Prologue
It
was the blue jay diving out of the pine grove that started it all. The
Steller’s jay, its blue plumage glistening in the sun, swooped down toward the
picnic table, aiming for the unattended tray of French fries.
I
had arrived in Lake Tahoe just yesterday, driving up into the mountains from
San Francisco in my little rental car. Winter still held the Sierras in its
grip and as I’d made my way up the twisting roads, dirty snow had edged the
road and my tires had made a gritty rumbling on the slushy blacktop. In the
shade of the huge boulders below me and up against the base of the tall pines,
clean white snow lay in shadowed patches. The afternoon sun had flickered
through the trunks of the trees like the frames of an old silent movie.
Today,
I was playing tourist, wandering around the shops and restaurants and enjoying
the sunshine and the scent of pine. I had paused outside a small shop, all
uneven wood floors and mossy roof, to examine a selection of colorful
hand-blown glass jewelry arranged on a small table. The flash of wings and a
hoarse ‘caw’ drew my eyes toward the
small A-frame hamburger stand next door. The hand-carved sign over the order
window identified it as ‘Bill’s Burgers’.
As
the bird landed on the weathered wood table and plucked a fry from the
cardboard tray, the young woman at the table looked up from her cell phone with
an annoyed frown.
“Hey!”
she yelled, her voice echoing off the buildings. “Get away! Shoo!” she waved
her hand angrily, but the bold bird simply hopped sideways away from her
flailing fingers, the limp French fry dangling from his beak.
“Gabe!”
the woman called, “Make this damn bird leave my food alone!”
Her
companion, who had been standing at the counter filling two small paper cups
with ketchup, turned toward the table. As he hurried across the short space
between the counter and the table, I must have moved or maybe made a sound,
something to draw his attention, because he looked over in my direction, and
our eyes met.
An
unexpected sense of awareness tingled down my spine. Under dark brows, his eyes
were black, piercing, challenging. I was mesmerized, the bracelet I’d been
admiring falling unnoticed from my fingers. Ignoring his companion, he started
to take a step toward me.
“Gabe!”
the woman wailed. “This damn bird is driving me crazy!”
Those
dark eyes closed briefly as if in pain as the man turned back to the woman, some
strong emotion tightening his mouth and stiffening his shoulders.
I
shook off the hypnotizing effect of his glance, stooped to pick up the bracelet
and replaced it on the table. I continued to pretend to browse the shop’s
wares, all the while covertly watching the couple, who seemed to be having a
major spat, albeit one conducted in voices too low for me to overhear.
Just
as I decided it was time to stop being a voyeur and move on, the woman stood
up, and with an aim that would be the envy of many a major league pitcher,
tossed her uneaten hamburger at the man, hitting him squarely in the chest.
“That’s
what I think of you and your stupid ‘termination
clause!’” she cried, before grabbing her cell phone and storming off up the
street, her sandals slapping the pavement at every step. As she hurried down
the sidewalk, she narrowly missed running into a trio of young women huddled in
a doorway, giggling and whispering to each other. In her wake, even more
giggling ensued, accompanied by a middle-finger salute.
Her companion watched her go, making no effort
to follow. Instead, expressionless, he calmly brushed sesame seeds and bits of
chopped lettuce off his black T-shirt, and then stood to gather the trash and
throw it away.
Quickly,
I ducked inside the souvenir shop, hovering near the front window until I was
sure he was gone. Once he was out of sight, I made my way quickly down the
sidewalk in the opposite direction, trying to shake off the strange sense of
recognition for a man I’d never met.
