Claire found herself giggling, too, but then she felt guilty. “I never thought I’d kiss another man,” she confessed.
“I know,” Abuelita said. “We never know what direction our lives will take. Only God knows our story from beginning to end. But it’s best to follow wherever the Spirit leads. I am proud of you, Claire, for opening your heart.”
“Stephen is a special person,” Claire admitted. “I’ve seen that. There is depth to him and humility. I want to believe that God has brought him into my life.”
“Then why don’t you believe it?” Abuelita asked.
“I don’t know—I guess I’m afraid.”
Abuelita put down her needle and thread. “What are you afraid of, hija? The Lord loves to give us good gifts.”
“It’s not the giving I have a problem with, but the taking away.”
Abuelita’s eyes were tender when she looked at Claire. “The Bible says not to fear, for He is with us.”
Claire’s heart started to race, and she wished she could suppress her exasperation out of respect for Abuelita. “I know that, but anything can still happen. You’ve lost a husband and two children. I’ve lost my parents. And Graeme and I lost Rob to a hideous disease.”
Abuelita’s expression was unmoved and her voice patient. She didn’t answer right away. “But He is with us through it all, hija. And while He may not be all we would choose, if we are honest, He is enough.”
They watched an episode of I Love Lucy, which was on after the news. Then Abuelita put away her crocheting and they kissed each other good night on both cheeks. Abuelita ambled down the hall to her room, and Claire returned to the kitchen to put her teacup in the sink before going up to bed.
Back up in her room, she opened her Bible. Turning through its pages, she found what she was looking for—a letter Rob had given her a few weeks before he died. It was written on a piece of yellow paper that had been torn out of a legal pad and was already somewhat fragile from being handled so many times. Claire smiled wistfully at the sight of the black ink and Rob’s small, distinct handwriting.
Dearest Claire,
You know the medicine I take for pain makes me crazy half the time. I think of things I need to do and say and then my thoughts get lost in the fog before I can carry them out. That’s why I’m writing this down in a moment of clarity.
I’ve tried to buy as much emotional insurance for you and Graeme as I could with the time we’ve had. I know it won’t be long now until I’m gone, and I feel there’s still something left undone. It bothers me.
We haven’t been in denial since getting the terminal diagnosis. You and I have talked about everything we could and tried to plan for yours and Graeme’s future without me as much as possible. As for Graeme, I’ve made all of those videos so he can see how much I loved him, and hopefully he’ll be able to remember me enough to know something of me and where he came from. I have total faith in your ability to raise him. I trust that my family and your abuelita will help you as much as they can.
I believe you are holding up amazingly well considering how tough this time has been. You are such a strong and beautiful woman, and I have complete confidence in you to manage—even thrive—after I am gone. There is one thing you’ve refused to discuss, however, and that is the subject of loving another man or even marrying again.
I know you are trying to protect me because of how difficult it is to think about this possibility or talk about it. I suppose it’s the lawyer in me that has to consider every option, and I know I’ve angered you about it. But from a practical standpoint I believe it is best for you that we address it.
I have told you that I want you to be happy—whatever that means—when I am gone. As hard as it is for me to imagine it, I know that our life together is coming to an end. I also know that you are young, and I pray you have a lot of living left to do. I cannot bring myself to believe that you will be alone all of those years. In my best and strongest moments, which I admit are few, I even pray that God will give you someone who will love you as much as I do and who will love Graeme after I am gone.
We don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to. But I hope at some point this letter will be a comfort to you—and a release. I want you always to have complete freedom to go wherever the Spirit leads you in life and in love. I find in my heart that this is the last gift I can give you, the last way I can love you—and that God can love you through me. (It is strangely empowering to have something left to give, even though at this point you will not receive it!)
You and Graeme are my dreams come true. Thank you for lavishing your faithful love upon me. I have no regrets.
Love you forever,
Rob
Claire brushed away her tears before they could smudge the page. She ran her fingertips over the words Rob had written—some of his last—with his own hand. She stopped when she came to the signature, “Love you forever, Rob.” The smooth pad of her index finger hovered over his name like a butterfly near the center of a flower. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, as though she could draw up through the ink Rob’s goodness and the magic that had gone with him out of her life.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Well, that was quite a sight, Stan Evans walking down the aisle at church this morning,” Gene said over sirloin tips and a baked potato, which was his favorite meal at his favorite restaurant, Western Sizzlin’. His small blue eyes sparkled with joy.
Stephen, who wasn’t crazy about Western Sizzlin’, treasured Gene and Nell’s company anywhere. He had offered to drive, so the three of them piled into his truck and headed down to Antonito, seven miles south of Romeo, for lunch.
“The Lord is happy today,” Nell commented, squeezing lemon into her tea. “Stan Evans was saved and Stephen came to church!”
His friends were obviously soul-satisfied, and well they should be. The investment they’d made in the Evanses’ lives since Sydney’s death was a literal testament to loving one’s neighbor, and Stephen was blessed by it. He’d been excited, along with the rest of the church, to see Stan show up at the Patricks’ church today. No doubt it was a better place for him than Abe’s Bar.
“Yep, I could get used to that!” Nell smiled across the table at him like a beauty queen.
Stephen grinned at her sheepishly. Seeing the look on Nell’s face when he had walked in—and witnessing Stan’s response to the Spirit—had definitely been worth going to church today, but he wasn’t sure he felt led to become a regular there.
“I wish Stan had come with us,” Stephen mused. “I get the feeling he’s not comfortable around me.”
“Well now, I tell you what. I don’t think that was the reason he didn’t come,” Gene observed.
“Me neither,” Nell agreed, taking a bite of a tired-looking potato that was doused in margarine and sour cream. “He’s worried about Marsha.”
“How is she doing?”
“Stan said she didn’t feel well today, but I think there’s more to it.” Nell’s blue eyes darted back and forth. “I’ve tried to call her on several days when I know she’s home, but there hasn’t been any answer. I’m getting pretty worried myself.”
“I thought it was him doin’ awful,” Gene declared. “She’s always been the strong one.”
“I know! And he was doin’ awful, drinkin’ and stuff, but now it seems like he’s getting himself on track and she’s the one who might be fallin’ apart.”
Stephen finished a bite of his salad. The darker greens had been hard to come by on the food bar, but he had dug them out of the big clear bowl that was sitting in ice. “You know, I think that’s fairly common for people who are grieving—this swinging back and forth like a pendulum.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Marsha may have been strong, as you say, because she felt like she had to be for Stan. Because of that she may have put off some of her own grief process, trying to hold it together for him. Now that he is stabilizing, more of her own issues may c
ome to the surface.”
“I’m no doctor, but that makes sense,” Gene acknowledged with a wrinkle of his forehead. He cut a bite of steak.
Nell sighed. “Poor woman. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through.”
“She needs support,” Stephen cautioned. “And possibly medicine.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if this keeps up very long, I hope you’ll bring her into my office.”
“Well,” Nell said, “I’m sure she’ll be okay. She’s a wonderful Christian lady. The Lord will help her through this.” She tore off a piece of her Texas toast and dipped it in a sort of au jus.
“I have no doubt of that. And she may not need anything—I hope she won’t.” Stephen looked at Nell with unflinching eyes, making sure he had her attention before he continued. “But you have to remember that this is an extreme situation. It doesn’t get any worse than losing a child, and a person never fully gets over something like that.” He put down his fork. “If Marsha needs help, you bring her to me. There’s no such thing as a magic pill, but I’ve seen the Lord help more than one person regain their footing through the temporary use of antidepressants.”
Stephen gently pushed back his chair and left them to think about that while he went to the salad bar to hunt for some fruit. When he returned with a plateful of watermelon, shipped in from who knows where, Nell crossed her hands under her chin and watched him sit down.
“So, tell us about your big date.”
“What big date? Did somebody have a big date?” He took a bite. “Good watermelon,” he said to Gene.
Gene chuckled, but Nell chided him.
“You are a wicked man. I don’t know why I put up with you.”
Gene hooted.
“You either!” There was practically steam coming out of Nell’s ears.
“Oh, you know I’m just playing,” Stephen said. “I know how lucky I am to have somebody keeping tabs on me.”
“Me, too,” Gene concurred.
Nell raised her eyebrows as if to say, “So?”
“It was really good. I mean, I hope it was as nice for her as it was for me.”
“What did you do?”
“We went out for dinner—an early dinner—and then we went for a short walk there in Alamosa by the river.”
“That sounds good.”
“It was. We talked quite a bit, just getting to know each other better, and then I took her back to the college where her car was. She was very conscious of getting back home to her son.”
“I like that,” Nell observed.
“Me, too, even if it did put a bit of a time constraint on things.”
“You may as well get used to it if you plan to take this any further.”
“I know. You’re right.”
“What did you talk about? Do you want to tell us?” Nell probed.
“We talked about lots of stuff,” Stephen said, biting into another slice of watermelon. He never bothered to take out the seeds but swallowed them whole.
“Isn’t that something how he eats the seeds?” Gene remarked, motioning to Nell.
“It’s probably good roughage.” She waved Gene away like a housefly. Turning to Stephen, she urged, “Go on.”
Stephen laughed at them before he continued. “Well, you’ll be happy to know we talked about spiritual things, how we both need to trust God more, and just different things that have happened in our lives.”
“Did you tell her about Janet?”
“Yes. I’d already told her some, but we talked about it a little more.”
“And what was her reaction?”
“She seemed to understand. You know, she’s been through so much that I get the feeling that nothing surprises her.”
“Hmm.”
“Did she apologize?”
“For what?”
“For being so fickle and kind of pulling you up and down like a yo-yo?”
Stephen had to grin at Nell’s candor.
“Yes, as a matter-of-fact she did.”
“Good,” Nell said. “She needs to quit that.”
“I really believe she will this time. I think she’s just afraid.”
“Well, I’d be more afraid of missing my chance at you—” Nell stopped herself and broke out into a demure little smile. It was a rare sight.
“You’ve got yourself a good woman,” Stephen told Gene, winking at him.
“Ain’t that the truth, and don’t I know it!”
After dropping off the Patricks at their Buick in the church parking lot, Stephen turned in the opposite direction from home. He hadn’t seen Claire since their date on the previous Tuesday and had only talked to her very briefly one day on the phone. He hoped it would not be too forward of him to stop by her house. It’s a perfectly normal thing for a friend to do, he told himself on the way.
Turning into Abuelita’s drive, he saw quickly that the iron gates were closed as tight as a mussel shell. He pressed the button on the intercom and then pressed it again when no one answered.
“Sí?” said a voice that sounded old but not unpleasant.
“Uh, hi. This is Stephen Reyes.”
There was a crackle in the intercom line.
“Sí?”
Was it an automated system?
“I was wondering if Claire Caspian is available? I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”
“Sí, señor. Let me get her for you.”
Several moments elapsed, and Stephen wondered whether he should have come. Then, finally, there was another crackle and Claire’s voice.
“Stephen?”
“Hi. I hope I’m not intruding, I was just out and about and thought I’d stop by to see you, but the gate is locked.”
“Oh. So it is.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, no, it’s fine. I mean, it’s good. Here, let me open the gates and you can come on up.”
“Okay.”
The iron gates creaked open.
“Stephen?” There was a bit of noise coming through the line. “Abuelita is here—and Graeme.”
“Great,” he said, meaning it.
Stephen pulled his truck into the same spot as the first time he’d been to Abuelita’s, when he had followed Claire from the grocery store. It had been evening then, and in the lower light he hadn’t noticed how much the lawn looked like a golf course. Zoysia grass flourished on the several-acre plot around the Casa, which was encased in black iron fencing, and as Stephen stepped out of his truck, he noted the perfectly manicured flower beds on both sides of the garage.
The grass next to the sidewalk, which he followed around the house and up to the front doors, had been cut painfully to the quick. Between the cobbled bricks that Stephen stepped on, not a blade was out of place. More elaborate beds, featuring desert roses, jasmine, poppies, irises, lilies, and cedars trimmed in perfect swirls, bordered the front of the house. He imagined that Abuelita kept several Romeo citizens employed by her landscaping alone.
Claire met him at the double doors, which were made of wood and hung behind glass ones with iron bars. He noticed that her hair was wet, and she wore a long, black, gauze dress that doubled as a cover-up. It had a deep V-neck, with a tie at the top that was open, and Stephen could see the damp outline of her swimsuit, which was also black, underneath.
“Hi,” she said. “This is a nice surprise.”
She stepped back for him to enter, and they stood together in a grand foyer on big terra-cotta tiles. Her shoes were squeaky.
“I hope I’m not intruding—”
“Oh, no. Graeme and I were just having a swim in the back.”
Stephen ran a hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you—I would have just walked around.”
“That’s okay,” Claire told him. “It’s indoor. Too cold for an outdoor pool here in the fall.”
She smiled facetiously and Stephen blushed. “Right.”
“Com
e through here and meet Abuelita.”
Stephen followed her through the foyer and across the great room, past the sweeping staircase he had seen before from the kitchen. The back wall of the room was all glass, and Claire opened a huge glass door, stepping through it. Stephen followed suit, closing the door behind him.
Walking out onto the patio, which seemed to be pulled from the pages of Better Homes and Gardens, he saw what must be the pool house to the left across the patio and catty-cornered behind the garage. It was beige stucco, like the big house, with a terra-cotta tiled roof that matched the house as well as the brick of the sidewalks and patio. Crank windows, presumably for opening in summer months, were shut. A glass and iron door at the entry swung open, and Graeme ran out to meet them.
He was wrapped in a brightly colored towel that covered his body from shoulders to feet. Dragging a few inches of the towel like a train, he scampered over to Claire, who put her hands on his shoulders and held him there in front of her, rubbing his arms up and down.
“Can you say hi to Dr. Reyes?”
“Hi,” Graeme obeyed.
Stephen smiled and bent down to Graeme’s eye level, putting out his hand.
“Hello, Mr. MacGregor.”
“Hey, that’s like in Peter Rabbit,” Graeme observed.
“So it is. I was wondering if you have a garden around here,” Stephen improvised.
Graeme’s wet, curly hair framed his face like a black halo. His long eyelashes were fused together by water in sections, making the size of his green eyes seem even more pronounced as he stared at Stephen, sizing him up. He blinked drops of water away, not smiling but not frowning, either.
“Hola, Graeme! Come get your shoes!”
A voice called from the door of the pool house, and Stephen spotted a blur of red and black material before it banged shut. When it opened again, a pair of blue rubber Crocs flew out, landing in their direction, and Abuelita appeared in a floor-length, tropical-print gown. Her hair was swept up in a loose French twist, secured with colorful cloisonné combs, and she wore her big, black sunglasses with gold interlocking C’s—for Chanel—on the sides. A woven straw basket was slung over one of her arms, and the other hand closed the door gently behind her to prevent its banging. She came toward them in black beaded flip-flops, and Stephen noticed that her toenails were red, like the hibiscus on her silk caftan.
Love Finds You in Romeo, Colorado Page 19