Tender Grace (16 page)

“I wish I had your boots,” she said.

I looked at the flip-flops she was wearing.

She held up one foot. “Not smart.” She went on to say that they had intended to ride the shuttle to all the points, so her flip-flops hadn’t seemed problematic. But at the last point, they’d decided they could walk the half mile to this one.

“I prefer flip-flops to boots myself,” I said.

She retrieved a bottle of water from her purse and poured some on her arms and down the front of her. “It’s steaming,” she said.

Then she proceeded to tell me that she and her husband had brought their two oldest grandchildren to see the canyon. I told her she didn’t look old enough to have teenage grandchildren, and she said that she had married young. “But,” she added, “I had a good man, and we made it.” She smiled at her husband, and he snapped her picture before turning back to pose the kids in a variety of spots in front of the railing.

“We’ve had fun with them, doing things we couldn’t have done if we’d brought the younger kids. We took an overnight trip down to the canyon floor on mules when we first arrived. That was something.”

“I have a friend who told me the mules rest facing the edge of the canyon,” I said.

“That’s true,” the woman said, “but they have to rest, and if they do it facing the wall they can step back and fall over the edge backward. It happens. I was scared spitless sitting on my mule and looking over the edge, but my husband said he wanted the mules to know exactly what they were dealing with!”

Her husband, finished with picture taking, put his camera in its case, called the kids, and walked over with them to retrieve his wife. Taking her hands and pulling her to her feet, he told her it wasn’t far to the next stop. She looked at me as though moving pained her.

“I might be able to make it if it’s
real
close,” she said. “Otherwise they can carry me.”

“Good luck,” I said.

I thought about those mules after she left. For fifteen months I’d “rested” facing the dull nothingness of the cliff, disregarding the potential for disaster. Better for me to overcome fear and dread instead, and face the edge of the canyon, where I can embrace beauty and avoid unnecessary catastrophe. It seems that’s what I’ve finally chosen to do.

I stood and stretched, ready to walk the next section. It took me a total of four hours to get to Hermit’s Rest. The bathroom and snack bar were a welcome sight. I stood in line to get an ice cream bar and saw a sign with Psalm 68:4 on it attached to a supporting beam. I was delighted someone had thought to place such perfect words at this spot. Knowing I probably wouldn’t return here for a long time, I sat down and ate my ice cream slowly and looked out at the grandeur, wanting to somehow internalize it. I saw a huge bird soar by in the distance—an eagle, I think—but the way things have been going, I might have been given a glimpse of a rare condor. On the way to the shuttle, I stopped to throw away my wrapper and napkin and to read the psalm again.

I took a detour from John tonight and turned instead to Psalm 68:4. It seemed perfect to use as a benediction for my time at the Grand Canyon: “Sing to God, sing praise to his name, extol him who rides on the clouds—his name is the Lord—and rejoice before him.”

Then, before I closed my Bible, my eyes moved down to the next verse, 68:5. I was stunned by the words waiting there for me: “A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.”

I sat there with my Bible open on my lap for some time, knowing once more the “defender of widows” had tenderly reminded me that he was near.

sixteen

September 8

I rode a mule. And I’m not kidding, as Ruby would say.

It just worked out. I got up earlier than I would ever have wanted to and followed the smell of mules to the designated place of departure, where I learned there was a six-mile day trip to a plateau about fourteen hundred feet above the Colorado River.

“So,” I said to the young man behind the counter, “do you have a spare mule I can ride this morning?”

“Sorry,” he said, “we’re full up.”

“Hold it,” his cohort said.

One of the girls in a family of six discussing the adventure they were about to share was apparently not at all up for it. As he spoke, I could hear the girl huddled with her family, being quite adamant about not killing herself on a fall to the bottom of the canyon.

I understood.

Never would I have dreamed I would have ended my time at the Grand Canyon descending it on the back of a mule.

“Tell me her name isn’t Sasha,” I said to Bart, the guide who helped me into the saddle of the smallest mule in the bunch.

“It’s a he, ma’am.”

Easy mistake.

“This isn’t his first time out, is it?” I asked.

Bart actually smiled under his handlebar mustache. “No, ma’am. Ned here is as seasoned and as sure-footed as they come.”

Okay then,
I thought, reaching up to pat Ned after I got situated. “Good boy.”

I’d bought a book of photographs depicting wonderful scenes of the canyon to put on the table next to my chair in the living room, but nothing could equal seeing it from the uncomfortable back of my mule, Ned. My favorite part of the experience was when he turned to rest facing the expanse of the canyon. It was terrifying and exhilarating.

Each time I thought about it on the way to Willa’s, I smiled.

I don’t think I was smiling when I thought about the e-mail I found from Andrew this morning.

“I was surprised to finally get a response,” he wrote. “I’m glad to know you’re okay and that you’ve forgiven me. I know I’m pressing my luck here, but I would like to see you. I could make a trip to Springfield sometime if it’s okay with you. Or if you’re coming to see Willa one of these days, I could see you here. I’ve been thinking about this for a while and decided to at least ask—nothing ventured, nothing gained. What do you think?”

“I think you’re crazy,” I wrote.

Then, after my adventure on the mule and before I put away the laptop, I sent another message: “I’ll be at Willa’s tonight.”

I arrived at Willa’s around eight, just as Ed was pulling into the garage.

Willa ran out to meet me. “Woo hoo! You’re here. I can’t believe it!”

I got out of the car and gave her a hug. “I hope you don’t mind—I’ve been snacking, but I didn’t stop to eat dinner. You’ll have to dig up something. I’m starving.”

“No problem. I can’t wait to feed you!”

We walked into the air-conditioned house, where Ed was putting groceries on the black granite counter.

“Hi, pretty lady,” he said. “I’ll get your bags and put them in the casita.”

“Oh, thank you, Ed,” I said as he walked back to the front door. “Lugging two or three suitcases and a laptop around has been the worst part of this trip. Tom usually had the trunk emptied and luggage inside our room before I could find my purse.”

When Ed had closed the front door behind him, I told Willa that most nights I leave my shoe bag in the car and simply get out the pair I think I’ll need the next day.

“What about laundry?” she asked. “Your trip isn’t hassle free, is it?”

“I send the laundry out, usually. And I’m getting used to the hassles. It hasn’t been bad really. Overall, it’s been good, in fact. Right now, however, everything I own needs washing or cleaning, so I hope you know what we’re doing tomorrow.”

She was ready to get my things and start the wash right then, but I told her I wanted nothing more than to sit down and let her chat away about her life.

She said she had a better idea.

“You get out to the casita and get settled. You’ll find ice and Diet Coke in the refrigerator. Come back inside in a half hour and I’ll have something for you to eat while I entertain you with my cheerful banter.”

“I’m quite in the mood for your cheerful banter,” I said, walking toward the door. “I’ll be back.”

When I came back into the house, Ed had gone off to join a card game at the clubhouse to give Willa and me time alone. While she talked, I ate a pasta salad she had put together while I unpacked and sorted laundry. Actually, we ended up entertaining each other. She caught me up on her kids and grandkids and I caught her up on mine, and when my hunger was satisfied, she wanted to know every place I had gone and everything I had seen and every person with whom I had talked or made eye contact, including the prairie dog. She thought I was making up Ruby and Pearl, and I said I’d like to know how I could make them up.

When we had given conversation a rest and were quietly cleaning the kitchen, Willa walked over to the desk.

“Listen to this,” she said, pressing the message button on her answering machine. “Willa, this is Drew. Will you call me when Audrey arrives?”

“So,” she said, “what’s that all about?”

I told her about our e-mail exchanges.

“Well, that’s interesting,” she said. “You know, he didn’t have a ring on the night I saw him at the restaurant. And he was with two other guys. It looked like a business dinner.”

“You check out rings?” I asked.

“I was curious.” She lifted my bare left hand. “I checked yours out too.”

“An attempt to quit thinking of Tom in the present tense,” I explained.

Willa gave me a quick hug.

“It’s a bummer,” she said.

We laughed at her ridiculous understatement.

“Profound summary, if I’ve ever heard it,” I said. “And maybe all there is to say.”

The kitchen restored to order, I pulled out the towel rack and hung the damp towel I was holding and told Willa I was ready to crash in the casita.

“Thanks for a wonderful dinner,” I said, giving her another hug. “And thank Ed for filling the car and taking it through the car wash. Tom always did that for me. Suddenly, having it done seems the greatest luxury.”

“You’re welcome, from both of us. He was anxious for you to get here so he could do it.”

“That is so sweet. Treat him nice when he gets home,” I said, walking toward the front door. “I’d better get settled.”

“Wait,” Willa said. “Should I ask Andrew, or Andrew and his wife, whichever the case may be, to dinner tomorrow night?”

“If you want to.”

Willa called out here just now to say Andrew is coming. Alone. He’s been divorced for two years.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? Because I can call him back and say I changed my mind.”

“It’s okay.”

“See you tomorrow, then,” she said. “Whenever you want to show up at the door is fine.”

I thought coming here would be an intrusion on what I’ve come to think of as a unique and precious time with the Lord; instead I think it might be a respite in my solitary journey. Willa makes me happy. I’m surprised I agreed to see Andrew, but it seems right. Not comfortable, but right. I’m trying to listen, trying to discern and act on the right thing. When did that begin again? I’m not sure, but I know when the impulse ceased: the afternoon we stood by a grave and told Tom good-bye.

Unpacking in the casita this evening, I was sad to realize I had all the drawer and closet space to myself. But it both surprised and pleased me that thinking of Tom was equal parts sorrow and joy.

September 9

By eleven, Willa and I had put a load of clothes in the washer and another load in the dryer and left the house with an agenda: the cleaners, the bank, and a light lunch. We had my closet full of clean clothes and dinner prepared by four, and I came out here to read and rest and get ready for the evening with Willa, Ed, and Andrew. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror putting on makeup, glad Andrew had seen me at my father’s funeral and at my worst, I’d guess. Despite how kind the years are to any of us, time and gravity do their appointed work.

“Who’s this?” Kelsie had asked, holding the wedding picture Katy handed her.

“Your nana,” I said, looking over her shoulder. “A long time ago.”

She glanced at me and then at the picture several times before she gave it to me to put back up on the shelf.

“I like you now,” she said.

The girl in that picture was a stranger, and Kelsie wasn’t interested in her. Others are, I’ve noticed. When I was home a few years ago and returning a bedspread for Mom, I ran into a friend at Penney’s.

“Audrey,” he had said. “Is that you?”

I wondered how the man knew me.

“It’s Tim. Tim Cook.”

“Timmy?” I asked. He had been my biology partner and had made dissecting a frog more traumatic than it needed to be. While we exchanged biographical information accumulated since high school, he kept staring at me. Finally he put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my face.

“What are you
doing
?” I asked.

“I’m looking for the girl,” he said.

Taken off guard by such a statement, I laughed. Then I mumbled something about needing to get home.

He meant no harm, but I really have no desire to be around people looking for “the girl.” It devalues the woman.

I’m glad Andrew saw me at Dad’s funeral and has a mental image of me more recent than our tenth reunion. Of course, serious changes occur between forty-seven and fifty-five. If Tom were alive and by my side, I might not worry about it. But I’ll walk in alone tonight, so I’ve thought about what I’ll wear—black crop pants, a soft white T-shirt, and a beige jean jacket—and I’ve spent time on my hair and applied my makeup as carefully as possible, blushing my way to good health. The woman will look as good as possible tonight.