Prolog: Desert Skies

The cemetery was old and privately owned. It stretched out over the sparse sepia landscape of Santa Fe with it’s fading family headstones, surrounded here and there by a white fence. A memorial service was taking place, so I had to wait before proceeding with the evening’s job of raising the dead.

Two women dressed in black were all that attended the priest who gave the eulogy, a slight desert breeze blowing their veils. It was a peaceful scene.

I just wish I didn’t feel like someone was watching me. With the exception of the service, I had thought it was just me, my paraphernalia and my chickens.

Dusk wasn’t too far away, and the sun was setting the blue sky aflame.

For some reason it made me think of Edward. I was on his turf after all.

I wondered briefly why I hadn’t thought to call him when I’d gotten into town. The last time I’d seen him he’d been recovering in a hospital bed after the trouble at Riker’s place, and we had bonded over a long goodbye. We had been discussing relationships and his questionable love for the kids and for…

Donna. Oh, yeah. That’s why I hadn’t called.

I thought I had come to terms with his engagement to her, but she still rubbed me the wrong way. Did that make me a bad person? Someone observing from the outside might say that I was jealous. Ha! What a crock of shi –

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“Shit!” I spun around at the sudden cool voice that had whispered in my ear. There was only one person whom it could belong to. “Edward.”

There was just a hint of a smile on his face at my surprise. Otherwise, he seemed unarmed. He wore an oversized white cotton shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, his hands shoved into the pockets of faded jeans. He had that cowboy stance about him; legs wide apart, taking up space, his boots dusty with the red earth. I couldn’t see his eyes; a pair of dark sunglasses kept him from squinting into the dying sun.

I would’ve asked him if he’d come looking for me. But, really, what was the point. I knew what kind of answer that would get me. Zilch.

Instead I said, “Paying your respects?” The memorial service had just ended behind us and I could hear the elderly ladies shuffling from the cemetery through the tumbleweeds.

“Come to watch you work.”

So he’d heard I was in town. “That’s sweet.”

His smile didn’t falter all through the following silence.

I finally broke it by clearing my throat. I skipped right past the preliminaries; he seemed to be in just fine health. “How are the kids?”

“Fine.”

“Good. So therapy is working for them.”  I’d always had a smart mouth on me.

Of which he ignored, as usual.

I grabbed up my stuff and headed into the cemetery and away from him. He had put himself too close to me. So NOT like Edward. Had he been the one watching me? I wasn’t sure. It hadn’t felt like a predatory type of thing.

More like a creepy ‘I’m stalking you from across a crowded singles bar’ kind of thing.

I was removed from my thoughts by the smooth drone of ‘Ted’s’ drawl:

“Where ya goin’, honeypot?”

My stride slowed considerably, the chickens dangling in their cage recklessly. I was sure the desert plains were playing tricks on my astute hearing. Did he just call me … ‘honeypot’!?

Dropping my things, I turned quickly, about to find out what the hell kind of game he was –

And stopped dead.

Just behind Edward, the broken fence that surrounded the cemetery had been magically replaced by a simple white picket fence that enclosed a lovely garden full of fresh flowers. And beyond that stood a picture-perfect little Victorian house.

I shook my head to see if something had gone loose. Okay forget the changing landscape for a moment; I had other pressing questions.

“Did you just call me ‘honeypot’?” Damn my mouth had gone dry all of the sudden. Maybe it was the way his pet-name for Donna stuck to my tongue.

His smiled widened and he removed the sunglasses; a single look from him chastising me; a look that was purely Edward – not Ted. “Haven’t I always called you that?”

Okay. I’d stepped into the twilight zone. This was unnatural.

Yet here stood a reasonably handsome man who happened to be framed by the most picturesque dream family environment – of which I couldn’t ever hope to achieve with my lifestyle – and it was calling out to me like water to a thirsty man. And it scared the shit out of me.

Edward was suddenly there before me with an unaccustomed look of concern. “Hey. You alright?” he asked as he slipped a hand against my cheek and into my hair. “You look a little parched.”

The clockwork in my mind came to a screeching halt as his lips drew closer, casting a shadow over me. “P-parched?”

I heard, then felt, a soft chuckle reach me before everything went black.
 

o….o
 
 

“Parched!!” My own shout awoke me and I sat bolt upright, flinging out my right arm and capsizing a glass of water. I’d fallen asleep while doing bills and answering mail at my dining room table, and now I sat there, stunned and smacking my dry lips, my beverage soaking through everything.

Incidentally, the letter I’d been reading when I so unceremoniously decided to take a quick nap was stuck to the side of my sleep wrinkled face.

I tore it off and looked at it sleepily. I don’t think my little dream excursion with Edward came back into focus until I really looked at the paper again.

It had been mailed from Becca Parnell. It was a crayon drawing on ruled paper she had done in school – a family portrait for art class.

For some reason I was in it.

It was simple stickfigures, but drawn really well for her age; I doubted I could do better. There was her house with a little garden. There was her brother, Peter. There was her mother, Donna and their two squirrelly dogs. There was Becca with another animal-like creature - it was round, small and brown and it had big bug eyes. And then there was ‘Ted’. Standing right beside him, drawn with wild curly dark hair, was me.

It would have made me smile. But that little impromptu daydream of the desert had left a funny taste in my mouth.
 

o….o
 
 

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