Stranger at the Door

“Dare I hope you have a full-blown case of cabin fever?”

“Not really,” I murmur, surprised by the truth of my answer.

“Well, are you free to come stay with Scooter? My babysitter has flaked out, and I have to be in Pueblo tomorrow.”

I love my grandson, but find myself resenting the abrupt end of my solitude and the way Lisa takes me for granted. “I’ll drive down this afternoon and we can have a nice dinner together.”

“Only if you cook it. I haven’t had time to go the store and won’t today, either.”

Lisa has an uncanny way of orchestrating life to accommodate her needs. Yet in truth, being a single mother is no picnic. She works a demanding job at the University of Colorado and as far as I know, scarcely has a social life.

“Remember, Scooter doesn’t like cheese.”

Scratch the macaroni and cheese. “How does he feel about meat loaf?”

“Haven’t a clue. We’ll see, won’t we?”

We complete the arrangements, I fix a quick sandwich and pack my bag, pondering whether I should let Sam know that I’m going to Lisa’s. I decide against it. If he wants his privacy, I’ll give it to him. Besides, I really don’t want to talk to him.

When I load Orville’s dish with cat chow, he eyes me accusingly, sensing I’m abandoning him. “Back soon, kitty,” I say, grabbing my keys and heading out the door. On the drive, I drink in the beauty of the mountains, now dressed in fiery aspens, resplendent against the dark blue-green of the fir and spruce. I’m reminded that we are living Sam’s dream. Growing up on the barren plains of eastern Colorado, he loved the distant, snowcapped peaks, a shining El Dorado. In summer, dust swirled around the trailer house where he lived, and in winter, wind-driven snow formed impassable drifts. Early in our marriage he confided that his goal was eventually to live in the Rockies. His expression the day we moved into our Breckenridge home with its larger-than-life view of the mountains said it all. This is where I belong!

Stopping at the market, I pick up ingredients for dinner, and by the time Lisa and Scooter arrive home, a meat loaf and baked potatoes are in the oven and green beans are simmering on the stove. Scooter gives me a hug, then settles in front of the TV while Lisa changes into jeans and a Colorado Buffaloes sweatshirt. Then she pours us a glass of wine and sits on the sofa, legs crossed. Even though she looks tired, she is still strikingly attractive. “I know life isn’t easy for you just now,” I begin, “but you’re a beautiful young woman with a full life ahead of you.”