This Wandering Heart

by Janine Rosche

  A third time, his phone signaled a text. After digging it out of his pocket, he laid it on top of the ladder and opened the text messages.

  RYANN: Don’t be too late. I have dinner plans.

  RYANN: Want me to whip up some mac and cheese for Anabelle’s dinner?

  RYANN: Btw, I had an interesting conversation with Hallie about you. Someone has a crush. And don’t act like you haven’t noticed how pretty she is. I’ve seen you hanging out at Ollie’s more often when she’s working.

  Robbie thumbed a quick response.

  ROBBIE: Not my focus. Anabelle’s my focus.

  RYANN: Think about it. If you aren’t going to make a play for Keira, you should give Hallie a chance. You deserve to be happy.

  He climbed one step higher until his ear was nearly flat against the grate.

  “Could I take you out to dinner tonight?” John’s voice had lost its edge.

  “I can’t. After what happened Saturday, I went ahead and scheduled a trip. I need to get away. I’m supposed to hit the road by five.”

  “Can’t you skip this one?” A pause. “Sorry, I get it.”

  Stay strong. Don’t give in.

  “John.” The irritation in Keira’s tone could be heard through the vent. “How about Monday instead?”

  Ugh. She’d given in.

  “It’s a date,” John said.

  Robbie’s heart sank three ladder rungs.

  “Keira, I love you.”

  The silence that followed John’s words delivered the sweet taste of satisfaction. It didn’t last long, though. Robbie descended the ladder, feeling sick. He knew the sound of two people kissing, even when eavesdropping through an air vent. After cleaning up the area and setting his tools in the corner, he grabbed his jacket off the chair, his lunch bag, and his water bottle. Back at it tomorrow, bright and early.

  “Robbie?”

  He swung around so quickly, he nearly toppled a sawhorse.

  Keira stood outside the doorframe. She peeked back into the office then padded into the lounge. Her eyes darted about. “Earlier, about the remodel . . . I wasn’t saying you aren’t smart. You know I think you’re intelligent and capable and all those things, right?”

  Robbie waited until she lifted her eyes to his, then nodded. “I know.”

  “Good. Not sure I’d get any sleep this weekend if I didn’t remind you of that. Probably means nothing to you—”

  “It actually means a lot.”

  She nodded, then she was gone. Again.

  Robbie turned off the lights in the lounge and shut the door. Down the empty hallway, he headed past the gymnasium and the display showcasing his glory days. Next to his senior football photo, the front page of the Gallatin Gazette was framed. The article was titled “West Yellowstone All-Star Makes History.” Beneath the title was a black-and-white picture of him after the state championship game. Keira fit perfectly in his arms then, even with his pads on. It was the only high school game of his she’d ever seen. She’d snuck out to watch, and she’d paid dearly for it. Even now, he shuddered at the memory.

  Through the double glass doors, Keira and John stood by her car door. She was in John’s arms now. Had been for two years. Probably would be for sixty or seventy more.

  Robbie rolled his shoulder backward twice, then forward once. But it was no use. That old ache of his tugged at the left side of his chest, beneath the muscle. The one he’d first felt the day she left him without so much as a goodbye.

  As he watched them, he slid his phone from his pocket and thumbed a text.

  Hey Ry. Can you send me Hallie’s number?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Kat Wanderfull was a great woman. Brave enough to walk straight into a dark cavern. Hopeful enough to set her eyes on the mountaintops. Yet, gentle enough to glide through a field of wildflowers without harming them.

  Countless stories had poured in through the years of the inspiration others had found in her adventures. She’d helped women—old and young, abused and ignored—find their voice, their courage, their dreams. It was her gift, this ability to see beauty in places others had merely passed by. The moss growing between cracks in the sidewalk or flowers in the desert. And in the case of red rock canyons and endless oceans, she could see past the grandiose and bring focus to the most basic of miracles—that the same God who made these wonders knit each of us together, intricately, lovingly, and purposefully.

  And he didn’t intend for us to live as slaves. Not to our pasts. Not to our sins. Not to our fear.

  Keira envied her. Perhaps that was why Keira had created Kat Wanderfull in the first place. While she taught others about the great big world, Kat held it in the palm of her hand.

  She closed her road atlas, mindful of the hundred colorful bookmarks and spiral coils. She’d already had it rebound once before. Those two days it had been at the print shop had felt as if she’d loaned out her right arm to a toddler with a habit of throwing things in the toilet. Not that she needed the book to know where she was going. The highways were so familiar to her, she sometimes wondered if she hadn’t drawn them herself on God’s map of the Pacific Northwest. Rather, it was the memories those blue, red, and gray lines stirred that helped her sleep at night. She tucked the atlas carefully into her satchel. The rest of her bags and supplies were already loaded in the 4Runner. This trip down to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, would be an easy one. Which was good, because this week had been tough. This whole year, actually.

  Although she loved teaching, deep in her heart she felt God calling her to something else. Keira pulled her laptop nearer, opened the latest e-mail from EndeavHerMore.com, the female-run, female-focused travel website that had been sponsoring her trips for the past three years. Dora, her contact, was like a big sister. She skimmed Dora’s words again. Dear Kat . . .

  The theme song to a new episode of Traveling Light caught Keira’s attention halfway through the e-mail. She locked her eyes on the television screen as if she hadn’t seen the gorgeous montage of old-world architecture, vast beaches, and natural wonders hundreds of times before. After the show’s title sequence faded to black, a pair of designer boots appeared, gracefully strolling along a cobblestone street. The Rue des Rosiers? Probably not. The show visited Paris’s Le Marais neighborhood in season fourteen, and this episode looked new. Panning upward, the camera displayed the petite form of Margot Jorgensen, still as beautiful today as she’d been on the show’s premiere.

  Margot splayed out her arms to welcome the viewers. “Today, I am in Europe’s second-oldest capital city . . .”

  Lisbon. It has to be Lisbon.

  “You guessed it,” Margot said. “Lisbon, Portugal. Right now, I’m standing on the Rua da Bica de Duarte Belo. With its distinctive multicolored buildings and flower-covered balconies, it’s easy to see why this is Lisbon’s most photographed street. You can also see that the street isn’t exactly flat. But don’t worry if you forgot your hiking shoes. You can always hop a ride on one of the classic 1930s yellow trams. Here comes one now!”

  John hated Margot’s picture-perfect persona. And no matter where the episode was set, he had something to say about the locale that dampened Keira’s mood. If he were here, he’d probably knock the cleanliness of the Portuguese café or mention the increasing incidence of crime.

  Keira slid open the drawer of the side table and retrieved a stack of tiny, arrow-shaped Post-its. On the top one, she wrote Lisbon. The city’s name even sounded seductive. She peeled off the note, crossed the room, and placed it on the wall-sized laminated world map. Hundreds of arrows in a rainbow of colors littered it. So many places to see. Too few weekends in a year. She sighed and slinked back to her couch.

  Margot’s final stop was at a small artisan shop specializing in alpaca-blend textiles. The shopkeeper wrapped a gray-and-white scarf around the host’s neck and sent her on her way with a
blessing.

  Outside, Margot smiled. “My thanks to the city of Lisbon for your delectable food, exhilarating adventure, and warm hospitality. Until next time, I’m Margot Jorgensen, and this is Traveling Light. Remember, you’ve only got so many heartbeats. Use them well.” The host climbed aboard a tram, then turned back to the camera and blew a kiss.

  The show’s tagline rattled around in Keira’s brain. Kat Wanderfull would not waste a single heartbeat. And she would not let anything get in the way of her dreams. Not a needy boyfriend. Not an overbearing father. Not even a handsome man’s smile. She moved to shut her laptop, but once again, the words of the e-mail from Dora caught her focus.

  Dear Kat, Great news. Constance Fleck reviewed the travel vlog we sent. The Adventure Channel is very interested in you. So interested they’ve offered to sponsor several of your stops in June. This is big, Kat. You’re on your way. Can’t wait to say I knew you when!

  It was 4:59. Time to go.

  After double-checking that the next episode of Traveling Light was recording, Keira switched off the television. She packed up her computer and stuffed it in her satchel, next to her atlas. After she grabbed her knit scarf from the coat rack, she stood before the mirror. It took work to wrap the scarf in the Portuguese style, but she eventually secured it. With an approving nod, she said, “Until next time, I’m Kat Wanderfull, and this is Traveling Light. You’ve only got so many heartbeats. Use them well.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Who dared to wake me from my slumber?” The troll snarled when he spoke, and curiously, he had a touch of an English accent, despite being one of those well-known, highly feared Montanan trolls. With his hunched back and dragging leg, he prowled the bank of the Madison River. He came upon a picnic table with two plates. One of them still held a quarter of a sandwich. He sniffed it. “Peanut butter and jelly. Disgusting. I only like peanut butter and unicorn sandwiches!”

  A snicker alerted him to the trunk of a towering lodgepole pine. The trunk itself was only ten inches wide. On either side of it, the curls of a child poked out. Beneath that, shoulders donned puffy purple sleeves. Princess Patty Cake. His greatest nemesis.

  His stagger turned to a gallop until he neared the tree, spooking the princess from her hiding place. But he was faster and stronger. He scooped her up and carried her to the picnic table. Her struggle, while valiant, was in vain. “Your tickle attack won’t work on me, Patty Cake, my dear. I’ll only set you free if you answer my questions. First, can you count to ten?”

  She recited her numbers one through ten, skipping seven. They’d have to work on that.

  “Can you spell your name?”

  “A-N-A-B-E-L-L-E.”

  “What’s our phone number?”

  She listed the digits.

  Hmm. What else does a mighty princess need to know? “What do you do if you get lost in the woods?”

  “Find a river. When Trixie the unicorn got lost, Princess Patty Cake found him by the river.”

  “But in real life, you stay in one spot and let me find you. You are too brave for your own good.”

  “That’s no fun, Daddy.” She pouted.

  “You know what is fun? Eating two more bites of your sandwich.”

  She scrunched her nose.

  Robbie mimicked her expression. The sun, when it ducked behind the mountain a few minutes ago, had taken the day’s warmth with it. He felt Anabelle’s bare arms. Her skin was freezing, signaling that his time as a troll was over for the day. “How about this? As soon as you take two bites, we can start our movie night. I can’t wait to see what other terrible ideas that princess is going to put in your head.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Hey, hon. The cowboy at the bar sent this drink over to you.” The waitress nodded to the man ten yards away, then set the tall glass of foamy ale on the table next to Keira’s laptop.

  Handsomeness-in-a-white-Stetson tipped his hat to her, summoning warmth to her cheeks. She nodded her thanks but realized her mistake when he gathered his jacket and drink and stepped in her direction. “Um, please tell him thank you, but I don’t drink . . . and that I have a boyfriend.”

  The waitress retrieved the drink and glanced back at him, which paused his progress toward Keira’s table. “You sure? That’s a Marlboro Man if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Keira forced her eyes back to her computer screen, only sneaking a quick glance at cowboy-come-lately after he’d returned to the bar. He tossed down some bills, then shrugged into his worn leather jacket and made his way to the front door. The man reached for the handle but stopped, waiting. Finally, he turned back to her, placed his hat over his heart, and bowed.

  Keira blinked hard, then focused on her photo-editing program. When she looked up again, he was gone. Good. Take your alpha maleness elsewhere, buddy. I’ve got my hands full.

  Her fingers stretched over her mouse pad. With a slight movement, she dragged her cursor to the Momentso icon. After she clicked it, the app’s tagline spread across the page’s header.

  A MOMENT SO _____, IT MUST BE SHARED.

  In the blank space after so, words appeared and disappeared quickly, one after the other. Perfect, enchanting, hilarious, hopeful . . . Below the header, her home page flooded the screen. The grid of recent photographs, all meticulously staged, filtered, and cropped, caused her pride to swell. These new pictures would be gorgeous. Her notifications blazed red. No doubt she had a couple hundred comments on her photos to skim. There was predictability to this game.

  Sometimes she wondered if she should’ve gotten a sociology degree instead of a teaching one. Her strength as a social media influencer was her understanding of people. She knew which category of pictures garnered the most engagement and which hashtags reached the targeted audience. She would get more likes if she posted earlier in the morning when her followers were waiting in line for their skinny vanilla lattes with almond milk. However, a pretty picture posted in the evening with a more thought-provoking caption garnered more comments. There was something about the midnight hour closing in that brought out honesty and vulnerability in her followers. They became real to her.

  Keira dipped her fork in the Italian dressing cup, then stabbed the last pieces of lettuce and slice of cucumber, leaving the pile of croutons, shredded cheese, and bacon bits on the salad plate. She chewed the bite and washed it down with her ice water. Still, her belly panged. She pinched a crouton between her fingers and raised it to her mouth. Nah, better not.

  The door to the bar swung open. Laughter preceded the woman through the doorway. Cheerful and doe-eyed, the girl looked a few years younger than Keira but close enough that they might be friends. If Keira had friends.

  A man wearing head-to-toe Patagonia trailed her, their hands locked in the space between them. Keira pictured the girl surrounded by a halo of sunlight, looking back over her shoulder and reaching toward the camera with their handhold in the foreground. That’d be a sweet picture.

  The hostess led them to the table in front of Keira.

  The girl pulled the beanie off her boyfriend’s head and scrubbed his hair. Considering the way he gazed at her, she could probably shave his whole head and tattoo Daffy Duck on it, and he’d still be in love.

  “Where are you folks from?” the waitress asked.

  “Fort Collins,” they answered in unison, then laughed.

  “Just passing through?”

  “Yep. We’re headed up to Yellowstone tomorrow. Glacier after that.” The man nodded to his date. “We graduated from Colorado State. Seeing every national park is on her bucket list. She’s letting me tag along.”

  “You’re aren’t a tagalong.” She stroked his hand and gave him an exasperated look.

  “Admit it. If I couldn’t have come, you’d have made the trek by yourself.”

  Attagirl. Keira loved to see young wo
men choose a dream and chase after it. After all, it was her whole brand.

  “Just because I could do this by myself doesn’t mean I want to.” She beamed at him.

  The laptop screen went black, and Keira hastened to awaken it, nearly knocking over her water in the process.

  After the couple placed their order, the woman excused herself to the bathroom. The man watched her disappear, then reached into the front pocket of his backpack. His intake of breath was loud enough for Keira to hear. When his hand reemerged, it held a ring box. With a flick of his thumb, the lid cracked open. The neon lights from the bar turned the stone into a kaleidoscope of color. Even more brilliant was the man’s smile.

  He caught her staring at the ring. A tilt of the box gave her a better view. “I’m asking her tomorrow at sunrise.”

  “Congratulations. Where are you planning to do it?”

  The man’s eyes darted back to the bathroom door. He flipped the lid of the box closed and hid it in his backpack. “I was thinking the Mormon Row barns. Is that a good place?”

  “It’s gorgeous, but you might not have much privacy. Schwabacher Landing would be nice. You’d have to hike a bit, but it’s worth it.”

  “Really? Thanks!”

  The girl practically skipped back to the table. Keira felt a stirring inside. Excitement for them combined with nervousness for the boy preparing to ask the biggest question of his life. Maybe there was a touch of jealousy.

  Keira packed up her laptop. Per usual, her meal was on the house. All it took was the promise of a check-in or a flattering picture of either the restaurant, the food, or a drink. She’d already posted an angled shot of the musician on the patio beneath the restaurant’s sign. Still, she slipped a note to her waitress, along with a couple of twenty-dollar bills, and nodded to the couple. The waitress winked, then paired the money with a ticket she pulled from her apron pocket.

  As Keira slung her bag over her shoulder and stood, the girl checked her phone. She hit her boyfriend’s arm. “No way. Guess who checked in at this restaurant an hour ago? Kat Wanderfull!”