CATHEDRAL - Patrick Sean Lee (best books for 8th graders txt) 📗

of course.

“Matthew, please.”

 

Lunch passes into pleasant history, and then we leave to change for our big adventure in the wilds. The soup and bread and wine were remarkably delicious, in no small part due to Matthew’s knowledge of wine, and Bernie’s spot-on selection.

I’m starting to like this world-renowned author. Just a little.

The Unmarked Path to Heaven

 Isabella

 

 

I lead Matthew down the steps and toward the back trail that will wind and curl and take us though a different wonderland than the main trail, to my favorite spot in all of creation.

Mental Note: check out his gait—inconspicuously. You don’t want to have to carry him down again.

He looks fine as we pass between the first two Ponderosas that always remind me of the Colossus of Rhodes. Beyond them in the shadows and spears of sunlight, the gentle, upward slope shoots straight for fifty yards, and then turns off to the right. From there it will take us down the hip of the mountain a little way, where it will turn sharply left, bordering Cabin Creek that tumbles over rocks visible beneath the surface, like biscuity-colored, sparkling gems. This is where two decades ago I pushed Sammy into the water. It took him screaming and thrashing fifty or sixty feet until he somehow managed to get himself to the bank and crawl out. Daddy forbid us going together on this path ever again. Laugh. Say what, Daddy? Sammy got me on our next trip.

Neither of us says a word for the first hundred feet or so. He’s busy, turning his head right and left, taking in the church-like grandeur. It’s impossible not to be affected in some holy way by the otherworldliness of just sound at this altitude, as though the filters of the lower lands have been stripped away entirely. Pure reverberations. Ancient, broken stones beneath our boots that emit a distinct little clatter. A sudden breeze high up in the branches of the Blue Spruce that dances through them with a soft rustle, unknowable nine thousand feet lower.

I finally take us out of our reveries. “Is your knee okay?”

“Oh yeah, fine.

"It’s absolutely gorgeous here,” he adds.

The turn approaches, and I watch his face for any signs of doubt concerning the sudden drop. He stays right beside me, and there’s nothing telling. We begin the descent, and as he is silent, I wonder what to say next.

“You live alone…oh no, you have a partner.” I bite my lip. “Male or female, if I’m not being too nosy?”

He stops dead and shoots me a look.

“Seriously?”

“Well…”

“A young woman…younger than you I should guess. A little.”

“How much little?”

“I don’t know. A year or two I suppose. Nineteen.”

Comforting. That makes me twenty or twenty-one. Nice compliment, Matthew.

“Is she pretty?” I go forward, not certain at all that I should, but what the hey.

“Very. She isn’t a Rhodes Scholar, though.” He chuckles.

So…she’s very pretty, very young, and not too bright. That leaves the attraction on his part to only one other thing, and her attraction to the obvious. Ca-ching, ca-ching.

“What does this girl,” I emphasize that, “do? She sounds like an aspiring actress. Maybe a waitress.”

Again he chuckles. “She spends my money.”

“She doesn’t work?” I say.

“Spending money is working to her. But, enough of Allison. Tell me a little about your mate.”

Allison, huh? And Brad is my mate? The strangest thought pops immediately into my head as we walk down the sloping path toward the water. Allison. Brad. They live within shouting distance I'll bet. True, he isn’t wealthy like Matthew ostensibly is, but still…An insane thought on my part. Cruel, even.

“His name is Brad. My age.” I glance over at Matthew, knowing he gets the drift. “He’s in real estate. Two kids and a housekeeper who minds them when he’s away. He lives on the edge of Santa Monica and Venice. Umm…that’s about all.”

Matthew slips on a loose stone and skitters down several feet until he finally turns his feet sideways and regains his balance. I can just barely hear the sound of water ahead as he comes to a clumsy stop. He seems to be prone to plunging into the stuff. I shush sideways down to him.

“Okay? Leg giving out?”

“Of course not, I already told you my leg is fine.”

“The creek is right down there twenty feet or so. Other than me there are no women in sight. Your leg was fine day before yesterday, too, until...” I laugh kind of mischievously.

He tries to smile, but it drops away in the blink of an eye.

“Isabella, please give it a rest. Please. You’ve made your point. You caught me, and I’m embarrassed. End of story.”

I don’t give it a rest. One more barb seems to be in order.

“You failed to say thank you, remember? You told me to leave you alone. No thank you for wanting to help. Just sullenness.”

“Is this our first argument?” he fires back at me.

“It isn’t an argument, first or last. I was just saying, that’s all.

“Here, take my hand. The creek is just ahead, and the trail drops pretty steeply around this bend. I’ll make sure you don’t fall in,” I say pointing.

“I thought you said that this trail was gentle! I’ve been on roller coasters that are tame compared to this snake of a path.”

Matthew obediently grabs hold of my hand. Readily, of course. Maybe I should have gone on ahead of him? I have to admit…I rather like the feel of his hand in mine, though. He has a nice, strong grip, but on the gentle side, too.

We arrive safely (thank you, me) at the edge of the creek. The water is dancing and sparkling. It’s only five or six feet wide at this spot, but a bit farther down I remember that it widens to ten or so feet, into a gentler flow, and then races onward just after that when the slope drops. Above the water I see a small community of little blood-sucking gnats. Just about the only blemish in this heavenly place. Farther down I know their irritating friends are skimming around inches above the eddies. Fish food.

Standing here with his hand still in mine, listening to the music of the water, taking in a breath of crisp, fresh air, I say to him, “Nice, isn’t it.”

“Yes. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I’m glad you brought me along, Isabella. Thanks.”

“Welcome,” I say with a smile.

“I guess we go that way, huh?” he says pointing up the trail to our left.

“Kind of obvio...“ I catch myself. “Yes, that way.”

“How far to the lake?”

“Not far. Maybe a mile. Actually, we’re past the most difficult part. It’s pretty gentle until the last hundred feet or so. Shall we?”

"Lead on," he says.

On our left is an embankment, four feet tall, and the roots of the pines stab outward at odd angles, almost as if someone had gouged the hillside with a tractor to expose them. The trail is wide enough, barely, for the two of us to walk side by side until it drops into the water. And so we walk together. I’m inclined to think that either Bernie or Charlie gave birth to this trail, long before I ever stepped foot into these peaks. Unimportant at this moment, but I’m going to ask Bernie about it when we get back.

When we get back.

The Spirit of the Lake

 

Matthew

 

My knee is killing me, but I won’t give Isabella the satisfaction of knowing it.

I struggled, trying my best not to wince when we began descending back there. Really, I should be back in my room at the lodge, resting it, but time is short, and the opportunity to be with her that presented itself was too providentially good, miles beyond to good to be true. Who would have predicted that last night or this morning! I think I’d suffer arrows, if that’s what it took, to be at her side. And thank you, God, I am. Holding her hand!

Even in her mountain gear her raw beauty again astonishes me. In reality, I could care less about the grandeur of these mountains in the gushy way she does. She is Galadriel sending waves of elegance and jaw-dropping, drop-dead gorgeousness off her person. The Lady of the Golden Wood.

Control yourself, Matthew.

Already I don’t like this Brad guy. Jealousy is all. I don’t care to know much more about him. What I sense, though, is that she’s finished with him for whatever reason. My advantage, now.

She inquired about Ally. What could I say? I wanted to say that compared to her, she is like sunrise compared to a black, cloudy day. No, not a strong enough comparison. Creation compared to the collapse of the universe.

The trail running alongside the creek is comfortably…flat, or as flat as can be expected as we climb hand in hand up it. I’m listening intently to every word she says about the history of her place in this remarkable world, little asides about her family and work, but I’m also flashing to Ally, wondering what she’s up to at this moment. Not sleeping; she’s always up by ten…well, eleven. Planning some costly, self-consuming party for tonight is probably closer to the truth.

Hi Jamie! It’s Ally! Why don’t you and (insert name. Jamie goes through men like Ally goes through money) come over to my place at eight or nine-ish. You guys can bring a few friends, and don’t worry about drinks. I’ll have plenty of the best…

She knows her whiskeys and rums and even wines. I’ll give her that. And caterers. And…

“Don’t you agree?” I hear Isabella’s voice break through my internal, rambling Ally-voice.

“Yes. Absolutely correct,” I answer and squeeze her small hand just a little to emphasize my mauybe too-generic answer. I have no idea what it is she said that I absolutely agree with, but I hope she doesn’t ask me to elaborate.

She continues talking as we walk, and I want to let loose of her hand and put my arm around her shoulder, but I also want to stay close to her on this path, and not wind up in the water a second afterward. Instead, I try to keep every stray thought out of my head and concentrate on what she says.

The trail turns suddenly to our left, and we leave the water’s musical serenade.

“You were crumpling and throwing pages into the water that day I managed to fall into the lake. Were they from the book you carried?” I want to ask her what book it was that so consumed her loathing