For the first time in a long time, I spent my entire day writing. The phone rang, but I ignored it. In between writing and brewing coffee, I walked over to the picture windows and glanced at the Point to see if Levade was there. No sign.
The book was taking shape. The ex-wife was going to find love, perhaps with the most unlikely man she’d ever met—an artist whose sensuality drew her to him, even as her mind was telling her he wasn’t man enough, he wasn’t her type, he wasn’t any of the things she thought she wanted, until he kissed her.
* * *
That night, excited by the return of my creativity, I walked through the woods hoping she was home. I was wearing my one nice pair of slacks and a pale-green sweater, and carrying a bottle of wine from the only place in town that sold wine, Gus’s tavern. I’d summoned the courage to go back to the tavern and buy a bottle, owning my outburst and apologizing to Gus but quickly adding, “No making fun of women behind their backs.”
We shook hands and he said, “By jiminy, you’re almost as tough as Levade!” So in spite of pretending he didn’t know her name, he did, and privately he respected her. How did that come about?
As I approached her cabin, a voice in me said this must be how gay women date, but I quickly rejected that voice, reminding myself that I was a straight woman. But then I nearly forgot that fact when Levade opened the door, looking spectacularly beautiful in shorts that showed her tanned legs. Even better, she seemed happy to see me.
“Well, look at you!” She scanned me with those gorgeous blue eyes. “Are we having an evening?”
“That was my plan,” I said, and she stepped back, inviting me in.
Her home was shack-chic. Birds’ nests and paddles, fishing nets and wildlife carvings, and horse photographs everywhere, yet the entire place was neatly organized like a master’s class in cabin Kondo.
In several photos a woman was riding or working horses. “Is this you?” I asked, and she nodded. “So you’re a talented horse trainer like your aunt. Did you train Alizar?” She has beautiful, graceful hands, I thought.
“Do you think horses take a rider bareback out into a dark lake at midnight without a little training?”
Always the arch reply, as if she knows something I don’t know. I’ll bet it’s an attitude that’s kept a lot of people away from her.
“Why don’t people in town know what you do?”
“Because they wouldn’t appreciate it. They’d ask me to bring my horse over for their child’s birthday party.”
“But what if they’re saying disparaging things about you because they don’t know you?”
“What’s your point?”
“None.” I laughed at her elegant sense of self. She would not be diminished.
“Before it’s too dark, could I meet Alizar?”
“Of course.” She leaned out the back door, and just the sound of the squeaking screen brought the horse running. He paused on seeing me, sniffed, pawed, and then ambled over, deigning to allow me to touch him.
“He’s so lovely!” I said, thinking she was so lovely. “What do you do with him at night, when he’s alone out there and bears are around?”
She took me by the arm and guided me to an attached building right up against the back of the cabin. “Don’t trip over the hose. That’s how I wash the lake water off him after a swim.” Her grasp felt so natural, as if she should always have my arm and I should always be with her. “Here’s his little barn,” she said. “I moved him out of the larger barn and built this one. I put him in at dark and close his window. He’s safe. And if there’s any sound of trouble, my bedroom is right up against his wall. He’s a beautiful and communicative soul,” she said, rubbing his head. “He knows things.”
“That’s what people say about you,” I replied.
“That makes me a good partner for Alizar. Partners have to be able to communicate at every level.” She raised an eyebrow in my direction as if hinting I might practice that suggestion. “He and I do that. I know how horses think. They’ve spent centuries at the hands of men who hurt them, in order to try to make them bend to their will, by breaking their spirit. But like women, the horse is smarter, and patient, and mystical, and the horse will survive.”
“Alizar is a lucky horse,” I said, and I meant it. He gets to put his muzzle in her beautiful neck and breathe in that cologne she wears. What in the world am I thinking?
“Lucky me,” she said, and we moved back indoors.
She went to the fridge and pulled out a block of cheese, deftly cut several wedges on a small wooden cutting board, placed a few crackers alongside, and set it on a low birch-wood table in the living room along with glasses for the wine. Everything she did spoke of casual elegance, as if she’d been raised to operate and think differently.
I opened the bottle and poured the wine and, after a few sips, noticed she barely drank, and was probably doing it just to be polite. I was drinking to calm my erratic heart rate.
“I find you…your life…very intriguing.”
“Why is that?” Her voice was sensually smooth, and although I knew she was younger, she somehow felt wiser than I was. Or maybe she just has her act together and I don’t, I thought, and then I conducted a little self-therapy. I am doing just fine, actually.
“For starters, the way you spent time with your aunt and her horses. That’s a great beginning for a girl.”
“It wasn’t all that romantic. My mother and stepfather argued. My mother sent me to be with my aunt, probably to protect me, but at the time I didn’t understand that, and I was angry because I thought I’d been rejected. My aunt was tall and strong, and she became my role model. I copied the way she dressed, and what she did with horses, and even her name, Bisset, my mother’s maiden name. Of course my aunt was nearly six feet tall, so someone my height couldn’t look exactly like her.” She laughed lightly and quickly turned the conversation to me, asking about my marriage.
“I married because friends said if I waited much longer, no one would be left but married men and gay guys. I married at thirty-three and divorced Ben when I turned forty-three, four years ago.” She can do the math, I thought. “I liked Ben’s sense of humor, but I didn’t love him, and he was bad in bed, or I was, one or the other. Let’s just say we weren’t a match. In addition, he was controlling and accusing, and I let him do it because it wasn’t worth the fight. That’s so odd, because I have a lot of fight in me, but I didn’t use it on Ben.” For the first time I stopped to think about my lack of fortitude as we sipped our wine in silence.
“So everything you experienced wasn’t ‘for nothing,’ the way you think,” she said. “It helped you create, and it helped create you.”
“I haven’t been creating much lately.” I appreciated her comforting me, but I didn’t want to get into my life with Ben. In fact, I felt she could use some comforting herself. Finally, after an hour, I was relaxed enough to tell her so.
“I’ll bet it’s difficult just to have an ordinary friendship with someone because everyone wants you to read their cards or tell them what their future will be. I want you to know you don’t have to do that with me. I don’t need that from you.”
“What do you need from me?”
Her directness unnerved me. She had this manner of relaxed chatting, and then, boom! It was like sticking your hand in an electrical socket. My heart jammed in my chest, and my breathing seemed to stop.
“I’ve been asking myself that,” I murmured, as my body inclined toward hers, and my brain completely shut down, leaving everything up to my heart. I wanted more than anything to kiss her. For a split second I was sure she wanted that too. What am I doing? The physical sensation was so overpowering that it short-circuited my rational mind. I was no longer thinking, just feeling.
“You probably know what I need more than I do.” My lips were close to hers, but she made no effort to close the gap. She merely ducked her head, and I could no longer see her face. I felt she’d willed a wall between us.
I paused and then blamed my behavior on the chardonnay, saying, “But right now, I’m thinking I’ve had sufficient wine, and I need to go home.”
She stood up. “I’ll walk with you.”
Her offer to escort me back to my cabin clearly communicated she didn’t share my feelings. I took a beat. “I know the way back. It was a nice evening, and thanks for hosting me uninvited.”
She said nothing but watched me go.
On the way through the woods, I thought about what had happened. Maybe she thinks forty-seven is too old for her, or I’m not her type. Or she doesn’t like the way I look—too disheveled, although she said she liked that. Or I’m too non-equestrian for her—she did make that remark about me being fried chicken. And what in hell am I doing coming on to some woman in the woods! I show up uninvited and hit on her. I think I’ve truly lost my mind! I’m not into women to start with. Men may be bad in bed, but they’re obviously less complicated.
This is soooo life, I said to myself. A great thing happens, like my desire to write and create returns, and on the same day a bad thing happens, like I’m rejected by a…a…great-looking woman. It’s just to keep me balanced. The universe doesn’t want me toooo happy. But you would think the universe could give it twenty-four hours between good and bad. I don’t think that’s asking too fucking much! And I fell into bed and drifted right off to sleep.