The Night We Met. Tara Quinn Taylor

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      There was no derision or criticism in his tone—just honest curiosity that spoke to my heart. “I can’t imagine doing anything else,” I told him with a certainty born earlier that evening.

      “What does your family think of it all?”

      “I’m the youngest of five and my folks have been shaking their heads at me for as long as I can remember.” I smiled. “Mostly they approve. They’ve already got sixteen grandchildren. And they’re devout Catholics. They’re proud that one of their offspring is dedicating her life to God’s service.”

      “But you don’t feel they’re pressuring you to go through with it?”

      “Not at all.” That I knew for sure because we’d talked about it. Several times. “They want me to have a decent, productive life doing something that makes me happy.”

      “You’re very lucky.”

      I almost didn’t hear him. I considered letting that be the end of the strange conversation that had sprung up from nothing. But as I thought about what he’d said, I knew I couldn’t just get up and leave.

      “You don’t think your parents want the same thing for you?” I couldn’t believe I was asking such a personal question of a total stranger.

      “Probably.”

      The response left a lot unsaid, but I wasn’t forward enough to press further.

      “What do you do?” I asked instead, with a genuine desire to know. Nate Grady, as a member of the human race, intrigued me.

      “I manage a ski resort in Boulder, Colorado.”

      “What about in the summer?”

      “We have camp activities for kids, hiking for adults.”

      “So how did you meet Arnold?”

      “My kid brother and Arnold were part of a ski team training for the junior Olympics several years ago and stayed in touch. After high school, Keith enlisted, said it was the only way he’d ever get a degree. I offered to help him pay for college, but he wouldn’t let me. His unit was deployed to Vietnam almost as soon as he got out of boot camp and two years ago, we got word that he’d been killed. A couple of weeks later, his remains were sent home for burial.” He paused, and when he resumed speaking, his voice was slow and measured. “Arnold and I have this sort of unspoken agreement to fill some of the gaps left by Keith’s loss, so we go skiing together a few times every year.”

      The words could have hung like lead between the strangers we were, but they didn’t. Nate’s openness disarmed me. I had a feeling he wouldn’t have been so forthcoming with other people—and that he was hiding a lot more pain than he was showing. “I’m so sorry.”

      “Me, too,” he said. He lowered his head, hands resting on the table on either side of his soda water. Neither of us had touched our drinks since he’d first spoken to me.

      “He was a good kid,” Nate continued. “Far too young to die.”

      “Did you see him after he left?” I wondered if that might make a difference.

      “No. But he wrote every week. I wrote back, but based on the things he said in his letters, I don’t think he ever got mine.” My heart hurt hearing those words.

      “Do you know what happened?”

      Nate shook his head. “Just that he died honorably, and in battle. I have no idea where he was or what the battle was about.”

      That was true for so much of this war that had been troubling our nation for too many years now.

      “What are you two talking about that’s so all-fired serious?” Arnold shouted across the table, draining the last beer from his bottle. “Don’t forget, man, she’s a nun.”

      Nate switched gears to jest with his friends, and I smiled as the others teased him about an ego so big he thought he could get a nun, even laughed out loud when he joked back. And I felt like some kind of freak, missing half a body. It was time for me to go.

      “The piano’s calling, buddy!” Arnold said as he grabbed the second bottle of beer he’d ordered, not that I was counting. Nate stood and Arnold leaned toward me. “Nate plays here most Saturday nights when he’s in town. Wait till you hear him.”

      I watched the six-foot-tall, perfectly proportioned, athletic man stroll to the piano, watched him wave as a couple of people called out to him. Watched his face break into an odd, almost peaceful smile. Even getting up to perform, there was nothing pretentious about Nate Grady.

      And as he sat down, placed strong-looking fingers on the keys, I knew I couldn’t leave yet. I’d be in trouble if I missed my ten o’clock curfew, but it was only a little past eight.

      The first notes were muffled by the crowd, but by the time he’d reached his second stanza, the noise had stopped as everyone turned to listen. Nate played everything from current hits and love ballads to the big band forties songs I’d heard from my parents growing up. And he sang—in a voice so rich and deep I felt as though God was in every note.

      I told myself I’d stay for one set. Long enough to tell him I thought he was wonderfully talented and to thank him for playing. I paid my bill so I’d be ready to go as soon as he finished. I still had time.

      He broke into a rowdy rendition of “Great Balls of Fire” and before I knew it, I was laughing and cheering with the rest of the crowd. The break was good for me. And I loved the song. It had just hit number one, not that I’d ever really followed the pop charts. But that week I seemed to be more aware of everything worldly around me—maybe because I was looking at it all with an eye to leaving it behind.

      After announcing a short break, Nate came back to the table. Words of goodbye were forming on my lips. Someone had borrowed the chair he’d been using, but then he found another one and pulled it up next to mine. I couldn’t just leave.

      The guys were placing bets on which of the three jerks who’d been talking up a sweet young thing at the ski resort had won her favors for that night.

      “She went home with her sister,” Nate said dryly. “I saw them go.”

      “How d’you know she was her sister?” Arnold challenged in a good-natured way.

      “She told me. She’s getting married next week, and she and her sister, who’s her maid of honor, went to Tahoe for a couple of days. It’s their last time together as just the two of them.”

      Arnold and his pals were distracted when the waitress reappeared.

      “Were you trying to get her to go out with you?” I asked Nate. My gall shocked me.

      “I asked her if she was going to be all right leaving with those guys making such asses of themselves,” he said just loudly enough for me to hear.

      “Oh. That was a nice thing to do.”

      “It’s habit. Girls skiing without a male escort seem to attract the worst kind of male attention.”

      He should know; he managed a СКАЧАТЬ