Lost & Found - Jacqueline Sheehan [36]
“Are you still there?” she asked him.
“I’m here. I was waiting for you to finish. The best thing to do is to come out and try it once, then decide if you want lessons,” he said.
Later that week, they stood in Hill’s backyard in Brunswick.
Rocky asked him about his name. “Hill? You mean Hillary? That must have been a tough one in junior high.”
“Nothing tough about it. It’s a family name and Hill is what I’ve always been called. Only my grandmother called me Hillary and she’s no longer with us,” he said.
His archery shop took up half of his garage, right on the apex of a cul-de-sac street. Hill looked younger than she was by more than a few years and taller than she had expected. She was startled by his features, the combination of dark, rich eyebrows highlighting his face in contrast to an adolescent rosiness in his cheeks. And his eyes did not exactly match; one eye was blue-green and the other was green-blue. An unexpected nudge from her lungs forced her to take in more air and her torso shifted forward toward Hill’s slightly oversized chest men can get, offering a preview of future expansion. She pulled back instantly.
If Rocky had seen him in Stop n Shop, she was pretty sure he’d be cruising the meat department, followed by the bread aisle. They hadn’t gone into his house, instead they had skirted around his garage to his backyard.
Rocky assumed the lessons would begin immediately. His backyard extended at least an acre and bumped up against a railroad track. Two paper targets were tacked to hay bails. He handed Rocky a bow. “My wife started on this one,” he said. “This is a good size for you.”
She was relieved there was a wife. Now they could be all business without an undercurrent of sexual tension. She hefted the bow in her hands and attempted to look knowledgeable but quickly decided to drop the pretense. “I don’t even know where to start and I’m not sure what I’ll do with this.”
Anyone who had watched her miniature performance, the relief when he said wife, the defensive posture when he handed her the bow, the decision to drop her defenses, and the admission of her novice standing, would have thought that she was a complicated woman. Hill chose to attend to archery.
“Today, you’ll start with breathing and flexing your knees. If you can become still enough, you’ll move up to pulling the bowstring.”
“I notice you didn’t include arrows. No arrows?”
“No. Too breezy anyhow.” There had not been one hint of breeze until that moment and suddenly the treetops began to dance.
“Good call,” she said.
Rocky discovered that she had become gradually inaccurate at judging ages, but as she watched him more closely, she guessed that he was late twenties, early thirties, even though his dark hair sprouted an early scattering of white near his temples. Something about him said military. Way too young for the Gulf War. Maybe just ROTC and a tour of duty. Maybe back from Iraq. National Guard. What was it that looked so military about him? No, not military. He was a hunter.
“I just watched the weather channel,” he said and let her have a loose, slightly crooked smile. “I’m one eighth Lakota, but I don’t think one eighth of anything counts for much. I’m half Irish, and then some Austrians got into the mix. Then there’s the English part. That’s where Hillary came from. I bet the Indians even watch the weather channel.” Rocky noticed that the only people who said “Indian” anymore usually were Native Americans.
“OK, stand sideways with your left side closest to the target. Turn your head to face the target. No, just your head, not your shoulders; they’re like the arrow. Your arms and shoulders are going to become part of the whole arrow. You’re holding a lot of energy between your shoulder blades, let it drop down until you can feel your feet touching the earth.