IAN
Three Months Later
“Many outsiders do not understand the relationship these villagers have with the herds, and I admit, I had a hard time understanding myself. Why would a village expend such effort and expense to herd these wild horses into pens only to wrestle them, sometimes to the ground, to clip their manes and tails, administer medication, and then let them go? It’s about love. It’s about preserving history. And it’s about tradition. The Rapa das bestas is an ancient festival that showcases the symbiotic relationship this village has with the animals that run wild and free through their hills. And it was through the words of our photographer, Ian Collins, that I finally saw the beauty of the Rapa das bestas. ‘To love someone unconditionally is to let them thrive, even if that means letting them go so they can run wild and free.’ I’m not sure if Mr. Collins was referring to the Galician herds or someone else—who, I do wonder—but to me, his words eloquently sum up the relationship between the villagers and the horses they manage.”
Erik finishes reading the excerpt from this month’s issue of National Geographic and grins at me. “Reese wrote an incredible piece. And these photos? Stunning.” He shows me the foldout in the middle of the article, the wide-angle shot I took on the last day of the galloping herd on the neighboring hillside. Then he closes the magazine and points at the cover, grinning and nodding at the two stallions rearing up in the packed curro. I remember the smell and the noise, the flies buzzing. I remember how the Galician horses moved like schools of fish, their coats drenched in sweat, a shimmering mosaic of chestnut, mocha, and sable. But I remember most the incredible feeling after Al Foster’s phone call three weeks ago. My photo had been selected for the cover.
It’s early evening and we’re at Aimee’s Café, the after-party from this afternoon’s opening at the Wendy V. Yee Gallery. Wendy covered her walls with not only my recent work in Spain, but a history of photographs since I first picked up a camera. A study of my life’s work. She’d included photos of my parents, from the viewpoint of a child. They were the good ones, like the picture I took of my mom standing in the middle of the pond, her skirt skimming the surface, the sun bathing her face. I titled it Beautiful Sadness. Wendy intentionally left a blank wall symbolizing my future work. I have more stories to document. The show is in celebration of my first National Geographic assignment, the first of many, God willing, and will last for three weeks. Wendy managed to get a two-column feature in last week’s Arts & Entertainment section of the San Francisco Chronicle. Today’s opening was packed.
Erik raises his champagne glass. “Congrats, my friend. Here’s to more epic shots.”
“And glossy covers,” I add.
“I’ll drink to that.”
And drink we do. Erik finishes his glass and glances around the crowded café. “Any chance of finding a beer in this place?”
“I happen to know where the owner keeps a secret stash.” I lead him into the kitchen and grab two Anchors from the fridge, popping the tops. I give one to Erik.
“Thanks,” he says, and takes a long draw from the bottle. “Have you heard from Reese?”
“She texted her congrats when she heard about the cover. You?” Tonight’s the first chance Erik and I have had to catch up since his assignment with Reese in Yosemite. He’s been traveling and I’ve been making frequent smaller trips of my own.
“Not recently, but we’re going on assignment together in January.”
“That’s great. Where to?”
“Morocco. She’s writing a piece about camping in the Sahara and requested me as the photographer.” He sets aside his half-empty beer and scratches his lower lip. “She tells me you have history.”
I nod slowly. “It was a long time ago.” When he doesn’t immediately acknowledge what I said, I raise an eyebrow.
“She’s talented.”
I slowly grin. “She feels the same. She wouldn’t have requested you if she felt otherwise.”
We share a smile and I clap his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s join the others before my wife finds me hiding out in the kitchen, drinking beer. She spent a pretty penny on the champagne.”
When we return to the dining area, I look around. Aimee has my photos everywhere, including on the wall once dominated by James’s paintings. She cleared it off last October and shipped his work to him in Hawaii. She did keep one, a miniature of her parents’ house James had painted when he was seventeen. It hangs in her back office, a reminder of where she came from and how much she’s grown since then.
Everyone is here. Erik and a few of the guys from the gym. Lance and Troy, two buddies from ASU I’ve kept in touch with over the years. Even Marshall Killion and his wife, Jenny, managed to get out here from Boston. Nadia’s off to the side chatting with friends and some new guy she brought with her. He dotes on her like a young pup. His eyes track her everywhere. She keeps sending him off to fetch her cocktails. Yeah, that relationship won’t last long, I think, laughing to myself.
Caty’s at a table with Kristen’s two oldest, eating cake and drinking sparkling cider. Kristen stands watch over them, rocking Theo. My gaze swings left until finally, across the room, I find the woman I’d been searching for. Beautiful in a black shift dress with a cascade of ruffles along the neckline, Aimee talks with Catherine and Hugh. Nick joins them, offering Aimee a glass of champagne, which she declines.
My gaze narrows. Excusing myself from Erik, I cross the room.
Nick eyes the champagne glass I take off his hands. I sip the bubbly. “Tee time’s seven thirty. Gonna make it?”
I set aside the glass. “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll wager a hundred dollars you don’t shoot a single eagle this time.” Nick is by far the better player between us. There’s no way I’m betting I can beat him. When we play, I wager he will outperform his previous game.
Nick clutches his chest. “You wound me.” Then he grins and grabs my hand. “You’re on.”
“See you on the course.”
“Great show,” Hugh says.
“Congratulations, Ian.” Catherine kisses my cheek.
“Thanks.” I clasp Aimee’s hand. “Would you excuse us for a moment?” I say to them.
“Everything all right?” Aimee asks, her expression one of concern as I lead her to the back office.
“Everything’s great.” I close and lock the door, pull her into my arms.
“Ian, we have guests.”
“I know, baby, but this can’t wait.” I cup her face and kiss her. I kiss her and kiss her, look at her, and kiss her again. Then I smile, my forehead pressed to hers.
Winded, she asks, “What was that about?”
“I just wanted to show you how much I love you. And to say thank you.”
“For what?”
I rest my hands on her hips and back us up to the desk. Sitting on the edge, I pull her between my legs, our eyes level. I trace her hairline along her cheek and over her ear. “The past couple of months haven’t been easy on us.” I’ve been taking frequent, short visits to Idaho to make sure my dad’s receiving the treatment he needs. He’s deteriorating fast and the inevitability of losing him has affected me harder than I expected. “But I have some good news.”
Aimee’s eyes sparkle like cider. “You do?”
I bite my lower lip and nod. “My wife’s pregnant.”
She frowns, the ivory skin between her trimmed brows folding. Then those brows lift and her eyes go big. “How did you know?”
“You turned down a glass of Dom Pérignon. Who does that?”
She laughs. “This gal,” she says, pointing at herself.
I rest a hand on her flat stomach and Aimee covers mine with both of hers. There’s a life growing inside there. Caty will be thrilled when we tell her. And I want to tell my dad, before he goes. “How long have you known?” I whisper the question, my voice intimate.
She skims her fingers up my chest, under the lapel of my blazer, and hooks her hands behind my neck. “A few hours. I was planning to tell you tonight, after the party.”
I lean in to kiss her, my lips within a whisper of hers, when there’s a knock on the door. I groan.
“Aimee?” It’s Trish.
“Tell her to go away.” I run my tongue along her lower lip.
She twists her head toward the door. “I’ll be out in a moment.”
“There’s someone here asking for Ian. Is he in there?”
I run my hands up the sides of her rib cage. “Shh. I’m not here,” I tease and kiss her jaw, lingering on the soft indentation below her ear. I just want these few minutes alone with her. I’ve been shaking hands, meeting new people, and fielding questions all day.
“She’s from out of town. Says her name is Sarah Collins.”
My hands squeeze Aimee’s waist and I freeze. A tightness forms in my chest, spreading outward. I slowly lift my head. Aimee looks at me and our gazes hold. She smiles, and it’s full of love.
“Did you know?” I ask.
She slowly shakes her head. “But I was hoping. I didn’t want to say anything in case she didn’t show.”
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
“I left my first name and the number to the café on the ticket at the cleaners. I figure if your dad and mom do talk about you, she’d know about me, and Caty, and the café. I wanted to give her the choice to call. I hope that wasn’t too presumptuous of me, but I wanted to know if she still felt the same way she did about her condition when she left you. If there’s one thing I’ve learned these last seven or so years, it’s to not assume things are the way they appear.”
“When did she call?”
“It took her a while. She called last week. I mentioned your show and invited her and her companion to visit. She doesn’t go anywhere without Vickie. Your mom explained to me that Vickie keeps her grounded. She helps her when she shifts midconversation or is out and about so she doesn’t run off or get lost.”
Trish knocks again. Aimee quirks a brow. “Should I tell her to give us a second?”
I’m stunned and elated and nervous and in awe. I clasp Aimee’s face and, without taking my eyes from hers, call out to Trish. “Bring my mother back here.”
“Your mother?” Trish exclaims. “Will do.” I hear her walk away.
“Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Yes, but feel free to say it again,” Aimee says with a smile.
“I love you.” I kiss her. “You’re amazing.”
I laugh and hug her tightly. When I let go, her face sobers. She fiddles with a button on my pressed white shirt. “A National Geographic cover and your mom. Two dreams come true in one day.”
“Make that three.” My hand slides to her stomach; then I grab hers. “Come with me.”
“Anywhere. Always.”
We cross the room and I unlock and open the door. To an even brighter future. The future we’ve hoped for.