I saw Eli, his grubby hands gripping some ugly, half-bald dandelions, handing them to his mother, and Georgia, exclaiming over them like his arms were filled with roses. Then I saw a little, silver pie tin filled with mud, being presented with a happy giggle. And again, Georgia oohing and ahhing over the offering, even pretending to take a giant, muddy bite.
The pie tin dissolved into a new thought, and Eli was drawing hearts. Misshapen wobbly ones that looked more like upside down triangles with boobs than actual hearts. He was drawing them in every color on a white sheet of paper, signing his name in crooked letters, and handing it to Georgia, a declaration of his devotion.
The images switched off abruptly, and I was left staring at Eli, holding the wrench in my hand, still rubbing the back of my head. A huge goose egg was forming.
“Oh, I see.” I grimaced, chuckling. “Flowers, cake, hearts. You’re giving me advice. Very nice.” I laughed again. “I gave her some pictures, but I’m guessing you think I should do more.”
I saw myself, arms around Georgia, kissing her. My breath caught and I watched as if someone had caught us on film. Her hands clutched my arms as I took her mouth. I watched as my hands traveled up her back and framed her face. She didn’t pull away, and for several long seconds, she didn’t let go. In fact she kissed me back, her eyes closed, her head bent under mine.
“Eli . . .” I breathed, wondering how in the world I was ever going to kiss Georgia again if Eli had soaked it all up, every detail, without me even knowing he was there. When I’d kissed Georgia, I’d been afraid Eli would never return. But he had definitely seen me kiss Georgia.
And he’d seen Georgia run away from that kiss as I stood staring after her, dazed.
“Okay, buddy. That’s enough.”
I called down the waters on Eli’s little demonstration, not especially wanting his romantic input, and as my mental walls went up, I lost him, finding myself alone in the old house, muttering to myself, considering how I was going to implement Eli’s ideas . . . without him watching.
Moses
THERE WASN’T MUCH TO DO IN LEVAN unless you rode horses. Or four wheelers. Or enjoyed the great outdoors. Or had friends. Since I didn’t, on all accounts, I ended up watching Georgia more often than not. Sometimes I watched from an upstairs window, hoping she couldn’t see me. Sometimes I watched from Gi’s old deck as I sanded it down, giving me an excuse to surreptitiously track her as she worked with horses and people, day in and day out, usually in the big round corral. It seemed she’d picked up where her parents left off, doing the work they’d once done. And it suited her.
Her skin was tan and her hair bleached even blonder by the sun. Her body was long and lean—strong arms and legs and hands that were slim-fingered and firm on the reins. All of her was long . . . her hair, her legs, even her patience. She never seemed to lose her focus or her temper with the horses she worked with. She pushed and prodded and coaxed and wore them down. And she was wearing me down all over again. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She wasn’t the kind of girl who should ever have appealed to me. She wasn’t my type. It was the argument I’d had with myself when I’d come to Levan almost seven years ago and seen her, all grown up, laughing and riding and taunting me until I had to be close to her. She had focused in on me that summer, as if I was everything she had ever wanted. And that singular intensity had been my undoing.
Our son had that same quiet intensity. He often sat close by, perched on the fence, as if his spirit remembered the posture, though he had no physical form to make it necessary. He stared at his mother, at the horse she trained, and I wondered if Eli had come to visit his mother this way often. I wondered if the relationship between animal and woman, woman and child merged together in the quiet corral and created an oasis of comfort and peace that tamed all who entered there.
It was odd, seeing the woman and her child and knowing she was completely unaware that he was there with her, watching her, hovering over her like her own little guardian angel. I put down my tools and wandered over to watch her as she worked, wanting to be near her, to be near them, even if she would rather I stayed away.
When I climbed up on the fence near Eli, he didn’t seem to be aware of me, as if he was caught between worlds. But Georgia was aware of me, and she stiffened slightly, as if she considered running away, and then she straightened her back, and I knew she was telling herself that it was her “damn property and Moses can go to hell.” I could see it in the lift of her chin and the jerk of the rope in her hands. It made me smile. Luckily, she didn’t tell me to go to hell. She didn’t even tell me to leave.
So I sat, my eyes on the woman and the horse she wooed, but before too long, Eli’s memories became so loud, I had no choice but to listen in.
“How do horses talk, mommy?”
“They don’t talk, baby.”
“Then how do you know what he wants?”
“He wants the same things you want. He wants to play. He wants loves. He wants to eat and sleep and run.”
“And he doesn’t want to do his chores?”
“No. He doesn’t want to do his chores.”
I saw her face as if I was looking down at her from atop the horse, and she smiled up at me sweetly, laughter in her voice, her hand on my leg. Not my leg. Eli’s leg. Eli was showing me the memory. He must have been riding and Georgia must have been leading him around. The light was the same, sunset coloring the western hills, the corral bathed in a soft golden haze, the ground dappled with shadows and sunlight. I shook myself, trying to separate the scene in my head from the scene in front of me, but Eli wasn’t finished.
“Does Calico love me?”
“Of course!” Georgia laughed, but Eli was very serious.
“I love her too. But how do I tell her if she doesn’t talk?”
“You show her.”
“How do I show her? Do I make a big heart with my arms?” Eli curved his small arms in a shape that slightly resembled a smashed heart. He teetered a little in the saddle and Georgia reprimanded him gently.