Against All Odds

Adam draped his right ankle across his left knee and leaned back in his seat. “If that were the case, Melissa, I’d warn you. I would never spring a member of my family on you unexpectedly, and I think you know that. Winterflower is a very special friend. You’ll like her. She has an aura of peace about her that’s refreshing—the best preparation for the Monday morning rat race that anybody could want. I go up to see her as often as I can.”

“How old is she?” She could see that the question amused him.

“Oh, around fifty or fifty-five, I’d say. But I could be way off—I don’t make a habit of asking women their age.”

“I got the impression from what you said a minute ago that she’s different. Is she?”

“In a way. Yes. Winterflower doesn’t fight the world, Melissa—she embraces it.” He shrugged elaborately. “Flower defies description...you have to experience her.” So he had a tonic for the New York rat race after all, she mused, pleased that the woman wasn’t his lover.

* * *

A tall Native American woman of about fifty greeted them with a natural warmth. Adam introduced them, and Melissa liked her at once.

“What are you two doing together?” she asked Adam before telling him, “Never mind, it will work itself out. But you’ll both hurt a lot before it does.”

Melissa watched, perplexed, as Adam hugged the woman and then admonished her. “Now, Flower, I do not want to know about the rough roads and slippery pebbles ahead, as you like to put it. You told me about them three months ago.”

The woman’s benevolent smile was comforting, though her words were not. “You’re just coming to them.” Melissa had a strong sense of disquiet as Flower turned to her and extended her hand. “It’s good that you are not as skeptical as Adam is. You complement him well.”

Adam snorted. “Flower, for heaven’s sake!”

Flower held her hands up, palms out, as though swearing innocence. “Alright. Alright. That’s all—I’m not saying anything else.”

They walked around the back of the house to the large garden and seated themselves in the white wooden chairs. Adam moved away from the two women and turned toward the sharp decline that marked the end of Winterflower’s property, impatiently knocking his closed right fist against the palm of his left hand. He didn’t need Winterflower or anyone else to tell him that Melissa was well suited to him, that she could be his match. She was unlike any woman he had ever known. Independent, self-possessed, and vulnerable. He didn’t turn around—he was vulnerable himself right then, and he’d as soon she didn’t know it.

Winterflower served a light supper. The late, low-lying sun filtered through the trees, tracing intricate patterns on them, patterns that moved with the soft breeze and seemed to cast a spell over the threesome, for they ate quietly.

* * *

Melissa spoke. “Are you clairvoyant, Flower?”

Winterflower nodded. “I see what chooses to appear. Nothing more.” Melissa nodded. Not in understanding, but acceptance.

“Why were you surprised to see Adam and me together?” She thought her skin crawled while she waited for what was without doubt a reluctant reply.

“I’ve been associating the two of you with the end of the year.” Winterflower nodded toward Adam, who frowned. He may not agree, Melissa decided, but he didn’t suggest that the woman’s words were foolish, either.

Winterflower’s soft voice reached Adam as if coming from a long distance, intruding in his thoughts. “How is Bill Henry?”

Adam shifted in his chair, aware that her mind was again on the metaphysical. “He’s well enough, I suppose. I haven’t been home to Beaver Ridge recently, and I haven’t spoken with him by phone since I last saw you.”

“You will learn something from him,” she told Adam. “He has taught himself patience, and he has stopped racing through life. Now he has time to reflect, and soon his heart will be overflowing with joy.” She looked from one to the other, nodded, and relaxed as though affirming the inevitable. “And he is not the only one.” Then she turned to Melissa. “Ask Adam to bring you back to see me.”

Adam stood and hugged his friend. “See you again before too long.” Melissa shook hands with Flower and thanked her.

“You’re very quiet, Melissa,” he said, as they trudged downhill toward the train station. “Was I mistaken in bringing you to visit Flower?”

“No. I’m glad you did.” She appeared to pick her words carefully. “You seemed different with her.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “Melissa, I expect everybody’s different around her. She’s so totally noncombative, so peaceful. Life-giving. Sometimes I think of her as being like penicillin for a virus.”

“But she’s also unsettling.”

He slid an arm across her shoulder and drew her closer. “That’s because you were fighting her good vibes.”

“Oh, come on!” she said, and he thwarted her attempt to move away by tugging her closer.

“Now, you’re fighting my vibes.”

“Adam,” she chided, “you could use a little less self-confidence.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Be reasonable. Nothing would lead me to believe that you like wimps.” She wiggled out of his arm. “Go ahead. Move if you want to. You still know I’m here.” She reached up and pulled his ear, delighting him with the knowledge that she needed to touch him.

“Feel better?”

“About what?”

“About giving in to your desire to have your hands on me?” From the corner of his eye, he saw her frown dissolve into a smile, and he stopped, grasped both of her hands in his, and stared down at her.

“You’re delightful, even when you’re trying to be difficult.” Her eyes narrowed in a squint, and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue in a move that he now realized as unconscious. His breath quickened. “You make my blood boil.” She parted her lips as though to speak but said nothing, and his passion escalated as she merely looked down the tree-lined street, escaping the honesty of his gaze. He held her hand as they walked to the train.

“Somehow I can’t picture you with a close personal friend like Flower,” she said as they seated themselves on the train. “You belong to the modern era—she doesn’t.”

“She does,” he corrected. “Winterflower is her tribal name. She is Dr. Gale Falcon, a history professor, but she manages to stay close to her origins. My uncle, Bill Henry, introduced me to her. She and I can sit on her deck for hours at night without saying a word, yet we’re together. I value her friendship.”

“She’s clairvoyant.”

“Oh, yes,” he confirmed, “but that stuff works only if you believe in it.”

“And you don’t?”

His cynical laugh challenged her to accept his premise. “It implies that life is guided by fate, that whatever happens to you is preordained. I can’t accept that. Life is what you make it.”

His hand covered hers to assist her as they left the train, and her inquiring look drew a grudging half smile and an unnecessary explanation. “I don’t want you to get lost.”

“If I get lost, it will be deliberate.”

“I’ll bet,” he shot back. His arm around her shoulder held her close to him as they walked through Grand Central Station. The eyes of an old woman who pushed a shopping cart of useless artifacts beseeched him prayerfully. Melissa thought that he would give the woman a dollar and continue walking. Instead, he stopped to talk with her.

“What do you want with the money?” The woman seemed to panic at the question. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Well, I need some food for myself....” She paused, as though uncertain. “And for my cats, please.”

“Where are you cats?”

“In my room on Eleventh Avenue.” The woman looked into her hand and gasped at the bills he’d placed there. He bade the woman goodbye, and within a few paces a man asked him for money.

“Are you planning to buy a drink?” Adam asked him.