In the darkness, they could see the thunderhead explode silently with lightning far out east across the high plateau. The deck wrapped around the entire cabin, and they sat together in rocking chairs after dinner, watching the sky and drinking tea. Light emanated from the one lamp inside, and cast their shadows in front of them.
“Are you scared?” Laura asked.
David considered for a moment.
“Of being sick? No not really,” he said. “Just worried that I’m tired of fighting it.”
They listened to the breeze crackling through the aspens below the cabin, close to the creek. Laura had invited him here just after he had heard the news.
“I need to get out of DC,” he had said.
“Come to Salida,” she said. We can cook and read, maybe go for a few hikes along the ridge.”
There had been silence on the other end. Laura didn’t know what he was thinking and feared that she seemed patronizing. They hadn’t been to the cabin together in years, and even then it had always been a place to celebrate something. This was completely different.
“I think that would be good,” he said. Laura picked him up at the airport in Denver. As they drove south, David hung his arm out the window.
They rocked in the chairs on the deck, exchanging few words, waiting, listening.
“It’s funny,” he said. “The first time, it was like this enormous challenge. Something that I could beat and use to prove something to myself and whoever else. Maybe just to prove that I was strong enough to beat it or something. They tell you that in the group therapy sessions, and I bought it.”
That afternoon, they had driven down to the town of Salida to pick up groceries. Ground turkey, avocados, heirloom tomatoes and hamburger buns. They bought an enormous chocolate cake. Laura suggested coffee, eggs, and bacon for breakfast, and David insisted that they get flowers for the table. They talked about summer weather in Colorado, and argued about who would pay.
“It’s your family’s cabin,” David said. “Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I can’t pay.” The cashier didn’t say anything.
So Laura relented.
And, as they drove back to the cabin, she took David’s right hand from the steering wheel and squeezed it. It was bony but warm, the skin chapped from the dry mountain air. They didn’t say anything. David watched the road, the sound of cars passing in the opposite direction. She turned over the hand and kissed David’s palm.
“So then it’s not a challenge this time?” she asked. The clouds had not moved toward them, and they could still see the stars above the cabin. Lightning danced on the horizon.
“I don’t think that’s it,” David said. “It’s just more like a responsibility than something I was chosen for. Something I’d rather not do this time if I could help it. Like I’d rather not go to work if I had the choice. Just that.”
