The Year of Luminous Love (42 page)

Eden could only think about the generosity of Arie’s family to Gwen and herself. Without their help, where would they be? “Yes, the house was almost completely rebuilt on the inside.”

Sharon opened her file folder and removed sheets of paper that she laid out on the conference table for Eden. “I think you’ll find the offer generous, especially when you read the comparables of homes sold in your area over the last year.”

Eden squinted at the papers and was surprised to see the letters and numbers squiggling on the paper before realizing that the movement was caused by moisture in her eyes. Shocked, she wondered how she could possibly feel sentimental over
that old dump of a house? She didn’t exactly hold fond memories of living in it. She cleared her throat, picked up the papers, and skimmed them. The bottom line sale price did look generous. “I … um … have an appointment with my attorney later. I’d like for him to look this over. Can I have an extension on the deadline?”

Ms. Weber’s brow puckered, smoothed. “I’m sure I can ask my clients. They’re motivated because they want to move in by mid-March, in thirty days.”

Thirty days!
“I’m motivated too,” Eden lied. How would she manage? The house held a lifetime of accumulation and clutter. Gwen had texted her once about the house: YOUR HOUSE NOW. Perhaps Mr. Boatwright could counsel her. “I’ll call you later,” Eden told Ms. Weber, standing and shaking the woman’s hand.

Outside in the bright light of the afternoon, Eden fished sunglasses from her purse. She got into her car but didn’t start the motor. She merely sat and stared out the windshield and fought the desire to cry. What was wrong with her? Hadn’t her fondest desire been to blow this stupid town? Now she had the opportunity. She had cash money, no entanglements. Except for Arie. She would have to stay until Arie died. Eden hiccupped and let tears slide down her cheeks. She would take Ciana up on her offer and live at Bellmeade. Together she and Ciana would help each other through the dark days ahead. Together they would hold on to Arie until life let go of her.

Arie checked herself in the mirror for the umpteenth time and realized that this was as good as she was going to look this evening. The pink sweater and extra blush could only help so
much. She’d also taken her pain medication in order to feel her best during Jon’s visit, even knowing it would make her drowsy. She planned to bring him into the living room, where her daddy had laid a fire that danced brightly. Her parents had already retreated to the den in the back of the house and to the wide-screen television. Swede would have cornered Jon and talked forever, but Patricia knew the score—Jon was special to Arie, and in the silent code between women, her mother had signaled that Arie and Jon would not be interrupted.

When the doorbell rang, Arie rushed to open the door.

“Hey,” Jon said with the smile that always made her heart sing.

She wanted him to hug her but had to settle for him taking her hands in his.

“Come into the living room,” she said, leading him into the softly lit space.

“You look nice,” he told her, removing his sheepskin jacket and settling beside her on the couch. He gazed appreciatively around the room, then looked up, grinning, and pointed. “Who painted the Sistine Chapel up there?”

Arie had taken Jon to Vatican City once her tests were completed that day at the Italian hospital. She’d wanted him to sit with her in the chapel, see its beauty.

“My goofy brother. My ‘chapel’ is made up of posters he’s pasted on the ceiling. I talked about the chapel so much when I returned that he thought he’d surprise me by giving me my own copy.”

Jon laughed. “Clever guy, your brother.”

What she didn’t tell Jon was that soon the living room would become her bedroom, a better and bigger area to have family and friends visit her than her tiny upstairs bedroom.
A hospital bed was being set up next week. Her father had already mounted a track across the ceiling near the bay window where the ceiling-to-floor curtain would hang when she needed privacy. And of course, Eric had already installed his gift to her—God about to touch Adam into life, as painted by Michelangelo.

“I like it,” Jon said.

“Me too.” Arie could feel the heat of Jon’s body. Her body held little heat these days. She was always cold. “Would you like some coffee? It’s ready in the kitchen.”

He shook his head and turned partway on the sofa to better look at her. “I came to tell you something, give you something, and ask you something. But maybe not in that order.”

“Okay. Is this one of those good-news-bad-news things?”

He grinned. “Depends on what’s good and bad news to you.” He locked his fingers together and rested his forearms on his knees. “I’m going back to Texas tomorrow. A bed’s opened up for my dad.”

His words caused her heart to stutter step. For although she knew his father’s circumstances, she didn’t want Jon to go away. Knowing he was near brought her comfort. Seeing his face made her happy. “So you’ve come to say goodbye.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I have.”

Her throat tightened. She would never see him again, and the sense of finality bruised her. “Have you told Ciana?”
Dumb question
. Of course he had.

“Yes. Chores are pretty well caught up. She won’t have too much to do except keep up with the animals.”

And her dying friend
, she thought, because Jon’s catching up on the chores would free Ciana for that also. Arie sighed, knowing it was probably best in the long run. This way he
would remember her in pink, not someone wasting away in a drugged stupor until death took her. “I’ll miss you.”

He nodded self-consciously but didn’t say he’d miss her too.

She grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes. “That’s one of three. I’m guessing that’s the ‘tell-me-something.’ What do you want to ask me?”

He cleared his throat, staring down at his big rough hands. “I want to ask you to let me buy Caramel. She’s a good horse, and I’ll give you a fair price. I want to take her with me to Texas. And on to summer rodeos.”

“She isn’t for sale, Jon.”

He blinked, obviously surprised by her answer. “Not at all?”

“She’s spoken for.”

“Oh.” He nodded, but his disappointment showed. “All right. Okay. I’m sure her new owner will be pleased with her.”

Arie laughed softly. “She isn’t for sale, Jon, because I’m giving her to you.”

“What?” He shook his head. “But I can’t just take her. She’s valuable, so it isn’t fair.”

“It’s fair. She’s always been more yours than mine.”

“Arie, I don’t feel right—”

“You have to take her,” Arie said. Unable to keep her hands to herself, she clasped his wrist. “There’s no one else who’ll love her the way you do. Plus,” she added, “I’ve already written it into my will.”

He startled. “Your will?”

“Everyone should have one.”

The rims of his eyes reddened. He coughed, said gruffly, “I’ll take good care of her.”

“I know you will.”

They sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. After a few minutes, he reached into his shirt
pocket and withdrew a small object. “I … um … I made this for you.”

He opened his hand and she saw a small, crudely carved horse. Around the horse’s neck, Jon had tied a colorful beaded string.

She took the horse, held it, imagining his pocketknife shaping the wood, his thick fingers sliding the tiny beads on the piece of string. She couldn’t speak around the emotion clogging her throat.

“I’m not a great whittler,” he mumbled. “But it … um … has a purpose.” He lifted her chin, looked fully into her eyes. “The reason, well, the custom out west is that no Indian brave should go into the beyond without a horse to ride. Great braves always took their horses to the other side. And, Arie”—his hand cupped her chin—“you’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.”

Her arms flew around him and she cried, “Hold me. Please hold me.” She loved him, loved him so much.

He hesitated briefly, but then his arms encircled her, and he rested his cheek on her head. “Thank you,” she finally managed. “Thank you for the horse and for Italy and for being a part of my life.”

“Same goes for me,” he said gruffly.

She nestled in his arms until her eyes grew heavy with twilight sleep from her medication. After a while, Arie was aware of Jon easing her down on the sofa, of covering her with a wool throw warmed by the fireplace. At some point, Patricia came into the room, and Jon stood. Too groggy to rouse herself, Arie heard hushed goodbyes from the foyer, followed by a rush of cold February air as Jon left, and Patricia returned to sit with her daughter.

Arie clutched the small horse and floated back to the night when she had lain in Jon’s arms, loved him and made love with him with unimaginable abandon—a night where he had, for a few brief hours, maybe … perhaps … might … have loved her too. Maybe just a little.

Ciana stood at the window in the front parlor watching Jon load Caramel into his horse trailer. The buckskin didn’t want to go into the vehicle, but Jon was patient and coached her firmly with shoves and whispers and soothing touches. In the end, she went quietly. Ciana had told herself she wasn’t going to go out there. They’d said their goodbyes at breakfast that morning. Now there was nothing to do but watch and wait. And ache.

A cold wind whipped Jon’s sun-streaked hair and sheepskin jacket he’d failed to button. His expression looked somber, even from this distance. In moments he’d pull down the driveway and toward the open road to Murfreesboro to pick up his father, and then he’d be gone. She could stand silent no longer. Ciana grabbed her fleece jacket and hurried out the door. He looked up from examining the trailer hitch when he heard the front door slam. He asked, “Did I forget something?”

She pulled up in front of him. “Did you get the food basket I packed?”

“In the backseat of the truck.”

“And the extra blanket? For your dad.”

“I have it.”

“Um … maybe during the drive, you could ask him why he doesn’t like Beauchamp women,” she said to keep the small talk going. “I still wonder about what he said that day.” She shivered in the blustery wind and crossed her arms.

“You better go back inside before you catch pneumonia.”

She didn’t care if she did. “I’ll be fine.”

He nodded tersely. “Goodbye, then.”

“Goodbye,” she mumbled, willing herself not to cry. “Be safe.”

He turned, walked to the truck, and scooted into the cab. He popped the truck into gear and slowly pulled up the long driveway. Ciana didn’t move, just stood woodenly and held her head high, fighting tears. She saw his eyes watching her in the large mirror mounted on the side of the truck. Green eyes, troubled, uncertain. He drove partway, threw the gear into park, and opened the cab door with a loud, “Aw, hell.”

He jogged to where she was standing, pulled her to him, and kissed her hard. Ciana met his kiss and gave back as good as she got. She saw stars, felt his arms slide around her. She threw her arms around him, melting into the rising tide of passion inside her like a tidal wave. When their mouths parted, they stared at each other in wonder. The pull between them had not abated one bit over time or circumstance. She wanted him. He wanted her. Jon was the first to blink. He backed away. Ciana felt rooted to the ground.

Jon stalked to his truck and, without another glance backward, drove away. Ciana watched, tears tracking down her face as the taillights of the trailer turned out of Bellmeade’s driveway and fled the landscape of her heart.