Rain Shadow (22 page)

“
Peetie.” Mariposa reached into the clutch of toys and pulled out a doll by its fake frizzled blond hair. She held it up, examined the find for a moment, and proclaimed again, “Peetie.”

“Yes
,
prett
y
. She is
a
prett
y
baby.”

Tina reentered the room and patted the child’s head on her way to the kitchen. Taylor watched her open the refrigerator door covered with photos of Mariposa: an ultrasound print, at birth, nestled in her exhausted mother’s arms, various family pictures, and a smiling baby in the bathtub. She cleared her throat.

“She’s such a cutie, will you have more?”

Tina sighed deeply. She bent over to pull a bowl of salad from the depths of the refrigerator and shut the door before responding.

“I’d like to, but I just don’t know … ”

As she watched Tina’s face bunch with conflicting emotions Taylor immediately regretted the inquiry. Her heart began to beat faster. She needed to escape, perhaps excuse herself by begging exhaustion from the ride. She would simply ask Jacob to take her home. Tina appeared oblivious to her discomfort.

“We had a hard time conceiving. I lost two babies before Mariposa, the second after in vitro, which is such an ordeal.  I couldn’t cope with life after that. It’s just so emotional…. ” Tina looked out the window into a distant time and place. Then she smiled at Taylor, “You’ll see someday.”

As she listened the pounding inside increased. It seemed to beat up into Taylor’s brain until she was certain it was visible, her eyeballs pulsing freakishly like a Halloween mask. She thought of the girls in the recovery room, the haunted expressions as they clutched their empty wombs. The same expression she knew was etched upon her own face
.
Emotiona
l
, yes. Receiving, losing, birthing, and taking life were all emotional experiences. It seemed ridiculous to describe it with such a matter-of-fact word.

“But then I got pregnant again,” Tina’s voice turned warm and full. “I was so scared to lose another child.” Her eyes brimmed with the memory and she blinked the tears away as she watched her daughter innocently make a mess, unaware of the affect she had on her mother even before birth. How could a ball of cells have such power over a grown human being?

“When she was born it was like happiness fluttered inside my heart for the first time in a long time. I knew I had to name her Mariposa
—
butterfl
y
.” Tina smiled at the memory and walked to the door, the salad in hand.

Taylor suddenly recognized the significance of a stained glass ornament
that hung in the kitchen window. Beveled pieces of vibrant glass—periwinkle, deep violent, and pale pink—formed a delicate butterfly. Sunlight shone through the glass, forming a collage of soft pastel hues that danced across the opposite wall. A child was like that, changing the look of life in subtle and stunning ways, softening and sharpening the edges. She’d once read in a magazine that choosing to have a child was deciding forever to have your heart walk around outside your body. Her heart didn’t exist inside or outside her body. Instead, it hung in an excruciating sort of purgatory.

Mariposa dropped the doll into a pile of toys cast off for various reasons known only to
herself. She seemed to notice Taylor’s presence for the first time and tottered into the center of the room, turning her full attention on the stranger within her house. Unshed tears from whatever infraction she had been guilty of earlier still shone in her eyes, turning them an otherworldly shade of blue. Drool wet her chin. She stared at Taylor, solemn and unashamed.

“
Peetie,” Mariposa proclaimed. She lurched forward and sat down hard before crawling purposefully toward the couch. Taylor felt her heart race as the child crawled to her side. A smile crinkled Mariposa’s chubby cheeks and she reached forward. Instinctively Taylor offered her hand and Mariposa took it as she struggled to her feet. Trapped, Taylor gazed into the little girl’s face and waited for whatever judgment might come next. She felt weightless, as if she might float away at any
moment. Mariposa suddenly leaned forward and laid her head on Taylor’s
chest. Small hands patted reassuringly, “Peetie.”

Wisps of curly hair tickled Taylor’s cheek as she breathed in the smell of baby powder and milk. The voices outside sounded far away and Taylor felt like she was falling into a bottomless well.  Just when she thought she might pass out a voice pulled her back to the present.

“You never told me you had such a way with kids.” Jacob leaned into the doorway.

Taylor slowly raised her head and met his gaze, unable to hide her tears.
The smile evaporated from Jacob’s face. He studied her for a long moment
then straightened and entered the room. 

“We’ve gotta go, Tina. I promised Taylor I’d get her back home for …
an appointment.”

“Oh?” Tina looked surprised. “We haven’t eaten yet.”

Taylor carefully deposited Mariposa on the couch. She kissed the child on the top of the head and mumbled to Tina,
“I’m really not hungry. But thanks for your hospitality.” She focused
on the door and avoided making eye contact.  

They didn’t talk for several minutes. Taylor knew she owed Jacob some sort of explanation. She mentally groped at options before deciding on something, far-fetched as it was.

“Sorry to cut dinner short, but thanks for rescuing me. Mariposa is really cute. It’s just she reminded me of my niece … who died.”

“How did she die?”

Taylor hadn’t expected any further questions. She thought fast.

“SIDS. You know, Silent Infant Death Syndrome.” At least that was somewhere closer to the truth.

“Hmm. Sounds tough.” Jacob steered the car with one hand. He kept his eyes on the road. “Well, I’m still hungry. You want to come to my house? I’ll fix you dinner and then take you home. We can talk about your next trail riding adventure.”

“Okay.”

She would have agreed to just about anything to take the conversation in a different direction
.
Was this a date
?
No, they were just friends, united by the love of a special horse. Nothing weird about that. As they drove Taylor watched the sun complete its descent into Bellingham Bay. Within minutes they arrived at Jacob’s house.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll see about whipping us up some pasta, good for replenishing energy. You like vegetables?”

“Sure.
”
On somebody else’s plate
.
She wasn’t about to be the least bit of trouble for Jacob, even if it meant choking down a few veggies.

As he disappeared into the kitchen she wandered into the living room and took her time examining the furnishings and décor. The place was masculine and spare—no sign of a woman’s touch. A single black couch took up one wall in what would be a proper dining room. There was a stereo system opposite. For dining there was only a small,
two person table set in the kitchen. Simple, elegant frames were scat
tered in collages everywhere she looked. One large black and white print of a wild horse, its abundant mane and forelock blowing in the wind, was positioned above the couch.

Taylor walked to the stereo and examined a basket of CDs for his musical taste. You could tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listened to. Outside of a few anomalies—Billy Idol, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Michael Jackson—Jacob seemed partial to classical and piano music. Interesting. She picked up a CD.

“You like George Winston.” It wasn’t a question. Jacob had five Winston CD’s. She examined the one calle
d
Decembe
r
and read down the list of songs.

“Oh yeah.” He glanced her way between washing green peppers and chopping up mushrooms and onions. “I’ve seen him in concert twice.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard his music. My mother plays though. I grew up listening to Chopin, and lots of other dead guys.”

Taylor wandered across the hall into a darkened living room and noticed the piano for the first time. A Baby Grand, no less. Its surface shone, glossy as patent leather.

“I love piano, especially Chopin’s preludes
.
No. 1
5
,
Raindro
p
, is probably my favorite. Makes me sort of melancholy, in a good way. If that makes sense.”

“It does.” The sound of chopping paused, then resumed. “I can play lots of ‘dead guy’ selections.”

“
Canon in
D
? That’s another one of my favorites.”

The chopping stopped. “I played that at my own wedding. You could say I’m well practiced on that one.”

Taylor cringed. “I didn’t know you were married.”

There was silence for moment and she heard a cabinet door open
and close. She turned her attention to the photo collages and pretended
to be vitally interested in them.

“My wife left me for another man. Last year.”

So that’s his mystery.

“Oh. I’m sorry to bring it up.” Taylor allowed herself to make eye contact for a moment.

“No worries.” A tired smile appeared on Jacob’s face, his game face. “We’re still officially married, but I expect she’ll file for divorce soon.”

He offered nothing more and Taylor didn’t ask. Instead she went back to examining photos. One was of a younger Jacob in church, a rosary clutched in one hand.

“You’re a practicing Catholic?”

Jacob laughed, “Get out while you still can.”

Taylor giggled and the stiff atmosphere of painful facts that swirled around instantly broke into something softer and more comfortable.

“I didn’t mean to say it that way. I’m Catholic, too.”

“Where do you go to church?” Jacob asked as he drained fettuccine noodles into the sink.

“I don’t, can’t do confession anymore. I’m too guilty.”

Jacob nodded but said nothing so Taylor continued talking. “I just can’t confess to a guy that probably gets speeding tickets, drinks too much, and looks at short skirts. Why should I think I need forgiveness from him?”

“You’ve got a point. I suspect my priest has an eye for the pretty ladies.” Jacob seemed unconcerned as he tossed vegetables with white sauce and poured it over the noodles. The kitchen air was moist and smelled of garlic and onion. He pulled out a chair and motioned Taylor to sit.

“Then why do you bother with all the confession crap?” 

Jacob sat down and arranged silverware at both of their plates.

“The Bible says to ‘Come boldly to the throne of grace to find mercy in time of need.’ Doesn’t bother me one bit what my priest does or doesn’t do, thinks or doesn’t think. I need grace and mercy, that’s all I know.” Jacob chewed for a moment or two then continued. “Plus, it’s good to air your secrets to another human being, helps to share the burden.”

For several minutes they ate in silence. Jacob poured her a glass of white wine and removed garlic bread from the oven. Taylor watched
him and tried to imagine who his wife had left him for. When they were finished eating Jacob rinsed the plates and gestured toward the
piano.

“Can I play you some after dinner music? Helps the food digest.”

“Sure. I may fall asleep though, all this good pasta after a hard ride. I’m high on serotonin right now.” Taylor patted her stomach.

Jacob chuckled and Taylor followed him to the Baby Grand. She sat, cross legged on the floor for a moment and then stretched out on her back, flexing her ankles and working out the kinks from the recent hours spent in a saddle. She watched Jacob’s bare feet. They hovered for a moment, poised over the pedals, then depressed as his fingers moved over the keys. A melody rolled from the depths of the piano.

Taylor lay on the carpet and let the music sink in. She could no more stop it than she could stop rain wetting her bare skin. The notes reached somewhere deep inside, the place where love lived—or should live, the place she longed to lose sight of after a few beers. They danced over her heart, whispering insistently to the sadness lodged inside, inviting it to come out into the light.

Time passed, but Taylor was unaware. She watched the tendons on the tops of Jacob’s feet flex as he worked the pedals, watched his calloused fingers work a melody on black and white. Suddenly the music paused.

“Do you want me to stop?” Jacob looked down at her, his hands hovering over the keys.

“What?” Taylor felt as if she had woken after a dream, slightly delirious and unsure of her location or if she was drooling.

“You’re crying.”

“I am.
”
I am
.
Taylor raised an arm and put her hand to her face. Her tem
ples were wet, a stream of tears coursing on either side. For some reason she was not embarrassed
.
I am what I am
.
“Can you just keep playing?”