“Will you share every day of your life with me?”
“What if something goes wrong?”
“I love you.”
“It’s not even legal.”
“I love you, Brooke.”
Lightning shot above us, and rain suddenly began to pour, soaking us instantly.
“Jed, it’s so fast.”
“I love you. Marry me.”
“Jed, I love you too, but there’re so many things that could happen, that could go wrong.”
“I will be with you through those. I promise.”
“Jed! What if—” My protest was smothered as Jed moved his lips to cover mine. Feeling Jed’s arms encircle my back, I let myself sink back into Jed’s solid body.
“I love you, Brooke. I will never love anyone but you.”
I searched Jed’s eyes imploringly.
“Will you marry me?”
After several seconds, I tilted my head up to meet Jed’s kiss. “Yes, Jedediah. I will marry you.
Part Two
Seven
A little over six years later
Thetingling in my right foot was back, and I shook it furiously, trying to return the blood flow. I’d been sitting in the car for over an hour. The engine was off. There was no sound over the lightly falling rain except for the occasional car or truck that would drive by, always slowing down to stare at the unfamiliar car with the Colorado license plate. I kept waiting for tears to start, maybe screaming. Nothing happened. I couldn’t make myself feel sad or angry, not even nervous. I gazed past the rivulets of water making courses of little streams down the windshield and took in the area around me. The blacktop glistened in the rain, pools starting to form by the curb. It was almost pretty, black and shiny. This had always been my favorite time of year here. The huge trees that lined Main Street put every Norman Rockwell painting to shame. The wet foliage was vibrant, the red, yellow, and orange leaves appearing as if they’d been freshly painted. I knew they were beautiful. I could even remember the awe they had always inspired in me before. Now, they were just leaves. In a couple of weeks, they would be piled up on the side of the road, decaying brown masses waiting to be burnt or to rot under the first snowfall.
The thunderstorms, so strong and loud, both terrifying and comforting, were one of the few things I’d missed while in Colorado. That and lightning bugs. I guess I had missed the fall leaves as well. Colorado falls werebeautiful. The aspen trees made everything look like it had been touched by King Midas. Still, even gold loses its shine when there are few other hues to help it stand out.
A gray truck zoomed by, uninterested in me, dousing my windows with a wave of water from an increasing pool in the road. The sound of the spray hitting the glass caused me to jump and leave my state of living rigor mortis. It seemed I could feel startled. Surely that was a good sign.
I should get out of the car. Maudra would be wondering where I was. I was late, and that was before sitting in the car for no reason. Knowing Maudra, she hadn’t even looked out a window to check; the thought would never have occurred to her. I should go in.
I looked down at my hands. My fingers had been playing with the wedding ring, twirling it one direction and then the other. I hadn’t even realized I’d been touching it. I stared at it. The silver still gleamed. I hadn’t noticed all the little scratches before. I should’ve had it buffed. Like it mattered. With a deep exhalation, I pulled at the ring, having to wriggle my finger to get it over my large knuckles. Too many years of cracking them. Finally, it came off. I brought it up to my face. Nothing, still nothing. I placed it in the coin drawer and shut it. I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the car. I’d get my luggage later.
After ten or so steps from the car, I rushed back and flung open the door and got back in. I spilt change on the floorboard when I opened the drawer too fast. The ring fell with it. Frantically, I felt over the dirty foot mat, at last finding the ring close to the gas pedal. Jamming it back over my knuckle to its resting place, I let out a grunt.Good, pain. That’s good. I could feel that too. And apparently, some part of me needed the ring. That was probably good too. People would find out sooner or later. Might as well be sooner.
Again, I stepped out of the car. I made it to the sidewalk that led up to Maudra’s house. I stopped at the small cast-iron gate. It wasn’t locked, didn’t even have a place for a lock. Still, I stood there. Feeling nothing. Just looking. I’d loved this house when I was a kid. I’d forgotten. I couldn’t find that love right now, but I remembered it.
Maudra Phelpman’s house was stunning by anyone’s standards. Its massive brick-and-rock gables and turrets stood out above the gingerbread latticework that had been painted blue, periwinkle, and lavender. The winding cobblestone walk that meandered from the veranda down the sloping hill to meet Main Street was kept in perfect condition. In the rain, it glistened like the golden streets of Heaven, except for the gold part. Constructed at the height of the Victorian era, the builders rebelled against the purely effeminate décor of the houses of the time with the use of large rocks and imposing gothic gargoyles intermixed seamlessly with the dainty details of the structure. Even when it was built, it was controversial, seen as an insult to the countless standard run-of-the-mill homes that filled the town. Sure, there were a few other houses that were large and extravagant in the town, but none came close to this. Most people had found it snooty and arrogant. Now, over a century later, the house was even more of a testament of individuality and lavish decadence. The few homes built around the same time that were of similar styling had now fallen into disrepair; despite their size, seemingly little more than shacks. To topit off, the lush expanse of emerald lawn under the cascade of dogwoods and violet creeping phlox that bloomed in the spring did nothing to help the home blend in.
I’d also always loved Maudra. I admired how she lived her life; she never asked permission, she just lived. Just in case her pristine home didn’t help set her apart enough from the other inhabitants of El Dorado Springs, Missouri, her unique style and behavior caused what might have been a sizeable, yet forgivable, gap in similarity to split into a chasm few cared to attempt to cross. None of this was done with intention on Maudra’s part; she was just living her life in the way she enjoyed and felt comfortable. True, the corsets, bustles, and flowing lace took a significantly greater amount of time to slip into, but she always claimed she simply didn’t feel appropriately attired to venture out in public in a common dress, nor even to recline in one’s own parlor for that matter—might as well wear nothing at all. Not to be outdone by her extravagant dress, Maudra’s hair had been honey-brown, thick, and swept back in a mass of curls that tumbled halfway down her back. The makeup that had transformed her from looking close to her sixty years of age into a doe-eyed forty-nine-year-old only caused the other women to click their tongues at the vanity she insisted upon embracing.
To make matters all the worse, this dear old maid had lived with her proclaimed “love of my life,” Scamper. Scamper had once been a warm chestnut brown, but sadly had transformed to a dull gray sheen in the last years of his life. Still, he had gotten along quite nicely for being so old. How many squirrels can boast of even having fur at eleven years of age? Indeed, Scamper had coped with old age better than most. On Maudra’s frequent strolls through downtown, he’d had no trouble making his way down heroak and mother-of-pearl walking stick, retrieving whatever type of treasure caught his eye (mostly acorns, but not always) and clamoring back up to Maudra’s shoulder to scarf down his prize, chattering incessantly.
It had only been a few weeks before I left town when someone (everyone had assumed it had to have been one of the teenagers) had somehow managed to get a hold of Scamper and kill him. Scamper had been left in a brown paper grocery bag on Maudra’s porch. It was the only time in my life I had seen her lose her cheerful composure. I had been visiting with my cousin Donnie that day. He’d always spent a lot of time with Maudra. I hadn’t been sure if she was going to stay sane after she’d opened the bag. The rest of the town had surprised me by responding as if Maudra had lost a husband or child. Even when I’d left, people were still sending flowers and bringing over casseroles.
I rested my hand on the gate’s handle, every bit of me completely soaked. I didn’t want to have to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to answer questions. I wanted to go back to the car and just stay there, have the rain never stop. Sit there until the leaves had fallen and then grown back again. Sit there until everyone had forgotten I had ever existed. Sit there until I had a new life.
