Sweet Lemonade

Really, she thought, just sashay on in and all is forgotten. Really?

It was late afternoon and she sat on the porch sipping sweet lemonade. Her gaze drifted out past the prairie through the heat that blurred the vista into reverie. She thought she saw him slowly riding up to the yard, not on a white stallion but in a beat up Ford truck that he loved more than any woman in his life. Yet he sat high in the saddle as if it were a fine white charger. The smile on her lips kissed the glass as she took another sip.

He never entered the yard directly. There was a ritual, rites to be completed first: step out the truck, adjust the Stetson, hitch up the Wranglers, walk to the gate, and remove his hat.

“Afternoon, Miss Ailene. Mind if I come and sit a spell?”

“Please, Mr. Anderson, come and share some sweet lemonade, you look a bit thirsty.”

“Don’t mind if I do. It’s been a hot one.”

They would sit and talk of this and that; the weather, price of horse flesh, would the hay make this year. There was a comfort, an understanding that could not be captured in words. They would watch the sunset in silence, and enjoy the stars until without a word they would retire inside.

Then something changed. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what changed. She replayed their last conversation many times until the mental tape was worn. Had she said something wrong, or misunderstood? Had she played her cards so close to her vest that she misplayed the hand? It was over as quickly as it had begun and he never returned. Life went on.

“Afternoon, Miss Ailene. Mind if I come and sit a spell?”

He stood at the gate hat in hand as if time had never past.

“Please, Mr. Anderson, come and share some sweet lemonade, you look a bit thirsty,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“Don’t mind if I do. It’s been a long time.”

“It’s been awhile. Life looks like it’s been good to you.”

They sat and talked about this and that; the weather, the price of horse flesh, would hay make this year. She knew he had other relationships. She knew that like her he valued his independence. More than that he valued that he alone controlled the outcome of his life. Some how he perceived she trampled on it, but here he sat as if the two year absence was only yesterday.

“Life has been lived, that’s for sure, but something,” he paused to take a long draw of lemonade and fell silent.

“Tobias, why are you here?”

He set the glass carefully on the table. He was always economic with his movements, never liked “fussy” people, but now he was fidgeting. He then took her hand, her small perfect hand, and looked into her eyes. She felt her heart racing there was something more behind those eyes, something more etched upon the face she knew so well.

“Ailene, I can’t really explain it. I’m not one to mince words and I’m certainly no philosopher. All I can say is I miss talking to someone who knows my heart better then I do. I miss talking to someone who cuts through the bull and doesn’t put on airs. I’m tired of having sex instead of making love. I miss you. I miss us.”

She was stunned. Really, she thought, just sashay on in and all is forgotten. Really?

“Tobias, you act like I’m the one who closed the door. If I’m remembering correctly you told me not to contact you. Not a word of why, just a few confusing accusations then not a word for two years.”

Tears welled, but she wasn’t going to cry. Not now, not today, not again.

“So, are you going to make me suffer two years because my life took another way?”

“Maybe,” she poured lemonade into her glass, paused and refilled his, “No need letting it go to waste.”

In silence they watched the sunset, and the fireflies dancing before them.

He stood up, hitched his pants, and picked up his hat.

“Well, Miss Ailene, I guess I’ll be calling it a night. As always it’s been pleasurable.” He turned and placed his Stetson carefully on his head. He started down the steps.

“Mr. Anderson, I fell in love with you the first time I saw you hitch up your pants,” she chuckled, “you always have the most serious look.”

He stopped lowered his head, shaking it slowly side to side.

“Miss Ailene, I hate sweet lemonade.”

Two years fell away and together they would build another life