AFTER

What happens if you break a deathbed promise?

Anna mused, the smooth pull of the car's engine infusing her with a sense of daring. Gone for a moment were all responsibilities, leaving her the freedom to entertain errant possibilities.

The Corvette growled over the music, happily consuming miles, bringing her closer to the decision she wrestled with. Checking the mirror, she caught sight of the luggage behind her. A frown creased her brow. Leave it to Wyoming weather to be so unpredictable you need to pack sweatshirts with shorts.

The strident voice of a car horn caused her to glance over, catching sight of a cocky grin beneath expensive sunglasses. For several miles, she had toyed with the driver of the yellow Mustang, speeding up when he would draw even with her.

Many who knew Anna Sanchez, recent college graduate, aspiring teacher and sophisticated city girl, didn't have a clue about this side of her. The one who floored the gas pedal with competitive glee as the powerful Vette surged ahead, effortlessly widening the gap. Gripping the smooth steering wheel, she felt the car attached to the road like a magnet to steel.

Again checking the rearview mirror, she noticed dark shadows under her eyes. Sleepless nights this last month have caught up with me. To top it off, that guy thinks he has a fast car!

She chuckled; the Mustang had disappeared into a little dot behind her.

Anna's fingers drummed on the steering wheel to the music’s thumping bass. The tempo surged as the sleek shark of a car powered up the hill. She was enjoying the song until the olive-green blur of sagebrush reminded her of the long trips through the plains of Wyoming to visit her grandparents. Anna’s hands tightened on the wheel. Her grandmother, rotund and cheerful as she bustled about the kitchen, was the complete opposite of her glacial grandfather. He sat at the head of the table; his stern, eagle-eyed stare watched them chat, rarely joining the small talk. Her mother picked her food apart, never meeting his gaze, and Anna quickly consumed her meal to be excused.

A smooth, mechanical voice spoke against the growl of the engine and beat of the music, “Make a right hand turn at next exit.” Confidently, she handled the power that shot the car onto the ramp, ignoring the forty mile-an-hour sign.

Memories popped up like a slide show on a computer screen. Anna learned to drive early on her grandfather’s tractor due to a farm permit--one positive to living in the country. But in Anna’s mind, there were more negatives than positives.

Only two temperamental local TV channels, the social isolation of being sixteen miles from town and none of the conveniences of city shopping or activities had all helped to fuel Anna’s dislike of the country. Everything seemed old, slow and out-of-date. Her one relief had been her second cousin. Two years older, Emily filled the role of big sister.

She rubbed her left temple. The last two years were shrouded in darkness. It had seemed to be a season for funerals and endings. Only her goal of completing college kept her going. Tears threatened--her throat ached, as feelings of loneliness and grief swelled at the recollections. Her grandmother had passed in January the year before. Two days after the funeral, Jenny, Anna’s mother, found out she had pancreatic cancer. Then her grandfather’s heart attack and passing in the fall seemed to push her mother beyond recovery. Has it only been six months since Mom’s passed?

The navigation system's voice broke into her reverie. “Take a left hand turn in one quarter of a mile.” She knew the way to the ranch; the unit was on for the illusion of company. She slowed the Vette, rumbling over the metal bars that created a cattle guard to keep livestock from escaping to the highway.

The dirt road was packed; she drove carefully to avoid kicking up any gravel. After the narrow drive cut around a low hill, a bunkhouse came into view. From there a small path traveled down to the traditional, two-story ranch house. It had two dormer windows above a white summer porch in the front. A ridge covered in scrub pine rose behind the home. Farther down the dirt road, a weathered but well-kept barn stood guard over the sloping pasture where several horses grazed in lush grass. A dark-blue sedan sat parked in front of the porch. Two boys, with the exuberant energy of the young, raced around brandishing branches in musketeer fashion.

Emily stood on the porch, red-gold hair framing a welcoming smile. Excitement bubbled up in Anna, pushing worry away. The Vette sighed as she flipped the ignition key off. Jumping out of the car, she opened her arms wide, giving Emily a bear hug. Their laughter tinkled on the breeze.

“How was the drive?” She stepped back, looking Anna over.

A delighted smile graced Anna's face. “Really quick today, but of course the mode of transportation does make a difference.”

Emily raised an eyebrow as she gazed at the sleek sports car. “I guess so. First class! Hey, when did you get this ride?”

“Well, I must admit, it probably looks a little extravagant. It’s my reward for achieving a college degree and dealing with everything that has been happening in the last few years.”
“If anyone deserves it, honey, it’s you. I'm glad you could come up. You haven’t visited in forever, girl!”

Anna leaned in for another hug.

“I agree, Emily. Thankfully, it's not for another funeral.”

“Been tough with your mom gone, hasn’t it?” Sympathy softened Emily's green eyes.

Words tumbled out, tears rising. “It’s really hard. I miss her so much. I'll think of something I want to tell her, and I’ll remember she's gone. Even though I knew she was dying, I hoped for more time.” Emily wrapped an arm around Anna's shoulders.

“I'm so sorry,” Emily murmured. They stood for a minute, leaning on each other. Anna drew a deep breath and stepped back, brushing away tears.

One little musketeer, with his brother hot on his heels, ran around the side of the porch. Emily reached out, snagged the bedraggled twig in one hand and his arm in the other, stopping the boy. His brother recognized her intent to grab his branch next and moved it away from her swift grasp.

Anna leaned down and grabbed them both in a warm embrace.

“Oh, my, you boys are getting big! So, John, Matthew, how old are you now?” The boy closest to her, a skinny, strawberry blond, smiled at Anna.

“I'm eight and Matthew is six.”

“Time sure flies! But I bet not fast enough for both of you.” Anna shook her head.
“Auntie, when I get older, can I drive your car?”

Anna grinned. “We’ll see. I'll give you both a turn at a ride later, John.” She watched as Matthew circled the car, his eyes wide.

“Well, shall we check out the house?” Anna rummaged in her small purse and brought out clanking keys on a simple metal ring.

The worn key slipped easily in the brass door handle, turning with little effort. The musty smell of old inhabitation wafted out into the spring air. Anna stepped in and time froze. Next to her grandfather’s overstuffed chair, tattered house slippers lay helplessly. A newspaper dated October twelfth straddled the arm of the chair as if the occupant would be back any second to resume reading where he'd left off.

The chair’s mate, a spindly wooden rocker, had an end table beside it. Small reading glasses and a worn Bible, which laid facedown, precariously fought for space on the table. Anna's throat tightened as she remembered her grandparents sitting here in the evening, taking a break from the long day.

She walked through the living room to the kitchen where dishes sat unwashed in the sink. The refrigerator hummed endlessly; the rooster clock on the yellowed wall still ticked off the moments as it had for years. She gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, her ribs feeling like they were collapsing, crushing her racing heart. The emptiness of the house hammered in the reality of her loss.

Emily had headed down the hall to scout out the rest of the house. Anna heard the bathroom door squeak open, a familiar sound. The boys scampered up the narrow staircase to the attic bedroom where Anna and Emily had spent many nights together. She pushed off from the counter and headed to her mother's bedroom. Her hand hesitated on the doorknob, tears scalding her face. She took a deep breath, the back of her throat raw with pain as she debated with herself. Releasing the handle, she decided, not right now: time enough to grieve later.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 16.05.2012

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