The heat of Carrie’s lips thawed any remaining chill. It was as though Cameron kissed past Carrie’s lips and touched the depths of her soul; suddenly, he was completely familiar with her, physically and emotionally. He was one with her past, present, and future. After buying the ring, he often pondered the meaning of giving himself to Carrie; but in that moment, with Carrie, he was whole.
The kiss ended, and Cameron took Carrie’s hand. He knew he had one last thing to say. “Carrie, I have something I want to tell you. You know that night two years ago or so, when I went to Vegas for Parker’s bachelor party? I told you that I fell and hit my head? None of that was true. Truth is that I was seriously considering proposing to you, and that scared me. And, because of how scared I was, I ended up sleeping with another woman named Sally. Turned out, she was a prostitute, and when I refused to pay, her pimp beat the hell outta me.” Cameron looked down and said, “Jesus, when I say it all out loud, it sounds messed up. I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know what got into me, and I’ll never do it again.”
Carrie knew everything. In his arms, she had seen every moment of that evening and understood every motivation behind his mistake; and with that knowledge, Carrie understood just how similar she was to Cameron.
She squeezed his hand and said, “I know Cameron. I forgive you, I promise.” She looked down in thought and continued, “I have something I need to tell you, too. You know when Alex lied and said he saw you with another girl? And we broke up for a few weeks? During the breakup, I met another guy named Billy.”
“Yeah,” Cameron said. “I saw his number a couple of times on your caller ID.”
“Really?” Carrie asked.
“Yeah. I never said anything. Figured I deserved it. Even though Alex lied, in a way, he told the truth. Know what I mean?”
Carrie nodded.
“Anyway,” Cameron continued. “I love you. It’s all in the past. And we’re going to move forward together. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” Carrie replied. “Sounds amazing.” Her eyes welled as she said, “I love you too, Cameron.”
Cameron smiled mischievously and tousled her hair. “I may not be perfect, but hey, there are worse people to spend eternity with.”
She pulled back and slapped his roaming hands. “Eh, I don’t know about all that.” She then placed her hand on his face and said, “Are you sure you’re alright, Yin?
Confused, he asked, “What do you mean?”
Carrie replied, “I saw everything. The beast, your eyes, all the blood. I saw it all, Cameron. Somehow, I saw it all when I touched you again. Everything you had to do to get to me. I even felt all that pain. You were so tortured, baby. I am so sorry.”
Cameron’s eyes welled as he said, “Anything to get to you, Yang.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Are you okay?”
He wiped his eyes and said, “Never been better.” He kissed her on the forehead and asked, “But what about you? Are you okay? I mean, for crying out loud, you almost drowned in blood to get to me. That’s crazy. What if your sciatica acted up?”
She pushed him. “Oh, shut up.”
He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I’m serious, baby. I know how hard everything was. Getting chased by Gretchen, hearing that awful beep, your son…” Cameron leaned in, embraced her tightly, and said, “He is so beautiful, baby.”
She sobbed on his shoulder and whispered, “He is. He is.”
Cameron asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He felt her smile as she said, “I’m amazing.” She pulled her head from his shoulder, wiped her eyes, and asked, “So, what’s next?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care as long as I have you.”
As Cameron said this, the scenery changed. At first there was only stale and lifeless blackness, but then Carrie and Cameron’s senses piqued and they both heard noises.
He could not decipher what the noise was, but he was certain that it was there.
And then he smelled something. He could not tell what he smelled, but he knew it was there.
Then, the light shone in. The light shone not from the sun, but rather from the moon and the illuminated structures that encircled Carrie and Cameron. Slowly, the universe unveiled itself to them. They stood on a worn cross street surrounded by two-story brick and wood buildings. Each building had its own unique second-story balcony that was distinctly adorned—balloons floated above one balcony, plants positioned overhead another. One balcony, on Cameron’s right, held an American flag.
In front of one building, there was a large sign that read, “MAISON BOURBON—DEDICATED TO THE PRESERVATION OF JAZZ.” Signs near the road indicated that “Bourbon St.” ran northeast, and “St. Peter St.” ran northwest. Cameron knew he was less than a block away from Pat O’Brien’s. He was a big fan of O’Brien’s Hurricanes, and he briefly considered trying to convince Carrie to join him in one. But, Cameron knew that he had more pressing matters at hand.
The joviality of the block elevated, and Carrie and Cameron were witness to the normal Bourbon Street harmonies. A young female yelped, a middle-aged male screamed, a dog barked, beads shook, and in the distance there was the faint splendor of jazz. The scents of the street lifted into their nostrils, and they sniffed a concoction of wet garbage, spilled alcohol, burned rubber, and certain other, undefinable odors.
Cameron looked at Carrie, lifted an eyebrow, and asked, “Want to take a walk with me?”
Carrie shook her head. “Sorry, sir, but my momma told me never to walk with strangers.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well, guess I’m just gonna have to kidnap you then.”
He took her hand in his and together they walked up Bourbon Street. Initially, he had to pull Carrie, who feigned reluctance. He soon noticed that, although he could hear and smell all the normal Bourbon Street sounds and smells, he could not see from where they originated. There were no people or animals. There were no frat boys, flashing girls, or begging homeless.
As they walked, he thought of the history of the street upon which they strolled. He thought of Pauger slaving away over the design, and the fire that burned it all down. He thought of the fifties burlesque shows and Garrison raids of the sixties. He thought of every person who had ever vomited on the street, and every baby created in its vicinity. He thought of Katrina’s terrible winds, and the sweat of those who cleaned up after it.
But beyond all contemplation, Cameron realized that he saw the events. He experienced them and was in them. He danced with everyone who had ever danced there and sung with all who had sung. He was one with the street, all that came before it and that would come after it.
Visions of his mother and father ran through his mind. He saw past the exterior of both—past the hardened shell of his father and the worn covering of his mother. He peered into the souls of each and touched the warmth of their hearts. He found the answers to all his questions; there was no motive left mysterious to him.
Carrie thought of her baby and her mother. Their faces were at first a blur in her mind, but with each step, the picture became sharper. And after a few more steps, the image jumped off the page and penetrated her soul. She felt every emotion her mother ever experienced and realized the infinite depths of her mother’s love.
She saw the face of her father on the day of her birth and trembled under the weight of the pride that beamed from his eyes as he looked at her. She witnessed her baby grow and mature, and she grew and developed with him. She was one with all who she loved—she was one with everything they were, and everything they would become.
Cameron and Carrie passed under an inverse-rainbow of balloons. Quaint and multi-colored homesteads spotted the street. Carrie considered that perhaps Cameron had gone too far, but he came to a stop in front of a dilapidated building.
The building’s exposed bricks were chipping away in several large spots. The wooden doors and windows appeared warped. The supporting walls looked like
they were about to cave in. The light post in front of the building could barely support the “BOURBON ST.” sign that hung from it. An American flag shot out from the roof of the building and the weight of the flag appeared too great for the rundown structure to support. On the side of the building, a small plaque read, “LAFITTE’S BLACKSMITH SHOP.”
For some reason, Cameron thought the building resembled a dying, mangy dog.
He had read that Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop is the oldest continually occupied bar in the United States. He first visited Lafitte’s a year before Katrina hit and fell in love the moment he walked through its rickety doors. He had not returned since and had worried that the awful winds of the hurricane tore it apart. But Lafitte looked as he remembered it. The old dog had not submitted to the winds of the terrible storm.
Cameron knew the inside was dim, but he was no longer afraid of the dark. As his knowledge amplified, all his anxieties vanished. He knew there was nothing to fear, and wonderment to gain.
He nodded towards Lafitte’s and asked, “Want to check it out? I know this bar.”
Carrie looked up and down at the derelict structure. “Are you sure it’s open? Heck, are you even sure that it’s a bar?”
Cameron kissed Carrie’s hands. “Trust me, sweetie. I know.”
“Alright then, I’m with you.
“Yes, you are.”
The couple walked up the crumbling sidewalk and through Lafitte’s open doors. As Cameron expected, the interior was nearly pitch black, illuminated gently by one small candle. In the penumbras of the candle’s light, he could see the outlines of a brick fireplace, a bar area with wooden stools, and silver Slurpee machines. The air was murky and the temperature was balmy. He could feel Carrie’s hand sweat, so he let go.
“Here, follow me.” He motioned to the table upon which the candle rested, and she sightlessly followed him. When they arrived at the table, he stood near her and put his arm around her waist. “It’s funny. It really is.”
Carrie turned and looked at Cameron, and all she could see was his face and eyes amongst the dark. “What’s funny?”
Cameron turned his head in every available direction. “This all began with a light. That light in the car. Remember?”
“Yeah.”
“And now it looks like it’s going to end in the dark.”
“You know, that sounds sad, but the way you say it makes it seem like a nice thing.”
He turned and gazed into her eyes. “It is a nice thing. It’s an amazing thing. I was so afraid of the black, Carrie, so terrified of the void. But now I know that there’s nothing to fear. The light was all that we knew, and the dark is everything beyond. And I can’t wait to see it. I want to see it all, and I want to see it all with you.”
Carrie’s eyes welled as she said, “I’m glad you’re confident, because I’m not. I just don’t know Cameron….”
He smiled. “You’ll know soon, Carrie.” He reached for the small candle on the table and lifted it closer to his face. “Carrie, I have something else I want to ask you.”
“You do?” Carrie was confused because she thought she knew everything there was to know about Cameron. “What?”
He smiled gleefully and removed his hand from Carrie’s waist. He reached into his pocket, clasped his fingers around the ring, and pulled it out. Carefully, he lifted the ring to the candle.
Surrounded by the dark, the light that glimmered from the diamonds danced even more carelessly and grandly.
Carrie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “My God, Cameron…”
“Carrie, I love you. I love you so much. You are my everything, all that there was and all that there will be.” Cameron kneeled down and gazed up at Carrie through the light. “Will you marry me?”
Tears slid down Carrie’s face and they twinkled along with the diamonds. “Yes, of course, Cameron. I love you.”
Cameron blinked away tears and took Carrie’s left hand. He slid the ring onto her left ring finger and it fit perfectly. He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed the ring and her knuckles. He took both of her hands and pulled himself up to his feet.
Placing the candle back on the table, he blew it out.
They embraced and kissed, and it all dissolved. Concern, trouble, angst, worry, confusion, sorrow, hatred, and fear evaporated. The atoms and boundaries of their restrained forms melted away. Their souls joined and flew. And all that remained was love.
He became her, she became him, and both became all.
Epilogue
Jack stood by his charcoal grill and enjoyed the heat it emitted. It was Sunday, which was his favorite day of the week—his family had dubbed every Sunday as “grillin’ Sunday,” and he would spend the day not only cooking for the evening, but also for “leftover Monday.” He would often invite friends and family over to partake in grillin’ Sundays—that Sunday, Jack’s best friend, Bobby, brought over his two girls to play with Jack’s similarly-aged son and daughter.
Bobby was next to Jack, swigging a Corona and poking the briquettes with a charcoal pick. “I’ll tell you, Jack,” Bobby said as he glanced over to watch the kids playing in Jack’s backyard, “it just doesn’t get any better than this.”
“Nope, it doesn’t.”
“Beautiful day, happy kids, good food and friends. Makes it all worth it.”
Jack grabbed his Sam Adams, turned to Bobby, and asked, “What do you mean? What’s all worth it?”
“You know, all the pain-in-the-ass crap that comes with being a parent.” He pointed to the kids as he said, “The girls are having fun now, but it was a disaster getting them ready. They threw a hissy fit because I pulled them away from that damned computer. One of ’em even rolled around on the floor like she was being tortured.” Bobby shook his head, “Yeah, such terrible lives those two have.”
Jack smiled. “You have to be patient with them. I guarantee you were the same way at their age.”
“I don’t know, Jack. My daddy would have knocked me silly if I acted like that.”
“Yup, and look at how screwed up you turned out to be.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“I’m just kidding. Look, Bob, I know it gets hard, but those kids are a blessing. Every moment with them is a blessing.”
Bobby wagged his bottle at Jack as Bobby said, “You always say crap like that. This is a blessing, that’s a blessing. How do you always stay so positive?”
Jack thought for a moment as he sipped his beer. “I ever tell you that I lost a kid once?”
Bobby looked stunned by Jack’s comment. “No, man, you and Jennifer lost a kid?”
“No, no, that’s not it. I guess ‘lost’ isn’t the right word. There was this girl in high school that I knocked up. I really loved her, Bob. I really did. And I wanted her to have the baby, but she thought otherwise.” Jack sat on a chair near the grill and continued, “Looking back, it probably was the best idea. We were way too young. You have to keep quiet about this, because I’ve never even told Jennifer.”
Bobby sat in the chair adjacent to Jack. “What was the girl’s name?”
“Doesn’t matter. The point is, after that happened, I promised myself that when I did have kids, I would be the best father I could be. I swore that I would enjoy every moment, because sometimes life doesn’t work out the way you want it to.” Jack looked at the kids, smiled, and said, “So you have to enjoy it when it does.”
“Any idea what happened to that girl? You ever stalk her on Facebook?”
“She died a few years back in a car crash. Was on a road trip with her boyfriend. They found an engagement ring in the guy’s pocket. Pretty tragic stuff, man. Another reason to keep things in perspective.”
“Goddamn, man, talk about bringing down grillin’ Sunday.”
“Hey now, you asked.”
“Well, I’m glad I did.”
“Me, too.”
They clinked beers and Jack leaned back and enjoyed the sm
ell of the day. Nature, heat, and thawing meat blended to create a wafting scent of perfection. “But you are right, Bobby. It doesn’t get any better than this.” In the corner of his eye, Jack saw his daughter hit his son—he stood out of his chair as he yelled, “Carrie, be nice to your brother!”
The End
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much Courtney McCray, Anitra Fields Elkhatib, and Pat Schmatz for serving as my literary “guinea pigs” and providing such great feedback about my, admittedly crappy, initial manuscript.
I also want to thank the Pandamoon team, and Zara Kramer in particular—it took true foresight to see the full potential of a manuscript written by an exhausted lawyer between the hours of 9 p.m. and midnight. I will be forever grateful that such wonderful people published my debut novel.
And then there’s Yasmin Huebinger. I could draft an overwrought and overly-sappy message of appreciation and love about my Dove, but in the end, Stephen King said it best: “Writing is a lonely job. Having someone who believes in you makes a lot of difference. They don’t have to make speeches. Just believing is usually enough.” King wrote this in his memoir ON WRITING, a book Yasmin gave me when I first began writing FATE’S PAST. Without it and her, I would have never finished nor even truly begun.
About the
Author
Outside of his family, Jason Huebinger has two great loves in life—the law and writing. And he has been blessed with incredible opportunities in both areas.
Jason grew up in McAllen, Texas, right near the border of Mexico. As a freshman in high school, he wrote short stories for extra credit and just never stopped writing. He has two brilliant younger brothers—one is currently a medical resident at Northwestern University, and the other is in high school and hopes to be an Indian Chief when he grows up (and Jason hopes at least a few people will understand that joke).
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