At home in his room, waiting alone till the order came for lights-out, he replayed the scene on the stage of his memory but could not discover a secondary explanation no matter how many times he stopped or slowed the action. No wires or engines or wind. No evidence of tampering with the laws of nature. “You promised,” he said aloud to the imagined space he had cleared for her. You scared the crap out of them, did you see the look on their faces? You promised no more angels, no miracles, nothing seen that cannot be believed. How could you, Norah? You promised that no one would be harmed.
He fought to stay awake. From the bookshelves, the animals paraded out of the circus wagon boxes, the panther and polar bear, the fox and the bison marched across the carpet trumpeting and roaring and out through his bedroom window into the snow-filled yard, leaving tracks so small as to be almost invisible. No proof at all of their existence, much less their travels through this lonely spot on the world. He groaned in his sleep, opened his eyes to darkness, the threat of the shelves cluttered with books and circuses, and wished he could have his father come to offer comfort, or his mother surprise him by checking in, or Norah drop by to say goodnight, before sliding under the dream again.
6
The road to Madrid rose past Sandia and twisted into the high country, bare and stark, dotted with sage and rock. The sky changed around every bend and corner, sunlit to heavily overcast threatening torrents, and back again to puffy cumulus against indigo. The rental car chugged over the mountains, and without any warning, she was there, so early in the day that nobody stirred, no cars, no people, only a stray yellow dog crossing her path, looking back over its shoulder before trotting away. Diane pulled off the highway just as it curved westward, and parked on the gravel in front of the Mine Shaft Tavern. Bits of broken glass clotted in the gutter along the wooden foundation, green and brown blasted smooth by the sun and wind. Off to the east, a short row of storefronts offered arts and crafts, jewelry in silver and turquoise, a dressmaker's dummy draped in handwoven wool and muslin dyed in muted earth tones. The cold air was thinner here, and she tired easily, resting on a wooden porch of a vacant building with a faded FOR SALE sign in the window. A hank of tumbleweed lay caught between the wooden slats and the ground, and she kicked and tried to set it free, unaware that she was not alone.
From over the eastern hills came a wraith. Or so she appeared at first, her elongated shadow stretched out in front of her, a corona glowing around her body before passing into the mountains shade as she neared. Diane stood to greet her but lost her balance and tumbled off the porch. The woman hurried over, presented a bangled wrist for support, and with unexpected strength stopped her from falling. They stood close enough to dance, and Diane lowered her chin to thank her. A crown of curls, blonde fading to ash, spilled beyond the woman's shoulders, and her pale skin shone translucent at the sharp curve of her jawline and high cheekbones faintly speckled. Round glasses in rose-colored frames heightened the contrast with her pale blue eyes. Even in her plaid winter coat, too poor against the February morning, her body could not hide its birdlike form, spare and taut, both fragile and strong. A vision of Norah grown and matured.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked. “That was quite a stumble.” Her voice was a strange mix of tones and rhythms, flat and broad as the East with an unexpectedly childlike earnestness in the slow cadence of the West, as if she, too, had been blown across the country. Diane muttered a solitary thank-you.
“You're out and about awfully early. Come on over to the Mine Shaft, and I'll make you an omelet.”
“I've already had my breakfast, thanks.”
“Then a cup of coffee. Can't say no to a free coffee. Everyone always has room for another cup this time of day. My name is Maya.” She offered to shake again, and they sealed the deal.
Maya molded her hand into a megaphone and hollered back to the horizon: “Come on, boys. Breakfast.”
From the lip of the world, two iron gray long-leggety wolfhounds trotted, big as ponies, fearsome as los lobos, and ambled straight for the women. The one on the left loped to greet Maya, and the one on the right hastened to Diane, tail circling with excitement, and sprang on her, its great flat forepaws heavy as fists which punched her shoulders and knocked her sprawling backward. She looked up to see the large square head staring back at her, thick tongue lolling, teeth worn as arrowheads. Maya scolded once, barked a command, and the dog retreated, its head bowed in repentance.
“Ah, you're a bad boy, bad dog. Don't mind Finn, he's just a pup and doesn't know his own strength. But that's a dog for you. Can't never hide its true feelings. I think he likes you.”