. Reyes available?”

  “Do you mean for an appointment?” The voice on the other end sounded annoyed.

  “Oh, uh, no. I was wondering if he was available to talk for a moment.”

  “Who is this?”

  “This is—Dr. Claire Caspian.” Claire figured the fractious receptionist wouldn’t remember her, and she apparently didn’t.

  “I’ll give you his consultation line. He or his nurse may pick up if he’s available. Please hold.”

  There was acoustic guitar music while Claire held. She never used her title when introducing herself and realized it had been a little sneaky. Irene likely assumed Claire was calling for professional reasons.

  Finally, someone picked up.

  “This is Stephen Reyes.”

  Claire’s face turned red as a beet, she saw, as she glanced into her rearview mirror. “Hello?” he asked again.

  “Dr. Reyes?” Claire croaked. Ideas flashed across her mind like lightening bolts as she tried to think of something to say that would not be completely ridiculous.

  “Yes?”

  “Uh, I was wondering if you might know a cure for someone with very cold feet?”

  “Is this Claire Caspian? Doctor Claire Caspian?”

  It seemed to Claire that she could hear him smiling. The tone of his voice had completely changed, and she imagined his long eyelashes and the crinkles around his eyes. The image of him smiling warmed her.

  “I’m afraid it is. Thank you for speaking with me, Doctor.”

  “What seems to be the problem with your feet?”

  “They’re just—cold. And it’s causing me to take wrong steps—and perhaps give others the impression that the rest of me is cold.” Claire surprised herself with the accuracy of her chosen metaphor.

  “Are you cold, Doctor Caspian? How about in your heart?” Stephen played along, and Claire was very glad he hadn’t hung up.

  She admitted, “I don’t want to be. No, I’m not.”

  “Well, perhaps we could work on a cure for those feet together.”

  It was Claire’s turn to smile. She pressed forward. “Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow? In Alamosa?”

  “Let me look on the schedule.”

  There was clicking sound and Claire presumed he was pulling up his schedule on the computer.

  “Claire, I’m booked tomorrow—unless you could do an early dinner.”

  She hated to be away from Graeme in the evenings but knew Abuelita wouldn’t mind. “I could do that,” she ventured. “What time were you thinking?”

  “It would be about four thirty before I could get there,” Stephen said.

  “That’s okay. I have plenty of work I can do. Why don’t you come on up and I’ll show you my office?”

  Claire felt she was being extremely forward. It was like an out-of-body experience, this phone call, but she went with it. After all, she reasoned, she owed this man a measure of goodwill after how badly she had behaved on Saturday night.

  Stephen said, “That would be great.”

  “It’s in the building just across from the one where we had the seminar—it’s called Irby.”

  “Irby. Okay. Let me write that down.”

  Claire could hear Stephen scribbling.

  “My office is in the English department, of course, on the third floor. Room 318.”

  “Room 318. Got it. Okay, that sounds great!” He sounded genuinely pleased, and Claire started to feel entirely embarrassed.

  “Claire?” Stephen said.

  “Yes?”

  “You do realize you just asked me out, don’t you?”

  Claire took a deep breath. “Don’t rub it in.”

  “Did you mean to?” he asked her.

  “I think—I believe—I did.”

  “Don’t stand me up.”

  He had a right to worry about that, and Claire knew it.

  “I won’t, Stephen. I won’t. I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  At 4:45 there was a slight knock on the open door of Claire’s office. Christina, wh
ose eyes were as big as a deer’s already, ogled them at Claire as she stood up from her desk.

  “Someone’s here to see you,” Christina said. “A man.”

  “Thank you,” she smiled sweetly at Christina, faking a confidence she didn’t feel as she stepped past the girl and out of the safety of her office.

  Stephen was sitting in one of the chairs by the front desk. He was wearing scrubs, and his face looked a bit drawn. Claire noticed, for the first time, something that glinted in the light—a bit of silver in the hair near his temples. He swept it back with his hands before folding them in his lap and crossing his long legs.

  “Hi, Stephen,” Claire said simply. Seeing him sitting there in the English office made her happy somehow, and she reached out her hand.

  He stood and took it in his own, giving her hand a friendly squeeze.

  “Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. And I’m sorry for how I’m dressed. It’s been a crazy afternoon.”

  “That’s okay. I’m glad you made it.”

  Christina hovered around, watching them like a chaperone until Claire introduced her.

  “This is Christina, one of our student assistants here in the English department.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Stephen said courteously.

  “Hi, nice to meet you too,” Christina bowed her head.

  “Would you like to see my office?”

  Stephen nodded, and Claire motioned down the short hall. He followed her.

  Stephen walked slowly around room 318 as if he was taking everything in. He noted her diplomas on the wall, then stood at the bookshelf and pointed to the little hog figurine.

  “The Razorbacks?” he said.

  “Pig sooie.” Claire smiled and explained, “Where I got my PhD.”

  “I remember you telling me that.”

  Stephen pointed to a picture of Graeme. “And this is our little asthma patient?”

  “Yeah. That’s Graeme when he was three.”

  “Wow. He’s cute. He looks just like you,” Stephen said, then he blushed.

  “Everyone says that. His father—” Claire started before she cut herself off.

  “It’s okay; go on. What about his father?”