Running Barefoot

17. Rubato



Samuel was waiting for me in front of my house when I slipped out into the rising sun the next morning for my run. Somehow I had known he would be. We hadn’t arranged it, but there he was. Today he wore sneakers and mesh shorts, his long brown legs muscled and lightly furred with dark hair. He wore another USMC t-shirt in soft grey. It fit snugly, clinging to his V shaped back and narrow torso. Yum. I walked towards him, not quite knowing what to say. Last night’s kiss was very fresh in my mind.

“Hi,” I said lightly. “Are you coming with me?”

Samuel looked me over silently, his eyes lingering on mine. He was never in a hurry to reply. I’d forgotten that about him. He always took his time when he talked, and I tamped down my urge to fill the silence. That was Samuel’s way. He might not reply at all. After all, he was obviously coming with me. The question was pretty rhetorical.

“I’m really hoping you’ll come with me,” he finally said softly, his voice deep and a little rough from sleep, indicating these were probably the first words he had spoken out loud since we’d parted the night before.

It was my turn to study him in silence, not sure what to make of his comment. He met my perusal with steady black eyes. We were quite the pair, standing in the middle of the road, staring at each other for long stretches, not talking. I laughed suddenly at our owlish behavior.

I threw my hands toward the mountains. “Lead on, Super Sam,” I said gallantly. “Wherever you want to go, I’ll follow.”

Samuel’s expression lightened at the old nickname, but he didn’t smile. “I’m going to hold you to that, Bionic Josie.”

Samuel started off at a pretty brisk pace, and I wasn’t naive enough to think he was trying to impress me. I knew better. The man was fit, and he knew how to run. I kept up pretty well, finding a rhythm and settling in. We didn’t converse at all, just ran in quiet companionship - our feet drumming and our breath echoing their cadence. We ran east a couple miles, climbing higher and higher as we neared the base of the canyon, until the fat orange sun had shoved off its mountain perch and hovered heavily just above us in the early morning sky. Then we turned, with its rays nudging at our backs, and ran back towards town. We picked up our feet as gravity pulled us forward, gaining speed as we hurtled back down into the valley.

Fall was in the air. The light changes in the autumn. Even at sunrise the angle is different, the intensity softened, muted, like looking through a painting under water. The air was just a few degrees cooler than it had been on previous mornings. I felt a sudden weightlessness, a burst of joy, and I looked at Samuel and let myself smile with it, let it pour out. I felt better than I had in a very long time. I felt whole, I realized. Complete. How was it possible than in two weeks I could undergo this radical shift? Like somehow I’d discovered the key to the secret garden -- a place that had been there all along, but had become overgrown with neglect; I’d unlocked the door and stepped inside, and I was ready to pull weeds and plant roses.

Samuel must have felt it too, because his white teeth flashed back at me as his grin stretched wide in his strong golden face. My eyes lingered on his face appreciatively, and then I turned again to the dusty dirt road in front of me. I knew better than to look away from the road ahead for too long. I ran face first into horse butt when I did that.

As we neared the end of our run, my muscles protested the downshift in speed, having become accustomed to the flying sprint we’d maintained for the last mile of the homestretch. I needed to run with Samuel every morning; he made me push myself, big time. No more lazy morning jog for this superhero.

Samuel continued on with me past his grandparent’s house, and we slowed to a walk as we arrived at mine. My dad was sitting out on the front porch, feet up on the rail, a Diet Pepsi in his hand. My dad liked his caffeine cold. He called it cheap whiskey and claimed there was nothing better then the burn of that first long pull after he popped the tab. I was my father’s daughter, and I couldn’t agree more, though I favored Diet Coke.

“Looks like ya got yerself a runnin’ partner, Josie Jo,” my dad called out in greeting as we walked across the grass towards him. Like every girl does, I felt a flash of relief that my dad seemed fine with the fact that I had male company.

“Morning, Daddy.” I leaned over the porch rail and grabbed his drink, stealing a swig of ice cold fire.

“Sir.” Samuel nodded towards my dad and stuck out his hand. My dad’s boots fell heavily to the porch as he grasped Samuel’s hand in his own.

“I’m glad you’ve got someone to run with, for the time being at least, huh Josie? I always worry a little with you running all alone. Even in a little place like Levan, ya just never know.”

I shrugged off my dad’s worry. On my morning runs I’d never seen anything but chipmunks, birds, livestock, and the neighbors I’d known all my life.

“Samuel, come on in and I’ll get us something cold to drink, since I’m sure Dad doesn’t really want to share.” I smiled at my dad, and Samuel followed me, excusing himself with another polite “Sir” to my dad. I liked that.

“The manners, is that a Marine thing?” I said over my shoulder as we walked through the living room into my cheery kitchen. “Water, orange juice, milk, or caffeine?”

“Orange juice - and yes. Definitely a Marine thing. I couldn’t not say “yes ma’am” or “no sir” if my life depended on it. You live around it for ten years and it becomes pretty ingrained.”

I poured Samuel a tall glass of orange juice and handed it to him. Then I gulped down my requisite 8 oz of water before I let myself pop the tab on a cold can of caffeine. We leaned against the counter together, nursing our drinks in thirsty silence.

“So what comes next?” I propped my hip against the counter, turning to face him. “I mean, as far as the Marines?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Samuel face was contemplative. “I got back from Iraq three weeks ago-”

“Three weeks?” I yelped, stunned that he had so recently returned. “How long were you there?”

“All told, except for some leave stateside, I’ve spent almost three years in Iraq. Two 12 month tours, with the last one being extended by six months. It was time to come home, whatever that means.”

“Whatever that means?” I repeated, puzzled.

“I don’t really have a home to come home to,” Samuel said matter-of-factly. “I have been in the Marine Corp since I was 18-years-old. I’ve been stationed all over. I did two tours in Afghanistan after 9/11, and then did the two tours in Iraq. When I haven’t been deployed, I’ve either been receiving specialized training, or stationed at Camp Pendleton, or on a ship. Anyway, once I was through debriefment, my platoon was given a month’s paid leave. I’ve stored up more than that in the last ten years; I haven’t taken much. I borrowed that truck from a member of my platoon. I don’t own any wheels. No house, no wheels, all my possessions fit in a suitcase. Anyway, it’s been two weeks since I got here, and I have about two weeks more.”

“And then what?” I couldn’t imagine going back to Iraq for round three. I was exhausted just listening to him.

“And then I have to decide.” Samuel’s eyes met mine.

“Decide?”

“Decide whether I want something else.” Samuel was being cryptic again.

“You mean, something besides the Marine Corp?”

“Yeah.” Samuel set his glass down and pushed himself away from the counter. “What are you doing today?”

He changed the subject abruptly, as if his future was not something he wanted to discuss, and my brain spun with thoughts of his last ten years - wondering at his experiences, his losses and triumphs, his friendships…his life. Somehow, because his letters had dwindled after boot camp, I had always imagined him in the context of that environment, in the relative safety of a military base with drill instructors watching his every move. In actuality, he had spent most of the last ten years in very hostile environments, in very dangerous places. I shuddered a little bit, and shook my head in wonder. Even when his Grandma Nettie had marveled at his sniper skills and his prowess as an ‘assassin,’ I had not processed the fact that he had most likely spent the majority of his time as a Marine in different war zones.

“Josie?” Samuel’s voice prodded and I realized he had asked me a question.

“Hmm?” I found myself back in my kitchen, Samuel looking down at me with one eyebrow peaked, patiently waiting for my response.

“What are you doing today?” He repeated.

I glanced at the clock. “I go into the shop at 11:00 - work until 2:30, and then I walk over to the church and teach piano lessons until 7:00ish. What about you?”

“Kick around with my grandpa until you’re done at 7:00ish.” His eyes crinkled a little, hinting at a smile, and softening his assumption that I would be at his disposal as soon as lessons were over. My heart skipped wildly, and I resisted the urge to glance down at my chest to see if the skipping was noticeable under my thin shirt.

The back door off the kitchen swung open, and I jumped guiltily, although Samuel stood several feet away. My dad stuck his white head around the door frame, standing a few steps down on the back stoop. “Hey Jos?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“I don’t think I told you, me ‘n Jacob are headin’ out to the Book Cliffs this weekend. Jacob drew out a tag in the bow-hunt out there. We’ve got some days comin’ now that shutdowns are done at the plant, so we’re gonna take the trailer and the horses and go see if we can get us an elk.”

The Book Cliffs were in Moab, about five hours southeast of Levan. They were named the Book Cliffs because that’s what the mountains looked like - books lined up in a bookshelf. It was breathtaking country, and every hunting tag in that area was hard to come by and highly coveted. The only thing my dad liked as well as horses was hunting, and I knew he must be tickled pink about Jacob drawing out.

“Are Jared and Johnny going too?”

“Jared hasn’t been given permission,” my dad grumbled, referring to Tonya’s position as head of the household, “and Johnny’s afraid to leave with the twins being so close to comin’, so it’s just Jake and me. I think Marv might come with us, though.” Marv was Jacob’s father-in-law who didn’t miss many hunts either.

“When are you leaving?”

“I’m thinking we’ll head out later on today and probably be gone til’ next Thursdee or Fridee.” My dad hemmed and hawed, as if I would complain about him being gone the six or seven days he was suggesting.

“Sounds fun.” I shrugged.

“You can come,” my dad offered insincerely.

“Ha, ha, ha, Daddy,” I said sarcastically. “Now what if I said I wanted to, what would you do? Whose bed in the trailer would I take?” I laughed at his chagrined expression. I walked to him and kissed his scratchy cheek. “No thank you, but have a lovely time. And thank you for giving me the heads up. Actually, while you’re gone, I think I will play the piano until all hours of the night and eat chocolate cake for every meal,” I teased.

My dad eyed me soberly for a moment. “That’d be real nice, Jos. It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play. Maybe you could play a little somethin’ for me when I get back; I sure do miss it.” He said the words softly, searching my face as he spoke them. I flushed, realizing Samuel was hearing the exchange.

“It’s a date, Dad,” I said lightly, patting his cheek and turning from him.

I expected Samuel to comment on my dad’s request, but he let it rest, kneeling to greet Yazzie as he lumbered into the kitchen from his ‘bed’ in the washroom. Yazzie didn’t sleep in my room anymore. He was ten years old, an old-timer in dog years, and he didn’t like climbing stairs, although every once in a while I would wake with him sprawled across my feet. I think sometimes he missed the old days. I missed them too, although on his rare visits I awoke to no feeling in my legs and feet.

“Hey Samuel,” my dad swung his gaze to where Samuel crouched. “You’re welcome to come along. I wouldn’t mind seein’ some real shootin.’ We got room for one more man.” My dad glanced at me apologetically as he clarified ‘one more man.’ Apparently my dad had learned a little something about Samuel’s expertise at the barbeque on Sunday.

“No thank you, Sir.” Samuel said politely. “I’ve done all the hunting I want to do for a while.” A flicker of embarrassment crossed Samuel’s face, as if he’d spoken without thinking.

My dad grinned as if Samuel had said something funny and ducked his head back around the corner without further comment, the screen door banging behind him.

“Hey, boy.” Samuel didn’t do the baby talk thing when he talked to Yazzie. His voice was mild and low, and he spent another minute scratching and stroking the big dog. Yazzie yawned widely, leaning into Samuel’s big hands, his eyes rolling back in his noble head and his tongue hanging out in sheer delight.

Eventually, Samuel looked up at me and said simply, “I’ll see you later.” Yazzie and I followed him to the front door. Samuel waved a hand and stepped outside, striding across the lawn and up the street towards his grandparent’s house. Yazzie and I watched him forlornly - identical expressions on our mugs. “Oh for goodness sake!” I laughed, looking down at Yazzie. Yazzie ‘ruffed’ back at me, as if to say “Look who’s talking,” before he shuffled away to find breakfast.





Samuel must have tested all the doors and found the one that was unlocked, because he was waiting outside the church’s little side entrance when I walked my last student out to her bike. I was ridiculously glad that I didn’t have to make friendly small talk with a waiting parent. Or introduce Samuel. I’d had some well-meaning friends try to fix me up in the last few years, and I had had to get downright obstinate with a few folks who just couldn’t stop playing matchmaker. I’d refused every date they’d arranged. Imagine how the tongues would wag when I was seen with Samuel. All bets would be off - I would have no excuse. I would be lined up with every cousin, brother, and sister’s roomate’s uncle from now ’til Christmas. I shuddered at the very thought.

Samuel walked toward me as little Jessie Ann Wood peddled away. I double checked to make sure I’d gotten the light and pulled the door closed, sliding the key into the lock.

“That’s your bike isn’t it?” Samuel halted beside me, nodding his head towards my old-fashioned bike leaning up against the side of the church. I felt goose bumps dance up my arms. He didn’t invade my space or reach out and touch me, and I wondered if the kisses last night had been a fluke - an impulse brought on by too much moonlight and sweet remember whens.

“Yes. I rode this morning. It was easier than walking. My legs are shot from this morning - I’m not used to running that fast. You’ve pushed me hard twice this week, and my legs are like jello.” I smiled up at him wryly.

“In that case, I know just what you need.”

Samuel picked up my bike and began walking towards his borrowed black pick-up, lifting it up and setting it in the bed of the truck.

“What do I need?”

“You’ll see. Are you hungry?”

“Always,” I admitted honestly, and Samuel looked at me and chuckled. “Well let’s go put a little meat on those bones.”

He opened the door, and I stepped up into the passenger side, smoothing my violet skirt around my legs as I sat. Samuel reached out and fingered the crinkly material gently. “You wear skirts alot - I like that. You don’t see a lot of women who enjoy being feminine. It’s nice.” His hand dropped from my skirt and shut the door before I could respond with more than a smile.

Samuel climbed in and turned the key. Immediately the sounds of Tchaikovsky’s Octobre - Chant D’Autumne slid into the space around us. I forced myself to relax into the leather seat, hearing the music and letting it in. We drove for a few minutes, listening, before Samuel spoke.

“In Iraq it’s hot more often than not, and the sand is this constant presence. I used to dream of Autumn - the cool mornings with my grandmother herding sheep away from home, waking before the sun rose and actually being chilled - sitting by the campfire and eating jerky and cornmeal cakes and Navajo tea.”

“Is that why you’re listening to The Autumn Song?” I smiled.

“Exactly.”

“Tchaikovsky was paid to create a short piece for each month of the year. He named the entire work The Seasons. He had to have an assistant remind him when it was time to write another ‘month.’ He joked that there are two kinds of inspiration, one that comes from the heart, and one that comes from necessity and several hundred rubles.”

“She’s ba-ack,” Samuel said under his breath in a sing song voice, and I giggled like a little kid.

“I used to play Octobre,” I sighed dreamily. “It always made me think of fall, too.” I shifted my attention back to Samuel, “I could feel it in the air this morning when we ran.”

“Is that why your face lit up, and you smiled that great big smile? You looked like you were about ready to take flight. I thought I was going to have to hold on to you to keep you with me.” Samuel teased, his eyes touching mine briefly.

“I’m always pretty eager for autumn to get here.” I tried to be matter-of-fact as I confessed the reason why. “Both Kasey and my Mom died when summer was just beginning - and I guess summer brings back bad memories. I’m always glad when it’s over.” I twiddled my thumbs uncomfortably in my lap. “Fall has always felt like a chance to start over. I know nature hasn’t designed it that way - it’s actually the opposite. The leaves fall off the trees, the flowers die, and winter rolls in… but I love it all the same.”

“What happened to Kasey?” Samuel was very still, his eyes moving from me to the road and back again.

“You don’t mince words, do you?” I murmured, tucking a stray curl behind my ear.

“My Grandma Yazzie says it’s the Navajo way not to hurry. We have all the time in the world. We move deliberately, take our time, and do things precisely. Life is all about harmony and balance. It’s probably the reason I’m a good sniper. I can outwait anybody. But I don’t feel like I have all the time in the world anymore, not now. I don’t want to waste any of the time I have with you.” Samuel’s expression was unflinching, and I flushed at his bluntness.

“He rolled his car not too far from here,” I pointed out my window, at the long narrow highway we were driving on, “He had just dropped me off. It was the morning after we graduated from high school.”

Samuel remained silent, waiting for me to continue.

“I used to marvel at the irony that I had wanted him to spend an extra 20 minutes with me that morning, taking me home, instead of remaining in Nephi like he’d planned. I had another ride, you know… he never would have been driving back into Nephi at all if it weren’t for me. I traded an extra twenty minutes with him for a lifetime. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Have you ever thought that he might have rolled the car there in Nephi just as easily, and if he hadn’t taken you home you wouldn’t have had even those last twenty minutes? There are many ways to die, Josie. You didn’t necessarily place him in death’s only path.” Samuel’s voice and face were blank, like he was discussing the height of the wheat in the fields we drove past, or the way the mountains in front of us looked purple beneath the sky.

“There was a guy I served with in Iraq. His mom didn’t want him to go; she was scared to death of him going. Of course, he went anyway. He’d signed up for it, and he went. His younger brother, who still lived at home, was killed in a car accident while he was gone. My friend came home from Iraq without a scratch. That’s irony.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t respond at all. I knew the truth of what Samuel said - but sometimes a little guilt was a good distraction from sorrow. The sorrow had faded through the years, but somehow the guilt remained.

We rolled into Nephi, and I wondered if Samuel would pull into Mickelson’s Family Restaurant. It had good food and it sat at the edge of town by the freeway off-ramp, making it accessible to thru-traffic and town’s folk alike. I wondered if I would see anybody I knew inside - someone who would come up and get the scoop and an introduction on the pretense of giving two hoots about how I was doing. I hated making small talk and avoided people in the grocery store and other places just so that I wouldn’t have to think of things to say. I liked people, I cared about them, and I wanted to be a good person, but don’t make me chat idly on the telephone or make pleasant conversation just for the sake of being polite. We neared the restaurant and Samuel kept driving. I breathed a little easier and wondered aloud where he was taking me.

“My grandpa told me an interesting story about a pond in this area. I thought we’d have a picnic. Grandma Nettie packed it - it should be full of good stuff.”

“Burraston’s Pond?”

“That’s the one.”

Thoughts of Kasey filled my head. He and his friends would swing out of a huge tree and into the pond. Some of the branches extended far out over the water. Some kids had built a rickety platform high up in the same tree to jump from. The platform was about two feet by two feet, and it was a wonder nobody had been killed. They had never been able to talk me up into the tree. I was way too sensible. So with my heart in my throat, I had watched them climb high into the uppermost branches, steady themselves on the little platform, and then hurl themselves out and over the water, screaming with terror and delight.

We took the old Mona road and at the turnoff to the pond, veered west on the dirt road pocked with deep grooves and tire tracks. Since school was back in session the campsite was empty, and the little lake was completely void of people and boats. There was no wind, and the setting sun shimmered on the still water, coloring the water a deep amber edged in ebony shadows. I hadn’t been to Burraston’s since before Kasey had died, but felt no overpowering melancholy at returning. This had been a hangout, a place to play, and except for sharing our first kiss here, it was not a spot I was especially nostalgic about.

Looking at it now, I realized how lovely it was. Quiet and abandoned, it seemed to bloom in its solitude. We bounced over the bumpy road and took the fork that took us up and around the pond.

“Where’s the best spot?” Samuel looked to me for guidance.

Burraston’s Pond was actually Burraston’s Ponds, with a few little water holes that broke off the biggest part.

“Keep going around until we’re on the furthest side of the main pond.” Trees were thick in some spots, sparse and others, and I directed him to the famous ‘big tree’ overlooking the water. Samuel pulled off the dusty road and grabbed a coarse blanket and a little cooler from the back of the truck as I climbed out and gingerly climbed my way down to a little clearing at the water’s edge where I thought we could picnic.

The silence was broken only by the crickets warming up for their evening symphony, and an occasional buzz of a mosquito flitting over the water. I had never been to Burraston’s when it was deserted. It was not surprising to me that I liked it much better this way. Samuel spread the blanket out, and we sat watching the water lap up against the rocks and twigs that littered the shore at the base of the big tree.

“So what’s the story your grandpa told you?” I leaned back against the blanket, propping my head in one hand and looking up at him.

“It wasn’t about the pond, I guess. It’s more about the town. I didn’t ever come to Mona when I lived here. I never had reason to - so when I asked my grandpa if there were any good fishing spots around here, and he mentioned this pond, I asked him about the town. He said Burl Ives, the singer, was once thrown in jail here in Mona. It was before his time, but he thought it was a funny story.”

“I’ve never heard about that!”

“It was the 1940’s, and Burl Ives traveled around singing. I guess the authorities didn’t like one of his songs - they thought it was bawdy, so they put him in jail.”

“What was the song?” I snickered.

“It was called Foggy, Foggy Dew. My grandpa sang it for me.”

“Let’s hear it!” I challenged.

“It’s far too lewd.” Samuel pulled his mouth into a serious frown, but his eyes twinkled sardonically. “All right you’ve convinced me,” he said without me begging at all, and we laughed together. He cleared his throat and began to sing, with a touch of an Irish lilt, about a bachelor living all alone whose only sin had been to try to protect a fair young maiden from the foggy, foggy dew.

One night she came to my bedside

When I was fast asleep.

She laid her head upon my bed

And she began to weep

She sighed, she cried, she damn near died

She said what shall I do?

So I hauled her into bed and covered up her head

Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

“Oh my!” I laughed, covering my mouth. “I don’t think I would have stuck Burl Ives in jail for that, but it is pretty funny,”

“Marine’s are the lewdest, crudest, foulest talking bunch you’ll ever find. I’ve heard much, much worse. I’ve sung much, much worse. I tried to remain chaste and virtuous, and I still have the nickname Preacher after all these years - but I have been somewhat corrupted.” He waggled his eyebrows at his ribaldry.

“I kind of liked that song…” I mused, half kidding. “Sing something else but without the Irish.”

“Without the Irish? That’s the best part.” Samuel smiled crookedly. “I had a member of my platoon whose mom was born and raised in Ireland. This guy could do an authentic Irish accent, and man, could he sing. When he sang Danny Boy everybody cried. All these tough, lethal Marines, bawling like babies. He sang this one song called ‘An Irish Lament’ that I loved so much I memorized it. In fact, when I saw you in the rain a couple weeks ago, it was the first thing that came to my mind.” The smile had gone out of Samuel’s expression, and his eyes narrowed on my face. His moods were so mercurial, I found myself challenged to keep pace with him. There was now intensity in his gaze where moments before he’d been singing a bawdy tune in a borrowed brogue.

I stared back, trying to wait him out. After a few moments I caved.

“You aren’t going to sing me An Irish Lament, are you?”

“It depends,” he countered.

“On what?”

“On whether you will play for me when I take you home tonight.”

It was my turn to become moody. I was not blind to my feelings for Samuel. Where this would all lead, and whether either of us could or wanted to go there was what had me digging in my emotional heels. I knew the incredible power of music and the mood it could set. Exhibit A - the kisses we had shared the night before after Debussy wove his spell. I didn’t trust myself with a large helping of Samuel sprinkled with symphonies. I didn’t know if my heart could take another love lost.

“I think the Irish Lament might scare you away.” The sun had lowered itself discreetly behind the western hills. Samuel’s voice was as smooth and quiet as the deepening shadows around us.

“Maybe so…” I avoided his gaze and reached for Nettie’s basket, needing sustenance to keep my wits with Samuel.

Nettie had packed thick turkey sandwiches on homemade bread and chocolate chip cookies (thankfully no lemon squares). She’d included a few peaches from her big tree, and Samuel had added a couple Diet Cokes and a bottle of water. We dug in without further discussion, except for an occasional moan from me.

“Everything okay?” Samuel smiled after a particularly gusty sigh.

“Food just tastes so much better when I didn’t prepare it.”

“You’re a great cook.”

“Yes I am,” I agreed without artifice, “but there’s something about having someone make you a sandwich. It just tastes better; I can’t describe it.”

“Being a Marine has given me a new appreciation for making my own dinner - chow hall isn’t so bad when it’s available, but boxed lunches, no thank you. At boot camp we used to call them ‘boxed nasties.’ I prefer to know what’s in my food, and the only way that happens is if I make it myself.”

“Have you become a control freak, Samuel?” I teased, biting into my peach.

“Hmmm. Yeah, I guess I have.” Samuel looked off across the inky water. “When you realize there’s so much you can’t control, you get pretty stingy with what you can.”

We finished off our meal in silence as the shadows grew and grew and eventually touched, crowding out the light, until all traces of the sun were banished, and the stars began to glimmer overhead.

“I can’t believe I’m here.” Samuel sighed, his arms crossed beneath his head, his long frame stretched out on the scratchy army blanket.

“Why?”

“A month ago I was in Iraq. Suited up day in and day out, camo, boots, flak jacket, glasses, helmet. And I never, ever, went anywhere without my weapon and plenty of ammo strapped on me. This feels surreal.” He paused for a few seconds. “Let’s go swimming.”

“What?” I laughed, and then choked as my laughter caused me to inhale some of the juice from the peach I had been enjoying.

“I want to swim. Look how the stars reflect on the water. It almost looks like we’re looking down into space.”

“You should see it from up in the tree,” I said without thinking, and wished suddenly I hadn’t suggested it.

“Really?” Samuel eyed the big tree speculatively. Instantly, he started shucking off his boots and undoing his pants.

“Samuel!” I felt heat flood me, and I wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or a genuine curiosity about what I was about to see.

“I’m going to climb the tree and jump off into the water.”

I sighed. It must be a man thing. Why did every guy I knew feel compelled to climb that tree and jump?

“Come with me, Josie.” Samuel narrowed his eyes at me, holding his shirt in his hands. His chest was broad and well-defined, his shoulders and arms corded with muscle, his abs rippled down into his boxer shorts. I looked down at my hands as I spoke so I wouldn’t gawk.

“Uh-uh. The furthest I’ve ever gotten was a few branches up, just so I could see the effect of the stars reflecting on the water.”

“This morning you said you would follow me wherever I went.” His voice was cajoling and light. “Please?”

I was wearing a black tank, and I supposed my black panties combined with my tank top would be as modest as a swimsuit. I didn’t let myself think about it too long. I had always been too practical, too sensible, too boring for my own good. I was going swimming. I slid my skirt down my thighs, stepping out of it and my sandals. I reminded myself to breathe. I looked at Samuel and squared my shoulders as if I did this sort of thing every day.

“If I fall and kill myself you’re going to be very sad,” I said, trying to be brave.

As if sensing my discomfort, Samuel’s eyes didn’t linger on my scantily clad form. He turned and hoisted himself up into the tree like it was as simple as climbing a few stairs. I cringed, thinking about how in the world I was going to get up there and retain any dignity. He stood in the broad base, where the branches spread and lifted away from the trunk. He leaned down towards me, extending a long brown arm.

“Grab my arm at the elbow and I’ll pull you up.”

I did just as he asked, wrapping both of my hands just below his bicep. He leaned down, wrapped his left hand around my upper arm and, holding onto a thick tree-branch above him with his right arm, began pulling me easily up the tree. I marched my legs right up the trunk and was quickly standing balanced beside him, easy as you please. I felt like Shera, Queen of the Jungle, HeMan’s female counterpart. “Wow,” I breathed and then giggled like a little girl.

“There’s a little platform up there, see it?”

“Oh yes,” I groaned. “I know all about the platform. Please don’t make me jump from there.”

“Let me check it out.” Samuel was monkeying up the tree before I could protest.

“It seems pretty solid,” he called down several moments later. It was solid. It had been there for at least a few generations of dare devils. I sighed dejectedly. I was going to have to climb up there and jump with him. It was too late to back out now.

“Come on, I’ll guide you up.”

I knew I was going to fall out of the tree. Girls as athletically challenged as I was should never climb trees. At the very least, I was going to snag my underwear on a branch and be stuck wearing only a tank top high up in the tree. I shuddered in horror. I was NOT that kind of girl. I had a decent rear-end, but I don’t think anyone’s butt looks good climbing trees. At the very worst, I would impale myself on a sharp branch like a pig on a spit. Knowing me, both would happen, and I would soon be pantiless and impaled. I could just see the story in the local newspaper: “Local Woman Found Dead and Half Naked in Tree.”

I focused intently on placing my feet and hands where Samuel instructed and amazingly, I eventually climbed close enough for him to reach down and loop his arm around my waist. He pulled me up next to him on the narrow section of plywood that was wedged and nailed into the wide reinforcement of crisscrossing branches. The view below was truly breathtaking…and terrifying. The black bottom of the pond created an illusion of endless sky below us. The glassy surface reflected the brilliant stars in the firmament above, and it seemed as if we stood on the precipice of a miniature galaxy.

“Oh, dear God,” I whispered, panic flooding my heart with ice.

“It’s beautiful,” Samuel whispered too, only his voice was filled with awe.

I squeezed my eyes shut and clung to his arm, which he had kept braced around me.

“Are you ready? Here we go, on three…”

“No!” I yelped emphatically. “Not yet! I’m not ready!”

Samuel snickered softly, but I was too afraid to slap him.

My eyes were shut so tightly, I was giving myself a headache, my face scrunched up in denial of what I had gotten myself into.

I felt Samuel’s arm pull me against him, and then I felt his breath against my mouth. He smelled like peaches and pine, and I breathed in, relaxing my face, tipping my chin towards him as his mouth came down over mine. And I completely forgot to be afraid. Tipsily, I wound my arms around his brawny shoulder, winding my fingers up into the silky pelt of his closely cut hair. He pulled me in even more tightly, lifting my feet off of the platform, and then, with no warning, Samuel pushed off the platform with a powerful thrust, and we were air born. I was falling….and screaming, and falling. Just before we hit the surface, Samuel released me, untangling himself from my limbs as we shot through the black, star-filled water.

Instinct took over as I kicked my legs wildly and swam upwards, or what I thought was upward. I felt Samuel beside me, and he reached for my flailing hand and dragged me up with him, our heads breaking the surface together. I gasped, spitting pond out of my mouth and sweeping my streaming hair out of my face as my legs tread water furiously to keep me afloat.

“Don’t ever do that again!!”

“What? Kiss you, or kiss you while we’re jumping out of a tree?” Samuel practically drawled the words, they were so slow and mild. He wasn’t breathing hard at all; in fact, he’d laid his head back in the water and barely seemed to be working at keeping himself afloat.

“Ugh!” I huffed, completely disgusted. “I feel tricked! You didn’t want to kiss me! You just wanted to get me out of the tree!”

“Oh, I wanted to kiss you,” the drawl was even more pronounced. “I just killed two birds with one stone.” He lifted his head up off the water and grinned at me, his teeth flashing, and I was dazzled. So much so, that I stopped kicking and my head sunk beneath the water like a stone. I splashed wildly and popped up, spitting and swiping at my hair again.

“Lean back, Josie,” Samuel commanded, the words gentle and coaxing as he slid up beside me. “Kick your legs out in front of you and float on your back. Quit fighting. Floating’s easy.”

“Ha!” I grumped. “I knew how to swim when you were still wearing floaties in the high school pool!” I wasn’t done being mad at him.

“Very funny,” he chuckled warmly.

I did as he instructed, spreading my arms and legs wide like I was making a snow angel, my head back and my face peeking just above the surface. The stars twinkled down at me sweetly.

“There you go.” Samuel spread out beside me, his fingers brushing mine as we bobbed on the placid pond. My anger slipped away as I exhaled lightly, not wanting to upset my precarious relationship with the water.

“Do you see the Milky Way?” Samuel reached his arm up and pointed.

“Uh-huh.”

“My grandmother says the Milky Way is a pathway for the spirits leaving the earth and ascending into heaven. Navajo legend says the Milky Way was created when Coyote, the trickster, got impatient as First Woman was trying to arrange the constellations in the sky. First Woman made a constellation for almost every bird, every animal, and even every insect. She made a constellation for Atsa’ the eagle, and M’iitsoh, the wolf. She created a lark, Tsidiitltsoii, so he could sing a song to the sun every morning. She even made Dahsani, the porcupine, who was in charge of growing all the trees on the mountains. First woman laid each star in a pattern out on a blanket before she had Fire Man carry them to the sky and touch them with his fire torch to make them shine. Coyote wanted to help, but First Woman told him he would only make trouble. Finally, there were just small chips and star dust remaining on the blanket. Coyote was impatient, and he grabbed the blanket and swung it up into the air, spreading the star dust into the sky creating the Yikaisdahi -the Milky Way.”

“Is there a Navajo name for all the constellations?” I stared up, trying to pick out the few I knew.

“Yes. My grandmother could tell you the story of every one of them, why First Woman placed them where she did, and how they were named. Grandma says the laws of our people are written in the stars. She says First Woman put them there because, unlike the sands that blow away or the waters that flow and shift, the sky is constant. That’s the great thing about the sky - it’s the same in the waters off of the coast of Australia as it is right here at Burraston’s pond. When I was stationed on the U.S.S. Peleliu the first couple years I was in the Marine Corp, I would often climb up to a little upper deck where I could see the sky, and I would name as many of the stars and constellations as I could. It made me feel like I was right there with my grandmother, sleeping under the stars, listening to the sheep.”

We were slowly being rocked towards the shore, and I scissored my legs downward, finding that I could stand, the water reaching just below my shoulders. The water felt comparatively warm to the air, and I was in no hurry to get out. Samuel remained on his back, staring up into the heavens. I thought of him, in the middle of the ocean, searching the firmament, comforting himself with thoughts of the only home he’d really known. My heart ached for him then.

“I like being alone, but I hate being lonely. That sounds pretty lonely. At times like those did you ever regret becoming a Marine?” I ventured, studying Samuel’s chiseled profile.

“No. I never did.” Samuel’s voice was low and sincere. “I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. I had nowhere else to go. I found purpose, discovered I was of use, made some damn good friends, lost my self-pity. I did my best to be a man you could be proud of.”

I forgot to breathe. Samuel never gave me time to shore up my defenses; he just said the darndest things right out of the blue.

“Me?” My tone reflected my own feelings of inadequacy. I didn’t want to be the yardstick of righteousness; I was too lacking.

Samuel dropped his legs and stood, the water lapping around his torso.

“Yes you.” Samuel’s reply was contemplative, and he kept his face turned away from me. “You were the bar I measured everything by.” Samuel paused, caught between what he’d said and what he was about to say. His voice was low and solemn when he spoke his next words. “I wasn’t sure what you would think the first time I actually had to pull the trigger and take someone’s life, and how you would feel if you knew about all the lives I’ve ended since.”

His words were so unexpected that I gasped, and his eyes flew to mine, glittering with sudden intensity. He didn’t speak for a moment, his jaw working, clenching, as if he were swallowing the words that he still needed to say.

He turned and waded to the shore, water sluicing off his powerful back and thighs as he climbed out. He shook himself violently, and then picked up his clothes, pulling his shirt over his head and shoving his legs into his jeans.

His back was to me, and I rose up out of the water behind him, uncertain of what he needed from me, but certain he needed something other than my censure, although censure was never what I had intended to communicate. He had just caught me by surprise.

I climbed out of the pond, dripping and shaking, and ran my hands down my legs, removing the excess water, wringing out my hair and my tank top as I pulled my skirt on over my shivering body. I wrapped my arms around myself, both for modesty and for warmth. Samuel picked up the abandoned picnic, stacking everything in the cooler and picking up the blanket. He handed the blanket to me and turned from me again as I wrapped it gratefully around my shoulders. He walked back towards the shore, squatting down beside the shallow pool, and trailing his hand across the silvery water.

My voice sounded uncertain as I spoke. “Samuel. It’s war. I wouldn’t condemn you for defending yourself.” I didn’t approach him, but waited.

He was silent for several seconds before he answered. “I’ve killed some men in firefights.....but many of the men I’ve killed, Josie…they didn’t even know I was there. That’s when pulling the trigger is the hardest. I would watch them through my rifle scope, sometimes for days on end, and when the moment was right and I got the order.....I would shoot.” He made no excuses, and there wasn’t sorrow or regret in his voice. But there was vulnerability. He wanted me to know.

I walked to the water’s edge and knelt next to him, reaching my hand out as he had, feeling the cold silk of the water kiss my palms. I brushed the tips of my fingers against his hand, wondering if he’d pull away. In the bruised dark my skin shone pale against the starlit surface. I laid my hand on top of his, twining my fingers through his fingers, light on dark. I watched him as he turned his face towards me, his expression full of question. I leaned into him, my eyes on his, and answered in the only way I knew he would really hear me.

I brushed my lips gently across his, the way he had done after he’d washed my hair the night before. Only this time, I stared into his eyes, black pools reflecting the water we knelt beside. I heard his swift intake of breath, but other then the clenching of his hand in mine, he held himself completely still as my lips played softly over his. Still, I didn’t close my eyes but watched him, silently soothing him.

“Do you really believe what you do in the service of your country, for the men you fight beside, is something you need to explain to me?” My voice was just above a whisper, my face a breath from his.

“You think you have to justify yourself to me? Me? Someone who’s never had to march umpteen miles with 150 pounds on her back, or been shot at, or gone days on little to no sleep? Someone who hasn’t spent the last ten years in harsh conditions, with few comforts, someone who’s never been asked to do incredibly difficult things to keep people safe?” I kissed him again, the tips of my wet fingers resting lightly on his jaw. “Where would we all be without people like you?”

Samuel’s eyes shone down at me, emotion tightening the corners of his mouth. And still he made no move to kiss me in return.

“Do you remember what God told David? How He said David had too much blood on his hands?” Samuel’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

“No. Remind me.” I remembered the story of David, of his lust for Bathsheba, his plot to murder her husband, and subsequently the death of their child. The bible was full of such stories. Anyone who said it was boring hadn’t read past Genesis.

“God told David he couldn’t build the temple because he had too much blood on his hands. He allowed him to gather the materials for the temple, but God commands David’s son Solomon to actually build it.”

“I don’t understand what you are trying to say to me, Samuel. Do you think you have too much blood on your hands? That you’ve fallen from grace?”

Samuel simply stared down at me.

I floundered, not following his line of thinking at all. “David caused the death of Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband, because Bathsheba was pregnant with David’s child, and David wanted her for himself. Maybe that is the blood that is referred to, the blood God couldn’t overlook. Not the blood of those that David had commanded in war, or killed in battle.”

“Am I really so different?”

“Samuel! I don’t understand how you can equate yourself with David. Even so, David died in God’s good graces. He had repented for his sins, and we have the book of Psalms to prove he was favored by God.” I was truly befuddled. Samuel’s silence lasted several minutes this time. I was getting better at waiting him out. When he spoke the subject had seemingly changed, and I mentally cart-wheeled to catch up.

“I got a letter from my Grandma Nettie when you got engaged, Josie. She thought I would remember you; she mentioned it kind of in passing, kind of ‘Oh by the way.’” Samuel paused.

“I remember where I was when I read that letter, where I was sitting, what I had been doing in the moments leading up to it. I was completely leveled by the news, to say the least. I’d been gone for almost five years; I hadn’t seen you for more than two. You were still so young, and I thought I had time. You see, in my mind, I always kept track. I would mark time with your birthdays. Josie is sixteen - but I’m 21. Josie is 17, still too young. Then out of the blue this kid came in and snatched you up, and you were suddenly taken.”

I stared at Samuel, my mouth hanging open, completely undone by what he had revealed. Samuel expelled a short, harsh laugh at my stunned reaction, and suddenly his wet hands gripped my shoulders, and he rose to his feet, pulling me with him.

“I didn’t know who Kasey was; my grandma mentioned his name and said that he was a nice local kid. I just remember how angry I was and how much I wanted to hunt him down. I had another two years on my contract with the Marines, but all I wanted to do was come to Levan and kill him and plead my case to you. I wanted to beg you not to marry him. I even wrote a letter to you telling you to wait for me.”

“I never got a letter.” My lungs were burning. I realized I was holding my breath.

“I never sent it. I couldn’t. I had absolutely no right.”

Samuel suddenly held my face in his hands. They were cold and still a little wet from the water. I shivered as his eyes burned holes down into mine. “A few months after that, my grandma sent me a letter telling me Kasey had been killed. I felt sick, because in my heart of hearts I had wished it. I had wanted him gone. So am I really so different than David?”

I couldn’t answer immediately; my head was spinning with the passion in his voice and the intensity in his eyes. He interpreted my stunned silence as censure once more, and he dropped his hands from my face. “I’m sorry, Josie. I had no intention of telling you any of this. But I just couldn’t let you kiss me and comfort me, and let you tell me what a good man I am, without telling you everything. And the worse part is…I’m glad he’s gone. I’m not glad he’s dead, I don’t wish that. But yes, I’m glad he’s gone. And I don’t know what kind of man that makes me.”

“I guess it makes you an honest one,” I whispered, finally finding my voice, unsure of what to say beyond that. He stared at me intently, and I met his gaze without blinking. “I never would have guessed you would have reacted like that…that you even thought of me after you left. I didn’t know you…you cared.” I finished ineptly, unable to communicate the awe I was feeling at his confession.

“I did, and I do,” Samuel responded flatly. His mouth was drawn into a tight line, his eyes on mine. I exhaled slowly, feeling faint. The water from my dripping hair found its way down my back, and I shivered violently. Samuel reached down and took my hand, and we walked back towards the truck, the blanket trailing behind me. He stooped and picked up the cooler and set it in the back as he opened my door and helped me in.

With the heater on full blast, we drove back towards Levan. Music tinkled softly from the speakers, and I heard a hint of Rachmaninoff’s Elegie. I had always loved this piece. Rachmaninoff was considered one of the finest pianists of his day. Sonja had a live recording of him playing Elegie, and it had brought me to tears when I had first heard it. It had been many years since I had enjoyed the expressive breadth and the rich lyricism in his piece. Hesitantly, I reached up and slid the volume louder, allowing the music to fill the cab and reverberate off the glass.

“This is my favorite piece of music, by my favorite composer.” Samuel’s voice broke through as the music slowed and sighed.

“You always did love Rachmaninoff.” I remembered the first time he had heard Rachmaninoff on the bus and his reaction to the power and the intensity of Prelude in C Sharp Minor. “Rachmaninoff was the last of the great Romanticists in classical music. He was often discouraged by the modernist music that was becoming popular. Once, in an interview, he said that the modern music of the new composers was written more in the head than the heart. Their music contained too much thought and no feeling. He said the modern composers ‘think and reason and analyze and brood, but they do not exalt.’” I held up two fingers on each hand and wiggled them to indicate quotation marks. “I looked up the word ‘exalt’ in the dictionary when Sonja made me memorize his quote. The meaning I liked best was to “make sublime’, to magnify, to praise, to extol. Rachmaninoff’s music raises us up, it elevates.”

“I love Elegie because it is what yearning sounds like.” Samuel stared ahead as he spoke.

I stared at Samuel for a moment, moved by the simplicity of his description. “I think Elegie actually means lament. Some say Rachmaninoff was depressed when he wrote it, but there’s such pronounced hope woven throughout the piece that I tend to think, in spite of his suggested moroseness, Elegie wasn’t an expression of defeat - he was just.....yearning.” I smiled at him slightly as I echoed his simple synopsis. “He considered quitting early on in his career. His philosophy was one rooted in spiritualism - he wanted to create beauty and truth in his music, and he felt like his music didn’t belong. It’s ironic that he gave his last major interview in 1941, when the world was at war. The world needed truth and beauty then more than ever.”

We drove through Nephi and out on to the long ridge connecting the small towns. Soon, the lights of Levan twinkled before us, and we pulled into the sleepy little town, turning on to a pot-holed side street, driving past the bar and the old church before heading up the dimly-lit street towards home.

We crunched over the gravel in front of my house. It was dark and empty, my dad long gone on his way to Moab and the beckoning Book Cliffs.

“Would you like to come in for a minute? You could check the house for bad guys, and I could make us something yummy to eat. I think I have ice cream in the freezer and I could make us some hot fudge topping to put on top?” I waggled my eyebrows at him in the dim interior of the truck, and he smiled a little.

“Bad guys?”

“Oh you know, I’m here all alone, the house is dark. Just look under the beds and make sure no one is hiding in my closet.”

“Are you afraid to be alone at night?” His brows were lowered with concern over his black eyes.

“Nope. I just wanted to give you a reason to come inside.”

His expression cleared, and his voice lowered even further. “Aren’t you reason enough?”

I felt the heat rise in my face. “Hmmm,” was all I said.

“Josie.”

“Yes?”

“I would love to come in.”

We climbed out and walked inside. I flipped on the lights and excused myself for a minute. I ran upstairs to my little attic room and pulled off my wet clothes. I ran around looking for something to wear – sweats? No. Pajamas? No! I settled on a loose pink sundress and ran my fingers through my damp ringlets - my hair smelled a little like pond water . . . ugh! I spritzed myself with lavender and pulled my hair up into a clip, not wanting to look like I was trying too hard. I left my feet bare and ran back downstairs. My feet got a little tangled up, and I came hurtling off the last stair into the washroom like a bat out of hell. I steadied myself on the dryer and took a deep breath. “Geez! Calm down, woman!” I told myself sternly. When Samuel was around I seemed to be one frazzled bundle of gooseflesh and hormones. “That’s just what we need, fall down the stairs and spend the rest of the time Samuel has in Levan on crutches,” I muttered.

I walked into the kitchen where I’d left Samuel a few minutes before. I gathered the butter, evaporated milk, sugar, vanilla, and cocoa powder as we chatted about this and that. Soon the smell of hot fudge sauce wafted through the kitchen, and I sighed in contentment. Grabbing a couple bowls, I scooped up two large servings of cookie dough ice cream and drizzled generous amounts of hot chocolate over the top.

“Let’s eat!” I declared, sitting down and scooping up a giant spoonful of ice cream.

Samuel laughed right out loud, a rich rumble that echoed in my heart.

“What?” I said, my mouth full of ice cream.

“You make me laugh.”

“Why?”

“You’re this beautiful girl, blond curls, big blue eyes. You always wear dresses and paint your toenails and you’re completely old fashioned - books, music, you name it…you’re completely all girl. I just didn’t expect you to dig in like that. You did the same thing earlier tonight at the pond. You like food. I thought for sure you’d put a napkin on your lap and eat very small spoonfuls like a dainty little lady.”

“Lady, schmady,” I giggled. “I love to eat. That’s why I run every morning. Otherwise, I might grow to be very voluptuous and rubenesque.”

“I’m not sure what rubenesque means exactly, but I’m sure it would look good on you.” Samuel dug in to his bowl as well, and we enjoyed our ice cream in silence, until the last of the hot fudge sauce was scraped away. I restrained myself from licking my bowl. Samuel didn’t.

“That was unbelievable sauce,” he said appreciatively.

“Yep! My mom’s own recipe. It’s an original.”

I washed our bowls, and Samuel wandered in to the family room and sat on the piano bench, watching me through the narrow door opposite the kitchen sink.

“Will you come with me to see my grandma?”

“Nettie?” I questioned, confused.

“No. I want you to come to Arizona with me and meet my Grandma Yazzie.”

My eyes flew to his face, and I could see from the firm set of his wide mouth that he was serious.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“But…I have to work at the shop tomorrow and…how long would we be gone?”

“Your aunt wouldn’t let you go?”

“Of course she would. I don’t have anything scheduled. I would just be there for walkins.”

“Dilcon is over 700 miles away. We’d need an entire day of driving each way, and I want to stay for three days in between. So five days. Tomorrow is Saturday. We’d be back late on Wednesday night. Could you arrange it?”

I bit my lip as I mulled it over. I was so tempted. The long hours of driving were incredibly enticing - conversation with Samuel was always enlivening, and the thought of listening to music and talking for hours on end with him were more than I could pass up. My dad was gone. He wouldn’t be calling home - cell phone reception wasn’t available where he was going. I would have to cancel my piano lessons - but the loss of revenue wouldn’t hurt me. What did I have to spend my money on anyway? I guess I hesitated a moment too long.

“Please, Josie?” His voice was insistent. “I want you to meet her. I’ve told her about you. You’ll love her.”

I turned to face him. “Alright. I’ll go. I’ve always wanted to meet her. But!” I held up one finger as a stipulation, “I can’t leave bright and early. I have to call my students and Louise -”

“Call them on the way, Josie. Bring your cell phone. I’ll pick you up at 6:00 a.m.”

So much for ‘please Josie.’ Bossy Samuel was back. Bossy really wasn’t the right word. He was more blunt and plain-spoken, but calling him bossy made me feel better when he started giving orders. He continued on:

“I want to get to the reservation before dark. It’s hard enough to find Grandma’s hogan in the daytime. And she could be anywhere. I called the trading post when I got back stateside and left a message for her. I told her to plan on me this weekend. I got word to her through the man that works at the trading post. I called him today, and he said she’d been in with one of her rugs. He gave her the message for me.”

“Is that how you communicate?” I said incredulously.

“It works. Grandma doesn’t read or write, and she doesn’t have a phone.”

I felt a frisson of unease that this meeting might be very awkward. Talk about two different worlds. Samuel must have seen something in my face, because he stood and walked to where I still stood, leaning against the sink. He reached out and ran a hand lightly down my cheek.

“Don’t worry. Grandma is easy to love. Just think of it as an adventure.”

I smiled tremulously.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice husky.

“I promise to pack some jeans and boots,” I said with a grimace. I’d given up wearing my Wranglers and hand me down tshirts long ago. I still had them (who doesn’t in Levan?) but they weren’t my preference.

“My grandma wears a skirt every day too….but, yeah. You might want to bring some jeans, unless you have a big long pioneer skirt you like riding a horse in,” he teased. He slipped quietly out the door, and I heard the truck start up and drive away.

I sped up the stairs and started throwing stuff in my suitcase. It was almost 10:00. I would never be able to sleep. My heart thudded in anticipation.