CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I woke up early the next morning, snuck outside, and clipped a fresh bouquet of irises from the garden, still dressed in my bathrobe and slippers. It was June 17, Jesse’s and my wedding anniversary. It had always been a day of mixed emotions for my wife, as it also marked the date that Jesse’s father had passed away after a long and painful illness. He had died several years before I met her, and she selected that date for our wedding with great intention, an attempt at achieving some kind of divine balance: to supplant a day that had previously been one marked by grief and loss with an occasion that represented love and new beginnings. In practice, though, it became both. I had always wished I had had the chance, if only to assure him of my devotion to his daughter. So, in the end, I always likened our day of celebration to one of blue sky rain.

I returned to the kitchen, placed the cut garden flowers into a vase and set them at the center of the table, together with a card I had picked up at the stationery store. The night before had not gone well, and I owed Jesse a special night out. I stepped out onto the porch to call the front desk at the Gold Hotel, whispered my reservation request for dinner that night in their restaurant. It was the nearest approximation to fine dining to be found in the valley, and the only establishment to feature white linen tablecloths, candlelight, silver flatware, and a respectable wine list. It was one of my wife’s favorite places.

The call came less than two hours later, with the morning sun barely cresting the peaks of the mountain range, as I was cooking french toast for my wife.