by Kevin Singer
The cabin was just a fifteen minute drive to Santa Fe. It had an open living area and kitchen, one bedroom, and a loft. It didn't bother her that the previous owner died in his sleep, aged 48, perfect health. She resigned from her law firm, cashed in her 401k, and launched this new life. She told her brother David that it was Gavin who left her, not the other way around – a lie in a moment of weakness she couldn't quite forgive.
Still, it was invigorating: a new life, a new start, a rebirth.
She took up jewelry design and set up a stand at the market fair where she would sell an occasional piece to bemused tourists. She studied Spanish, and she read up on the history of the people – Indians, Spaniards, Mexicans, and Americans – who populated this sun-roasted, red-dusted land.
Something about this country captivated her. She loved the rugged hills with boulders that seemed like they would topple over. The air smelled untainted, as if it was new to the earth. The sun showered the ground with brilliant colors, and colors themselves – the blue of the sky, the green of each leaf – bubbled with life.
Eula, a native woman with dyed black hair and a face of a hundred wrinkles, lived with her grandson Shark in a tidy double-wide a half mile from Vickie's cabin. They spent evenings sitting on fraying lawn chairs outside Eula's house drinking beer and watching the stars. Eula always wore velour tracksuits, no matter the weather. She'd been heavy once. Now she intended to keep the weight off. “Too many years of carrying dead weight around – first my jackass husband, then my booze-loving daughters, and then my own damn blubber. I let it all go and I won't let it come back.” Vickie listened to Eula's stories – of her past, of this land, of her people – and shed her own loss drop by drop.
"I've traced back my father's ancestry several generations and I noticed something strange," Vickie said. "A pattern keeps repeating. No matter how many children are born in any generation, only one boy survives to adulthood, and only this one boy has children. The girls never have children of their own, at least none recorded." In her own family there was just her older brother David and herself, and David had one son and two daughters. "Maybe there's something genetic that keeps the women infertile."
Eula leaned forward in her creaking lawn chair. "Or maybe it's something else entirely."
Vickie was amused by the woman's tales of ancient spirits, but she saw them as nothing more than tales. "You and your spirits."
"Don't be fooled by the beauty and light," Eula warned her. "There's darkness hidden here. You must always be on guard."
The Saturday evening sun was still warm, even in the shade of the sycamore trees. The market fair was ending. Vickie sold three pairs of silver earrings and four necklaces – her most successful day yet, and her mind fluttered. For the first time since before the phantom pregnancy, she was wholly content.
A fly buzzed. She turned in its direction. A pigeon lay on the concrete. Its belly was sliced open. Red wet stringy strands poked out. A wave of nausea drowned out any happiness she felt. She forced herself to turn away.
When she did she spied Yani, the girl she'd met in the San Francisco coffee shop two years earlier. She wore a silk red dress and gold bracelets on her wrists. She browsed lazily among the stalls, fingers almost grazing the tips of glazed bowls and polished wood sculptures.
"Yani."
The girl froze mid-step. She turned slowly. Shadow hid her face, but Vickie could make out a creeping smile.
Yani walked over. Vickie moved to embrace her, but the girl backed a step away.
"It's you. Vickie. Of course."
"I took your advice, and well, here I am."
"I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you here."
"It's the best decision I've ever made," Vickie said, and she nearly believed it. "So what about you, did you get your degree?"
"Degree?"
"You were studying...something. I don't remember what."
"Yes. No, I didn't. I had to return here."
"Oh, was it a family problem?"
"Always," Yani said. "It's always family."
"I'm so sorry to hear that." Vickie's brother David was fighting leukemia for two years now. Just thinking about him gave her a twinge of pain. "I hope it all turned out okay."
Yani's pupils widened just a touch. "Not yet, but I'm sure it will be soon."
Vickie couldn't help but be intrigued by her cryptic phrasing. She stared at this girl, so tall and elegant, a woman from a magazine, almost unreal. "Please, come out to see me. I live out on Estremadura Road."
"I would love that."
Vickie swore she saw something close to hunger in Yani's eyes. It made her hesitate. Then she let the impression drift away. "So what ever happened with that man you were waiting for back in San Francisco?"
"I'm still waiting."
"But you've waited so long."
Yani's eyes went cold. "I'll see him soon. I can feel it."
"Oh honey, you really should move on."
The girl tensed. She held her hand out a few inches from her body. She brought her hand close to Vickie's arm, then she barely grazed it with her fingertips. It felt like a mist of water, nothing more. "I can't tell you how happy you've made me today, Vickie. I will see you soon." Then she turned and disappeared among the crowd.
3.