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.
Arie had raised her hospital bed, positioned near the bay window of the living room, and was staring outside at pummeling rain. She felt as if she’d worn out her welcome with life. She was tired, sick, and ready to have it all end, but life clung to her stubbornly. “How’s Abbie’s job going?” she asked.
Eric was stoking the logs in the fireplace. “All right. I’m sorry she has to work at all, but if we’re going to buy our own house, she has to. Cabinet business is slow because construction is slow. Whole town is waiting to see how the big subdivision is going to go.” He eyed his sister covertly. “Um … Ciana tell you anything about selling Bellmeade?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Everyone knows the deal hinges on whether the developer can get hold of her acreage.”
“Is that what you want?”
“It would give this town a big boost. And mine and Dad’s business too.”
Arie sighed. “She doesn’t talk to me about it, but I’d be very surprised if she agrees to sell. Bellmeade and farming is in her blood.”
Eric looked disappointed. “This town will die without the project.”
“It didn’t die after any other disaster over time, so I doubt it’ll die if Ciana doesn’t sell.” Arie was ambivalent, with split loyalties, divided between her family’s business and her friend’s wanting to keep her land in her family. She’d be long gone before it would be settled one way or the other.
Eric came beside the bed and stood gazing down at Arie, looking uncomfortable. She knew him well enough to understand he had more to say. “What is it?”
His face reddened. “I … um … want to thank you.”
“You’re welcome. What for?”
“Remember last summer, when you told me to not let Abbie get away? To tell her I loved her?”
Arie vaguely recalled the conversation. “You took my advice.”
He nodded. “If I hadn’t, she was ready to move on. Going out to Oklahoma for a job. If I hadn’t said something that weekend, I would have lost her. And that would have been the biggest mistake of my life.”
Arie loved her brother very much, and to have his gratitude meant the world to her. She took his rough, work-worn hand into hers. What she wouldn’t have given to have Jon love her the way Eric loved Abbie. “Take good care of her.”
Eric cleared his throat and glanced out the window self-consciously. “Who’s that?”
They both watched as a long black limo pulled up in front of the house.
“The Grim Reaper?” Arie suggested.
“Not funny, Sis.”
“I have no idea, then.”
Together they watched the driver come around to the back door of the car with a giant black and white striped umbrella. He opened the door, held the umbrella open. Two people ducked under the umbrella’s safety, a woman and a child. Arie’s heart leaped in recognition. “They’re friends from the hospital,” she told Eric. “Let them in.”
Eric went to the front door and ushered Lotty and her son inside while the driver said he’d wait in the car. When the visitors saw Arie, they burst into smiles. Eric’s expression was of total disbelief. Behind the visitors, he mouthed, “Is this who I think it is?”
Arie nodded to him but said, “This is Lotty Jones and her son, Cory. That’s how I know her in the hospital.” She opened her arms and Cory threw himself onto her bed and hugged her. Lotty grabbed the boy’s shirt. “Let’s not smother her, son.”
Arie couldn’t stop smiling. “Look at you, Mr. Cory. You’ve grown a foot taller.”
“I miss you,” he warbled as his mother helped him down from the bed.
“I miss you too.”
Eric stood starstruck.
“Could y
ou pull up a chair for Lotty?” Arie asked of him, amused at his reaction.
“Oh yeah. Sure.” He jumped into motion, lifting the room’s most comfortable chair and setting it beside the bed. Lotty thanked him, oblivious to his stares.
“I brought you a present,” Cory said. He reached into a satchel Lotty had carried in and pulled out a sheaf of paper, bound by thick red string through holes punched in the top of the bundle. “I drew every picture myself.”
“Oh, Cory, how wonderful.” She scooted over, patting the spot on the mattress next to her. “Come up here and show them to me.”
Eric lifted him in one smooth motion to sit by Arie. Together they flipped through every piece of paper, Arie praising, Cory grinning. When they were finished, Arie lay back, exhausted. Beads of perspiration had formed on her forehead. Eric stepped closer, but Arie held him off with, “Cory, would you like to go to our garage and see some of my brother’s woodworking tools?”
The boy eagerly hopped down and followed Eric, who kept glancing back at Arie. When they were gone, Arie said, “He looks great. How’s he doing?”
“Very well. His cancer’s in full retreat. How about yours?”
“Advancing.” Shortness of breath interrupted Arie. Lotty waited patiently. “You’re so kind to come see me.”
“Cory’s talked of nothing else.”
“Does he know … the truth?”
“Yes, but I don’t think he quite gets it. Death is still a fuzzy concept for him.” Lotty paused, caressing Arie’s hand. “I want to do something special for you and your family.”
“Like what?”
“I want to sing.” Lotty’s pretty eyes filled with tears. “A concert, something private.”
Arie started crying too. “That’s … that’s so kind.”
“It means I need a list of your favorite songs.”
“Everything you sing.”
Lotty laughed softly, wiping under her eyes. “Surely you have other favorites. I won’t be offended, you know, if you like Reba, or Pasty, or whomever.” She gestured to the empty air.
“I’ll make a list.”
They sat in silence, listening to the rain let up outside. Weak sunlight broke through dark clouds. Lotty said, “I can see you need to rest.”
Arie made no apology. Pain was coming in waves. She needed another hit from the morphine pump set up on the other side of her bed. “I want Cory to remember me at my best,” she said honestly.
“It’s the only way any of us will remember you.” Lotty stood, bent, and kissed Arie’s forehead. She slipped a small envelope from her satchel. “This is how to reach me. Unfortunately, I have commitments through May, but after that have someone in your family call.”
Arie knew she would never hear Lotty’s concert. It would come after she died. Still the woman’s generosity touched her deeply. And her relatives would be blown away. The thought made her smile and brought satisfaction. Lotty gathered Cory and said goodbye. Arie pushed the button on the pump, and Eric held her hand until her pain-racked body relaxed and her eyes closed in dreamless sleep.
The signing and transfer of the house to the new buyers went smoothly. Eden brought Ciana with her to the closing, as much for courage as for company. The selling had been emotionally trying. There was something nostalgic and melancholy and scary about bidding goodbye to her childhood, as complicated as it had been. She’d donated all the house’s contents to charity, and with no further communications from Gwen, Eden gave away her belongings too.
Ciana had asked, “Are you sure she’ll never want any of her stuff?”
“A while back, she left me a letter filling in a lot of blanks in her history—our history,” Eden had answered. “It explained lots of things to me, and I think it was her way of saying goodbye to her unnatural struggle against her illness. You see, she hated feeling what other people think of as ‘normal.’ When she took the meds, she felt like a stranger in her own skin, and no matter how hard she tried to remain on her meds, she just couldn’t. She says she’s happy now. Maybe so, maybe not. But she’s who she wants to be.” Eden’s voice had broken. “And … and she told me that she loved me.”
“Oh, Eden, of course she loves you.”
Eden had offered a weak smile, then sagely said, “Well, love certainly wears a lot of faces.”
A trip with Eden’s car and Ciana’s truck moved Eden’s clothing and a few boxes of sentimental items to Ciana’s. Otherwise, she left her past and all that went with it behind.
At Bellmeade, Eden was given Olivia’s old room, still full of antique Victorian furniture, old lace curtains, and outdated wallpaper.
Alice Faye welcomed Eden warmly, and when she opened the bedroom door, she said, “You can change anything you want in here. I’m not attached. I think whatever you do would be an improvement.”
Ciana looked stricken by her mother’s suggestion, so despite longing to change everything, Eden left the room as she found it. She didn’t feel it was her place to intercede in their tug-of-war over Olivia Beauchamp.
Eden continued to work, but each night when she arrived at Bellmeade, there was a hot meal on the table and a warm fire in the parlor. It took getting used to, but she managed it far more quickly than she expected. So this was how regular people lived. Amazing.
In early April, she and Ciana were watching a video, a bowl of buttered popcorn on the couch between them, when Ciana said, “I went by to visit Arie today. She’s so thin. Her mom says she only weighs sixty pounds.”
Eden felt a nudge of guilt. She didn’t visit as often as Ciana because one time after seeing Arie fading away and in pain, she’d gone to her car, knelt on the ground, and vomited. “At least she’s surrounded by family,” Eden said, picking up a handful of popcorn. “They agreed that she would never be left alone, that someone would always remain in the room with her. She told me they take shifts.”
“So what do you think you’ll do after Arie dies?” Ciana used the word more freely these days because Arie’s suffering would not be relieved by anything except death.
“Not sure. It’s crazy, isn’t it? I’m all grown up, I have a job, I have money from the house in the bank, but no place to go.”
“Still no luck with Garret?”
“Not a lick.”
“Your loneliness shows.”
“So does yours.”
Ciana scoffed. “Not true. I don’t miss Jon one bit.”
Eden tossed a kernel of popcorn at her. “No, not much. Tell me, what’s so horrible about admitting to yourself that you love him?”
Ciana rubbed her temples, fending off a headache. “Can’t afford to dwell on him. Too many other things on my mind right now.”
“Like?”
“Arie. The Hastings buyout offer. Do you know that half the town is counting on me to sell, the other half swearing to hate me if I do? I overheard that gossip two weeks ago at the hardware store. I don’t want my neighbors hating me. Everyone talks about the money. Heck, I could use the money, too, but I want my home more.”
Eden saw worry lines pucker Ciana’s brow. “Um … maybe I could help out some around Bellmeade. On weekends, you know. I’ll bet there’s something I can do to help and earn my keep.”
Ciana offered an amused smile. “You could start small. How about turning the compost heap once a day? Or pick up pasture patties that the horses leave behind?”
Eden’s eyes widened. “Manure?”
“Has to be done.”
Eden sat ramrod straight and keeled over on her side in an exaggerated impression of a cartoon character. Ciana burst out laughing. So did Eden. They laughed uncontrollably until their sides ached and tears ran down their faces. Weeks later, Eden would recall that night as the last time either of them laughed about anything.
On April fifth, Arie awoke feeling alert and without pain. She asked for pancakes and Patricia rushed to the kitchen to whip up the meal. Arie ate heartily, better than she had in months, getting up and going to the table to sit an
d eat with her mother and father.
When the hospice caregiver arrived, she beamed smiles, urging Arie to do whatever she wanted all that day for as long as she felt like it. Arie asked to be taken outside, and Swede bundled her up, tucked her into a wheelchair, and pushed her around the yard and flowerbeds already blooming with sunny yellow daffodils. The weather was cool but the sun warm—the month of April at its best. Something akin to joy bubbled up inside Arie during the stroll. The world was beautiful, too beautiful to leave, and yet she knew she was ready to go. Not resigned, but ready. She could tell the difference.
In the late afternoon, Eden and Ciana came together to visit. “You look fabulous!” Eden told Arie when she saw color in her cheeks.
“It’s been a good day,” Arie said, bundled in a spring quilt on the sofa.
Ciana said, “I hope you have many more.”
“No guarantee, but it sure would be nice. I’m sick of being sick. I haven’t felt good since we were in Italy.” Her expression went dreamy. “That was the best time of my life.”
“Mine too,” Eden chimed in.
For Ciana, it had been the best and the worst of times. “I loved being with my best friends,” she said truthfully.
“Request time,” Arie said soberly before quickly adding, “I don’t want the two of you moping around and acting all sad and gloomy after this is all over for me.”
Panicked glances darted between Ciana and Eden.
“I’m serious. Get busy with your lives and have a good time. Eden, go find Garret. Ciana, tell Jon Mercer you love him.”
Ciana went wobbly, queasy, as guilt and shame coursed through her. “What are you talking about? I don’t love Jon.”
In spite of Ciana willing Eden to endorse her words, Eden said nothing.
Arie took Ciana’s hand. “I didn’t know how you felt about him until Eric’s wedding. I never had a clue, I swear. Because if I had known …” Her voice tripped. Ciana started to speak, but Arie shook her head. “Let me finish. Maybe I didn’t want to see, but that night when you two were dancing and the new year came, it was like scales fell from my eyes. The way he looked at you, and the way you looked at him … it was a blinking billboard. You love each other.”