Just Beyond the Clouds Read online

  But now he was home, and things were no different.

  She was still there when he fell asleep, there when he woke up. He saw her whenever he saw Ace, and when he looked into the wide open Colorado sky, and when he heard the crunch of dirt beneath his boots on the walk from his house to his parents’. She was everywhere, and until now that had been fine with him.

  But his mother was right. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t shake the anger.

  Four years was enough time, enough that it was no longer healthy to see her face and feel her breath against his skin every hour. Every few minutes. And so he was here because he was running from that truth and trying to find a way to embrace it—all at the same time.

  “Ali . . .” He lifted his chin and stared into the blue.

  There was no response. Only the whisper of wind in the distant pines.

  How was he supposed to move on? The rodeo was over. He could feel it as soon as he stepped onto the plane in Nampa, Idaho. He couldn’t take another cowboy coming up and offering condolences, couldn’t stand another sad glance from the friends who knew how he was feeling, the way he was stuck back on some long-ago spring day when Ali was still alive, still sharing his bed and his life. When the lung he’d given her was still working.

  He was finished with rodeo. He knew that for sure now.

  So what was next? He’d read once in a book on grief that the only way to find new life was to get out of bed each morning and put one foot in front of the other. Breathe in, breathe out . . . and go after the next thing. In time, the pain would dull. One day, morning would come and the memories would no longer be part of every breath. Rather they would have stepped to the side, a favorite friend in a favorite place. Worth visiting every now and then.

  Cody drew a long breath and ran his fingers through Ace’s blond mane.

  The horse whinnied and turned slightly, as if to say, “Well, where is she? Hasn’t she been gone long enough?”

  “Atta boy, Ace. It’s okay.”

  He touched the horse’s sides with his heels and they started moving. One foot in front of the other, huh? If that was true, then he had to find something to do with his time. He’d invested well. His prize earnings, his pay for three years’ announcing on the circuit, and a consultation fee for two cowboy movies: All of it added up to a seven-figure bank account and land investments in three states. Money wouldn’t be a problem, but what job would allow him to be as passionate as he’d been about the rodeo?

  He removed his cowboy hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Only one person besides Ali had ever made him love so much it hurt. His brother, Carl Joseph. He thought about the conversation over breakfast, the idea that Buddy seemed smitten with a girl named Daisy.

  Cody worked the muscles in his jaw. Of course the kid was smitten. He’d never been exposed to any sort of social environment until now. A group of friends was a good thing for Carl Joseph. But how was a daycare ever going to help him find long life and health here at home? His brother was forty or fifty pounds overweight, plagued by the same weak muscle tone that afflicted most people with Down Syndrome. That and the epilepsy and heart disease.

  A few years back, Cody had studied the idea of rehabilitation, finding exercises and routines for Carl Joseph that would help him overcome the limitations of Down Syndrome. At the time, he thought Carl Joseph would gain strength if he rode horses. And once in a while he’d helped his brother onto the back of a horse and led him around an arena. But that wouldn’t help him find the strength and health he needed to live a long life.

  Maybe the answer was a sports complex. He could look around the Springs and buy out a failing gym. Then he could turn it into a place where disabled people could come for physical training. Sort of a rehab program. The exercise would make Carl Joseph stronger, maybe buy him a decade of good health. Cody could run the place and the people who attended could be matched with trainers or placed in special classes. That way people like Carl Joseph could use their energy on something productive, something that would build their self-esteem. It would be a program that would complement the daycare thing Buddy was already involved in.

  Cody eased Ace around and galloped the horse back to the barn. As he did, he was struck by a thought—something that proved the accuracy of the information he’d read a long time ago in the grief book. Do the next thing, the book’s author had stated. And here—over the last few minutes—he’d done just that. He’d thought about his next move, his next career. His next passion. The book said that by doing such a thing, the memory of a lost loved one, would naturally be pushed to the side. That must’ve been true, because when he was thinking about a center for kids like Carl Joseph a surprising thing had happened. Nothing else had filled his mind.

  Not even his precious Ali.

  Chapter Five

  Elle sat with her mother at the kitchen table and tried to concentrate on their heated game of Scrabble. But Daisy’s distractions were relentless. She was dancing in the kitchen, twirling and spinning and singing a song she was making up about field trips and the steps of a bus. It was Thursday, which meant tomorrow was another field trip day. Daisy would be dancing and giggling and celebrating until bedtime.

  Field trips had that effect on her.

  “Your turn.” Her mother stood and headed toward the sink. “Elle, I’d swear your mind is somewhere else tonight. You don’t usually let me get this close in Scrabble.”

  “I’ll still beat you.” Elle leaned down and scratched Snoopy’s ears. The beagle was ten years old now, the hair around his eyes and nose more gray than brown. “I haven’t had good letters all game.”

  “Shoulda swapped ’em!” Daisy twirled past Elle’s chair. “I’d swap ’em.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Their mother poured three glasses of iced tea. She set one on the counter for Daisy and brought the other two to the table. “You ignored my observation.”

  “What?” Elle lifted her eyes and feigned innocence. “About beating me at Scrabble?”

  She raised one eyebrow. “About your mind being somewhere else.”

  “Nah. Just thinking about tomorrow’s field trip.” Elle reached for her tea and took a sip. “Thanks for the drink.”

  “Tomorrow’s field trip!” Daisy jumped in the air, both hands straight out in front of her. She began to hum. “I could’ve danced all night . . . I could’ve danced all night.”

  Their mother looked doubtful. “Where are you going?” She raised her voice so she could be heard over Daisy’s gleeful singing.

  “The park and out to lunch. Everyone’s bringing money.” Elle took four of her letter tiles and built the word “guilty” down along a double-word square. She grinned at her mother. “There. That should put me ahead.”

  Daisy stopped, out of breath, and dropped to the chair next to Elle. “Do you like bull riders, Elle?”

  Elle looked at her sister and blinked. What was the fascination with bull riders lately? Ever since Carl Joseph mentioned his brother and how the guy had ridden bulls, Daisy brought it up nearly every day. “Not particularly.”

  Their mother leaned on her elbows and looked from Elle to Daisy. “How’d you hear about bull riders?”

  “From CJ.” Daisy beamed. “His brother’s a bull rider.”

  Elle gave her mother a side glance and the slightest shake of her head. With her eyes she conveyed her doubt. “He’s probably an accountant or something. Just moved back to the Springs.”

  “He’s a bull rider.” Shock and indignation filled Daisy’s face. “I said he’s a bull rider and he’s a bull rider.”

  “Okay.” Elle patted her sister’s hand. “He’s a bull rider.”

  Daisy took a long drink of her iced tea. One ice cube plopped onto the table, and she quickly picked it up and dropped it back into her cup. “You didn’t see that, okay, Elle? But he is a bull rider.” She finished her tea with three big swallows and stood.

  When she was out of earshot, Elle whispered toward her mot
her: “And I’m a ballerina.”

  Her mother smiled. “It doesn’t really matter.”

  “Except Daisy’s all caught up in the idea of bull riders now. Today at class Carl Joseph wore a cowboy hat and announced that he was taking up bull riding and one day he’d be a world champion like his brother.” She made an exasperated face. “It’s getting a little out of hand.”

  “I could’ve danced all night . . .” Daisy spun around the kitchen counter and into the living room. “I could’ve danced all night.”

  Her mother grinned. “Watch this.” She used six of her tiles with the word “sugars,” placing the s at the end of “cage” and racking up points for both words. “That should seal it.”

  “Okay, okay.” Elle added her mother’s points to the score sheet. “I have to let you win once in a while. Otherwise you won’t play.”

  “So”—her mother leaned back and ran her fingers along the damp sides of her iced tea glass—“is this bull rider brother guy single?”

  “Mother . . .” Frustration poked pins at Elle’s mood. “You promised.”

  Daisy skipped up to the table. “His wife was a horse rider. That’s how he met her.”

  “Oh.” Their mother sounded almost guilty. “So he’s a married bull rider.”

  Elle was surprised, but not because she cared particularly. She hadn’t heard about the guy’s wife until now. “They’re all married.” Elle stared at her letters. “And that suits me fine. I’m not looking for a relationship, Mom.” She lifted her eyes. “Remember?”

  “I know. It’s just . . .” Her mother checked the Scrabble board. “You need more than Thursday night Scrabble with us. You have your whole life ahead of you, Elle. I keep thinking God’s going to bring the right man into your life, but weeks turn into months, months turn into years—and still nothing.” Discouragement filled her tone. “It isn’t right.”

  “You know what?” Elle met her mother’s gaze straight on. “People think my students are handicapped. They look different, so they’re disabled.” Her voice fell and she looked at the board again. “But all of us are handicapped one way or another.” She looked up. “The men I’ve met don’t know how to love. Or they’re married and looking for a cheap affair. That’s more disabled than Daisy or Carl Joseph. Don’t you think?”

  Her mother sighed. “You’re jaded, Elle. You had one bad experience.”

  “One?” She looked at her mother, astonished. “I got left at the altar on my wedding day! That’s a little different.”

  “I’m just saying, you can’t condemn all men because of what happened.” Her mom sounded tentative, as if she knew she was pushing the subject a little too hard. “I’ll drop it, but please, Elle . . . maybe talk to someone at church. Broken hearts are meant to be healed.”

  Elle had a standard answer when people asked her about love. She steeled herself against the pain and smiled at her mother. “I’ve said it before. If I’m supposed to fall in love, it’ll have to find me. Grab me around the neck and sit me down face-to-face. Because I’m no longer looking.”

  Daisy pushed a button on the CD player that sat on the kitchen counter. Waltz music filled the room, and she leaned her head back, overcome with joy. “I wish CJ was here.” She swept around the table and held out her hand. “Come on, Elle. Dance with me.”

  The Dalton girls had always danced. Daisy’s love for music and movement was probably the reason she didn’t struggle with her weight the way so many people with Down Syndrome did. Elle took her sister’s hand, stood, and began waltzing around the table. As they did, Daisy laughed the open-hearted, no-holds-barred laugh she was known for.

  Her happiness was contagious, and Elle began to giggle. Never mind that her mother wouldn’t give up on hoping she’d find a man. She’d already been down that road. This life—the one she lived at home with Daisy and her mom, the one she lived each day with her students—was fulfilling enough.

  Snoopy stood and stretched and fell into line behind them. As they waltzed into the living room, he followed, and that made Daisy laugh harder. “Snoopy is a dancer! He’s a dancer, Mom!”

  “Yes, he is.” Their mother stood and moved in time to the music. When she reached Elle and Daisy, she waltzed close to the beagle. “Snoopy’s my partner this time.”

  Round and around the room they went, and Elle relished the feeling. When the song ended, they were all breathless from dancing and laughing. Daisy plopped down on the sofa and called Snoopy to her side. “Time for movie night.”

  “You’re right.” Elle went to the kitchen, found a bag of popcorn, and slipped it into the microwave. “Ten minutes to show time.”

  The movie that night was Sweet Home Alabama, starring Reese Witherspoon. Only a few minutes in, Reese’s character daydreamed about a long-lost childhood love, and Elle felt the familiar ache in her chest. She could dismiss her mother’s concern and laugh about the idea of needing more than she already had. But deep inside there was no denying the obvious. She had tried love once and failed. Badly.

  Even if she were looking, she’d never find the sweet, guileless love that lived every day in the eyes of her students, a love built on honesty and transparency, a love strong enough to tear down the walls around her heart. Only that sort of love was worth letting go of her independence and trusting one more time. And that was the problem. Outside of Daisy’s world, that sort of love wasn’t just rare.

  It was nonexistent.

  THE FIELD TRIP to Antlers Park was in full swing, and Elle was proud of the way her students were handling their time in public. The bus ride had gone smoothly, all of the students demonstrating their ability to show their passes and stay seated until the appropriate stop. As always, Daisy led the way, with Carl Joseph right behind her.

  Once in a while, Elle would watch the two of them and wonder what the future held. Daisy would be ready for independent living sometime in the next few months. Even now she could be successful, though Elle wanted to be sure Daisy understood her medical needs—monthly checkups because of her weak heart. She also needed a job. Already Elle was helping Daisy put together a resume.

  The problem was Carl Joseph. He wouldn’t be ready for at least another year. And with his epilepsy, his parents were thinking about pulling him from the program. When she tried to talk to Daisy about the situation, her sister only smiled and said, “I won’t move out until CJ can move out.”

  Elle watched them now, Daisy and Carl Joseph, arms linked. They were at the front of the group, heading down a walkway toward Engine 168, the historic railroad car that had been placed in the park decades ago. It was a point of interest—something Elle wanted her students to understand.

  She thought about her sister again. One of these days she’d have to sit down with Carl Joseph’s parents and try to convince them. Epilepsy was fairly common for people with Down Syndrome. With the right medication and regular checkups, Carl Joseph could live an independent life even with his condition. Maybe they’d be more open to a group home setting where Carl Joseph and Daisy could live in the same complex. Not as some sort of romantic set-up, but as the best friends they’d come to be. For now, anyway.

  They were twenty yards from the railroad car when Gus began to gallop around in circles. “We’re going on a train . . . Hey, everyone, look!” He laughed loud and long and bobbed his head several times. “We’re going on a train!”

  Sid gave his classmate a disgusted look. He marched to the front of the railroad car and pointed at the ground. “Yeah, but no tracks.” He shouted in Elle’s direction. “See, Teacher. No tracks.”

  “No tracks is very dangerous.” Carl Joseph stopped and looked around. “What’s going to happen if no tracks for the train, Teacher?”

  Elle held up her hands. “Everyone come here.”

  Slowly, with a variety of response times, the group formed a half circle around her. Sid was still mumbling something about the whole day being a disaster because no train could run without tracks. Elle waited until they were mostly
quiet. “We are not going on a train today.”

  Gus pointed at the railroad car. “There it is, Teacher. That’s the train.”

  “That’s part of the park.” She spoke loud enough for all of them to hear. Her tone was rich with compassion and confidence. “Today is a park day. The train is part of the park.”

  She had chosen Antlers Park intentionally, because she knew the sight of a full-size railroad car in the park would be enough to throw most of them. This was why they took field trips, so they could work through everyday obstacles on the quest for living an independent life. She motioned to the group. “Follow me.”

  When they reached the train, Elle positioned herself near a sign and directed them to come as close as they could. “This is a marker, a sign that explains why a train is here in the middle of the park. Who would like to read it?”

  Daisy had her hand up first. About a third of the students could read, but Daisy was easily the most skilled. Their mother had worked hours each week making sure her youngest daughter could read—and she’d done it at a time when conventional wisdom held that a person with Down Syndrome might not be capable of such a feat.

  It was one more area where Carl Joseph was far behind Daisy.

  Daisy stepped to the front of the group and bent over the sign. Her eyes were worse than they’d been a year ago. She needed to squint in order to make out the words. But one line at a time she read the message on the sign out loud to the class. When she reached the part about the railroad car being a gift to the people of Colorado Springs, something to commemorate the railroad’s part in the founding of the city, Gus waved his arms.

  “I get it!” He pointed at the train. “It’s a tourist trap. My mom told me about tourist traps.”