caps that topped the surrounding mountains and the rooftops. I wondered if the spirits of our ancestors, in local lore said to live atop our highest mountain, Samuel’s Peak, watched me conduct my fruitless searches. What must they think of me, of the fact that I stayed in a town doing all I could to protect people who at every opportunity made it clear they didn’t want me?
The shovel heavy, I threw its contents onto the growing mound of dirt beside me. Most of the trees were bare, only the pines stubbornly holding onto their green, and as I dug, their scent surrounded me. The rising sun painted the horizon gold and pink.
The rhythm of the dig occupied my body and freed my mind. I thought about the prior Saturday evening, my weekly dinner with Max. We’d fallen into a pattern. The relationship felt comfortable, and that bothered me. I knew he wanted more than friendship; I wasn’t ready to take that step. At times, there was a heavy silence between us, and much remained unsaid. I had issues I wasn’t ready to face. Max had buried a wife he loved. Every time Miriam came up, his lips clenched and no words escaped. He felt guilty. I sensed it. But why? A couple of times he appeared to be considering explaining, then stayed silent.
We both had so much baggage, our pasts unsettled.
Damaged, that was the word for Max, and for me. We weren’t as we’d once been, a boy and a girl who yearned for each other. I first noticed Max in grade school, our desks three apart in fourth grade. In my home-sewn prairie dresses, my hair in dark braids, I was a somber child, silent much of the time, perhaps too introspective. I followed orders and listened to my parents; I hid in my books and never let anything pull me away from my homework. As good a student, Max had a bit of the imp about him. We were still children when he started passing me little notes, silly, childish jokes printed on notebook paper with pencil. When I read them, I shot him a grin, and Max erupted in giggles. I loved his laugh. More often than not, the teacher hauled him up to the front of the classroom. I felt embarrassed, as if we’d made ourselves a spectacle, but Max never seemed to mind. By sixth grade, he picked me daisies in the summer and left them on our family’s front porch.
But that was all in the past. In the intervening years, life had thrown us to the curb and left us broken.
“Clara, how about dinner Monday, at my house?” Max had asked as he walked me from the restaurant to my SUV on Saturday evening. “Brooke can join us, and I’ll make a pot of chili.”
“I’d love that, sure,” I’d said. Then I had misgivings about including his daughter. “But, Max, maybe Brooke will get the wrong idea about us?”
Max had clenched his lips tight and stared at me as he reached over and opened the door. I’d seen the disappointment in his eyes. “Would that be the worst thing?” he asked. “If we were more than we are?”
“I-I don’t…” I had started, but then fell silent.
Disarming my qualms, Max had smiled, and images flooded me from that same smile so many years ago. “You’ve always been so serious, Clara,” he’d whispered as he moved closer. “Can’t you find a way to let your mind rest?”
I’d taken a deep breath and tried to quiet my pulse as he ran his hand along my shoulder. I’d stared into Max’s eyes, the softest of browns speckled with gold and dark green. I’d reached up and tousled his light brown hair, caressed the dark stubble that covered his dimpled chin. My body had responded, my nerve endings tingling and my heart opening. For a moment, I’d hesitated, but then I forced myself to pull away.
“Clara, please…” Max had frowned and looked at me as if pleading. “Can’t we—”
“I need to go,” I’d blurted out. “It’s late and I have a lot to do, work waiting for me.”
Max’s eyes settled on mine, and I’d instinctively understood that he knew I lied. I had nothing I had to do that night. I sensed that he understood that our closeness frightened me. I’d felt vulnerable. My reaction to his touch had made it clear that, someplace deep inside of me, I hadn’t given up on us. In that moment, all