by Lia Conklin
“No, I suppose not,” Amelia replied confused at her defensiveness.
Laura laughed. “Don’t mind Brenda. She’s still a bit put off by her rejection. You see, she and Donovan dated earlier this summer.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Brenda spat. She pointed over to her boyfriend playing pool. “Anyway, he’s a better man than Donnie will ever be.”
Amelia could tell by the way she stressed the “Donnie” that she wanted her to know how intimate they had been. Amelia was not sure if she was more jealous or disappointed that Donovan would have been with such a woman.
“Speaking of Donovan,” Laura chimed in, “how is he? I haven’t seen him for a while since he broke it off with Brenda. He’s a little too serious for me—the tortured-artist type—but gorgeous to look at. Kind of miss having the scenery around, if you know what I mean. Don’t tell my boyfriend that!” she laughed, poking Amelia in the arm.
Amelia felt an odd mixture of pride and jealousy to know Donovan was such eye candy to the ladies. She, too, had found him good looking but had never separated it into a quality in itself. He simply was unbelievable in his entirety. Obviously on the surface as well.
“So, are you and Paul an item?” Laura queried, unimpeded by the decorum governing first acquaintances.
“No,” Amelia laughed, “we’re just good friends. But…” she added, figuring this conversation would make it back to him and give him some consolation if he had hoped for something more, “if I wasn’t going back to Minnesota after the summer, I could see he’d be a pretty good catch. Not a good idea to start a new romance, though, when I’ll be leaving in a couple weeks.” Sounded plausible, even to Amelia who planned to continue flouting her own advice.
The evening passed quickly but as the sky outside began to darken, Amelia caught herself checking the entrance again and again for Donovan.
“Do you think Donovan will come?” she finally asked Paul, casually looking at him over her pool stick.
“Doubt it,” he replied. “He’s not much for bars, being a recovering alcoholic and all. He came out a few times when he was dating Brenda, but they didn’t stay long. Seems they had more important things to do,” he added, unaware of the pang his joke caused.
She was just creating excuses in her head as to why she had to leave when Donovan strode through the door. She was unprepared for her reaction and had to keep herself from running towards him and flying into his arms. Her whole face was flushed and her hands clammy as he came over to the pool table to greet everyone. She was the last person he greeted, other than Brenda who had stalked away, and when she surprised him with the signature handshake, he pinched the corners of a smile that threatened to erupt over his face.
“Looks like you taught her well,” he recovered, addressing the gang, but Amelia saw his hand was shaking as he wiped its clamminess upon his jeans.
Invited to join a game of pool, Donovan accepted with reservations. “Just one. I promised my uncle I’d have Amelia back to the house soon. He’s still concerned about her.” Excuse provided.
They bought it and after Donovan and Amelia were handily whupped by Paul and Laura, they said their goodbyes.
“You got a way back to the ranch?” Paul asked Amelia. “’Cause I got to work tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, Paul.” Donovan answered for her. “My uncle asked me to drive her back.”
“Then I guess it’s goodbye,” Paul said, this time not smiling.
“I guess so,” Amelia agreed. “I can’t tell you how lucky I am to have met you. You’re the best!” With that she gave him a strong hug that he returned, adding a knuckle rub to her head.
“Back at you, baby,” he said.
Then Donovan and Amelia were out in the open air under the starry skies of another clear night.
“So, now you know,” Donovan conceded.
Amelia wasn’t sure if he meant Brenda or his alcoholism.
“Never was much at pool.”
She laughed.
“I tried to save it for us,” she said squeezing his hand, “but you kept putting it out of reach. Best you stick to other things you’re better at.”
“Amelia,” he pleaded, stopping her in mid stride to look into her eyes. “I don’t want you to go. When you left this afternoon, I felt like you took my life with you. I tried to do a few things, and I couldn’t even function. I’ve never needed anyone before, but you take my soul when you walk away.”
She knew what he meant but could only nod her answer.
They continued their walk home, hand in hand. When Donovan saw that the lights at home were still on, he said, “My uncle’s still up. Come with me.”
He pulled her quickly along after him and several minutes later they were looking over the Little Bighorn River, its basin empty but for a trickle of a stream that meandered through.
“When you leave, I’ll be as the Little Bighorn in August. Look how sad she looks. How thirsty. I’m already thirsty, and you’re still here.”
“Hmmm. A poet too,” she chided.
“I mean it though. And I don’t really like it.”
They looked at the river in silence. After a while, they sat down upon the bank and Amelia leaned back against him with a sigh.
“Up until the other night at the powwow,” she began, “I was a free spirit; I had nowhere to go but forward, no direction but the future. But now after remembering, and after seeing what your uncle showed me, I have to go back. They told me to find the truth. I have no idea what that means, but I know I must go back to Minnesota to find out.”
“I’ll wait for you, like the Little Bighorn waits for water, if you say you’ll come back.” Although she could barely make out his eyes in the darkening night, she was sure of his
sincerity.
“As soon as I can. I can’t think of anything better to come back to than you.”
“Then that’ll have to do,” he said, tilting her head backwards to meet his lips. He was thirsty, but the kiss was enough to at least ebb a thirst they both knew was insatiable.
Chapter 33
He drove her back to the ranch the following day. They tried to keep the trip light with plans for the future, but the inevitability of their separation brought moments of tortured silence. They would see each other before he went back to Kalispell and she to Minnesota. Then she would call him as often as possible, keep him abreast of her search for the truth—whatever that meant—and he would her about his art.
Instead of climbing up the embankment to look over her shoulder as he left, she chose rather to sit upon it and watch as he drove away down the gray highway to be swallowed by the encroaching mountains. Even then, she sat there for several more minutes before trudging up the embankment and mounting the ATV that still waited below on the other side.
After being treated to a thorough once over-by an anxious Pamela, Jack gave Amelia a list of chores that would keep her busy ’til spring, even when they all knew she and the rest of the staff would be leaving after Labor Day. Amelia was thankful for the distraction, for she was ill-prepared for her intense longing and desperation.
There would be one more cattle drive to drive the cows back into the mountains for the winter. This drive was not entirely necessary, but it was a good draw for the close of the tourist season. On the eve of this last cattle drive, Amelia could no longer bear the separation. Her hand shaking, she dialed Donovan’s number.
“Hel—” she heard, and then the phone was dropped on the floor, but it was enough for her to realize it was a woman’s voice. “Oops,” the voice said giggling, “I dropped the phone!” She continued to giggle uncontrollably until Amelia found an opening to interrupt.
“Could I speak to Donovan, please?” she asked, a bit disconcerted.
“Oh Donnie!” She knew the voice instantly. “Some little bitch wants to talk to you!”
Brenda again erupted into giggles, dropping the phone again. This time when it was picked up, Amelia barely recognized Donovan’s voice.
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br /> “Hel…lo.…oh?” He crooned in a singsong voice. Amelia stood with the phone frozen to her ear. She couldn’t breathe, let alone answer.
“Hel…loo,” the voice repeated, singing into the receiver.
“Just hang up, Donnie baby,” Brenda cooed from the background, “and come back over here.” Somehow Amelia pried the phone from her ear and placed it clumsily into its holder. Then she ran to the bathroom.
She stayed there for hours. Tucked back in the far corner of the ranch house, she sobbed and retched undisturbed until the sky began to lighten. Then she slunk back to the bunkhouse and waited until the others stirred.
“You’re sick!” Russ proclaimed when he saw her that morning. “We’ll have to start without you. You could catch up with us tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I feel pretty lousy,” Amelia managed to say, “but I think if I just get moving I’ll feel better.”
“It’s up to you,” came Russ’s reply.
Amelia managed to perform her pre-trail duties: arranging the tack, the horses, the grub, and first aid supplies. She focused on each detail as if it were her last breath, and somehow, she was soon guiding the others down the trail.
Once on the horse, however, she had little to distract her but a barren landscape that echoed her longing and loss.
“Clarity,” she whispered to herself over and over, trying to bring back that strength she had found in herself those times before. This time there was no relief. This time the pain was too much like the pain she had thought she would never again have to endure.
She reasoned with herself as she led this anonymous group of tourists through the nondescript views of the trail. Berated herself for her pain after such a brief encounter with a stranger as she collected a few straying calves bewildered by the horses, the riders, the new terrain. He did not deserve this pain.
She felt awash with guilt. How dare she bestow upon him this pain that she had reserved for her mother and her dear little brother. What had he done to deserve that depth of emotion? Some good sex? Some corny analogy about the river? The river be damned. May the whole thing dry up and shrivel in misery. And while she was at it, she shriveled it up as well. Have fun with that, Brenda darling, she thought.
Relief had come, this time through anger and not clarity. But that was good enough for Amelia. And so, she took it out in various ways that week along the trail, certain that anger was better than falling apart on the saddle.
She was in the middle of scolding an eight-year-old boy for being a spoiled rotten baby, when she suddenly saw his face. Not his face, but her brother’s.
“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, filled with remorse. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just frustrated to be behind schedule. Listen, I promise if you get up in the saddle that your bottom will feel better, and you’ll barely notice that it hurts. And, if you show me what a brave cowboy you are, I’ll make sure we get you something extra special for dessert tonight. What d’ya say, pardner?”
“Ice cream?” he asked.
“We don’t have ice cream on the trail,” she laughed. “You’ll get some of that when we get back. But, I can make sure Loni cooks you up something really special that I’m sure you’ll like. Deal?”
“Okay,” he said, putting his foot in the stirrup. Amelia helped him up. Now she had clarity.
This time when they got back from the trail they had a regular party awaiting them. A group of local musicians were there to play country music into the night. It was the Stanton’s way of thanking the summer staff. Amelia took out her guitar for the first time in weeks and within minutes, her rusty fingers took on the shine she was used to. She played and sang off and on with the group, and without realizing it, she was happy.
She took turns dancing with Russ and Raymundo, and mother of all surprises, a turn with Jack! An old country fiddle tune had Jack eating up the sun-scorched ground with his well-worn heels and tossing Amelia about like the many calves he had roped and thrown in his day. They even set off a few fireworks. Then Jack sent Russ out to make sure nothing was smoldering. The evening was wonderful, and Amelia realized if anyone deserved her tears, these people did: Loni, the gourmet chef that never got the chance; Raymundo, torn between two cultures; Russ, a cowboy yearning to be free; beautiful, sophisticated Pamela juxtaposed upon this coarse landscape; and Jack, its mirror image. She would miss them. But not as much as she missed him. Such banished thoughts were never truly banished.
Chapter 34
Two days later, she was in Billings waiting for the bus. It was the day they had planned to meet in Hardin, a little town outside the reservation. She wondered if he’d be there waiting for her. She hoped he would and that his disappointment would be overwhelming. She doubted it, though. He had so quickly turned to another. Why would he bother to wait for her?
When the bus pulled away, she felt her loss well up inside her. As she choked it back, she tasted the bitterness of bile. She leaned her forehead against the window and sobbed quietly into the distant outline of the mountains where he waited. Or didn’t. Another chapter of her life closed. No, not closed, she realized, but ripped from her hands like all the other chapters of her life. At least she was on the road back to reclaim the others.
Chapter 35
“How wonderful to see you, sweetheart!” her grandmother cried, drawing her into her pudgy arms. “Two times in a year after not seeing you for so many! I’m blessed! Let me look at you! You put on some weight! How great! You were really too skinny the last time I saw you. Meant to speak to your father about that, had he shown up for his own sister’s funeral. But it looks like he took care of you after all.”
Amelia’s grandmother had been nearly dancing around her as she looked her over front to back, top to bottom.
“And how brown you are! That Honduran sun has almost made you Hispanic, or is it Latino or Chicano that they say nowadays? Anyway, took the Minnesotan right out of you! So glad you’re here to stay awhile. We’ll have you whitewashed in no time!”
She pointed to a chair. “Now, sit sweetie. You must be starving. I made a nice turkey hot dish for you, new recipe I found in the Better Homes and Gardens. They put a little blue cheese in this one, so I thought it sounded interesting. We’ll have to see if it’s a keeper.” She flew into the kitchen and began extracting plates.
“Can I help, Grandma?” Amelia asked, rising from her chair.
“No, no, dear. You sit and relax. I have everything ready. It’ll just take a minute. What was I going to say? Oh yes. Your father used to love being a guinea pig for my new recipes. If you plan to stay awhile, you better get used to it too!”
“It sounds great, Grandma,” Amelia replied enthusiastically. Loni had been a good cook for what she was given, but Amelia was looking forward to a change of menu.
“Now tell me what you’ve been up to,” her grandmother said, applying the finishing touches to the evening’s offerings and taking her place at the table, “in that far off abysmal place your father whisked you off to. Do you have a boyfriend?”
Amelia hesitated on both accounts. She hadn’t decided how much to tell her grandmother. She didn’t want to worry her needlessly about her son yet didn’t want to lie either. And she certainly didn’t want to tell her about her recent heartbreak, which to remember for just an instant awakened the dull ache inside her. She decided the truth without the fixings was the best course of action.
“Actually grandmother, I didn’t go back to Honduras. I went to Montana and worked on a ranch for the summer. It was a great experience.”
“What? Well, I’ll be. I had no idea you were heading out that way. You never told me.” She almost looked angry, peering from beneath the glasses that magnified the piercing blue of her wide-spaced eyes.
“Sorry, Grandma. I just didn’t want to worry you. You had enough on your mind as it was.”
“Suppose you’re right,” she said and after a pause added, “How did your father ever let you go off on your own? Figures he’d encourage such a
n adventure, hitchhiking to Alaska like he did at sixteen,” she said disapprovingly.
“Actually, Grandma,” Amelia laughed, “you’d be surprised at how disapproving he would have been! He kept me a prisoner in Honduras. I never had a minute to myself, let alone a chance for an adventure. So, I didn’t tell him where I was going.”
“So, he assumed you were here the whole time. That’s what he gets for never calling me. We haven’t even gotten an email from him telling us why he never made it to the funeral.”
Amelia felt momentarily anxious, but her grandmother’s next statement set her somewhat at ease.
“So like him really. I’d say I’ve gotten less than six letters from him in the last ten years. Not sure what I did to deserve a son like that, but that’s my cross to bear.”
“Better a son than a father!” Amelia laughed.
“Is he really that bad?” Her grandmother queried, suddenly quite serious.
“Maybe we can’t fault him after what he’s been through,” came Amelia’s evasive answer.
“Suppose you’re right,” her grandmother said, taking another bite of the hot dish, and this time really tasting it. “Not bad, not bad. What do you think, Amelia?”
“I haven’t had a chance to try it, Grandma,” Amelia chuckled, “what with the inquisition and all!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll give you a chance to take a bite. So, Montana,” she said barely pausing, “what’s it like?”
Amelia took a moment to chew the mouthful she had just taken.
“Beautiful,” she responded, swallowing at the same time. “I worked in the mountains. Very dry, but beautiful in its own way. It’s amazing how many shades of earth and stone there are once you pay attention. Great hot dish, by the way, Grandma. I think the blue cheese gives it a kick.”
“Wait until you see what I made for dessert. A variation of the apple torte recipe my friend Irma cut out of the Better Homes and Gardens.”