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  “The wine barrels? Like from France and Portugal?” she interrupted.

  “Yeah, those are the ones.”

  “Cool,” Nancy said.

  “Cool? Hmm. I don’t really see why we need a gigantic barrel, but you know, that’s how your mom rolls. I just hope she doesn’t show up with another one of those giant bottles to match the giant barrel.”

  “Giant bottles?”

  “Yeah, you know, those giant, glass jar things? Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know what I mean … the ones with the candles and pebbles—”

  “Oh, you mean the demijohns!” she said, exasperated, giving him a look. The unspoken meaning was that he should have known.

  “Yeah, those things that sit around the house in random corners. What on Earth does that mean, anyway, demijohn? Who named them that?”

  “Dad, they’re beautiful. Ellen has them on her show, too.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that logic. If Ellen has them…”

  “Dad!” she said, and punched his shoulder.

  “Okay, okay, I guess they look all right,” he conceded and chuckled. “You know I’m just kidding. Sort of.”

  Greg’s phone vibrated on the table, heralding the arrival of a text, and Nancy went over and looked at it. “It’s from, Mom. She says, ‘Be home soon—wait until you see what I got.’ Uh-oh, Dad! Ha! Sounds like something great, right?”

  “Right,” he said and laughed again.

  “Oh, hey, you have Facebook notifications, too.”

  Greg felt his heart jump in his chest, as if he’d been caught cheating on a test, or cursing in church or something. “Oh, yeah? I’ll check it out later,” he replied. “Probably just somebody with a question about a house or something,” he added nonchalantly, hoping he didn’t sound anything but normal.

  “Okay,” she said, grabbing mozzarella from the refrigerator.

  Close call, he thought to himself, watching Nancy put the finishing touches on their masterpiece.

  “Ta-dah!” she exclaimed.

  “Well done, kiddo.” He opened up the stainless steel oven, slid the pizza inside, and let the door close with a soft thump! He normally reveled in the fact that the oven door never banged shut like their old one.

  But not this time—he had something else on his mind—those Facebook notifications.

  Greg and Candy had been messaging each other back and forth the past couple of days since she first contacted him. Through some sort of unspoken understanding, neither of them friend-requested the other, or moved beyond the bounds of Facebook.

  I’m married. What good can come of this? he wondered, with no small measure of guilt. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, or what this was all about. Messaging my high school sweetheart? I must be out of my mind. This just can’t end well.

  An eclectic mix of thoughts bounced around his mind, some conflicting, some irrational, rebounding from the inner surfaces of his cranium like little rubber balls in a competitive racquetball match. You could almost hear the thwock! as they ricocheted around in there, the mental tug-of-war that transpired. Yet somehow he justified all of his actions, though he simultaneously wondered if they were wrong.

  It’s not like I’m cheating on Claire—it’s just a few messages, he thought.

  Then why don’t you tell her? he replied to himself.

  I knew Candy before I ever knew Claire—it was just a high school thing—she wouldn’t understand, he responded, avoiding his own question.

  She wouldn’t understand because it’s wrong!

  The arguments continued without answers or resolution. He honestly believed that, while the situation would appear strange, he wasn’t cheating, and that his wife just wouldn’t understand if he told her.

  Heck, he didn’t know if he completely understood it himself, but the communication with his ex seemed driven by three different things.

  For one, part of him was just curious.

  Another part of him wanted to show her how well he had done, sans Candice Graves, with his life. He was a success, and he wanted her to know that. He couldn’t identify why that mattered to him, but it did.

  The final part, well, it was a mystery he couldn’t explain even to himself. An enigma. It was without explanation, or maybe the explanation was one that he dare not voice or even think.

  He rationalized the situation with an imperfect analogy: if my dog ran away years ago, and went to live with another family, I’d want to know the dog was okay, even if I never petted the dog again.

  He shook his head, snapping back to the here and now of his kitchen.

  “Hey, I’m going to go check a couple of things in my office. Will you let me know when Mom gets home?”

  “Sure, Dad.” Nancy was a wonderful kid—he could never ask for better. He gave her a quick peck on the top of her head.

  “Thanks, sweetie.”

  Greg picked up his phone as he made his exodus from the open-floor, combined kitchen and dining area, trying hard to look natural, inconspicuous, and normal.

  He moved down to his office, entered, and shut the door behind him. He glanced at the window and thought about closing his blinds for extra privacy, but that would be very strange, a stark contrast to his normal indulgence in the sun’s energizing rays. He loved sunlight. Closed blinds could raise questions; and the odds were slim that anyone would come to his window anyway, he decided.

  He plopped down in his chair and opened his Facebook application. He didn’t bother with the half-dozen notifications that were waiting when he saw that he had two messages.

  The top notification was from a recent client. The first few words of the message were visible in the list and he quickly divined that it was additional thanks for the home he found them. He disregarded the message without opening it.

  The other one was from Candy.

  Greg had learned from her previous messages that she had moved back to Galveston with her son. Her marriage had gone south and ended in divorce a few years before. She didn’t expand on that much, except to say that she had to get away from her ex-husband; Colorado wasn’t big enough for the both of them. He opened her new message.

  Hey, Greg. It’s me again. I know we just talked yesterday, but I wanted you to know that it’s been really great finding you. I woke up this morning and just felt so good, for the first time in a long time. You always did that to me, you know, made me feel great…

  He felt his heart speed up a little bit. It was the first time Candy had mentioned the past in any way. While it excited him a little bit, it confused him, too. After all, who doesn’t appreciate a compliment, especially one that got right to the core of his being a man?

  Greg thought about the little games, the mating rituals, which happened between men and women everywhere, every day. Heck, prior to marriage, those games were a primary focus in his life. Everywhere he went back then, he gave and received looks, and exchanged innuendos.

  Young men live like sexual lightning rods, always ready for the next storm and the chance of electricity.

  It might be a prolonged glance or a smile exchanged with someone at the supermarket. Walking by twice, maybe accidentally brushing against her. Oh, did I do that? The appearance of innocence, but underneath: mischief. Potential everywhere.

  A delicate crinkle of the eyes, a lift of the eyebrows, repeated glances, or some other small gesture, loaded with a hint of something else. Like adding a touch of heat to an otherwise routine dinner, not enough to burn, only enough to pique the taste buds.

  It could be that brief exchange between two people that reveals a connection. Something more. It boiled down to a shared moment of attraction, that draw of the unknown, the mysteries that await people. Foreign spices. What’s out there? It was the same thing that led Ferdinand Magellan to circle the globe (almost).

  Or, if not exactly the same target, then perhaps the same feeling of searching and discovering.

  Maybe what happens between two people ends up being one-sided, unrequited, or ju
st the imagination working overtime, but it’s there, coupled with the unknown, which is a magnet of incredible force, especially to hearts of iron resolve.

  Married people aren’t immune—blood still flows. Hearts still beat. The golden band around a finger doesn’t alter humanity or prevent the unpreventable.

  But, it does keep things in line, within boundaries … boundaries that you might be too close to see clearly, Greg, he wondered to himself, again, and sighed.

  And Magellan died toying with the unknown…

  He tapped on his phone and closed the conversation and sighed again. He never really enjoyed making decisions. He glanced down at the screen, thought, Oh, what’s the harm, then tapped on her name: Candy Simon.

  He had discovered yesterday that Candy kept her profile public, meaning anyone could see her pictures and comments. There was always a big to-do going on about Facebook privacy settings, but apparently Candy hadn’t gotten the memo. The settings could be adjusted individually, or applied as a blanket to everything. He could see all of her Facebook musings, updates, and pictures. It was a study in non-privacy; a blanket of transparency.

  Maybe she’s doing it on purpose… some weird social media exhibitionism.

  He opened some of her photo albums and browsed the contents. Pictures of her laughing, a family barbecue, and lounging at the beach. The most recent album was just weeks before, a day on the beaches of Galveston, full of seagulls, sand, and people. He noticed that she had maintained most of her shape from high school. Still pretty hot, he thought, knowing when it crossed his mind that he shouldn’t be thinking it.

  “Dad?”

  He jumped at the sound of Nancy’s voice, which came from the other side of his door, right in the hallway. His heart beat quickly. He tapped through to his newsfeed and shut off his phone while he replied, “Yeah, kiddo?”

  “Mom wants you to come help,” she called. He jumped up and glanced through the window: Jennie’s Suburban was just outside; he hadn’t even noticed it pull up.

  “Hey, Greg,” Jennie called from the passenger seat when he trotted outside. She lowered her face quickly back to her Samsung, engrossed in whatever was going on there.

  “Hello Jennie,” he replied. He glanced in at his wife’s friend as he walked by, busy tapping on her phone. He hugged Claire when she popped out from the rear of the vehicle. “Hey, lady.”

  “Hey.”

  “I thought you guys were going to eat lunch while you were out.”

  “We did.”

  “But you didn’t post a bevie or a dishie,” he chided.

  “I had water and a boring sandwich. Okay, are you ready for this?” Claire asked, smiling. She had a glow about her, similar to the glow that most women get when they’re pregnant.

  Except Claire wasn’t pregnant.

  No. Greg knew this glow all too well. Claire got it from one activity: shopping.

  “I don’t know, Claire, you’ve got that afterglow, like you just did something you shouldn’t have, something naughty!” he said, smiling, pulling her close to him, and burying his face quickly in her neck.

  “Greg!” Claire exclaimed. “Jennie’s right there,” she whispered even though her eyes were dancing beneath her Pantene perfect dark brown hair.

  “Come on, you know she’s playing one of those games, she’ll never notice, and besides … she wouldn’t care.”

  “Stop it, stop it!” She succeeded in blocking his advances, and then continued undeterred with her presentation. “Now, come back here and look at this!” She took his hand and led him to the back of the SUV.

  He stopped and looked into the rear compartment and found himself speechless.

  Suburbans are large vehicles, and with the rear seats all folded down, provide many cubic feet of space. He stood dumbfounded for a second, amazed at what they had crammed in, filling that space almost completely.

  “Huh?” she prodded him, smiling.

  “Wow,” he said. “It’s like you bought a flea market, packed it in the beast, and brought it home.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “No, seriously, are we opening, like, one of those stores in the mall, that sells faux-antique goods and mirrors and smells like candles all the time?”

  “Mr. Funnyman, full of jokes today, aren’t you?” She punched him lightly on the arm. “Help me get the barrel first.”

  They set about grabbing it, and he heard her grunt with the effort: he guessed that it weighed a hundred and fifty pounds or more. As they walked it slowly past the open front window he noticed Jennie was still tap-tap-tapping away on her phone.

  “Whatcha playing, Jennie?”

  “Candy Crush Saga … it’s addicting!”

  “Hmm. Done with Farmville?”

  “What?” she asked, distracted, not looking up.

  “Never mind.”

  He realized it had been a while since she spammed his Facebook account with Farmville requests. He had tried to play it, briefly, but it bored him silly. Plus, it took too much time.

  Before Farmville, he had played this game for a while that required you to park different cars in different places to make varying amounts of money. You also had to re-park the cars at certain intervals. That game had held his interest for several weeks. He even began to wake up early to ensure he moved his cars at the right time to maximize the money he made.

  Until Claire busted him.

  On one of those mornings, he inadvertently woke her up as he tried to extricate himself from their blankets and get quietly out of bed. He was unsuccessful—the bed was annoyingly noisy—and she asked where he was going.

  “Oh, um, I just wanted to check something out.”

  “What? It’s early,” she replied, her voice muffled. She was lying on her stomach, face into the pillow.

  “Yeah, just something online.” He tried, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was always when he couldn’t think of something to say that she seemed most interested … or most suspicious.

  She rolled over, sat up, hair poking out in weird places, and gave him a questioning look. She knew him well … that he hated mornings passionately. He was worthless until he had coffee, and that was preferably after 8:00 a.m. Her interest was quickly piqued.

  The clock on the bedside table said 5:00 a.m.

  “Well,” he began, and then started giggling. “Okay, this is going to sound silly...”

  “What?”

  “I was gonna go move my cars.”

  “Huh? Cars?”

  “On the game.”

  “The Facebook game?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uhhh!” she groaned, turned, slammed her face into the pillow. “Don’t come back and wake me up!”

  And, so ended that car-parking game. Rest in peace.

  “Come on, let’s put it in the atrium,” Claire said, using her pet name for what Greg figured was probably more accurately described as a second living area. The massive windows created an atmosphere that was bright, and the open floor-plan gave it space.

  “Yes, Dear,” he replied, temporarily putting away thoughts of games … and thoughts of Candy.

  Chapter 7

  Martin and Zoe

  “It’s always so pretty here,” Zoe cooed. She leaned over and pressed her face into a flower, and Martin marveled at how naturally beautiful she was, how she was poetry in motion.

  “Very beautiful,” he replied, watching her contentedly. She glanced up slowly, a seismic detector of the emotions, divining the most subtle nuances and changes in him, knowing he wasn’t talking about the gardens. She smiled and there was never anything more honest.

  “You love me, don’t you,” she said, not a question, but a game of words, one of those silly little things said a thousand times, said in good humor, serene but with the weight of perfect seriousness.

  “I do love you,” he said, wrapping her up in his arms, kissing her lightly.

  She kissed him, then pulled back and watched him, and he watched her, too. “Mar
tin, I just don’t even know how to tell you how happy I am. Life without you, it just isn’t imaginable.”

  The whites of her eyes showed no sign of aging; they were bright and vibrant and timeless. Her irises were an incandescent green, the color of dark limes, rainforest frogs, and St. Augustine grass in the early summer. They were alive and alert and all his. “You don’t need to tell me, Dear, I know.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Of course, I will say that the last couple of days I’ve felt reborn, completely and utterly alive. Brand new to the world. Like a baby’s first breath and first scream and everything in between.”

  “I’ve always loved how you speak,” she said.

  “And I, you!” he returned. “Your words, your voice, and the molecules that comprise them attracted me to you from the very first. So natural, like birds going south for the winter or bees pollinating flowers.”

  “Yes,” she hugged him.

  “Yes,” he hugged back.

  After a few moments they started walking slowly, still hugging, allowing the embrace to dissolve naturally to the rhythm of their gait. They continued through Zilker Botanical Gardens, passing shallow green ponds with moss and stones and small fish. More flowers, then trees and, surprisingly, very few people. They enjoyed another twenty minutes of comfortable silence before Zoe spoke again.

  “We need to get on the Internet tonight, thank everyone for all of their support,” she announced. “We’ve had our time to celebrate; it’s time to include everyone. It’s more than just our party.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Dear!” He had been so wrapped up in his own emotions, since Dr. Reynolds delivered the news, that he had forgotten about the people that made it possible. “We can do it as soon as we get home, if that sounds okay?”

  “It sounds great.”

  “Great,” he agreed, reflecting on everything that had occurred over the past couple of years. The only people they’d told about his cancer going into remission were their kids. They had a son and daughter, both of whom had migrated to other places and dropped roots. But they needed to tell the others. “I owe them so much, maybe even my life. So dramatic, but true, and more than true, I feel like I saw this side of the younger generation that I didn’t know existed. I mean, I see intelligent, capable kids every day, but with the evolution of the modern world and the heavy reliance that people seem to have developed on electronic gadgetry, I just missed something. I couldn’t see the trees because I was so busy looking at the forest.”