Free Words by Ginny L. Yttrup Page A

go.
    I walk away from the cabin fast. Then I run. I cross the stream where a fallen tree makes a bridge, arms stretched out to balance myself as I put one foot in front of the other. I jump off the log and sprint to the clearing, jumping over rocks and weaving through the trees. I run all the way to the edge of the clearing. By the time I get there, I'm breathing heavy and my stomach, instead of aching, is full of butterflies again.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Sierra
    I roll over and look at the clock radio: 6:45 a.m. I slept later than usual. I reach for the phone and dial Ruby's number.
    "Hello?" and then a groggy, "Sierra, don't you ever sleep?" I can picture Ruby reaching for the eye mask she wears when she sleeps and squinting at the clock radio beside her bed.
    "Of course I sleep. And I eat. Where's breakfast? Here or there?"
    "Uh . . ." Ruby sighs. "Here, I guess."
    "Okay, but no tofu scramble. Promise?"
    "Right. I'll slaughter a pig before you get here."
    " Mmm . . . bacon. Sounds good." Then I don my most casual, no-big-deal tone, "Hey, by the way, I'm bringing someone with me."
    "What? Who?" She yawns. "Is Margaret in town?"
    "No, he's a new friend." I pause. "His name's Van . . . I want you to meet him."
    Ruby is now fully awake. "What? A guy? Where'd you meet him? Who is he? Sierra, this is great. Is this great? This seems great. Why didn't you tell me about him on Saturday?"
    "Well, you know, I wasn't ready. This is a big step for me, Ruby." I twist the edge of the bed sheet around my finger as I listen for Ruby's predictable response.
    "A big step? That's an understatement. Wait a minute—it's too big a step for you. What are you doing?"
    "We'll see you in about an hour, Ruby. Better get up and get going."
    I hang up, very pleased with myself. I can't wait to see Ruby's expression when I introduce her to the new love in my life.
    Forty-five minutes later I pull into Ruby and Michael's driveway in Scotts Valley. The house is nestled at the end of a court in a new custom home development. The back of the home, and most important, the separate studio they had built for Ruby, look out on a small valley filled with ancient trees that stand taller than the highest roof peaks. They built the home after Michael's stock in the computer company he works for skyrocketed.
    Ruby and I have met for breakfast at least once a week for a dozen years now. When we lived together, Saturday morning breakfasts became routine, the time we'd catch up with each other on the happenings of our week. Once Ruby and Michael married, we began meeting on a weekday morning after Michael left for work. We have no set schedule, but one or the other of us will call when we feel like it and we'll meet.
    I let myself in the front door.
    "Hey, Rube . . . we're here." I head for the large, contemporary kitchen.
    When I see her, I can't help but smile. More often than not when we have breakfast at her place, she's still in her pajamas when I arrive. Today she's dressed, wearing makeup, and I notice that she's set the table for three. A twinge of guilt tugs at my conscience.
    "Where is he?" She looks around me to see if he's coming.
    "I left him outside. I wanted to make sure you were ready for us."
    "Well, go get him. Don't leave him standing out there." She pushes me back toward the door.
    I turn and head back to the front porch with Ruby at my heels shooting whispered questions.
    "Where'd you meet him? What's he do? Is he good looking?" Just before we reach the door, she puts a hand on my shoulder and stops me. "Sierra, is this serious?"
    I see her concern and answer her honestly. "Yeah, Ruby, I think it is . . . in fact, I think I'm falling for him."
    With that, I open the front door.
    Ruby looks out but sees no one. Then she looks down and sees Van sitting on her doormat. She looks at me, then back at Van, then back at me. "This is him, isn't it? This is Van?"
    "Ruby, I'd like you to meet Van. Actually, his full name is Van Gogh."
    "Of course it is . . .