Nearly Canaan

By Jnana Hodson

Jaya was a fast-rising star in Manhattan's world of financing for nonprofit enterprises when she left it all to live on a yoga ashram in the mountains. Returning to her career two years later, she finds the job market's changed. The best she can do is take a promising position in Prairie Depot and teach yoga in her free time.
Not in her plan is the hot teen working part-time in the corner restaurant she frequents. He's unlike anyone in her past, and she's soon smitten by his relentless pursuit. Josh — or Schuwa, as she's soon calling him — turns more than her head. He changes her direction. Rather than returning to the Big Apple or the ashram, they dream of moving to the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest.
When they eventually make that happen, though, instead of rain forests and waterfronts, they're surrounded by desert, a land of irrigated ribbons of apple orchards and wild asparagus. It's an alien landscape of tawny foothills that rise over their backyard. In the distance is a long wall of Cascade mountains, with a snow-capped head towering over all, and an Indian reservation in between.
While Jaya is engulfed in running social service ventures that serve migrant workers and low-income families, Schuwa lurches about in search of his own identity.
They're not exactly alone. She's become the wise woman for two other couples her husband's age. Together they participate in a spiritual circle of kindred souls and, in various combinations as time permits, explore the steep mountains and exotic destinations beyond. She's the one figure linking them all. She even expands the sexual repertoire of more than just Schuwa.
It's a lot for her to carry. Jaya finds comfort in the natural world around her, especially as the vivid geography and its arid climate take shape as a breathing personality embracing them.
Still, no matter how peaceful things may look, watch out. Their new world can be cruel.
Under it all, each partner in the three young marriages has reasons for dissatisfaction. While Jaya and two other spouses work grueling hours, there's no job security. Meanwhile, Schuwa and the remaining spouses grow restless in their own limbo. Something unnamed remains missing, even as they settle into their astonishing landscape.
Beneath one pristine summit just over the horizon, pressure keeps mounting. As for their own lives? They're soon all in a race for survival.
At last, far from their roots, the volcano explodes.
In the tragedy that follows, they must pick up the pieces as best they can. The central figure, of course, remains Jaya. Where would they go without her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jnana Hodson
• Release date: Feb 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463812464

Jnana Hodson

It’s been a while since I’ve been known by my Hawaiian shirts and tennis shoes, at least in summer. Winters in New England are another matter.For four decades, my career in daily journalism paid the bills while I wrote poetry and fiction on the side. More than a thousand of those works have appeared in literary journals around the globe.My name, bestowed on me when I dwelled in a yoga ashram in the early ‘70s, is usually pronounced “Jah-nah,” a Sanskrit word that becomes “gnosis” in Greek and “knowing” in English. After two decades of residing in a small coastal city near both the Atlantic shoreline and the White Mountains northeast of Boston, the time's come to downsize. These days I'm centered in a remote fishing village with an active arts scene on an island in Maine. From our window we can even watch the occasional traffic in neighboring New Brunswick or lobster boats making their rounds.My wife and two daughters have prompted more of my novels than they’d ever imagine, mostly through their questions about my past and their translations of contemporary social culture and tech advances for a geezer like me. Rest assured, they’re not like any of my fictional characters, apart from being geniuses in the kitchen.Other than that, I'm hard to pigeonhole -- and so is my writing.

Book preview

NEARLY CANAAN

With an enduring promise

of snowy mountains

. . . . .

A novel by Jnana Hodson

. . . . .

Copyright 2019, 2015, and 2014 by the author

Dover, New Hampshire, USA

Cover photo by bbtomas via Shutterstock

Thank you for selecting this story. Please remember this ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please order an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Table of contents

. . . . .

PART I: JAYA

Where the tracks cross

Sweeter than incense

Into the thicket

With expectations of goat milk and almond honey

The good earth herself

Just like the mountain

PART II: KATE

PART III: LUCY

AFTERTONES: WENDY

About the author and more

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PART I: JAYA

. . . . .

That it may be well with thee …

as the LORD God of thy fathers hath promised thee,

in the land that floweth with milk and honey —

Deuteronomy 6:3

= + =

Where the tracks cross

. . . . .

In the beginning, she should have known. As they said in Prairie Depot, You're new in town, aren't you?

As her fellow yogis cautioned, quoting Zen, If you want to keep an ox, get a big field.

Or, in the French-Canadian version, When you get a bear by the tail, you go where the bear wants to go. Even if it's just a cub.

So she smiled and voiced her hello. Promised herself she'd remain a good nun and not get romantically involved. In this outpost, as she quickly perceived, girls tie the knot straight out of high school and then, well, there's the gossip. As for the guys, it's a tour in the U.S. Army or Marines, but the result's the same, coming home and going to work at the foundry or the crankshaft factory or out on the farm, mostly. Jaya had bigger plans, ones that included a rigorous self-discipline that would occupy most of her spare time. Here she was back out in the world, trying to her feet on the ground again, embarking on a job that offered her professional experiences a larger operation wouldn't allow her for another decade, if at all. She hoped to take those skills and move on — and upward — rapidly. At the moment, she opened the menu and let her thoughts of the office fall away.

Just how could she explain any of this in a way that would make sense to anyone else? How she'd graduated with a degree in business administration and gone on to earn an MBA while applying those skills to the world of nonprofit organizations from a perch in Manhattan. Or how she'd chanced upon a yoga class that changed everything, leading her eventually to resign and retreat to a forest where she could concentrate full-time on the ancient exercises transforming her life. She hadn't foreseen how mystical lessons that included standing on her head could be as thoroughly down to earth as they were in her teacher's hands, but her eyes and her heart opened to everything around her as she lived in a small circle of kindred souls around a wood-fired stove and baked bread and weeded the garden. All of that now seemed so far behind her and so many miles away as she embarked on the next stage of her dharma. She'd been warned this next phase would be difficult, her career becoming holy service in a secular society accompanied by introducing their simple physical bending and stretching to a remote pocket of America. She'd be surrounded by temptations; that much she knew. As her spiritual mentor had winked, Don't sleep with anybody you wouldn't marry. Screwing around would simply present too many compromises and complications for somebody dedicated to upholding eternal truths. What she clearly realized was at her age, a physical relationship here would likely be with a married man, and that, as she could see, wouldn't be worth it.

She had her plate full enough as it was. The broad farmlands around Prairie Depot hadn't been on her radar when she reapplied to the job market, only to find that opportunities had vanished in an economic downturn. Anyone else might view her landing at this railroad junction as an accident, but Jaya sensed an inward calling she'd already followed in one orthodox leap now responding to an invitation to assist migrant workers and their families. The one who introduced himself as Gunslinger had finagled a grant to launch a pilot program and already opened a modest office when Jaya came aboard as second-in-command. Her assignment, quite simply, was to make it work. No one had to tell her she had a lot to learn — a lot of responsibility to assume quickly.

Who could blame her if she didn't have time to cook?

Her third night in town, as the wait staff zipped about in the crowded restaurant on the main corner downtown, she noticed the playful intensity of one waiter in particular. Unlike the four waitresses, who were simply rushed, he seemed to thrive under pressure. He worked hard, there one moment, silently poised, and gone in a blink. After a grueling day at her new job, Jaya found observing his movement an entertaining diversion. Seconds later, he'd reappear in a swirl of starched white shirt and apron and hover nearby, like a dragonfly. He knew the trade, yet he also possessed what she saw as an air of innocence. Maybe it was just a small-town upbringing, but it was a refreshing change from the urban glitz now behind her.

Jaya rather envied him that openness. As a twenty-five-year-old single woman from away, as they'd say, she had to be cautious and watch what she said. Everywhere she went, she could feel their eyes on her, not just because of her waist-length chestnut hair or lithe figure or mysterious, devilishly serious chocolate-mousse eyes, either. To most of the women, she was a threat, a potential predator. And for many of the men, she was a new game to play, if she would. That was even before they got to the fact she was a sophisticated alien from the East Coast and something of what they'd consider a hippie, despite her professional identity. She could rub up wrong against them in a thousand wrong ways, all at unexpected moments. And that could backfire, when it came to her ambitions.

She could tell from their seemingly casual conversations. You married? was soon followed by Divorced? and then their puzzled looks when she answered both No, never. She could tell what they were thinking, A beautiful woman like you ... As if they would understand. In the meantime, it would make invitations awkward in a social landscape of couples only. Or the events for families with children.

She resolved to make do.

Her head kept filling with calculations of the most effective ways to apply her agency's funding. Simply defining the target audience was difficult, much less connecting with its populace. Who were the appropriate officials to approach, what services were already available but remained untapped, even the matter of just who would be threatened by her appearance on what they perceived as their turf? One thing she didn't have was an expense account. No way. This would be a bare-boned operation.

Her waiter was oblivious to all of this, and she found herself grateful. He was young, one of the afterschool and weekend part-timers who kept Robinsons running breakfast, lunch, and dinner six days a week — and closed Sundays. The rest of the crew was family — brothers, sisters, in-laws, and the kids.

Jaya could see how essential a restaurant like Robinsons was as an anchor to a wider community. It was a place to meet friends or have a business discussion. There was the early morning Liars Club — tables shoved together where the mayor and police chief regularly sat with the bank president, real estate brokers, insurance agents, the newspaper editor, and other chieftains in what appeared to be light repartee. A stream of construction workers would pick up coffee and pastries to go. Midmorning and mid-afternoon was often tea when the girls got together, usually in twos or threes for some animated chitchat. Lunch was mostly downtown workers on break or people coming to town on errands. And evening served a number of elderly, as well as couples and families out and about. It was a place Jaya felt safe in observing the dynamics of the city and its surrounding countryside. Besides, the food was much better than what was served at the other place, the diner at the other end of Prairie Depot's three-block downtown, or anyplace out on the strip.

As she watched, she saw that he had lively blue eyes, as well as allergic rings beneath them. His blond hair covered the ears and was longer than most boys wore in this town. But it was hardly ready for a ponytail — nothing like many of those she knew back east. Even so, Robinsons made him wear it in a hairnet. State health regulations, he sniffed. No more exemptions for males. He was a little taller than average, and maybe a little less insecure than she'd expect of a teen.

To be honest, he was something of a charmer and a bit of a tease, too.

The next afternoon, as she sat at the cafe counter, he came over to take her order and growled, Make it snappy. I haven't got all day, you know. I have other tables to take care of. Looking around, Jaya noticed she was the only customer. The early birds had cleared out.

I'm glad you said 'tables' and not 'customers,' she laughed.

Assolutely, he grinned. He was one of those rare individuals who really could smile ear to ear. His eyes lit up, too. When he was serious, his mouth became a tiny pucker. So, you're new in town?

I see news here gets around fast. That can be dangerous.

He smiled again. Just watch what you say, he said, nodding toward the bosomy creature who had previously waited on Jaya. So what will it be? Our special's shit on a shingle. He shrugged, Just don't tell my boss I called it that. But you know, hot roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy.

Sorry, I'm vegetarian. She expected a squabble.

Instead, he replied: How about that! So am I! Wondering just how much he could know about such matters in a frontier outpost like this, she asked, Eat seafood? Or are you especially strict?

That caught him. I eat fish. He practically whispered. That's OK, isn't it?

Well, if you want to be a nitpicker, it's still flesh. But, starting to say, As Swami says, Jaya broke off, realizing she'd have to explain her guru — something she didn't feel ready to do quite yet. Yes, this waiter was right: Jaya would definitely have to watch what she said around here. Even so, her Swami would argue that because we're Americans and have the backgrounds we do, a bit of seafood from time to time is acceptable. As a supplement to our diets, maybe. I'll have the haddock, Jaya announced.

The dinner? With fries or mashed potatoes?

Mashed, butter, no gravy. There would probably be plenty of time to explain about Swami later, if necessary.

He smiled again. We make the Real McCoy. Nowadays, most places use instant, but we have a lady who comes in first thing every morning and peels a pile of potatoes to whip up a big batch. That's from scratch. We're usually out by now, but you're in luck.

Maybe Jaya was in luck in more ways than one.

The restaurant began filling as a second crowd arrived for dinner. That cut into their time to chat. Nevertheless, after watching he go about his business and observing two quite distinct personalities, Jaya blurted out: Are you a Sagittarius? Or a Pisces? Despite the dissimilarities of those two astrological signs, he really did exhibit aspects of each, no matter how contradictory.

Sagittarius, he replied. How'd you know?

Just lucky, I guess.

No doubt about it. There was something earnest and open about him — trusting and bounding with energy. To say nothing of playful. She also saw him flashing an instinctive style, despite his small-town upbringing. On top of it all, he came across as hardworking and sincere. Still, she sensed in him an underlying mystery waiting to be awakened. Any wonder they were attracted?

It was time for introductions.

My name's Jaya, she said. In case you hadn't heard. What's yours?

Josh, he beamed. That's what most people call me. It's short for …

Joshua, right?

Not exactly. Formally, it's Jehoshua, the Hebrew version.

He didn't exactly look Jewish, nothing like New York, for sure. Yehoshua, eh? The plot was thickening.

Friday night, he waited on her again. This time, between customers, he was able to tell her about some of the regulars, like the old woman wearing sack dresses who get upset whenever her water glass contained ice. She says she's allergic to it. So one time we made sure the new waitress got her. We all watched her take a glass of ice water over and get chewed out. We just stood in the corner, laughing. We'd all gone through it. Uh-huh. Some initiation. That old woman's hard of hearing, too. Oh, and when I was new here, I served coffee to another woman and gave her a bill. She was amused no end. Then I was told she's co-owner of the restaurant. There was another time when your boss, meaning the Gunfighter, asked for toast and a bit later, thinking I hadn't heard, asked again. I yelled back, 'I know, I know. It's coming, damn it!' He thought it hilarious and even told my father. But Dad saw it otherwise. He read me the riot act but good when I got home that night. Told me I need to show a lot more respect for my elders. And to watch my language.

Jaya wondered if he considered her one of those elders. After all, she'd been out of college four years now, and he was just a high school senior. A church-run school senior, at that.

But she should have noticed other things, as well. The way the locals beside her at the counter deflected her questions while prying into her own background. The way the town turned its back not just on outsiders but on many of its own while shrouding others in protective secrecy. Or how when she sat down in the evening or on Saturday, she was almost always served by Josh rather than the others. Not that she minded. After all, she felt welcome and his presence was somehow comforting.

The local attorney: You married?

No, but it's a friendly town. She didn't want to give the wrong impression. She'd already been warned about the professional photographer, who had come home from abroad and established a flourishing studio. The one who, as they said, was a lifelong bachelor.

Yeah, that's the problem. Everybody comes here winds up getting married. Well, almost everybody.

The waitresses were already telling Josh: You two will wind up getting married.

Especially the one who had first said to him: You should see her eyes!

But she's too old, he argued. What would she ever see in me? She's been places in the world. I've never been anywhere.

Even so, to put it briefly, maybe he was just rising to the challenge.

For her part, Jaya got to the weekend exhausted. Had she really thrown all of her possessions into the Volkswagen and headed off into the heartland to decamp in a crossing where she knew nobody? The reality was sinking in. She had all the new names to remember, especially those at the office, for starters, and all the new routines. It had been a year-and-a-half since she'd held a regular job, too. The period in-between, a time of strict living and hard work at Swami's farm, the place they called the ashram, was different. Even her new apartment, a simple loft over a storefront on Market Street, was not yet familiar. Where the hell was she, after all? Which way was true north?

Jaya slept fitfully, tormented by dark dreams. She awoke feeling lonely but meditated and did her exercises hoping they might turn her emotional tide. She crossed the street to Robinsons and had pancakes, served by the Pole. Josh had the day off.

She returned to her apartment, an empty space except for her sleeping bag and the boxes, plus her clothes on the rack in the closet and the small altar she'd erected in one corner. The place was cheap, for good reason. She sat with her back against the wall and began listing work to be done and items she'd need: a tall stepladder, to allow her to rip away the ceiling panel that covered the skylight where she could hang houseplants; a large table and a few chairs; a bookshelf; bits of carpeting. She'd have to clean and coat the hardwood flooring, as well as repaint the walls and ceiling. As for colors? She'd have to decide. For now, it was one step at a time, especially since she was short of cash and her salary, once the checks started, was hardly generous. At least she'd learned simplicity in the ashram.

A gray, rainy Saturday did nothing for her dour mood. She drew a hot, deep bath, added eucalyptus oil to the water, and stepped in. As she soaked, she felt some of the tension loosen. If only she weren't so restless, as she reminded herself before washing her hair and shaving her legs. She had to admit, they were lovely and, in many ways, unappreciated. If only?

As she dried herself, she stopped to look in the medicine cabinet mirror. She had to dab the steam from its surface, in fact, but even the blurry image had her asking herself, How long had it been? The ashram had been celibate, of course, and before that was the broken engagement. Who was counting? Anything's a lifetime when you're in your early twenties. It's not that she couldn't walk into a bar and pick up anybody she wanted. Jaya knew that would be no problem. Rather, she had taken a vow to be faithful to a larger vision and her move here had been simply to sustain that. In the ashram, at least, she had been surrounded by likeminded souls, but here she was all alone, apart from the Devi spirits who traveled with her. Sometimes, as they say, you need your saints with the flesh attached. Jaya, you're wavering, she told herself.

So just who was this Jehoshua? What were his dreams? What was his story? He seemed pleasant and charming enough. Maybe I can handle him as a younger brother?

She thought about the steps that landed her here. She was born in Cambridge, overlooking Boston, and had lived in Pittsburgh and Chicago and outside Seattle before attending a boarding school near Philadelphia and then moving to Manhattan and on to the ashram. No wonder she felt momentarily like a fish out of water. As all of the mixed emotions of her past surged to her awareness, Jaya was undeniably flooded by an immense loneliness. Here, on her first weekend in her strange little city, there was nowhere to turn, except inward. She thought about selecting a church to enter for worship on Sunday morning, but backed off. For one thing, people would talk; they'd assume it was part of her identity or, if she didn't continue there, feel rejected and hurt. No, there would be no visiting yet, not until she could lay out the ground rules, I'm visiting all of the congregations in town. Besides, it would feel like too much of a confrontation with the Hindu-based spirituality she was now practicing.

But Sunday afternoon became impossible. She couldn't stay put in the apartment, even though she had her avocation to attend to. The only reason she even held a paying job was to support herself while investing her spare time in an intensely personal and essential work, the one Swami dubbed the Dedicated Laborious Quest. Or Da-ed-ah-cate-ahd, Lah-boh-ray-ass, Ka-west, in his dialect. Yes, she needed to catch up on her practice, but her mind was too jittery.

Once more, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, the only mirror she owned, in fact, apart from a small one on a compact. This time, she was mesmerized. Could barely move. Who was this gorgeous woman looking back at her? Mirrors were essentially banned from the ashram, where the focus was on inner beauty rather than superficial appearances. But there she could rely on others to correct anything too out of place. How long had it been, anyway, since she had really looked at herself? Now she began seeing flaws. The beginnings of wrinkles. A pimple. Should she start using a moisturizer again or simply look for a richer natural lotion?

She didn't have to be told she was beautiful. She had olive Mediterranean skin, a full mouth, good teeth. Intense blue doe eyes. Her figure was shapely and well toned. She parted her long, straight black hair down the middle, at least when she wore it down. What would she do with it today?

The face looking back at her could have asked Jaya if she'd made a huge mistake in relocating here. Maybe even in her leap to the ashram or some of her decisions before that. There were good reasons, of course, she was feeling out of place.

She was grateful for the plush terrycloth bathrobe she wore with knee-length thick wool socks and, at the moment, nothing else. She could use a sense of luxury today. Or at least comfort. She peeled herself from the mirror and walked to the closet and noticed how dirty its window was. She made a note to herself to wash all three windows in her apartment before she hung the cafe curtains that would provide her both daylight and privacy.

She then surveyed her wardrobe, once again aware just how much her style had changed since her move to the ashram. She'd kept little more than some jewelry from the years before that. On the farm, she'd worn mostly jeans and random shirts and sweaters — in fact, there was a lot of swapping from a common pile, if you could find anything that fit. Now, though, she was back in the world and needed a more professional appearance.

On hangers were two blouses, two skirts, two pairs of slacks (one dressy, one jeans), and one dress that covered everything. She also had a pea coat and a dressy raincoat. Stacked were three sweaters, three T-shirts, and the sweatshirt and sweatpants she wore for yoga. She also had a pair of low heels, a pair of dressy boots, a pair of men's style hiking boots, one pair of sandals, and a pair of sneakers. Apart from her lingerie, there was nothing colorful, patterned, frilly, or revealing. And that was it, as far as what some people would look at as her life.

She wondered how long she could get away with that simple rotation before everyone caught on. Some accessories might extend this for a while. I really should get some scarves, she told herself. Yes, a few scarves, for starters. But that, in turn, had her asking where she might find something suitably tasteful around here. Nothing synthetic, for sure. And nothing expensive.

She had no idea how long it had been since she'd felt so dissatisfied. This was different from the chafing that had ultimately led to her departure from the ashram. Some of it, she ventured, could be simple exhaustion from a first week on a new job, when everything demands extreme attention. And maybe some of it was a consequence of having to appear ever so conservative in this small-town fishbowl. That wasn't in her true nature, at all.

She slipped from the bathrobe and hung it in the closet. Grabbed her jeans and put them on, with nothing underneath. She could at least secretly feel a bit wild. Selected a cotton sweater and put it on, with nothing underneath except her mala necklace with its 108 sandalwood prayer beads. Then it was her hiking boots and pea coat.

She settled on a pair of silver spiral earrings and a blue-and-red striped headband before she headed for the door and descended the staircase. The sky was still overcast.

At last, venturing out for a long walk — and she knew it would be long — she passed through the downtown and, at the Y intersection at its far end, chose to go left, past the contemporary limestone library and the ivy-covered brick hospital and the three blocks of prime Victorian residences that still exuded some social prestige. Her mind, though, was still restless, and rather than reflecting on her new job or the ways it might engage the surrounding community, she kept wondering where he could be, what he would be up to on a day like today, whether he was with his family or his friends or his girlfriend, assuming. This town couldn't be that big. The Ivy League college where she'd earned her degree had an enrollment nearly the size of this railroads-and-factories municipality, and it was set in a livelier downtown.

Under the bare-branched maples and oaks, she watched her boots on the sidewalk more than anything else.

In the midst of her scattered reverie, a bright red hatchback squealed to a halt beside her. As Jaya turned to look, the driver hit the gas and jerked into a driveway just ahead. One glance told her everything. Intuitively, she walked around and slid in the passenger side.

Go ahead, just hop on in, Josh grinned. The high-performance car had appeared out of nowhere on a nearly empty street.

I was thinking of calling a taxi, she said. But I wasn't sure you have any in this town.

There's one, maybe two, he answered. So, where do you want to go?

I don't know. What's there to see? Oh, go ahead, give me the grand tour. Anything but downtown.

Sure thing.

He'd been trying to get her sole attention all week, and now that he had it, he had no idea what to do. Grand tour? There was no hint of sarcasm in her voice, but Prairie Depot was no tourist destination.

Well, I could take you to a museum … if we had one. Or for a walk along the river … if we had one. Or the three funeral parlors, for introductions. Don't suppose you want to hike along some train tracks?

She thought about saying Some other time, but responded, No, not today, instead.

Just drive around for a while. I've only been on the marked highways. Show me some back roads.

If he had listened carefully, he might have noticed her bitchy undertone hinted the jig was up. This was no mere coincidence.

He caught a whiff of her aroma. You smell good. I like your perfume. What's it called?

Thanks. It's eucalyptus, an oil made from tree leaves. But it's not a perfume.

Oh, it still smells good. I like it. Where's it from?

Northern California. Ever been there?

No. And you?

Yes. Once. I used to live north of there.

Oh. I thought you were from the East Coast.

Where'd you hear that? She didn't think she'd told him anything about herself yet, especially in their ever so brief exchanges while he was waiting on her table or the counter.

Uh, in a town like this, the word gets around.

I see. You sure it's safe for you to be seen with me?

We'll be careful.

There was something devilish in his glance, and she felt a delightful shiver.

This was her first opportunity to observe him outside the restaurant — and to examine him at length. Gone were the black pants, starched white shirt and apron, and hairnet. Instead, he now wore a sky-blue V-neck sweater over a dark green henley, plus jeans and chukkas. He had the heat on in the car, but she hesitated before slipping from her coat. Maybe he wouldn't notice.

The radio was on but not loud, tuned to a top-forties AM station. Hope you don't mind. The only other things that seem to come in around here is country or Christian, and you just didn't seem the type.

She smiled slyly. He was planning on what I'd like, even before he found me?

This time, since he didn't have to keep dashing away to the kitchen, she was able to study his profile, especially the long curve of his nose and his arched eyebrow. His hair was darker than she remembered, except for a few light streaks, but it was still unquestionably blond.

What struck her the most, though, apart from the large hands he had on the steering wheel, was his baby-soft skin, even with its promise of stubble. She found this fawnlike aspect curiously appealing and realized how much he masked with sarcastic comments, which gave him a tough-guy facade as long as you didn't look closer.

The one thing he wasn't doing was turning to look at her, except very, very briefly, as if to assure himself she was still there.

As they drove through the countryside out from town, he pointed to landmarks. The enamel artist's shed and studio. A barn where the farmer had hanged himself. The oil tank city. A railroad crossing where two classmates had been killed. A cemetery lane lined with parallel rows of poplars. Most of all, she noticed the unrelenting flatness of the fields. These roads ran arrow-straight. In the blackest soil imaginable, drainage canals had clay-tile portholes.

So how did you wind up as a waiter?

Oh, I kind of fell into it. I started out as a busboy, but I watched closely to see how everything worked. And one Saturday morning, one of the girls called in sick and they were busy so I jumped in and must have impressed them. I got the next opening.

But you're the only guy.

For now. But not the first. There have been a few others.

From what I've seen, you're a hard worker. And self-motivated. That's good.

Thanks. You can blame my parents, I guess. They're strict.

These your wheels?

No, the car's Mama's. She lets me use it.

Jaya thought about the racy car. Strict but still fun-loving?

So you're living at home?

Yeah, for now.

Any siblings?

Three sisters, two of them married. I'm the youngest.

That must be rough, not just being the only boy in the brood, but the baby in the bunch, too. Did they all fawn over you?

Not really, and nobody's accused me of being spoiled. But I guess you learn. At least I wasn't always getting beaten up like some of the other guys I know. You know, the ones with the bigger brothers.

They fell silent as she digested what he'd just told her. She was definitely on unfamiliar ground.

She turned from him and began counting mailboxes along the road. Most of them were the standard metal ones with half-dome doors, some larger than others, and many with yellow and green newspaper tubes beneath. Some, though, were personally expressive. One was a milking can turned on its side. Another replicated the cow itself, while another was a converted plastic piggy bank and yet one more celebrated a small Volkswagen microbus. While most of the mailboxes stood as solitary sentinels, others came in pairs, and then there were the banks of boxes with a gravel road heading off toward trailers, usually.

From time to time fenced fields circled hogs or beef cattle, mostly. Sometimes, goats or sheep. She hadn't yet seen any horses.

She looked back, he resumed the conversation.

I started working at Robinsons through my sister back when she was a waitress. Before she got married. It seemed more reliable than mowing lawns or raking leaves or shoveling snow, which I continued to do anyway.

So what are you doing with all that money? Or am I being too nosy?

He laughed. I'm saving most of it, for someday. And my parents make me tithe.

Tithe?

Yeah, give ten percent to our church. It's a requirement, actually, and as they say, as long as I'm living under their roof ...

Yeah, it always seems to come back to money. She chuckled lightly. So what do you want to do with the rest of your life? Stick around here?

I don't know. I've never been anyplace else, but I think I'd like to travel. See mountains, see the ocean, see some big cities. He swallowed hard. You know, even though I was born and raised here, I never feel I quite fit in. No idea why, I just don't.

Well, I've lived all over and still know the feeling. Closest I've come, she started to say Swami and ashram and had second thoughts. Even farm as something other than the big commercial agricultural factories they were passing would be difficult to explain briefly. Closest I came was a small household where I lived before coming here. I'll tell you about it another time. So there you go, she thought — promising to see him again or at least continue an in-depth conversation. Still, he had her curiosity. So what makes you say you don't feel you fit in? she said. Some days I look around and think everybody looks the same here.

Somehow, that caught him off guard. Looks the same?

Yeah, like it's two or three huge families. You rarely see blacks or Asians or Native Americans.

You need to look closer. There are a lot of Mexicans out working the fields. Or will be, come summer.

She decided against telling him they were the reason she'd come to Prairie Depot.

What about college?

What about it?

Any plans?

Never thought I'd make the grade. Don't know what I'd study, anyway. I kind of like art, though. Makes me look at the world around me.

Well, that's a start. So what about the military?

Well, at least my dad's not pressing me. But that's just not me. I keep feeling I'm different.

So what are you reading these days? You know, not for school assignments, just for pleasure. You do read, don't you? It's important.

Josh hesitated. History, mostly. And biographies. Jaya, you're surprising. Nobody's ever asked me that question before.

She focused on his lips, which seemed to dance as he spoke. Their color was almost purple, at least in this overcast light. She wondered why she hadn't worn any lipstick and then how those lips would feel against hers. Cut it out, she slapped herself mentally. He's just a child, someone who can never be more than a friend.

She wondered if he was feeling a similar sort of tension. She slapped herself again mentally.

As she gazed at him once more, he kept his vision straight ahead on the road.

When I say I feel I don't fit in, I think part of it's a sense there's so much more I'm not getting. You know, something's right in front of me and I'm not seeing it.

Maybe I can help you there. That household I mentioned taught me a lot about living more fully.

I'd like to hear about it.

It's a long story. So let's just say, not yet.

She thought about its wooded mountains and their clear black streams, unlike the muddy waters or endless flatness she was viewing. She thought about its birch-filled forests, in contrast to these barren farmlands.

You must be able to see six miles in every direction, she marveled.

"It's not all this flat, he laughed. Let me show you."

They wound up at the reservoir, which included a public park on one end. Josh pulled into the lot, turned the engine off, and ran around the car to open Jaya's door. Let's take a walk. You might find this more interesting than the one you were on earlier.

She looked around and saw they were the only people present. Well, she'd come this far with him. She'd just have to trust him for the rest of the way, then.

As he led her around the water, he took her hand, tentatively at first. She took him by a single finger. Yes, his hands were large and, as the touch reminded her, he was used to work. The reservoir was mostly a large rectangle set above the surrounding landscape. The park, however, was tucked in under, in a grove along the stream. Unlike the ponds around the ashram, there was something mechanically sterile in the stack of water itself. Still, even the rippling on that surface was a relief from the high-production orientation she felt in much of the farmland they'd just passed. She wanted the earth to be magical and mystical rather than simply fruitful in season. Little by little, in his own way, he confirmed to her how much she was an alien in this strange land.

As they descended the stairs from the rim of the reservoir, she realized he was guiding her to a playground, which even in its slightly unkempt state offered her a welcome sense of familiarity. How long had it been, anyway? She broke from him and dashed over to the swing set, where she sat down and, after bouncing up and down in place, insisted he push her into motion. You have me feeling like a kid again! For the first time since she'd arrived in Prairie Depot, she was grinning, overcome by a wave of pure carefree release. And then, as he caught her, he kissed her, first gently and again insistently. She yielded for a minute, then broke away and smiled before confusion hit both of them.

Aren't we being a tad forward? she said, putting her fingers over his mouth. Stop, Josh. Please. How old are you, anyway?

Eighteen.

Well, he's legal, she thought, only slightly relieved.

And you?

Guess.

Twenty-two?

She paused, wondering if she should correct him. Good shot, she answered.

Although Jaya was maintaining a cool, composed exterior, she was on the verge of emotional collapse within. One well aimed word or look would reduce her to tears. She considered whether she should just flat out tell him he's too young. But he tasted oh-so delicious and the embrace was more than comforting. In retrospect, she realized her breasts were larger