“I could get used to it, too,” she said. “I just don’t want to put a hex on it. I have rotten luck with men, you know.”
“So you say. But I can’t stop smiling. If that’s rotten luck, bring it on.”
Be willing to have it so; acceptance of what has happened is the first step to overcoming the consequences of any misfortune.
—William James
Chapter 12
CONNIE BOYLE WAS in love. He’d been in love before, of course. But now, feeling the way he felt for Sierra, he was sure he’d just been going through the motions with Alyssa. Just following the steps—he started out thinking Alyssa was hot, that she turned him on and made him happy in bed and most other places, so they moved in together and began building the house and the idea of a family.
It was different with Sierra. She was different. She just wasn’t like other women. For one thing, she wasn’t the type who had been looking for a happily-ever-after and she was certainly the first woman like that he’d ever known. Including his mother!
“It’s probably my program,” she’d tried to explain. “It’s just about today for me—just this one day. Sometimes it’s very hard work, remembering to live in the moment, and other times it’s such a relief, such a blessing—there’s not very much pressure in it when I don’t have to try to live up to any grandiose expectations.”
“No big plans for the future, then?” he had asked.
“I’m trying to be careful about that. It’s such a dream come true just to feel secure today. Can we be good with that?”
“As long as I can be with you, I’m good,” he’d said. And he meant it. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep it to himself that he loved her. But, he believed he’d know the right time and place to tell her.
She was brilliant. It perplexed him that she didn’t have her degree after about six years of college. She explained that she always had to keep an almost full-time job to afford college, even though she had some scholarships along the way. And, she admitted, she partied too much. But she had studied so much on so many different subjects. She knew all about the solar system; she could explain nuclear fusion in a way he could understand. She’d found her niche in mathematics and for a while toyed with the notion of an advanced degree and teaching at the college level. But then she’d taken a fancy to philosophy. “Not that unusual,” she said. “Albert Einstein was a physicist and philosopher. Some of his writings probably influenced me.”
And like all the Jones children, she had a great appreciation for literature. He loved it when she told him about the stories she’d read, infused with the emotion she’d felt while reading them. In fact, he couldn’t believe the variety of things they talked about—books, religion, philosophy, politics, wars, even medicine. Connie knew quite a bit about medical intervention, being a paramedic. “If I was smart enough, I wouldn’t mind being a doctor,” he had told her.
“Hmm. Are you sure you’re not smart enough?”
“I’m pretty convinced, yeah,” he had said.
He and Alyssa had only talked about what their future would look like, how many kids they’d have, where they’d go for entertainment, their friends, work. It felt like they talked all the time but he was figuring out now they’d only talked about their schedules and plans. Oh, and there was gossip. Gossip had been pretty important to Alyssa. Who knew she’d become the subject?
“Don’t you have any gossip?” Connie had asked Sierra.
“Well, Cal’s mother-in-law is coming around a lot these days, helping Maggie with decorating things, shopping for her, because Maggie hates that stuff but she wants her house to be beautiful. And she drives Cal nuts. But she drives Maggie more nuts. It’s kind of fun to watch.”
“You don’t seem to like to talk trash too much,” he’d observed.
She had shrugged and said, “I don’t really have any dirt on anyone. And besides, I’m the trash that used to get talked about a lot. I’m willing to leave that behind and swear off gossip.”
So was Connie. For a while after Alyssa he had to quit Facebook and Twitter, there were so many disparaging and destructive opinions about him, her, the state of their relationship and their breakup. Even though he was the victim, the cheated upon, people were not shy with their opinions about what he must be lacking for his girl and his friend to hook up behind his back.
He couldn’t imagine ever being bored or irritated again in his life as long as Sierra was around. And she might shy away from proclamations of love and longing, but there was no disguising the healthy flush of her cheeks, her quick laughter, the soft way she unfolded when she was in his arms. He loved her with the greatest of care and the most practiced of skill, and she told him so. She was no docile lover herself—she met him more than halfway, driving him out of his mind with lust and drenching him in satisfaction. The deepest most penetrating satisfaction he’d ever felt. She brought out the best in him; he’d never made finer love in his life. And when they had those long, deep, intellectual discussions about things he knew so little about, he felt smart. Better than smart, he felt wise.
They hardly ever made real plans. Once he’d asked her if she’d like to go to an outdoor jazz concert in Aurora. Dogs were welcome if they could behave. Sierra had been the one to suggest they invite Maggie and Cal. The four of them packed a cooler, brought lawn chairs and plenty of dog treats. Molly was very well behaved and they all had a wonderful time. And though he often asked her if she wanted to come to his house, she usually just surprised him. A couple of times he’d knocked on her cabin door at night and had been admitted. Despite their lack of plans, they ended up sleeping together every night that Connie wasn’t at the fire station.
He was a simple man with simple needs. He enjoyed hard work and was filled with pride that he could serve as a firefighter and paramedic. He wanted a worthy woman to shower with love and he wanted to be a good woman’s strong arm. He believed he wanted the same things Sierra wanted—security, love, stability, trust. He wasn’t a man of mystery and Sierra didn’t seem to be a woman of mystery—she was incredibly straightforward and almost achingly honest. She might not want to admit how much she cared for him, but she had trouble disguising it.
There was only one thing that gave him pause. “I have some loose ends from my checkered past to tidy up, Connie. You’ll have to be patient with me.” she’d told him.
“Tell me if I can help,” he had said.
“I’m afraid it’s up to me.”
“I hope you can resolve whatever it is and I’ll wait as long as it takes. Just know I’m on your side, no matter what. You can trust me.”