The All You Can Dream Buffet (10 page)

Back home, Matthew would be getting ready for work. Something about that comforted her, but she didn’t stop to examine why. Last night she’d been homesick, but now she was on her way for real. In Colorado, a state she’d wanted to visit her whole life. Criminal that it had taken so little time to drive here.

Willow snuffled along the edge of the field that bordered the rest area. Ginny made herself
just be
right there with her dog, on this singular morning in June. The hour was early yet, so the light was new and pale. It limned the edges of grasses and a handful of walkingstick cactuses with buds sitting in readiness
on their fingertips, revealing each needle on each arm of those severe-looking plants. Beautiful.

It was a stand of grass with curlicue tops that made her decide to go back to the trailer for her camera. Willow loped along happily, waited with a cheerful smile, then trotted back. Ginny took several dozen pictures, zooming in and out, playing with depth of field, trying to capture the mood of fresh, delicate morning light, that sense of beginning and hope.

She finally realized she needed to be at ground level for the shot she wanted. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw only one truck left in the lot, so she lay down flat on the grass on her belly, aimed her camera upward at the circlets shining in the sunlight, and took some more pictures. Once she began, she found that the whole world looked different from this angle, as ever, and she made a mental note to talk about this with her students. She shot the cactus and the edge of the building’s roof looming over everything, then rolled over and captured a long series of Willow’s jaw and nose and ears, all from this intriguing, ground-level angle.

When she stood up, there was a man watching her as he filled up a water bottle from the drinking fountain. He was around her age, probably, wearing jeans and boots like a rancher. The only thing left in the parking lot was a semi with a metallic-blue cab and an unmarked trailer. Must be his.

Embarrassed, Ginny looked down and brushed dirt off her jeans.

“That’s a fine-looking dog you’ve got there,” he called out.

“Thanks.”

He capped his bottle and came a little closer. “You mind if I pet her? I’ve just lost my dog, and you know how that ache is.”

One part of her mind warned that he was a
STRANGER
and
POSSIBLY DANGEROUS
and it might be a
BIG TRICK.
Her
heart, however, was pierced. “Oh, I’m so sorry. What was his name?”

The man knelt by Willow, who wasn’t friendly or unfriendly but waited with dignity for the admiration that was her due. “Her name was Miz Cedar. She died just last week.” He moved his hands on Willow in the way that told you he was somebody who knew and loved dogs. “Cancer.” He cleared his throat. “Best damned dog I’ve had in my life.”

“I can’t even stand to think of it. Willow’s only four.”

“Border collie and what?”

“Newfie and shepherd, my vet thinks.”

“Bet she’s as smart as most politicians.”

Ginny chuckled. “At least.” The man had wavy gray and black hair and strong hands. “Is that your rig?”

“Yep.” He half-grinned as Willow stretched her neck up so that he could scratch under her chin.

“Did Miz Cedar travel with you?”

“She did,” he said gruffly. He stood. “Thank you kindly. You have a safe driving day, you hear?”

“Thanks,” Ginny said. “You, too.” She watched him walk away on long legs and couldn’t help noticing that he had a very nice behind. It made her feel young, and she headed for the trailer with a jauntiness in her step. “Come on, girl,” she said to Willow.

Ginny secured the interior, tucking away loose items and making sure nothing would rattle around or get broken, then took a moment to examine the exterior for hail damage from the storm last night.

There were a few dings in the smooth surface, and she ran her hand over them, as if kissing a child’s skinned knee. Hail had been one of the things she worried most about—in the tornado country of Kansas, it was realistic—but research had revealed
that the aluminum in the Airstream’s skin was very high quality and thus resistant to damage in the first place. More intriguing was the fact that if the metal was allowed to sit in the sun, many of the dents would dissolve by themselves. She hoped it was true.

The dog hopped into the Jeep, and Ginny started up the engine. One day accomplished.

Onward ho!

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

SUBJECT: !!!!!!!!!

I’m in Colorado, just over the Continental Divide!!!!!!!!!! It is even more amazing than I expected. I’m kicking myself that I’ve never been here in all my forty-six years and it was only one day away. This morning I took a cog railroad to the top of Pikes Peak, America’s mountain, and you can see practically the world from up there. Miles and miles and miles and miles, all the way into Kansas and across the Continental Divide, and it’s so high and craggy that I felt dizzy. (Or maybe that’s the altitude. One lady got sick from it, and they had to take her down in an ambulance. Did you know that altitude sickness is a real thing?)

You guys know I’m not the writer you all are, but I have been taking a million pictures, and some of them are really great. I snapped this one.

It’s pretty impressive, but then you keep driving, and there are more and more and more beautiful mountains. Once, I had to pull over and rest because I was getting all teary-eyed over them.

How come I never came to Colorado before this? Why did I just think about it and never DO anything about it? I get so mad at myself for things like that
sometimes, like for how many things I haven’t done. Next to you guys, I feel like oatmeal. Kansas oatmeal. How would that be for a blog title? Hahaha.

Kind of rough driving last night, but today was much better, even though I got into the mountains proper. As long as you take your time, it’s not bad, even on the passes, though I wouldn’t like to drive them in the rain or snow. Yikes!

I’m done for the night. Gotta get some sleep!

Love you all, can’t wait to see you.

Ginny

The Flavor of a Blue Moon

a blog about great food…

 

Ruby had expected something different from the meadery, which proved to be a sterile room with three big metal stills. A bloom of disappointment covered her heart and she touched it, wondering what in the world she had been expecting—

A cool room with walls made of gray stone. Light shining through thin rectangular windows, dust motes dancing in the beams, making them look practically solid. On a wooden table, amid a pile of greenery (dill, some voice in her mind said), stood an enormous jar of honey the color of hawk feathers. Her own slim white hands—her hands but not her hands—setting down a wooden cask with a stopper on the side…

Ruby blinked, and the vision disappeared, leaving her once again in the utilitarian meadery of the present. Stainless-steel counters and sinks lined the room, which Lavender explained were used for washing produce. “And other things.”

“Other things?”

Lavender took the stopper from the still and drew out a measure of golden liquid. “Blood, sweetie. This is one of two places where we can slaughter the chickens.”

Ruby looked around the room in alarm, a buzz filling her ears as she imagined animals being slaughtered, blood pouring out into the drains—

“Ruby, taste this,” Lavender said firmly.

The buzzing halted, and Ruby realized the room had no sense of being haunted. It was as straightforward as any restaurant
kitchen she’d ever worked in, with the easily sterilized surfaces required by modern hygienic standards. She knew that the chickens were held in someone’s arms, killed individually, and maybe that—

Her head buzzed again. To distract herself, she reached for the cup. “It’s alcohol, isn’t it?”

“A sip will not deform your child.”