Chapter 11: Black-Eyed Susans

West Texas didn’t simply appear; it dominated. First, the green knolls of the Hill Country gave way to the flat, dusty expanse of the Permian Basin. Then came the alien, red-rock angularity of the Chisos Mountains. Somewhere near Fort Stockton, between a playlist war that veered from James’s Laid to Fiona Apple’s Criminal, they traded histories they had not discussed before. Tom learned Charlotte studied ballet as a girl. That explained her precision. She learned he played drums. That explained his tolerance for chaos.

At one point, when they had driven several silent miles, Charlotte turned and looked at Thomas. He could feel her eyes and shifted in the seat. “You seem better,” she said.

He shifted again. “I guess,” he said. “It feels like they’re – they’re doing what they’re supposed to do.”

Charlotte watched him for another moment. The Ford zinged over some rumble strips, and then she felt him slow the truck as they approached or construction. “How will I know if they aren’t?” she asked. “Do I need radar or something?”

Thomas glanced at her. “Don’t say it like that,” he said. “It’s not a joke.”

She turned away and looked out her window at a compactor rolling over steaming asphalt. “I realize it’s not a joke,” Charlotte said. “But I need to know.”

Tom steered with one hand and put the other on the shift lever. “Well,” he said. “Well – I can’t do a blind test on myself and give only half of me the drugs.”

Charlotte turned back to him. “I know that,” she said. “And I didn’t mean to make a joke about it. But I worry. I almost decided to stay home because – because I wasn’t sure what would happen.”

Tom exhaled loudly. “I get it – I really do,” he said. “But I’m glad you came.”

She relaxed a little. “I am too.”

The place where they stopped for the night surrounded the Airstream with honey mesquite, ocotillo, and a silence so profound it rang like a bell. After showering, Charlotte stepped out of the trailer and the scent of floral soap and the desert air clung to her. She pulled up a chair close to Tom, and  watched the fire he had built. “It’s mesmerizing,” she said softly.

“It is,” he said. “Do you know why?”

“No. Why?”

“Well,” Tom began. “From what I understand, we look at a fire and clock ‘fire.’ But if we keep looking, we see it constantly change. And that’s what we can’t resist – it changes yet stays the same. Like waves at the beach.”

Charlotte was silent for a minute, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Yes,” she said. “That’s a lovely thought. Always the same, always changing.”

An hour passed. Tom doused the shimmering coals and stirred the ashes. Charlotte went inside, brushed her teeth, made the bed, and shook out the down comforter. He followed her inside soon after, the door closing behind him with a metallic click. The lights dimmed. The night darkened.

In the morning, a bright ray of sun found a gap in a window shade. Tom was up moments later, careful to be quiet. He spent a few minutes in the cramped bathroom brushing his teeth and shaving, then tiptoed to the kitchen to start the coffee machine. He looked over at Charlotte. Soft light through the blinds, hair tousled, one of his worn cotton T-shirts hanging on her. She sat up and stretched, letting the shirt ride up a little.

“Good morning,” she said sleepily.

“Good morning, princess.”

A skeptical eye widened a little. “There was a lump under the mattress,” she said with a crooked smile. “Now it’s making me coffee.” She reached for the latte Tom handed her. “Thank you, my prince.”

“Scrambled eggs and a bagel?”

“Yes please.”

Tom folded the Gaucho bed back into place so they could maneuver in the narrow trailer. “Bathroom is all yours.” She stood and stretched again. “Thanks, hon. I’ll be quick.” While Tom started the stove, she hummed softly in the bathroom. He replayed the night in his head and said to no one, “Jesus. That woman.” He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this unhurried. Not just rested – unhurried. Like the day had no lines around it.

Charlotte came out soon after, wearing jeans and a cropped black tank top. She settled at the dinette to watch Tom cook. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” she asked.

“You have a hike planned, right?”

“Right – I do,” she said, reaching behind her to find a trail guide on the dinette’s shelf. “There’s a trail nearby that leads to Cattail Falls. We could pack a picnic lunch and make a day of it.”

“That sounds perfect,” Tom said.

They packed sandwiches from barbecue left over from the previous day’s take-out, plus water and snacks. By the time they stepped out into the warm sun, the morning felt like it belonged to them.

The hike began in open desert flats, with the two walking a landscape of low scrub, sotol, and scattered ocotillo. Charlotte led the way. “Look at these wildflowers, Thomas. Aren’t they stunning?”

“What are they?”

Charlotte knelt to examine them. “Black-eyed Susans. They symbolize constancy and loyalty.” He looked at the flowers for a moment, then said, “In that case I like them.”

She brushed dirt from her knees. “I’m glad you approve. Come on, the waterfall is just up ahead.” They kept walking. Across a gentle rise over gravel benches. The mountains grew closer, and the air shifted. Then Tom saw movement.

“Stop,” he said, holding a hand up.

Charlotte froze. “What is it?”

“Wait a sec…” He took a few steps forward, reached into a hummock of Sideoats Grama grass, and lifted into the sunlight a three-foot-long gopher snake, its yellow skin patterned with irregular, reddish-brown markings. Charlotte jumped back. “Oh my goodness!” she said. “Be careful – those, those can be dangerous.”

As Tom held the snake, it draped itself over his arm “This little guy?” he said. “Not at all.”

“Are you sure?” Charlotte said. “It – it looks pretty big.” She had taken another step back.

“Harmless,” Tom said “Texas gopher snake. Pituophis…uhhh, ah!… Pituophis catenifer.”

The snake suddenly took a stab at Tom’s index finger. He jerked his hand back. “Whoops! Didn’t expect that.” He held the snake gently to see if it would calm. It seemed to. “We’re OK now,” he said. “Feel its skin – very gently.”

Charlotte hesitated, then reached out. “It’s quite smooth.”

“Dry and smooth,” Tom said. “People think snakes are slimy. They’re not.”

“This is… unexpectedly pleasant.”

The snake flicked its tongue at Charlotte’s fingers. “See?” Tom said. “He likes you.” She laughed nervously and pulled her hand back a bit. “Well,” she said. “I’m glad someone’s happy.”

“Here,” Tom said. “Take him. Pretend your arm is a tree limb.”

“Okay… but slowly.” He handed the snake over. The reptile settled itself and peered into her face, its forked tongue testing the air around her. “Oh! It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”

“All muscle,” Tom said. “He’s a constrictor. Kills prey by squeezing.”

She continued to admire the snake as it arranged itself over the crook of her arm. “It feels almost alive.”

Tom laughed. “Well, it IS alive.”

She rolled her eyes lightly. “You know what I meant.”

“These guys do a lot of good,” Tom continued. “They eat tons of rats. But people kill them because they look a little like – like rattlers. In fairness, they will vibrate their tail in dry grass to try to imitate a rattle.”

Charlotte nodded. “People fear what they don’t understand.”

"They do," Tom said. "And sometimes they're right to. But not about this guy." He watched the snake settle across her hand. “Alright,” he said. “On the ground and away with him.”

Instead, she went still in that way she sometimes did. Not distracted, not absent, just… deep. Like she’d dropped into an interior well, sorting through something with both hands.

He was used to it.

She held the reptile for another minute, watching it try to climb from her arm to her shoulder. Then she lowered it gently to the ground. “There you go, little buddy. Go catch some rats.” The snake vanished with a faint rustle of dry grass.

An hour later they arrived at Cattail Falls, boulder-hopping the last fifty yards. It had rained overnight, and the falls was living up to its name – swishing loudly as it rolled off the edge of a cliff, expanded, and dove gracefully into a pool at the bottom. They took off their boots and waded into the cool stream. Tom splashed Charlotte. She splashed back and laughed.

Back on dry ground, she spread lunch on towel. Sandwiches made from leftover brisket, a bag of chips with sea salt, water bottles she had frozen overnight and were just now thawed. “I could live like this,” Tom said as he took a bit of sandwich, then washed it down with cold water.

“Me too.”

Even after they slid their packs back on and left the waterfall to start the hike back down, Charlotte was still riding the high of holding the snake. “I must say,” she said, “this is turning out to be quite the educational experience.”

At the trailer they stripped off sweaty shirts and changed into dry ones. “I’m thinking we could start a fire tonight and stargaze,” Charlotte suggested.

 “Perfect.” Tom said.

Soon the sun was setting. After dinner of stir-fried chicken and vegetables, they stepped outside as the desert sky went full Kodachrome. Tom started a fire, arranged the camp chairs and a small table close to it, then went back inside the trailer for the half-empty bottle of wine that had gone with dinner.

They sat quietly for a long time. Then Charlotte spoke.

“Today was wonderful,” she said. “The hike, the falls – even the snake. I enjoyed all of it.”

“I did too,” Tom said. “I’m so glad we came. We needed this trip.”

Charlotte sipped her wine. “We did,” she said. “But there’s – there’s something else.”

“What?” he asked.

“You,” she said. You. This version of you. I like it. I like it a lot.”

In the firelight she couldn’t see Tom’s face redden a little. “I like this version too,” he said. “I hope I can keep it around.”

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