She was quiet for a moment. “Well,” she finally sighed. “Thank you for telling me. Now that we’re in the same town, we should get together sometime.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Vicki and I would like that.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Especially considering, I apparently need to make new friends.”
I drew a deep breath. “Well, Vicki and I are here for you, whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Henry, for everything,” she said. “I’ll see you around.”
“See you,” I said, and then we walked back to the car.
Vicki let out a barely audible sigh, but said nothing.
“Well,” I said. “That was hard.”
“Poor thing,” she said. “She seems like a good person.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You should take her out, get your nails done with her or something.”
“Maybe I will,” she said.
We drove in silence for a while, the long highway in front of us. It was everything Arizona was supposed to be, open sky, open road, and the whole place felt like freedom.
“You know,” I told Vicki, “if we move to this land, we’re going to have to get a convertible.”
She laughed. “I am so on board with that.”
I flipped off the air conditioner and opened the windows and let the late spring wind lap our hair and our faces. I rounded a corner and the blue water popped up on the red and orange landscape. We drove along its edge for about a quarter mile, and then Vicki pointed.
“This way,” she shouted over the wind in the car.
She pointed to a side road off the highway. We drove down a quiet deserted street for a minute.
“Right where that fencepost is,” she said.
She pointed toward a rusted red fencepost, with some sort of government posting on it. I pulled into the driveway area, which was just a dirt clearing. We got out and surveyed the land. It was luscious, with green grass and towering trees everywhere.
“This is beautiful,” I said.
“So,” she said. “I haven’t told you the best part about this land.”
“Okay,” I said, as we slowly ambled through the green grass.
“The deal with this land is that whoever owns it, gets lucky in politics,” she said.
“What?” I asked. “That’s nuts.”
“No,” she said. “The governor used to own this land, it’s magic.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s true. He didn’t own it very long, though. As soon as he bought it, he was elected to the governor’s seat. He couldn’t develop it from Tucson, so rather than paying taxes on it, he just sold it.”
“To the McClellans,” I said.
“Who couldn’t keep it either because she became mayor,” Vicki said.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s an impressive legend.”
“There’s even a rumor that it all started with Teddy Roosevelt who bought it right before he died, and he had a shaman bless it,” she said.
“That can’t be true,” I said.
“Maybe not,” she said. “But it’s lucky land.”
“Not bad to have lady luck on our side,” I said.
“That’s a lemon grove,” she said as she pointed to a cluster of trees on one side.
The grove created a tranquil canopy, and we walked under it and then found a bubbling stream.
“It comes from the lake,” I said.
The water flowed over the rocks and was so clear that I could see the bottom three feet under.
I sat down on the side of the stream, and Vicki sat down with me. I wrapped my arm around her, and we watched the water for a few minutes.
“We’re going to live here,” I said.
“I knew you’d say that,” she smiled.
I laughed, and we sat in silence for a couple more minutes.
“Should I call her?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Tell her we’ll take it. I don’t care what it costs.”
Vicki pulled out her phone and stepped away from the water as she made the call. I walked along the bank and noticed a trout jump in and out of the water. I was never much of a fisherman, but maybe here I would be.
It took Vicki a long time to come back from the phone call, but when she did, she carried a duffel bag full of stuff.
“We haven’t even written the check yet,” I said. “We can’t move in.”
She laughed. “I know. I just thought we’d celebrate, though.”
“Celebrate?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve been planning this for a while.”
She opened the bag, and it was full of picnic supplies.
“A picnic?” I asked.
“Why not?” she said. “Celebrate our wins, in life and work, and together.”
We spread out the blanket, and she opened grocery bags. I cleared my throat.
“Groceries?” I asked. “You went grocery shopping?”
“God, no,” she said. “I just bought champagne and fruit.”
I laughed. “Would you even know what to do with groceries?”
“Of course not,” she said. “Would you?”
“Hell, no,” I laughed.
We lounged on the blanket and listened to the water and drank champagne and ate grapes. Finally, she turned to me.
“I love you,” she said softly.
My heart leapt up into my throat.
“I love you, too,” I said.
Then, on Theodore Roosevelt’s land, I leaned over and kissed Vicki Park. And the rest of my life started.
End of book 4
Author Notes
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