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While I remembered it word for word and could even visualize the pages of the book, I only focused on certain passages. Mainly on those saying love was a skill, not a feeling. It required trust, vulnerability, compassion, and generosity of the soul.
The article went on to say those who loved the best worked hard to give their life meaning and to find balance between their inner priorities and the demands of the outside world.
When I first read it, I was convinced no such person existed. However, I was looking at him. Tryst loved everyone and everything well. It was true of the human trafficking victims he’d nurtured and cared for, welcoming them on his ranch. It was true of the horse, who already showed signs of calming. And it was true of me too. The man had researched ways to help me navigate the difficulties of my memory. At any given time since I’d arrived, I felt him watching me, making sure I was not overly fatigued. When he did recognize something I needed—often before I realized it myself—he made it his business to ensure I got whatever it was. Even if it was venturing up a hillside to watch the sunset.
When he motioned to me, I walked over to him as he was still soothing the horse. I approached slowly and let her take her time sniffing my hand. When she raised her head, I rubbed her nose.
“She likes you,” Tryst said, leaning into me. “She isn’t the only one.”
I smiled and shook my head like I always did when he flirted with me. “She needs a name.”
“Have you thought of one?” Tryst asked.
“Have you?”
“Perhaps. Tell me yours first.”
“Cariño.”
His eyes scrunched, and he studied me long enough I felt self-conscious.
“What? Is that a bad name for a horse?”
Tryst shook his head. “It is the perfect name.”
His reaction continuedto trouble me even after we left the meditation center and he invited me to join him for dinner in the town of Alamos.
“What is on your mind, Jaicon?” he asked shortly after we drove out the ranch’s gate.
I looked out the window rather than at him. “If there’s something you don’t like about the name I came up with for the horse, you certainly don’t have to use it.”
He reached over and rested his hand on mine. “I like it very much. I told you it was perfect.”
Never did I believe Tryst was lying to me, including now. “There was something,” I mumbled.
“Look at me, Jacy.” He squeezed my fingers until I did. “It isn’t the most obvious name—”
When I opened my mouth to speak, he squeezed harder.
“Most would probably say Dolly or Goldie or Bella or Honey. Yet, you thought ofCariño. The reason I reacted the way I did is because it was the very name I thought of right before you said it.”
“Why do you think that is?”
He chuckled. “I fear you may not like my response.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“A soul tie.”
I nodded. It’s what I’d expected him to say, or something similar, simply because I felt it too.
He glanced over at me from time to time while keeping his eyes mainly on the road, but I didn’t say anything. If he really believed we had such a connection, I didn’t need to.
The following afternoon,Tryst served a grand Thanksgiving buffet. In addition to those staying, living, or working onEl Lugar de Curación, he invited guests from neighboring ranches. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn there were over one hundred people enjoying the feast he’d provided.
There were several appetizers, like roasted-pumpkin guacamole, green chile dip, and empanadas. Two kinds of turkey were served—one was cilantro-lime rubbed, and the other, a more traditional chorizo-stuffed. For those who didn’t care for either, Tryst also provided pork tamales and sweet-potato–black-bean enchiladas. Several side dishes were also served, including rice and beans, Mexican mashed potatoes, and roasted zucchini.
“I hope you saved room for dessert,” he said, sitting beside me at one of the picnic tables.
