A Walk Along the Beach(27)
That morning and every one that followed, Alfonso and I were up before dawn. We spent every day together, working the herd. My headaches didn’t ease up, despite the medication I took. I woke every morning in pain. I’d thought I’d adjust to the altitude change, but as time passed, I realized it wasn’t going to happen. As best I could, I ignored the discomfort and listened to his stories.
As the weeks passed, I wrote what I’d learned and tried to understand how Alfonso’s life and the lives of the other alpaca herders were changing due to weather and climate change. It was an education.
He explained that the differences in temperature and precipitation caused frequent large storms. We endured two while I was with him. The wind howled with thunder and lightning as rain pelted the earth. One result was less grass for the animals. The topsoil eroded with the storms. The thick ice meant the alpacas couldn’t break through to eat the grass. Life was hard with or without climate change, but the challenges were more intense now than ever before. The herders were leaving, migrating into the cities, and what had once been their way of life was quickly vanishing from the landscape.
Each night as I crawled into my bed, surrounded by alpaca fiber and skins that were stacked in every spare bit of space in the tiny house, I dreamed of Willa and Oceanside. I’d never experienced a deeper sense of homesickness as I did on this trip. The primitive conditions and the constant headaches made the lure of home all the stronger.
CHAPTER 11
Willa
Sean had been gone ten days, and odd as it was, I felt like part of me was missing. I barely knew him, apparently even less than I thought I did. When Lucas excitedly announced Sean had played professional baseball, I’d been convinced it was a different Sean O’Malley. It had to be. This was something he should have, would have, told me. I assumed. Assumed wrong.
In all the lengthy conversations we’d shared, when we’d joked and laughed together, not once had Sean mentioned his time in the pros. Not. Once. For several days after I heard the news, I’d reeled, wavering between disappointment and hurt. This steady-dating business was new to me, and the fact that he was keeping secrets didn’t bode well for a meaningful relationship.
Other than a few text messages and one email I’d gotten after he landed in Bolivia, I hadn’t heard from him. He’d explained he’d be out of coverage and that I shouldn’t expect him to email or text. The first few days I was upset and grateful he was away. I needed time to think this through.
My mistake came when I decided to look him up on the Internet myself. The Sean O’Malley I found looked nothing like the Sean I’d come to know. I squinted at the photo and found it hard to believe this was my Sean. The photo was a classic baseball pose, with him leaning against a baseball bat. Everything about the picture spoke of arrogance. His look said it all: I’m talented. I’m handsome. I’m rich.
And you’re not.
I must have been seeking ways to punish myself, because I went on a search to find what I could about his romantic entanglements. It didn’t take much effort to dig up a photo of him with some girl named Nikki, who looked like a model. She was stunning. Not only was she beautiful, but tall, with a perfectly proportioned body along with boobs a stripper would envy. She knew it, too. Her cocky smile said as much. As far as I could see, they were a perfect couple.
When it came to men and relationships, I wasn’t drowning in self-confidence. Anything but. Sean played in the majors. I wasn’t qualified for Little League. Maybe not even T-ball. Finding another photo of Nikki with Sean’s arm wrapped around her caused me to suck in my breath and wrap my thin sweater more tightly around me, as if suddenly thrust into below-zero weather.
Wanting to know what had happened, I found the video where Sean hurled himself into home base, collided with the catcher, and blew out his knee. I held a hand over my mouth and cried out when I watched the aftermath as the medical staff rushed to his aid. He’d been in horrific pain. A sports magazine followed up with an article about this being a career-ending injury. That must have been when Sean turned to photography. Naturally, I wondered what had become of Nikki, and then decided I’d rather not know.
Sean and his secrets weren’t the only concerns that plagued me. Harper was scheduled to go into Seattle for her six-month checkup. We decided to drive into the city together, as Chantelle wanted us to look over the bridesmaid dresses she’d designed for the two of us.
“I want to do something different with my hair,” Harper mentioned as we climbed in the car and headed for the big city. Alice and Shirley were covering Bean There. We scheduled the outing for Wednesday, as that was my slowest day of the week. Harper insisted on driving, and I was happy to turn the wheel over to her.
“What are you thinking?” I asked. Before cancer, Harper’s hair had been gloriously long. It was as straight as a board and fell halfway down the middle of her back. After her first chemo treatment, she’d started to lose it, hair falling out by the handfuls. I’d shed more tears over it than Harper had. As the oncologist had promised, it came back, but strangely it had returned in tight curls. It was shoulder length and she often wore it up in a loose bun on the top of her head. She looked adorable and I hated to see her fuss with it.
“I’m thinking of cutting it.”