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“September twentieth. Kenneth drew his last breath today just before dawn. I bathed him and wrapped him in the quilt I made. Ramon stopped by for my answer and, when he saw the bundle, wept before he grabbed a shovel, dug the grave, and etched the tombstone. I held Kenneth until the last moment, kissed him one last time, and lay him to rest.
“Are you thinking what I am?” I glanced at Luke as I stood.
Moments later, Luke prized the flat rock from the ground, flipped it over, and brushed away the loose soil from its sides. “Do you see any etching?”
“No.”
“Maybe this isn’t the same stone.”
“Or maybe the etching is so worn, we can’t read it.” I held up my index finger. “Back in a minute.” I returned with a roll of aluminum foil. “Wrap a sheet of foil around the stone, while I get a dry paintbrush from the shed.”
When I returned, I knelt in front of the foil-covered stone and lightly drew the brush back and forth across the surface, then up and down.
Nothing appeared.
Disappointed, I shook my head. “Help me flip it over?” Again, using light strokes, I brushed the foil against the stone’s coarse but featureless surface, and a date emerged—9.20.1898.
“Kenneth’s grave.” Standing, I brushed off my knees. “To think this baby was the only person ever related to both you and me.”
Luke stared at the grave, then smiled through his wince. “The product of your great-great-grandfather’s and my great-great-grandmother’s love.”
“The fruit of their love.” I wrinkled my nose. “What a shame they were married such a brief time.”
“Wonder what thoughts went through their minds after Mateo returned?” Gazing at nothing, he shook his head.
“Want to read more of the journal and find out?”
“How ’bout after dinner? I’ve got to varnish the patio bar and cabinets before it rains.” He squinted at the clouds before glancing at her paintbrush. “Though, if you’d lend a hand, we’d finish in half the time…”
“And when would I prune the vines?”
“Your choice.” He shrugged, but his eyebrows puckered in a silent plea.
“Of course, I’ll help.” Hearing myself, I went slack-jawed. When did I start putting his needs ahead of mine? Have we become a team?
From the corner of my eye, I caught movement in the tall grass. What’s that? My military training kicked in along with adrenalin. My heart rate increasing, I broke into a cold sweat.
Then I shifted mental gears, recalling my cognitive behavioral therapy for PTSD, and took slow, deep breaths. I’m a civilian now, not a sentry, watching for enemy infiltrators. This is Texas, not Afghanistan.
Flashes of white and yellow swiveled and twisted, entwining, interlacing, and undulating in seemingly endless motion.
As curiosity overcame anxiety, I edged closer.
Two intertwined lengths coiled and corkscrewed, never pausing. Instead, they glided, twisted, slid, and spiraled against each other, slithering in a sensual dance.
I stared, too mesmerized to move. What is that? Then it registered. Mating snakes! Fascinated by their carnal undulation, I couldn’t look away. I’m a voyeur charmed by snakes.
Looping and twisting around each other like a two-strand French braid, the snakes simultaneously slid down a previously undetected hole, and the sensuous gymnastics ended as abruptly as they began.
Wow. Physically aroused, I side-glanced at Luke.
He gave a faint chuckle. “I’ve never seen anything quite like that.”
“Me, neither.” Reluctant to meet his gaze, I replayed the image of the snakes’ entwined bodies, rippling and rolling. I closed my eyes, visualizing Luke’s naked, muscular body pressed against mine, then turned away to dispel the sudden, overwhelming desire. “Maybe I’d…uhm…better trim the vines, after all.”
****
“Do you want me to read, or do you want to do the honors?” After dinner, I gathered the diary’s cropped pages.
