The day I first saw Eva, it was windy. Nothing could be contained. Trash blew down the middle of the street, as trees bent their branches and brushed the ground in an awkward dance. Leaves rushed over my car like air skimming a jet.
Eva pulled a tricycle into her garage. She was working against the power of the wind, so that the peddles spun in the opposite direction. Despite the force of nature, the bike glided. Her motions were smooth and graceful.
I sat in my car and stared, trying to figure out why she was the only solid installment in a world of windswept objects. She glanced over at that moment and lifted her delicate hand and waved. Her nails were red and her fingers were slim. The motion of her wave was miniscule, so I was not sure if she had greeted me or if the wind had found a way to sway her body. While I was trying to decipher her motion, she smiled and turned into her house.
Their son, Hunter, wouldn’t be allowed to play in this wind. I would have to wait for a calmer day to see him--a calmer day to sweep into their life and blow them over.
We were newlyweds when Mitch received the call from his Great Aunt Alma. A cousin of a cousin of a cousin twice removed, or some such web of relation, needed help. “You know Mitchy, sweetie, when family needs help there isn’t much to think about,” Aunt Alma said, her words playing like notes on a piano. Changing her tone, she whispered, “His sperm, it’s no good. He wants children . . .”
We were just young enough to still believe that we could make the world a better place. Our idealistic notions led us to a sterile room in order to give Mitch’s sperm to a sterile man, a man we never even met. We exchanged cards of thanks and congratulations, but no more.
After Mitch died I wondered if the same list of phone numbers had been dialed amongst his family to spread the news to a cousin of a cousin of a cousin twice removed. In the end it didn’t matter, because no one could bring Mitch back to me. I spent night after night retracing Mitch’s entire life. Trying to salvage a path that would keep me connected to the man I had loved.
I had exhausted every detail of his past when it dawned on me that he had a future too, one I had forgotten--he had a child. I wanted his child. I wanted his future.
The frightening afternoon of wind was followed by a night of terrible storms. I sat in the bathtub of my motel room and prayed that a tornado would either miss me and spare me, or find me and take me. I couldn’t decide which I wanted more. I found myself alive the following morning and drove back to the same street corner. Remnants of the storm littered the lawns, but the sun triumphed over the clouds. The muggy weather left little fresh air for me to breathe.
Even with my windows open the heat found a place in my car, thick and heavy. The neighborhood was as silent as the humid air until Hunter burst outside, his scream of excitement sending a bird fluttering from a tree. He rode his tricycle down the driveway whooping with delight. His hair was the same honey-soaked silk that Mitch’s had been, his face the same square shape. There were bits and pieces of Eva around his features, as though a painter had blended them in as an afterthought.
The sight of Hunter pierced my eyes, and I found it difficult to blink. A dry sting started to radiate from my eyes to my heart. Seeing Hunter wasn’t helping. It wasn’t bringing me any closer to having Mitch back. I threw my head down hard on the steering wheel, relishing the pain that shocked my forehead. The sun drenched my arm as I rested it on the sill of the open window. Tears boiled on my skin, leaving a dusting of salt in their path.
“Are you okay?” Eva’s hand was cool, and the contrast of it to my heated pain caused me to jump. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m . . .” I couldn’t form words that would explain: I came to steal your child, but have changed my mind. I wondered if Eva had been watching me the last two days, as I had been watching her. Was she scared?
“Come in and have some water.” Eva reached through the window and popped the lock. When she opened the door I fell onto her, a deep sob, squeezed from under my ribs, escaped into the folds of her sundress. The smell of laundry detergent and animal crackers filled my nose.
In the cool of their kitchen I found my voice. “I’m sorry for any trouble. I seem to be lost.”
“Being lost is uncomfortable,” Eva said.
As I finished my water, I heard Hunter bang in through the back door. I froze for a moment to decide if I wanted to see him again. I chose to look one more time and then leave. I turned toward Hunter, but my gaze never quite made it to his face. On the wall behind me was a collage, titled “Hunter’s Angel.” It was framed in dark, solid, oak wood. Each picture had been cut with precision and placed on a backdrop of dark blue. Mitch’s face smiled down at me. The photographs were from the Christmas cards that I’d sent every year. A close cousin or aunt must have passed them on to a distant cousin or aunt. Anyway, it happened they had found their way here, and Eva had cared about them.
In one small corner there was pasted the one Christmas card I had made it onto; most often the card was just Mitch and our dog. I stared at a different version of me, one that was unknowing.
I turned back to Eva and saw her staring at the collage too. Her lips twitched but she stayed silent. I was not sure whether she had moved, or if the moment had just found a way to sway her body.
“I should find my map and get back on the road.”
I stood and walked out the front door, never turning towards the collage or Hunter again. Eva stood aside as I left her home; a small sigh escaped and pushed its way through the thick air. I was unsure if the sigh was mine or Eva’s.
