Traffick (31 page)

tree, and the carols filled me

with happiness. The presents

we did receive were usually

clothes, and something new

to wear was a rare thing. Right

now, I'd love a sweater or pair

of jeans that no one else wore first.

There will be a Christmas party

here, with excellent food and

communion. But one day, I will

celebrate the holidays with Andrew,

in a home of our own. What a dream!

My family adhered to—

because as pastor, Papa

pretty much had to—was

Christmas Eve church

services. I asked Sarah

for permission to attend

a local service tonight,

and not only did she agree,

but she also said it was okay

for Andrew to come along.

He's been at a nearby motel

for several days, but will

have to go back to Boise soon,

to start the new semester.

He picks me up in a rented

car—a small sedan, very unlike

anything he drives back home.

It's not much to look at,
he

apologizes,
but it's comfortable.

Where to, beautiful lady?

“I thought it would be proper

to say thank you to the priest

at Guardian Angel Cathedral.

He's the one who helped me.

I don't know much about

Catholic protocol, though,

so you'll have to help me

out.” I give him directions

and he starts the car, after

a Christmas Eve kiss.

I haven't been to Mass in

a very long time, you know.

But I'm grateful to the priest

who helped you, and I'm happy

to thank him personally.

It's about a fifteen-minute

drive, plenty of time to talk.

Andrew's been thinking,

he says, and he wants me

to consider something carefully.

I know your emancipation

is underway. But I don't want

us to be apart for another year.

I looked into transferring

to the university here, but

the logistics are a nightmare.

Besides, my mom still needs

my help at the ranch, and to tell

you the truth, I can't imagine

living in this city. I'd do it for you.

But I'm wondering if there

isn't a better way.
We've been

driving along Charleston Blvd,

and make a right turn down

the strip. I haven't been anywhere

near this part of the city since

I moved into Walk Straight,

and my discomfort grows as we

approach the big casinos. My voice

is thick when I ask, “Like what?”

Please don't think I'm crazy,

because I've thought and thought

about this, especially as it regards

your sister. What if we approach

your parents directly? Sarah's right.

It's possible they don't realize

exactly what's going on at Tears

of Zion. Your mother is a harpy,

for sure, but that doesn't mean

she can't be reasoned with.

“You can't be serious! When she

was here, she wouldn't even talk

to me except to tell me, yet again,

how I'm damned to eternal hell.

She doesn't know what reason is.”

Is only a block off the strip,

behind the Encore. Andrew

pulls into the parking lot

a few minutes before the four p.m.

Mass is scheduled to begin.

I start to open the car door,

but he stops me.
Wait. I want

to give you your Christmas

present before we go inside.

He reaches into his jacket

pocket.
Sorry I didn't wrap

it, but I figured you wouldn't

care.
Out comes his closed fist,

which he opens slowly. Centered

in his palm is a gold ring with

three square diamonds, two

small stones flanking a larger

one in the middle.
It's my mom's,

but she wants you to have it.

Will you marry me, Eden?

“I . . . uh . . .” The air is being

sucked from the car. Either that,

or I've forgotten how to breathe.

“Are . . . are you sure?” He erases

the space between us, kisses me

gently.
I'm one hundred percent

positive. There is no one in the world

but you for me. We're young, I know.

But if our love has survived the past

eight months, eight years or eighty

can't possibly destroy it. I want you

to be my wife, and I want us to live

together out in the country, far, far

away from this city and its memories.

You don't belong here any more

than I do. You can have a career

if you want one. In fact, I'll help you

through college. Or you can stay

home and raise a bunch of kids.

Or colts. Or puppies. So . . . ?

I can't comprehend how we'll work

it out, but I know we've got to try.

The idea of him leaving me behind

scares me more than the thought

of facing my mother. “Yes. Yes!”

This kiss leaves me panting,

probably not the right way to go

to church. I take a deep breath.

“Let's go inside or we'll be late.

I've got something to thank God for.”

Is like no church I've ever

experienced. Compared

to Papa's boisterous call

to stand up, confess, and

speak in tongues, the priest's

soft liturgical repetition

is soothing, the music—

both traditional carols and

melodies familiar to most

parishioners, but not me—

more lullaby than praise

song. Christmas trees and

tall poinsettias surround

the altar, sentries guarding

Baby Jesus, who smiles

at us all from his crèche.

My left hand wriggles into

Andrew's right, which plays

with his mother's ring,

circling that telltale finger.

I haven't really spoken to

God very much in the time

since I left Tears of Zion.

I talk to him now, in my heart.

“Forgive me for losing faith

in you. Forgive me for

blaming you for the actions

of people who hurt me in

your name. Forgive the things

I've done and help me to walk

forward in your light. Give

me the strength I need to fight

for love and Eve's safety.

Thank you for speaking to

Andrew's heart and bringing

him back into my life. I will

never take him for granted,

will always cherish and honor

him. Please guide my way

in the future. In your name.”

Amen. Around me, others

are chanting an entreaty for

peace, and an overwhelming

sense of serenity washes over

me. This is how God should

feel. Not like a punishment.

Not like something to fear.

I don't want to live afraid

anymore. Not of God. Not

of Tears of Zion. Not of Mama.

The only way to move past

the things that scare me most

is to confront them head-on.

I won't have to do it alone.

Not with Andrew at my side.

As everyone bows their heads

for the benediction, it strikes

me that the things I've regretted

have been the wrong ones—things

beyond my ability to control

then, or change now. If I could

wish for anything, it would be

to go back and be just a regular

high school kid again. I swear

I'd find a way to have more fun.

Join clubs. Go to dances. Maybe

try out for musicals or sing in

the choir. Of course, I'd have to

convince my parents, but since

this is all fantasy, anyway, I can

make them be open to everything,

including Andrew. Because he'd

have to be there, too. Okay, that

kind of wish can't come true.

But Andrew is here with me now.

I seek out Father Gregory,

whose expression says

I look familiar, but he's not

sure why. I could pretend

we met under different

circumstances, but that

would negate the reason

I'm here. “Hello, Father.

I'm not sure you remember,

but you helped me find

my way into a safe haven,

and I wanted to thank you

for that.” Recognition flickers

in his eyes and, looking at

Andrew, a hint of surprise.

You are most welcome.

It's good to see how well

you're doing. Our heavenly

father is merciful, yes?

Merry Christmas to you.

“He is, indeed, Father, and

Merry Christmas to you as

well.” We shake hands all

around, and Andrew and I

are on our way, blessed.

Is for Andrew to take me out

to a nice dinner. I had no idea

it would be to celebrate our

engagement. Can this really

be happening? He reserved

a table at Hugo's Cellar, a cool

old mafia-themed steakhouse on

Fremont, well away from the strip.

On the way in, the hostess hands

me a rose. (Every lady gets one,

but still I feel special.) We

Idahoans are skeptical about

seafood, but all about the beef.

Andrew and I both order steaks

and are waiting for our tableside

salad to appear before I even try

to talk. “Andrew, I've been thinking. . . .”

He looks concerned, so I hurry,

“Don't worry. I haven't changed

my mind. In fact, what I want

to say is, you're right. I don't know

if the direct route will turn out

to be the best route, but I do

believe it's the only way to deal

with Mama, and not only her,

but Samuel Ruenhaven, too.

I want to go to Elko and talk

to the district attorney. But I

should confront my parents first.

Boise is my home—our home.

I won't be afraid to walk down

the street or bump into people

I happen to know. If you don't care

about ugly gossip, how can I?

As for my family, I don't need

a relationship, except with Eve.

The support of your mom and

sister is more than enough. We'll

have to work out some logistics.

But I'm sure Sarah will help us.”

Andrew sneaks his hand under

the table, rests it on my knee.

Not long ago, I would've flinched.

You're a brave girl, Eden, but you

don't have to do this alone. I love you.

“I know. And I love you, too.”

Our waiter interrupts, wheeling

a salad cart to the table. It's the start

of an excellent meal, capping off

a memorable Christmas Eve.

Never thought about

the holidays with regard

to hospitals and patients.

I always assumed a shopping

mall was the only place to see

Santa

and sit on his lap for a pic.

Who knew the Jolly Old Elf

straps on his gear,

hops in his sleigh, and

comes

calling on the bedridden,

wheelchair jockeys, and

caregivers who draw short

straws, condemning them

to

spend their holiday

emptying bedpans and

collection bags, inserting

catheters, and going to

town

on overcooked turkey,

soggy stuffing, weepy

cranberry sauce, and some

pretty damn good pumpkin pie?

On us patients here at Mojave Palms Rehab

Hospital. He dropped by yesterday, Christmas

Eve Eve. Guess that's the best he could do

during this busy holiday season. Hey, not

complaining. The dude brought gifts—

comfy plaid flannel pajamas and matching

robes, the key word being “matching.” This

morning, we were a matched set of patients.

Last night, we had an okay not-quite-Christmas

dinner, with Santa carving the turkey, which

was dry, and in need of gravy. Yeah, so the food

here isn't exactly like Mom's home cooking.

It might be marginally better than at the last

hospital, but that's a narrow margin. Still, I like

it here. My roommate, Craig, is pretty cool.

He's a T4 complete, much further into his rehab

than I, and quite the cheerleader. He got to go

home for Christmas, and without his rather large