by Virna DePaul
I park the van at the station and get out with Declan.
“Kara, you don’t have to wait here with me.” He hitches his backpack over his shoulder and looks at me with an unreadable expression.
“I know,” I say, flashing him a smile I hope isn’t too fake. “I’m just here to give you a great send-off.”
I go around the side of the van, stand up on tiptoe, and give him a hug. Holding onto his backpack with one hand, he grabs me with the other and squeezes me. We kiss, and my heart races so much that I feel dizzy.
When we break the kiss, he presses his forehead to mine and just breathes.
With us standing here in the parking lot, I desperately want to ask him to come with me. But I don’t. Declan has his regular life. I don’t want to interfere. Instead, I breathe in his scent and try to record indelibly that uniqueness that is purely Declan into my memory banks.
And then the bus arrives. It pulls up to the curb with a gasp, squeaks, and stops. Declan and I pull apart and he strokes the side of my face with his thumb.
“What will you do now?” he asks. Two lines intersect his brow. “Any murals lined up?” When I shake my head, he adds, “Still headed south, then?”
I nod. “Yeah. Believe it or not, I have a goal—hit all extreme points on the continental US.”
“Really? Why?”
Shrugging, I say, “When I was a kid, I went on a trip to the west coast with my parents, and we went to Cape Alava, in Washington State. It’s the most western point. I loved knowing I was on the tip of the United States, and I got it in my head to someday go to all furthest points of our country. You came across me as I was making my way from West Quoddy Head in Maine—that’s the easternmost point—down to Key West. There’s a marker—it looks like the gigantic tip of a bullet.”
A small smile formed on his face. “Let me guess—the southernmost part of the US.”
“I know it sounds weird, but standing in those spots, looking out over the ocean, there’s something that makes me feel both vast and insignificant at the same time.”
“You sound like a poet. That was…lyrical.”
I flinch, and he notices. I should tell him, I think. Declan deserves to know I’m Kara Hester.
But something in me holds off.
Declan clears his throat. “Kara, there’s something I have to tell you.”
I can’t—can’t go there, can’t hear about his real life, can’t learn he has a girlfriend, can’t hear anything that could destroy the remnants of my memories of this magical time.
When I shush him, he protests again. “I’m serious, Kara. I’ve been hiding something from you, and it’s important. I need you to know—”
I put my fingers to his lips. “No. Don’t say it. Don’t tell me anything. This thing here, between us? This is all you and me. Who we are at our core. I don’t want to know anything else about you.” As I struggle to explain, my eyes fill with moisture. “For years, what I was became who I was, and that ruined so much for me. I don’t want to know any of your secrets.” The tears threaten to spill, but still I press on. “Don’t tell me, Declan. Don’t tell me your secrets, your past, or who you think you are. Just…please, promise me you’ll just be you when you’re with me.”
“But Kara…”
I grow desperate. For five years I’ve been on my own, struggling to come to terms with the choices Carter McCall had forced on me, then struggling to find satisfaction in hiding from the world. I’ve found happiness as a drifter, living life as I please, how I please, but there’s something so deeply lonely about slipping from place to place, with no deep connections forming, no roots growing. And the presence of Declan for these last few days has eased that loneliness. Declan brought something more real to me than anything I’ve experienced in the last five years.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please do as I ask. Promise me.”
His hands are gentle as they cup my face, and his voice is a rough contrast. “If it means that much to you, then I promise, Kara. On one condition. Give me your phone number. I can’t leave without knowing I’ll be able to talk to you again. See you again. Please.”
A wave of relief fills my veins. I’d been prepared to let him go completely, but he wants to call me, see me again.
It’s okay, I tell myself. We can find some way to be together again. I don’t know what that will look like, but I no longer care. I give him my phone number and he puts it in his phone. My hands are shaking as I type in his digits. I can’t explain what I’m feeling. I’ve been running by myself for so long, but now I want Declan to run beside me. And maybe, just maybe we’ll get that chance someday.
When we’ve exchanged numbers, I hug him again, only just starting to sink into the warmth and shelter of his arms when someone passing by jabs me in the knees with her suitcase and I jump back. My connection with Declan is severed, and suddenly my heart pounds heavily, like a drummer kicking the bass.
The bus driver sticks his head out the door and tells Declan it’s time to get on board.
Declan shifts from foot to foot. “Well, I guess this is goodbye. I had a great time, Kara.”
“Have a safe trip back.”
“I’ll call,” he whispers before kissing me, quickly, hotly.
Then I’m out of his arms and he’s the last passenger getting on the bus. For some reason, my song “Fingerprints” pops in my mind. Fingerprints of you on my heart.
You, Declan.
I get in my Volkswagen van and pull out of the parking lot. I force myself not to look back. Declan is going back to his job, his life. Asking him to abandon all of his responsibilities to go on a road trip with me to the southernmost tip of the continental United States of America would be stupid.
That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.
I’m in tears long before I find Interstate 95. I get on the highway and head south. The grayness that was here earlier this morning has now brightened. It’s going to be a beautiful day, which makes my misery feel even more miserable. I roll down my window and let my left arm hang out the side. I can’t stop thinking about everything that’s happened.
The mural. The impromptu concert. The taste of Declan’s kisses. How he felt inside me.
I never thought I was the type of person to get attached to someone so quickly. I guess I can. Because when Declan stepped up onto that bus, it was like leaving a part of my heart behind.
Suddenly, I’m overcome with the fear that I won’t see him ever again. Sure, he said he’d call, but I’m filled with grief and loneliness and utter disbelief. He won’t call. Whatever secret he’d been holding inside would hold him back from making that call to me. This entire experience will just be an amazing memory, something I can look back on when I’m old and gray. I smile, thinking about telling my grandchildren about the adventure I went on when I was twenty-four. I met this man, and he rocked my world.
Except my imagination can’t seem to picture me having grandkids with anyone other than Declan.
Now I’m sobbing. God, I’m a mess. I grab some stray napkins and dab my eyes. I can’t drive and cry at the same time. It doesn’t help that my van smells like Declan, or that when I see the art supplies in the back I think of Declan painting my body, or when I notice my guitar sitting on the bed in the back, I remember singing with him last night.
Getting on that stage, the audience watching in rapt silence…yeah, sure it was just a community fundraiser. I know that. But it was so much more to me. It was the first time I’d performed since I left the business behind, karaoke aside—and karaoke never counts. Five years ago, I vowed I wouldn’t perform again. Performing only hurt me, and I wouldn’t do what everyone else wanted me to do.
It was a giant middle finger to Carter when I quit completely. Nobody would get to hear me sing and play ever again.
Last night, though? I knew I’d made a huge mistake in quitting music completely.
I want to keep playing, I realize. I want to write songs and sing for audiences all over
. Small crowds, big crowds. Hell, I don’t care if I’m only playing in tiny coffee shops with ten people. It would be worth it, because I would get to bare my soul in those short bits of music.
Emotions wash over me: regret, excitement, fear. Mostly, though, I want to see Declan.
It hits me like a lightning bolt, and I have to pull over and rest my head on the steering wheel.
The reason I want to play?
It’s Declan.
He gave me the courage to face my fears, to realize that playing music isn’t surrendering to people like Carter. Quitting meant that Carter won. He silenced my voice. But Declan? He gave me my voice back.
I start laughing, but it’s a watery laugh. It’s a heady kind of euphoria filling me, and it takes me a few moments to get myself together. Wiping my eyes, I stare into the horizon.
“What are you going to do?” I ask myself quietly.
I know exactly what I’m going to do.
I get back onto the highway and start driving north—back to the person I can’t leave behind.
When I see Declan’s bus, I yell in triumph. I’ve been driving like I’m in the Indy 500, trying to catch up with his bus, knowing all the while that I could have missed it. But nope—there it is, three cars ahead. Seeing its garishly bright colors, yellow and red, I can only celebrate.
“Declan, I’m coming for you.”
I don’t think about the scenario where he says no. I don’t think about any what-ifs beyond Declan saying that he wants to go to Key West with me.
The bus is in the right lane, going almost fifteen miles an hour slower than the rest of the traffic. When I get in the left lane, I don’t pass the bus like everyone else. I slow down to keep pace with it. I know I only have a few moments.
My passenger-side window is already rolled down. I honk like a crazy person and yell. “Declan! Declan!”
I try to find him in the rows of passengers in the bus’s huge windows. I see a man who could be him, and I keep yelling and honking. A car behind me honks in frustration, but I ignore him.
But when nobody pulls down their window or replies to my crazy yelling, I’m close to giving up.
Then I see him: Declan. It’s him.
He yanks up the window and sticks his head out. “Kara? What the hell are you doing?”
“Do you want to go to Key West with me?” I shout against the wind and sound of traffic.
He gives me an incredulous look, and my heart sinks. His brothers. He said it wouldn’t be fair to leave his clients for them to deal with. What I’m asking is unfair. I shouldn’t put him in this position…
But a huge smile overcomes Declan’s face, and I tell myself it’s okay. It’s okay for me to be selfish. It’s okay for him to be selfish. What we have together is worth it.
“Give me a second!” He pulls the window down and I see him getting out of his seat. Oh wow—he’s actually walking up to the bus driver! Success!
Finally, I pass the bus and let the line of cars behind me pass. One motorist gives me one last pissed-off honk before pushing on the gas and driving off into the distance.
I keep my eye on my rear-view mirror and pull over when I see the bus pulling over on the side of the highway. There’s excitement buzzing in my veins.
When I get out of my van, I can hear someone yelling, and I see what can only be the driver gesturing at Declan.
In another second, I’m watching him descend the steps, and the driver shuts the door behind him. I smile at him. The bus pulls back out into traffic behind him and barrels down the road. When Declan walks up to me, backpack in hand, I suddenly don’t know what to say.
“Hey,” I say lamely. I’m suddenly embarrassed. I shuffle my feet.
“Hey.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “Guess I’m not going to make it back to New York.”
“I’m not ruining your career, am I?”
He shrugs. “I’m on vacation. And my brothers can cover for me for a little while longer. If they can’t, I can make some calls…” He shrugs again. “What can I say. I’ve been a responsible work-a-holic my whole life. I’m liking the idea of not being one for just a little while longer.”
“Just Declan, right?” I ask, hoping he’ll understand what I’m saying. I’m not ready to share my past with him, so it would be unfair to let him share his. But maybe that will change. Maybe…
Declan pulls me into his arms and brushes a lock of windblown hair out of my eyes. “Just Declan. And just Kara.” And then he’s kissing me.
I tangle my fingers in his hair, moaning against his mouth. He’s like a marauder, taking and taking, and I don’t care. I give him everything I have right in that moment. When I was driving away from him, the thought of not being able to kiss him was more painful than I thought it would be. Now I’m with him again, and this happiness makes me feel whole.
It’s only the sound of someone hooting out their car window that breaks us apart. We laugh a little.
“Time to go?” I take his backpack and throw it into the van.
“Yes, but only on one more condition.”
“What?”
He snags the keys from my grip. “That I drive. You’re lethal next to buses.”
Climbing into the passenger side, I laugh along with Declan, so happy that I’m pretty sure my heart’s going to burst.
13
DECLAN
Kara never fails to surprise me. Seeing her wild hair tangling in the wind as she yelled at the bus to stop had done something to my insides—something unique, unknown, something I’d never experienced before and had trouble even naming. I glance over at her and grin. Who chases down a bus on the highway and yells at somebody to get out?
Kara Hester does.
Okay, yeah, I know. I’m being an irresponsible shit. Leaving my brothers to handle fires that are mine to put out. But I’ve done the same for them on many occasions. I’ve always been the workaholic. The one they can count on. I figure it’s past time that I be able to count on them.
And they seem to be grudgingly okay with that. I texted them and after a few curse-riddled statements of disbelief, they laid off. Owen’s closing text? “Can’t wait to meet her,” obviously guessing that my refusal to be pulled back into work has to do with a woman, and you know what? I didn’t even bother to correct him.
I glance at Kara, wondering if I’ll ever be able to introduce her to my brothers. She’s bound and determined not to talk about our pasts, which makes it really difficult for me to tell her I know who she is.
I snort. Right. Who am I kidding? Part of me gladly puts off that confession, because I know it will be the excuse that makes her run from me. Run from us. The other part of me wants to confess as soon as possible. Put aside the secrets so we can get past them and…what?
Declare our love for each other? Ride off into the sunset in her VW so we can get started on our happily ever after?
We barely know each other, and no matter how much we want to ignore them, our pasts are going to collide at some point.
But it doesn’t matter. All I know is I’m not ready for my time with Kara to end. I want to help her get back to her music. I want to be there when she does. I want to listen to her perform again. Even if none of that happens, I want to be with her longer.
It’s as simple as that.
With Kara, I’m fucking happy.
Everything else fades into the background—work, pressure, Carter McCall, Heart Demons—and I’m content for the moment to let it stay there.
Two hours later, Kara pulls over at a rest stop and we get out. She opens the back of the van and tells me to dig around in her storage bin for an extra water bottle while she goes off to use the facilities and buy us snacks from the vending machine.
I must have opened the wrong storage bin because I’m seeing a crap-ton of albums and cassette tapes hiding there like illegal drugs. I whistle when I see all of the different artists and albums, many of which would be worth a ton of money, especially the records. I pull out a few
, laying them on the bed that covers the storage area. She has the Beatles “The White Album” in mint condition, and even the Rolling Stones album “Sticky Fingers” with the working zipper. I’m impressed, both with the actual albums and with the fact we have similar taste.
Music is in Kara’s blood. She can’t get away from it no matter how hard she tries.
I hear her whistling before I see her. She comes around the side of the van, arms filled to the brim with chips, candy, and granola bars. I grin. “Did you leave anything in the vending machines?”
“Nope. They’re empty and alone and oh so sad.” She pulls a face.
“Like a country western song.”
Kara’s expression stiffens, but she forces a smile. “Only without the broken truck and the dog who ran off. Here.” She dumps the loot in my arms. “These are for you.”
She glances down and sees the albums I’ve pulled out, and that smile I’d known was fake cracks. But she doesn’t say anything. I can’t read her right now—is she worried I found her stash, concerned I’d connect her with who she really is?
I dump the junk food onto the bed and hold up a Michael Jackson record. It’s “Thriller,” and it’s in prime shape. Must be worth something. “You collect vinyl?”
She steals the album and puts it back in the correct location. “Nah. I just like music.”
I dig around in the box and pull out a handful of cassette tapes. “You know, there is such a thing as MP3s,” I tease.
“Analogue, baby. I’m analogue all the way. Computerized music is fine, but the sound is a little hollow. Empty. Like those vending machines back there. If you want to hear something real, there’s nothing like cassette tapes or vinyl.” She crosses her arms and frowns at me. “Why so many questions? You planning on stealing my stash?”
I laugh, then gesture to the formerly hidden boxes of music. “You’re like a squirrel here, hiding the good stuff.” When she gives me a funny look, I add, “I don’t want your stash. But if I’m driving, I want more tunes. And these look good.”