The Horse Whisperer(118)

He was leaning back against the divider on the far side of the room. He hadn't touched the glass of wine she'd poured him. In the living room, the music she'd found on Grace's radio had given way to a learned discussion about some composer she'd never heard of. All these people on public radio seemed to have the same cream-calm voices.

'What are you looking at?' she said gently. He shrugged.

'You. Does it bother you?'

'I like it. It makes me feel I know what I'm doing.'

'You cook fine.'

'I can't cook to save my life.'

'That's okay, you can cook to save mine.' She had been worried when they got back to the ranch this afternoon that reality would come crashing in around their ears. But, strangely, it hadn't. She felt clothed in a kind of inviolable calm. While he'd seen to the horses, she'd checked her messages and found none among them to disturb her. The most important was from Robert, giving Grace's flight numbers and arrival time in Great Falls tomorrow. It had all gone alrighty, he said, with Wendy Auerbach - in fact Grace was so alrighty about her new leg she was thinking of putting in for the marathon.

Annie's calm had even survived when she called and spoke to them both. The message she'd left on Tuesday, that she was going to spend a couple of days up at the Bookers' mountain cabin, seemed to have stirred not the smallest ripple. Throughout their marriage she had often taken time on her own somewhere and Robert presumably now saw this as part of the process of getting her head back together after losing her job. He simply asked how it had been and, simply, she replied that it had been lovely. Except by omission, she didn't even have to lie.

'It worries me, all this back-to-nature, big-outdoors stuff you're getting into,' he joked.

'Why's that?'

'Well, soon you'll be wanting to move out there and I'll have to switch to livestock litigation or something.'

When they hung up Annie wondered why the sound of his voice or of Grace's hadn't plunged her into the sea of guilt she surely knew awaited her. It just hadn't. It was as though that susceptible part of her nature were in suspense, with its eye on the clock and mindful that she had owing yet some few, fleeting hours with Tom.

She was cooking him the pasta dish she'd wanted to make that evening they'd all come for supper. The little pots of basil she'd bought in Butte were flourishing. As she chopped the leaves, he came up behind her and rested his hands lightly on her hips and kissed the side of her neck. The touch of his lips made her catch her breath. 'It smells good,' he said.

'What, me or the basil?'

'Both.'

'You know, in ancient times they used basil to embalm the dead.'

'Mummies, you mean?'

'Daddies too. It prevents mortification of the flesh.'

'I thought that was about banishing lust.'

'It does that too, so don't eat too much.' She tipped it into the pan where the onions and tomatoes were already cooking, then swiveled slowly in his hands to face him. Her forehead was against his lips and he kissed her there gently. She looked down and slotted her thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. And in the sharing quiet of that moment Annie knew she could not leave this man.

'Oh Tom. I love you so much.'

'I love you too.'

They lit the candles she'd bought for the supper party and turned off the fluorescents so they could eat at the little table in the kitchen. The pasta was perfect. When they were through eating, he asked her if she'd figured out the string trick. She said according to Joe it wasn't a trick but in any case, no, she hadn't.

'Do you still have it?' 'What do you think?'

She pulled it from her pocket and gave it to him and he told her to hold up her finger and watch closely because he was only going to show her once. She did and followed every intricate maneuver of his hand until the loop circled and seemed trapped by their touching fingers. Then, as he slowly pulled the loop, the moment before it came free, she suddenly saw how it was done.

'Let me try,' she said. She found she could picture exactly the movements his hands had made and translate them in mirror image to her own. And sure enough, when she pulled, the cord came free.

He sat back in his chair and gave her a smile that was both loving and sad.

'There you are,' he said. 'Now you know.'

'Do I get to keep the cord?'

'You don't need it anymore.' And he took it and put it in his pocket.

Everyone was there and Grace wished they weren't. Such though had been the build-up to this moment, that a full turnout was only to be expected. She looked at the waiting faces along the rail of the big arena: her mom, Frank and Diane, Joe, the twins in their matching Universal Studios caps, even Smoky had come by. And what if it all went wrong? It wouldn't, she told herself firmly. She wasn't going to let it.

Pilgrim stood saddled in the middle of the arena while Tom adjusted the stirrups. The horse looked beautiful, though Grace still couldn't get used to the sight of him in a western saddle. Since riding Gonzo she'd come to prefer it to her old English one. It made her feel more secure, so that's what they were going to use today.