Private affairs : a novel (29 page)

"That's because they trust you. Every word you write tells them you like people, you try to understand them, you don't pass judgement, and you're honest. What more could anyone look for in a counselor?"

"Thank you," Elizabeth said. "That's a high compliment."

They were as formal as casual acquaintances, Matt thought. What was it that kept them so far apart?

"Then there's a new assistant pressman at the Chieftain," Elizabeth said. "Young and eager and a bit of a problem. I'm afraid he thinks I'm a damsel in distress."

"What kind of distress? Danger?"

She shook her head. "Deserted." She was pouring from the pitcher and missed the expression on Matt's face as she said it. "Of course he hasn't been around this week, with you home, but he's been coming over at least once a day to see if we need help, which of course infuriates Peter. I'll have to talk to him, but he's so earnest I've put it off; I don't want to hurt him."

"Better now than later," Matt said briefly.

"Is it?" Elizabeth asked. "Then why do we put off talking about things important to us? You haven't talked about Keegan all week."

"What about him?"

"How you feel about him. Do you like him, Matt? Now that you know him better?"

"It isn't important whether I like him or not. I like what he offers me."

"But it's important to me, so I can understand what's happening inside you. Do you like him?"

"He's very impressive."

"That means you admire him."

"I admire what he's done. He has goals and he achieves them; he knows what he's doing and doesn't let others stop him. He knows what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"Among other things, a chain of newspapers across the southwest."

"Why?"

"To make money, I assume; I haven't asked him. He also owns oil wells and two ski resorts and a couple of hotels; I haven't asked him why he owns them either. Probably because he likes owning them and it's smart to spread investments around. That doesn't satisfy you?"

"I don't know. I've never felt simple explanations fit him."

"You've made that very clear."

"You want me to keep it to myself, is that it? Or pretend I think he's a dear little man who simply likes to play with his money and be a benefactor to unknown small-town journalists."

"I want you to see him as a hard-headed businessman who's making it big in a tough world," Matt said evenly. "Unlike my own father, who never got anywhere, or your father, who worked at a dull job only until

he could retire, and then dumped a shop on his wife so he could disappear into a cozy little hobby and get his excitement from wooden bowls."

"Matt!" Elizabeth stared at him. Their waitress, coming to see if they wanted refills, changed direction and went to another table; she wasn't one to get caught in somebody's crossfire. "You've never talked like that about Zachary or my father."

He shrugged slightly. "You make it hard for me. Keegan and I work together and it doesn't help when you talk as if I've sold out to the devil. It's hard enough for me as it is, traveling back and forth between Houston and Santa Fe; sometimes I feel like a stranger here—"

"You've made that very clear."

"—and sometimes I feel like a stranger there, but at least when I'm there I can count on sympathetic—" He stopped.

"Oh," Elizabeth said. "Who is she?"

"I'm talking about men who work with me and people I meet. They know what I'm doing; they admire it. I need that as much as you need praise for 'Private Affairs.' "

She nodded. "Matt, the other night I said we're not as close as we were and you said we'd talk about it. Are we going to?"

"Is it necessary? This is all temporary. Once you move to Houston we'll settle down. In fact, why don't you do it now?"

"Because Peter hasn't graduated."

"I know that. This is more important. Everything is changing, Elizabeth, and we ought to be sharing the changes instead of barely keeping up with them. And it's getting too hard for me to commute. Peter can graduate perfectly well in Houston; or if he insists on finishing here, let him live with Lydia and Spencer; they'd love to have him for a few months."

"And Holly? She wants to finish the year here."

"So two teenagers are setting policy for our marriage."

"Those teenagers are our children. And I think they need their parents, or at least one parent."

"For Christ's sake, it's only five months out of their lives!"

"And it's only five months out of yours. So why can't you continue commuting for that short time?"

"Because my work is there, damn it!"

"Well, damn it, my family is here!"

Matt slammed his glass on the table. "It's noisy as hell in here. Shall we go?"

And that was as far as they got in talking about themselves.

It simmered inside them but they left it alone because the next day, the last of the year, they took Holly and Peter to Nuevo for cross-country

skiing with Isabel, Cesar, Luz, and Maya, and they had no time to themselves. Isabel and Cesar had invited a few friends for dinner; Holly had turned down five dates for New Year's Eve parties, saying she'd rather be with her parents and Luz; Peter had planned all along to be with Maya, "I'll take my car," he said. "Since I'm not sure what time I'll be coming home."

"But you'll ski with us," said Elizabeth. "We'd like it if you would."

"Sure. We'd like it, too."

"And dinner?"

"Uh, no. We're eating at Maya's."

"With her parents?" Holly asked.

"They're in Albuquerque for the weekend," Peter mumbled.

Elizabeth and Matt looked at each other, and then away. Too many reminders of young love, Matt thought.

They arrived in Nuevo early, while the sun was high, and in a few minutes had glided off, following the snow-filled riverbed. The mountain air was sharp, but the valley was protected from the wind and after a few moments of skiing they were warm from their rhythmic strides, and exhil-arated by the sense of well-being in the crystal clear day. They skied up the valley, skimming over the snow in friendly competition, picking up speed until the mountains on either side passed in a blur of white and green, brown and black. Finally Peter shouted at them to stop. "I can't see! I need windshield wipers for my eyelids!"

Laughing, breathless, they stopped, and Cesar and Matt built a bonfire of pinon wood in the shelter of a cliff. Isabel and Luz took wine and cheese, apples and sliced sausage from their backpacks. Maya said shyly, "Peter and I made cookies, if anyone could use them."

"Peter and Daddy eat cookies day or night," Holly said. "Mother and I made bread yesterday morning, but I forgot a knife."

"I have a knife," said Isabel, and they sat on flat stones close to the fire, eating and drinking and watching chipmunks dart in and out of the shadows, leaving long curved lines of tiny prints like beads strung on the snow. The shadows grew longer across the valley. Matt put another log on the fire; there was a hiss, then the flames leaped in silence. In the crystal air, the only sound was an occasional caw of a blue jay or the snapping of a branch as a squirrel leaped from tree to tree. A pure, perfect moment, Elizabeth mused, suspended between yesterday and tomorrow. She remembered she hadn't talked to Matt about buying more land in Nuevo. After today, he'll want to, she thought. Whatever problems we're having, he'll know how right it is to have this waiting for us: a promise for the future.

It was dark when they got back to the Aragons* house, tired and chilled, and they took turns showering and dressing in the three small bedrooms before coming back to the living room where Cesar was ladling out hot spiced wine before a roaring fire while Isabel and Elizabeth made dinner in the kitchen.

When the guests arrived they sat on the floor, on pillows made of fabric woven by Cesar, eating at small low tables near the fire. After dinner, Luz and Holly went otf to be alone and the others talked lazily of the weather, new people building summer homes in the Holy Ghost and Grass Mountain areas farther up the valley, next year's crops, and this odd fellow Ballentine who was buying land in the valley and then renting it back to the people he'd bought it from, paying good money for something he never even saw.

"That's not his name," said Isabel, pouring more coffee. "It's Ballen-ger."

"He's loco," said Cesar. "And bad-tempered. He didn't like it that Isabel wouldn't sell to him."

"He bought Zachary's house and land from us," said Elizabeth. "And I was thinking—"

"I met him," Matt said. "I forgot to tell you. He was at a party in Houston. It seems he's not only a car dealer, he also buys property all over the world."

"Does he," Elizabeth murmured thoughtfully. "I was going to find out more about him last August but the column took too much time; I never got around to it."

"What were you looking for?"

"I'm not sure. Isabel says he and two other men have bought up more than half the valley. I thought it was odd."

Matt frowned. "He didn't mention that when we talked. Peculiar guy. Too enthusiastic. And he breaks up his words."

"Like what?" Cesar asked.

"New-ay-vo. Pe-cu-liar. Ar-a-gon."

"That would drive me crazy," Isabel declared.

"So someone said."

One of Isabel's neighbors mentioned a rumor in Pecos about a new road in the area; no one else had heard about it but they debated its merits. Elizabeth, drowsy from the long day outside, and the wine and the warm room, curled up on the rug, her head on Matt's thigh, watching the flames. They were a little distance from the others. "I think we should buy in the valley," she said, her voice low beneath the conversation. "Before Ballenger gets it all."

Matt didn't hear her. The talk about land had recalled a quarrel he'd had with Rourke over whether resorts should be built in wilderness areas. They'd have to resolve that, he thought: he needed a free hand in deciding editorial policies for their papers. Suddenly anxious to get back, to settle the quarrel with Rourke and tackle the other work waiting for him, he heard snatches of conversation about selling the land, irrigating the land, planting the land, finding markets for the pottery and rugs made in the valley. 'They never talk about anything else." he murmured.

Elizabeth looked up. "It's their life." Her voice was as low as his. "They feel about it the way you feel about working for Keegan."

"Do you think it's the same?" he asked curiously. "These people live in a dying town m a small valley hidden in the mountains. I don't see any connection with what I'm doing: I don't even find much that attracts me anymore."

Elizabeth sat up. "You don't mean that." She'd been about to repeat what she had said about buying land: now she held it back. "All those years we came here with Zachary. we talked about building a second home, spending summers here. . .

"A long time ago. I hardly remember how I felt about things then. Was that all I wanted 0 Did I sound like these people?"

"These people are my friends." She studied his face in the firelight. "And they're more like you than you think. They have a passion for this place and the life they've made that keeps them here and sends them out each day to tend their animals and work the land whether they feel like it or not. whether they're sure the valley has a future or not. It's the same kind of passion you have for Keegan. for working for him. The same passion that will make you go back to Houston tomorrow even though we haven't finished anything we began a week ago."

"Fresh wine." Isabel said, handing each of them a mug. "It's midnight. Padre is going to make a toast."

"We wish for health and plenty." Cesar said, and rambled on about love and a place to belong, fertile fields and animals, large families and a prosperous year.

Elizabeth held her mug and leaned forward to kiss Matt. "Happy New Year." she said softly, and neither of them was sure whether it was a prayer or a pledge.

E

lizabeth sat at Matt's desk in the glass-walled office of the Chieftain, writing a "Private Affairs" story about her father.

He was seventy-five years old when he first picked up a hand saw and made a long cut through a piece of oak, overcoming the resistance of the wood with his own strength. And when he had planed and carved and sanded, and held in his hand something he had made himself, from part of the earth he lived in, he knew that, after fifty years, he was finally doing what he really wanted. And he was content.

She wrote more quickly than usual, looking up absently as she tried to think of the right word or phrase. Through the glass wall she saw the bustle of the newsroom, Saul's smile, Barney Kell's friendly salute, Wally coming toward her. She shook her head to stop him and turned back to the typewriter. Late in the afternoon, she pulled out the last page and read through the whole piece. She stopped at the sentences she had re-

peated at the end: "He was finally doing what he really wanted. And he was content."

Matt, she thought.

But then she shook her head. It wasn't really Matt. He'd been doing what he wanted, and it included both of them. But he'd been sidetracked, caught in his own ambition. And he'd be trapped in it until he found a way to balance ambition with the other things of his life.

That's what we should have talked about at Christmas, she thought: the gap between what we dreamed and what we are now.

Impulsively, she picked up the telephone and called his office in Hous-ton. "He's in a meeting, Mrs. Lovell," his secretary said. "With Mr. Rourke and the governor and some members of the Texas Commission on State Parks. It might last through dinner. Can I take a message?"

"No," Elizabeth said. "Thank you. Just tell him I'll call him at home later."

Not "home"; it's only a rented apartment

But she never reached him that night, and the next morning his secretary called her. "Mr. Lovell left Houston after dinner last night, Mrs. Lovell; he went to Austin with the parks commissioners. He just called in and I gave him your message and he said to tell you he'll call you when he's back in Houston late this afternoon."