The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,185

now barred divers from the vein that led to the collapsed chamber. Lil raised the fiddle and began to play “Amazing Grace.”

I remembered the silt glittering around me and Adam when we had been in the cave together, the water vibrant between us as his hand marked a rhythm I could not hear. For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine him there alone underwater, his feral howl radiating, restless and joyful, through the land he loved. And, for the first time, I considered that the land had once again answered him, not with rhythm but with a terrible embrace, their duet now airless and unending.

I kept my eyes on the guide rope, not completely at ease with the thought of Rosie so deep in the earth. I studied the serious, expectant faces of my daughters. For a moment, I had the notion that he was calling to them from underground and they were listening, able to hear him as I never had.

After what seemed far too long, Rosie broke through the water, her thumb up and her short hair clinging to her head. “It is done.”

We returned to the ranch for the official memorial. A small stage was set up in the backyard. Beside it stood Sarah’s latest painting. Adam filled the large canvas. Pictured from the waist up and nude, his arms stretched out, his fingers spread. He looked directly at all of us. A familiar expression filled his face, relaxed and curious, as if he waited for a reply from someone he knew well. A plate-size asterisk radiated from his chest, white at its edge, cobalt in the center. The likeness was strikingly realistic in all respects but his hair. She had given him auburn hair.

When the girls sang, I found I could no longer pull their individual voices loose from the braid of their harmonies. Only when one of them took the lead could I tell who or how many were singing. There might have been five voices, there could have been six.

One by one, neighbors, cowboys, musicians, divers, hippies, and horsemen stepped up to the microphone with some story or song for Adam. People whom Adam had touched surrounded me. Their voices buoyed me. Neither Ray the veterinarian, nor Manny had ever again mentioned what they’d heard from Adam the day the stallion attacked the mare, but Ray paused during his praise of Adam’s horsemanship and his eyes sought mine in the crowd. Then, with a nod, he seemed to find the word he was seeking: uncanny.

I did not speak. The single, unique story I could have told was a weight in my chest. A star of dark matter, a thing that held its own gravity, enthralling my heart.

Things were not good after that, but they were better. Grief’s gutting blade was preferable to obsession. The questions of what I might have done to prevent or foresee what had happened still seduced me at times, but they never dominated me as they once had.

From that point on, to be reminded of my husband, I could look at any stranger’s face. To honor him, I had only to treat every stranger as if he or she might have been my lover and the parent of my children. I hung Sarah’s portrait of him in the living room. I gave his clothes away. I sold all our horses except for Rosie’s favorite and Jericho.

Not long after the memorial, I sold the ranch and moved into town. I became, at last, a herd animal, at home in the casual company of a neighborhood, pleased by the crowds at the markets and art fairs downtown. My home is now a short walk to a creek, a park, the public library, a supermarket, a funeral home, a birthing center, a theater, and the courthouse. You can do anything here. And there are plenty of folks to do it among—lots of families, a few oldies like me, a drunk guy, and one friendly transvestite laundress who strolls by every day after the local dry cleaner closes. There are also possum, armadillo, raccoons, a few snakes, and some ducks. A curious otter, a wild turkey, and a black bear have wandered into the neighborhood—not all at the same time. The only thing missing is the sky. Aged water oaks tower over the houses, shading the yards.

It seems I will not be wandering off into the woods, as I did as a girl, but will take my leave here among my own