Page 10 of Wes and Addie Had Their Chance

I brushed the snow off the log before sitting down, but the freezing temps still created a sensation of dampness under my

legs. The knobs on the fallen section of tree made for an uncomfortable seat, even if it hadn’t been freezing and the wind

hadn’t been blowing. The breeze passing through the branches above me caused snow to filter down onto my nose and cheeks,

which were completely exposed since I’d accidentally left the house without my hat and scarf. And gloves. Yeah, the exposed

fingers were already tingling, but at least I could stuff my hands into my coat pockets. It was entirely possible my nose

would just turn into a nosecicle and break right off, but none of the current threats of hypothermia and frostbite had felt

nearly as urgent as the need to rush out of the house before my dad woke up.

Truth be told, the cold wasn’t even bothering me.

Not really. All I could focus on was the rising sun glistening off the white peaks of the fourteen-thousand-foot mountain in front of me.

Warmth fought for dominance and won as I soaked in the subtle contrast of the white aspens against their matching backdrop and the crystal-clear blue sky above the valley, blissfully unaware of the storm heading its way.

Within an hour or two, there would be nothing but gray again as far as the eye could see.

But if there was anything I had gotten pretty good at over the course of the past couple of years, it was not looking ahead.

All told, I’d been away for twenty years, and in the slowly progressing months I’d been back, I’d had to put in some effort

to reclaim my Colorado. Or, more accurately, I’d had to accept that it would require effort to do so—if I ever decided the

effort might be worthwhile. I mean, in so many ways, Adelaide Springs was home and always would be. But it wasn’t home to

my memories with Joel. Our little house in Bethesda, surrounded by lush greenery that could never survive in Colorado and

that had made us feel blissfully alone in the world—that was our home.

Work schedules had kept us from visiting Adelaide Springs very often—one or two Christmases, a week in the summer every few

years—and when we did, our time was rarely if ever our own. Dad would take Joel fly-fishing on the Rio Grande while I hung

out with Laila and Cole, all of us pretending that our shared youth had knitted us together tightly enough that our lifetime

apart was inconsequential. And then, before we knew it, we’d had a good time, fulfilled our relational obligations, and had

enough time away from work that our nerve endings were twitching to get back at it.

But this meadow was ours. This meadow. This log where I sat, losing feeling in my thighs. This view. It was all ours. Never

mind that it had also been the site of the most painful moment of the first thirty-eight years of my life. The most painful

moment of my life until I received word, 717 days ago, that a relatively routine operation in Venezuela had gone horribly

wrong.

This meadow had once been my most special spot. So special that I’d chosen it as the location of what was supposed to be my

wedding to Wes. But then I’d been left alone there—confused and in shock—and the spot lost all its value. Rather than being

the place I went to feel happy and content, it became the memory I fled from. Just like I fled from feeling happy and content,

I suppose.

But eleven years later, my new husband had wanted to know everything about me.

He wanted to know everything that had turned me into the woman he had chosen to spend his life with.

I couldn’t deny that Wes Hobbes and the heartache I’d experienced in the meadow had shaped me, for better or for worse, so I took him there.

And I told the whole unfiltered story of August 9, 2003, for the very first time.

It wasn’t just the first time I shared all the gory details with Joel.

It was the first time I shared all the gory details with anyone .

I’d never had to tell it before. Before Joel, there hadn’t been a person of significance in my life who hadn’t been there

that day to witness it themselves.

We spent hours on that log, on a much warmer day than today, and lying in the grass and walking through the wildflowers. When

I started crying, I was surprised to realize I wasn’t crying for Wes or because I could still feel the pain and humiliation,

or even because the young version of myself had lost so much time and innocence. No, I cried because I hated that Wes Hobbes

had ruined my favorite spot for me. He stole so much from me, but eleven years later, my meadow was all I wanted back.

And Joel reclaimed it for me. He recited what he could remember of poems by Lord Byron and Langston Hughes and Emily Dickinson,

filling in the gaps with Dr. Seuss and Leonard Cohen and a little bit of Tupac. We daydreamed together about a day when we

would bring our future children back to Adelaide Springs and introduce them to the beauty of the place, and maybe we’d even

build a little cabin in the mountains. We climbed trees and made birdcalls and very nearly had his-and-hers heart attacks

when a massive hawk momentarily seemed to fall for our feeble bird-calling deception. And then, of course, we laughed until

we fell over, recounting the disgraceful way two respected, highly trained members of the United States intelligence community

would have willingly traded state secrets to get away from that giant swooping bird.

In the length of one afternoon, Joel Elwyn had managed to make my meadow magical again.

So much so that even now, sitting on that log, attempting to ignore the icy wind whipping into my eyes from the east just long enough to witness the conclusion of the sunrise over the mountains, the countless memories I’d made there with Wes in the ancient past didn’t spring to mind.

For years my ex had been twelve miles down the road and we’d never bumped into each other once, but Adelaide Springs wasn’t even twelve miles from city limits to city limits and back again.

The population of the entire town would be dwarfed by an hour’s worth of visitors to the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum, and I’d been unable to avoid him beyond his first five minutes back.

Chances were I’d see him again, and when I did, I’d grin and bear it much better than I had the night before—maybe while reciting some Tupac in my head.

My phone rang just as the final rays of sunrise ended their game of peekaboo with the mountain and began a new game with the

clouds, preparing to fight for dominance of the day. I sighed and said goodbye to solitude as I glanced down at the screen

and stood from the log.

“Good morning, Neil.”

“Hey, Addie. I’m sorry to bother you so early. I know you’re not on call until eight, but—”

“It’s fine.” I stepped gingerly over tree roots so covered in snow that anyone who was less familiar with this meadow than

I was would probably trip and go flying. “What do you need?” I froze as my hand reached out for the door handle of the vehicle.

There was a decent chance, I realized, that I knew exactly what was on Valet Forge’s early-morning docket. “Do you need me

to run a pickup to the inn?”

“Yeah. If you can.”

I shivered—the shiver having nothing to do with Wes, just the screechy grinding metal sound of the ancient vehicle door opening—then

chuckled to myself. “Yeah... I had a hunch.”

The chuckle, of course, had everything to do with him.

I didn’t love the way I’d lost my cool with him. I didn’t love that I’d been the one unable to remain civil. Sure, there was

no way around the discomfort—it would be uncomfortable.

But in that moment, as I climbed up into the truck, I chose to be grateful for an opportunity to redeem myself.

It was also another opportunity to gather data, and data was my friend.

There was nothing to fear. Nothing to dread. Nothing to avoid.

“I was heading out to get it, but then we got another call. If you can get the one at the inn, I’ll take the other one. It’s

somebody stuck in a snowdrift, needing a tow—”

“I’ll take that one.”

Coward.

“Aren’t you in your little hybrid thing? You won’t be able to tow in that—” He was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of

my dad’s 1976 Chevy roaring to life with all the subtlety of a hungry lion. “Ah. You’re in Beulah. Still, I don’t mind.”

“No, really, it’s no big deal. I’ve got everything I need with me.” I glanced through the window behind me as I backed up,

trying to see into the truck bed and hoping I hadn’t just lied to Neil in my cowardice. “Besides, it’s a nice morning. It’ll

be good to get some fresh air.”

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. You’re better than this, Adelaide.

“Well, it’s eighteen degrees and dropping, but to each his or her own. You’re sure?”

I stopped at the end of the gravel. “I am. Where am I heading?”

“Off of Banyon.”

Beulah’s tires spun, and then I turned right onto Elm Street with a jolt—not even completely sure where I was heading yet

but thoroughly disappointed in myself for how relieved I was to be heading there.