fingers over the indentations, he told her that
the medics threw the tag at him when they unloaded her from
Germany. Did she mind that he wore it? She put her hand over the
tag and pressed it to his heart, the heart that she owned. This
simple gesture launched him from his seat. He carried her to the
bed where they consumed each other in unabated heat and
passion.
They celebrated the eighth day of every
month that spring and summer. They were riding their bikes through
downtown Denver to a Colorado Rockies game on April eighth at
twelve-thirty. The baseball game started at one o’clock and Max’s
law firm had season tickets. John, Alex and Max ate hot dogs and
drank beer in the sunshine of their baseball team’s opening week.
With sunburned noses, they moved down Blake Street to a bar where
they joined Erin and Matthew for dinner, drinks and dancing.
John and Max were flyfishing in the middle
of the Arkansas River on June eighth. At twelve-thirty, a large
brown trout rose from the bottom of the river to snatch at the fly
Alex had cast from the banks. Screaming and laughing at her
success, the men took a quick picture of Alex and the fish before
returning the fish to the river. They ate dinner in Buena Vista
then soaked in the Cottonwood Hot Springs. On the drive back to
Denver, Max slept in the back seat of John’s Audi while Alex and
John whispered back and forth. John pulled into a turn off near
Kenosha Pass. They cuddled on the hood of his Audi A8 and watched
the moon rise to brighten the high plains valley below.
The entire day of July eighth was spent in
the honeybee hives. Max and Alex went frame by frame through their
five hives checking the health of their queenbees and the growing
supply of honey. The hot, detailed work absorbed their entire
attention. Twelve-thirty came and went almost without notice.
Hanging their bee suits in the shed around four in the afternoon,
the twins discovered a mini-party forming in the house. Samantha,
their oldest sister, was visiting from Washington DC. John lit the
barbeque just as Colin and Julie arrived. They laughed their way
through barbequed salmon and bottles of red wine.
They were uneventful days that started when
Alex opened her eyes to John’s face and ended when she closed her
eyes nestled under John’s arm. Simple, boring, mundane days. But
for Alex, who had been in the military since she was seventeen
years old, every day sparkled with the brilliance of the Hope
diamond. Plain living–dinner at home, trimming the roses, checking
the bees, bubble baths–was new, special and perfect. Day after day,
Alex woke up at home, ate at home, worked at home, played at home,
laughed at home. Home. The very thought of home made her smile.
Near the end of July, Alex stood at
Alexander’s grave. For the first time in almost two years, she no
longer yearned to lay under that stone.
FFF
Rebecca arrived in Denver near the middle of
July with a clear agenda: get Erin’s life back on track. Refusing
to utter Marcos’s name, Rebecca moved through Erin’s broken life
like a gale force wind picking up the clutter and leaving only
bright sparkling possibility in its wake. Erin re-enrolled in
school. The cosmetic dentist finished Erin’s teeth. A long visit
with the family lawyer was celebrated with a new hairstyle and a
complete new wardrobe. Erin was poised to flourish.
Matthew surprised Erin with a two week
vacation to the Outer Banks and the family began work on the loft.
Patrick, Max and Colin spent three entire days clearing everything
out of the loft. The Denver Post ran a picture of a filthy Patrick,
standing next to a dumpster filled with broken glass and furniture,
with the heading: ‘There are some things a father must do himself.’
A team of plaster experts repaired the holes, chips and splatter in
almost every wall. After the walls were painted bright happy
colors, the hardwood floors were sanded and varnished.
John and Max spent a weekend moving
furniture
the medics threw the tag at him when they unloaded her from
Germany. Did she mind that he wore it? She put her hand over the
tag and pressed it to his heart, the heart that she owned. This
simple gesture launched him from his seat. He carried her to the
bed where they consumed each other in unabated heat and
passion.
They celebrated the eighth day of every
month that spring and summer. They were riding their bikes through
downtown Denver to a Colorado Rockies game on April eighth at
twelve-thirty. The baseball game started at one o’clock and Max’s
law firm had season tickets. John, Alex and Max ate hot dogs and
drank beer in the sunshine of their baseball team’s opening week.
With sunburned noses, they moved down Blake Street to a bar where
they joined Erin and Matthew for dinner, drinks and dancing.
John and Max were flyfishing in the middle
of the Arkansas River on June eighth. At twelve-thirty, a large
brown trout rose from the bottom of the river to snatch at the fly
Alex had cast from the banks. Screaming and laughing at her
success, the men took a quick picture of Alex and the fish before
returning the fish to the river. They ate dinner in Buena Vista
then soaked in the Cottonwood Hot Springs. On the drive back to
Denver, Max slept in the back seat of John’s Audi while Alex and
John whispered back and forth. John pulled into a turn off near
Kenosha Pass. They cuddled on the hood of his Audi A8 and watched
the moon rise to brighten the high plains valley below.
The entire day of July eighth was spent in
the honeybee hives. Max and Alex went frame by frame through their
five hives checking the health of their queenbees and the growing
supply of honey. The hot, detailed work absorbed their entire
attention. Twelve-thirty came and went almost without notice.
Hanging their bee suits in the shed around four in the afternoon,
the twins discovered a mini-party forming in the house. Samantha,
their oldest sister, was visiting from Washington DC. John lit the
barbeque just as Colin and Julie arrived. They laughed their way
through barbequed salmon and bottles of red wine.
They were uneventful days that started when
Alex opened her eyes to John’s face and ended when she closed her
eyes nestled under John’s arm. Simple, boring, mundane days. But
for Alex, who had been in the military since she was seventeen
years old, every day sparkled with the brilliance of the Hope
diamond. Plain living–dinner at home, trimming the roses, checking
the bees, bubble baths–was new, special and perfect. Day after day,
Alex woke up at home, ate at home, worked at home, played at home,
laughed at home. Home. The very thought of home made her smile.
Near the end of July, Alex stood at
Alexander’s grave. For the first time in almost two years, she no
longer yearned to lay under that stone.
FFF
Rebecca arrived in Denver near the middle of
July with a clear agenda: get Erin’s life back on track. Refusing
to utter Marcos’s name, Rebecca moved through Erin’s broken life
like a gale force wind picking up the clutter and leaving only
bright sparkling possibility in its wake. Erin re-enrolled in
school. The cosmetic dentist finished Erin’s teeth. A long visit
with the family lawyer was celebrated with a new hairstyle and a
complete new wardrobe. Erin was poised to flourish.
Matthew surprised Erin with a two week
vacation to the Outer Banks and the family began work on the loft.
Patrick, Max and Colin spent three entire days clearing everything
out of the loft. The Denver Post ran a picture of a filthy Patrick,
standing next to a dumpster filled with broken glass and furniture,
with the heading: ‘There are some things a father must do himself.’
A team of plaster experts repaired the holes, chips and splatter in
almost every wall. After the walls were painted bright happy
colors, the hardwood floors were sanded and varnished.
John and Max spent a weekend moving
furniture
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