Page 101 of Everything We Give

Caty settles back in her chair, grinning. “That nice lady over there and I have the same color eyes. And she knows all about coloring with crayons.” She picks through her crayons. “If I put these three together—brown, orange, and yellow—I can make my eye color on paper.” She shows me the crayons. Mango Tango, Sienna, and Goldenrod.

When did she color? In prison? Was it part of her therapy?

“That’s great.” My voice cracks. I look at Aimee, expectant.Tell me everything!Her eyes glisten. She rests her hand over mine on the table.

“I didn’t tell her who we are, but I asked about her job, and I asked what she likes about living here. She loves to sew. She showed me a quilt she’s working on. It’s beautiful. The stitching is intricate with a complex pattern. She’s an artist, Ian. She complained about the oppressive heat, but wouldn’t think of living elsewhere. People are kind to her here. She was kind to me and she adored Caty. She’s doing OK, Ian.” She squeezes my hand. “She’s doing more than OK.”

My throat constricts. I close my eyes and nod. Then I feel Caty’s hand cover ours.

“Are you happy now, Daddy?”

A sob barges its way into my throat and I disguise it with a rough laugh. “Yes, Caty-cakes. I’m happy now.” I clasp Aimee behind her head, my fingers digging into her scalp, and press my lips firmly to her forehead. “Thank you,” I whisper harshly into her hair. I kiss her temple, her ear. “Thank you.”

Overcome with emotion, I keep my face buried in her hair as I hold her, this woman I love who has given me so much: her hand in marriage, a family of my own, and in a way, through her, she’s brought my mother back to me. I kiss her lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Eww, no kissing in public.”

Aimee and I laugh, and together we turn to the window. We stay that way, her hand over mine, my arm around her shoulders, Caty coloring, until my mom leaves. A few minutes before six, a blue Honda pulls up to the curb in front of the dry cleaners. A brunette with large-framed sunglasses sits behind the wheel. Within moments, my mom packs up her station and leaves the dry cleaners. She smiles at the Honda’s driver and settles into the passenger seat. The driver glances over her shoulder and eases into traffic. I watch them drive away until they disappear, turning a corner one block up. I’ve seen what I came here to see today.

I scrub my face with both hands and rest my forearms on the table. “Whad’ya think? Time to go home?”

Aimee taps her chin. “I don’t know. Wearein Vegas.”

“Think we can find a suite with two bedrooms?”

She grins. “I like your line of thinking, Collins. I bet we can find a dessert buffet, too.”

Caty’s face lights up like a Vegas hotel. She claps. “Oh, yes, please. Can we stay?”

“As long as my two best gals are with me, I’ll stay anywhere.”

CHAPTER 31

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 ofNational Geographicand 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 itBeautiful Sadness. Wendy intentionally left a blank wall symbolizing my future work. I have more stories to document. The show is in celebration of my firstNational Geographicassignment, 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 theSan 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.

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