“I even got half up front.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway. I don’t have to tell you to be careful, do I? This feels really off.”
“We’ll be careful,” Cormac said.
“Kitty? Call me the minute you’re headed back home. Or if you need help. Or if you get arrested. Or—”
“I’ll call. I promise. Love you.”
“I love you, too. Be careful!”
I ended the call and blushed a little, with all that emotion out in the open and Cormac looking on, stone-faced. If he cared, I’d never know it.
“Sorry about the mush,” I said.
We probably went another mile before he said, quickly, like he was worried he couldn’t get it all out, “You two are the best people I know. I’m glad you’re together.”
In an incautious moment I asked, “So, no regrets?”
He hesitated. Just for a minute. “A few. But it’s okay.”
“It might have been fun. You and me.”
“Maybe. And it would have ended the minute you tried to bring me home to meet your parents.”
“Wait. You still haven’t met my parents, have you? You really should come over sometime. Maybe Thanksgiving.”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t have to stay long, just have some pie or something—”
“No.”
“Oh, come on—”
“I am not going to meet your parents.”
I grinned.
Leadville was touted as having the highest elevation of any town in the U.S. Over ten thousand feet. The thin air had a crisp, heady chill to it. I filled my lungs.
“Now what?” I asked.
He pulled the postcard out of a pocket, tapped it on his hand. “I don’t know. Smell anything?”
“Rocky Mountain high,” I said, drawing another deep breath. “Let’s walk around a little bit.”
We went down the old main street, a picturesque stretch of turn-of-the-century brick and stone buildings. Lots of people wandering around like us, looking up and around, checking out the shops.
“Maybe I should get a pound of fudge to take back to Ben, to make up for being all mysterious.” Or maybe I just wanted to buy a pound of fudge because it was there.
Cormac wasn’t paying attention. He stopped, stepped off the curb between parked cars, and studied the front of the postcard. Flipped it over, then back. Held it up at arm’s length, then seemed to sight along it.
“What?”
“Check it out.” He handed the card over, pointing out a little hole that might have been made by a thumbtack. I had only noticed it before as standard wear and tear.
When I held it up, the image in the photo lined up with the scene in front of us. And the pinhole—I squinted, peered through it. I moved the card away just to be sure of what I was looking at, checked the makeshift viewfinder again. It pointed toward a spot on a distant hillside, a small clearing in the pine forest.