Road-Tripped

by Nicole Archer

  “I like your hair,” Walker said, smoothing his hand over her head. “The color makes your eyes stand out.”

  As if she’d suddenly been cured of blindness, Effie’s eyes went wide. “Whoa,” she said to Walker. “You are beautiful. Callie mentioned you were hot, but . . . Wow.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave her a shy aw-shucks smile.

  Her sister rolled up to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and laid a cheek upon his chest. “Oh, he’s so tall and tight and dreamy.” She sniffed. “And you smell fantastic. What is that, lemons?”

  Not hesitating for a second, Walker gave her a big bear hug back. It felt like Callie had just seen a tearjerker movie with a happy ending.

  Effie had never really learned appropriate social skills. She never had the chance. From the time she was four, she practiced violin fourteen hours a day.

  Also, she probably had a touch of undiagnosed Asperger’s. Except hers was reversed. Instead of shrinking away from touch like others on the autism spectrum, she threw herself at people.

  Personal space wasn’t a concept Effie really understood. She routinely hugged UPS men, strangers in airports, and convenience store employees to name a few of the victims.

  Likewise, Effie didn’t have a mental filter. If you think Callie was bad, Effie was a thousand times worse.

  Most reacted as though she were insane. But Walker just squished her in a hug without a second thought.

  Leonard Nimoy trotted over to say hello. She picked him up and kissed him on the mouth. “Wook at you, you wittle cutie!”

  “Uh, Eff, he just spent the last fifteen minutes licking his ball sack.”

  “Couldn’t be any worse than smoking. Speaking of which . . . you mind?” She dug out her cigarettes, lit one up, then blew smoke on everyone as she surveyed the mountain peaks. “Kinda looks like we’re in a Bob Ross painting,” she said.

  Walker laughed. “You mean because it’s so pretty it looks like we’re in a cheesy oil painting?”

  “Exactly. Do I detect a fellow Bob Ross fan?” she asked.

  “You bet.”

  “His voice is so soothing,” Effie said. “Not to mention, the man said mind-boggling things. His quotes are like Zen Koens. For example”—she scrolled through her phone—“‘We tell people sometimes, we’re like drug dealers—we come into town and get everybody absolutely addicted to painting.’”

  Walker chuckled. “We don’t make mistakes. We just have happy accidents.”

  “Wow, I’m thoroughly impressed with your Bob Ross knowledge. The man was brilliant.”

  “I dressed up as him for Halloween in college,” he admitted.

  She laughed. “That’s awesome.”

  Callie loved Halloween. Maybe they’d dress up together next year. A subtle pang in her chest reminded her not think that far ahead.

  “Here’s another one,” Effie said. “‘There’s nothing wrong with having a tree as a friend. Trees cover up a multitude of sins.’”

  “‘How do you make a round circle with a square knife?’” he chimed in.

  All three chortled then let out aftermath-of-a-good-laugh sighs.

  “Soooo . . .” Effie said. “What have you kids been up to today?”

  They exchanged secret smiles. They’d spent the afternoon in bed.

  “I see, so you’ve been hiking a lot?”

  That made Walker laugh.

  Effie took another hit and regarded him for a moment. “Did Callie tell you I was a crackhead, Walker?”

  “I thought you were a violinist?” he said without missing a beat.

  She blinked then burst out laughing.

  He covered his eyes. “That’s nuts. Y’all even have the same laugh.”

  Effie smiled. “I love him, Cal.”

  “I love him, too.”

  Except the wind rushing through the pines, everything went dead silent. Because the words had so effortlessly tumbled from her mouth, it actually took her a minute to figure out why two pairs of blue eyes were staring at her.

  Fuuuuuck. Did she just tell her brand spanking new boyfriend of six-ish weeks that she loved him? Any minute now and he’d run screaming for the hills.

  Effie cleared her throat. “So what can I do to help? Want me to build a fire? I’m amazing at lighting shit up.”

  She could just kiss her sister right then.

  “Nah, y’all kick back and relax. I’m fixin’ to make dinner.”

  “Even the way you talk is sexy. Let me know if you ever want to have a threesome with twins.” She said this as if they routinely had sex with men together.

  Walker glanced at Callie for help.

  “She’s kidding,” she said, squinting at Effie.

  “Phew.” He flung pretend sweat off his brow and made a beeline for the camper. “I’ll let you two catch up.”

  “Nice to meet you, Walker. Enjoy the new masturbation material.”

  “Yep. Will do.”

  “Be still with yourself until the object of your attention affirms your presence.”—Minor White

  Soundtrack: Jake Shimabukuro and Charles Yang, “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” (YouTube)

  Walker left the sisters alone and went for a long hike. While he wandered, he whistled, feeling like a bird flying over a mountaintop, his heart soaring with joy over Callie’s accidental declaration of love.

  Since then, as crazy as it sounded, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than father her child.

  As if the universe sensed what was on his mind, the trail opened up into a bluebell-filled valley.

  In no time, he gathered a bouquet and rushed back to camp. The sisters were huddled together at the picnic table. He kissed Callie on the neck and gave her the flowers. “Wild bluebells, for my wild Bluebell.”

  “They’re gorgeous.” She threw her arms around him and thanked him with a kiss that made goosebumps rise on his skin.

  “Yo,” Effie said. “I’m still here.”

  “Better get used to it. I can’t keep my hands off your sister.”

  Later that night, Callie went inside to prepare dessert. The second she was out of earshot, Effie drilled him. “What are your intentions with my sister, young man?”

  He chuckled. “Uh, yes, ma’am. I’d like your permission to court your daughter.”

  Her expression sobered. “I’m serious, Walker. She’s really fragile.”

  “Sure we’re talking about the same person? The woman inside who’s tougher than a one-eared alley cat?”

  “She puts on a good act.”

  He scratched the scruff on his cheek. “You think she’s not being real with me?”

  “I think she’s terrified you’re going to hurt her.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “No, but I know her.”

  He stood and dropped another log on the fire. Sparks flew up and snapped. Callie’s twin stared at him, waiting for an answer.

  “I’m in love with her, Effie.”

  “I know. I gather you haven’t told her yet?”

  No, he hadn’t, because she’d flip out and start predicting the end. “See, your sister’s kinda like holding a grape seed”—he pinched together his thumb and forefinger—“if you squeeze too tight, she’ll shoot out of your hand. She scares easily, and if I pressure her, she’ll think someone else is trying to run her life. I know it sounds dumb, but she has to say it first. And I’m not talking about what happened this afternoon. She needs to say it like she means it.”

  Effie bounced over and hugged him. “Too bad you don’t have a twin. I want one of you for myself.”

  “Hey now, I’m taken.”

  “Your girlfriend in there? The one who’s probably eating all the chocolate? She’s my heart and soul, not to mention, she saved my life. I haven’t been worthy of her love for a long time, but I’m trying to make up for that. So if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” Based on the cold blue lasers cutting through him, she wasn’t kidding around.

&nbs
p; “The last thing I’d ever do is hurt her. And sweetheart, you’re worthy of everyone’s love, not just your sister’s.”

  Her mouth opened then quickly lowered back to pensive position. Though the sisters had virtually the same eyes, Effie’s looked haunted—even more so than Callie’s at the beginning of the trip. God knows what she must have experienced as an addict.

  She hid her quivering lips under her teeth. “Thank you, Walker.”

  “For what?” He stood and patted her shoulder. “I’m gonna go see what your sister’s up to.”

  “Is that code for making out?”

  He winked. “You’re a pretty smart lady.”

  “Hurry up. I’m hungry for dessert. Sweets are how us former addicts get off, you know.”

  After they ate piles of s’mores, the sisters put on a show—Effie on the violin and Callie on ukulele. They played “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” and at one point he had to get up and stoke the fire, so they wouldn’t see him gently weeping.

  When everyone went to bed, he tried like crazy to be quiet, but when Callie’s pussy tightened and pulsed around him, he roared out, “Fuck, you feel good.”

  “I hear you, assholes!” Effie yelled. She climbed down the ladder and stomped to the door. “I’m going out for a cigarette. Let me know when you’re done.”

  “Better take a sleeping bag,” he said. “You might be out there all night.”

  “Only photograph what you love”—Tim Walker

  Soundtrack: Time For Three & Jake Shimabukuro, “Happy Day”

  The golden hour. The last hour of sunlight when everything has a warm glow. The time of day when most photographers get a hard-on. That’s when he took the pictures.

  Clouds puffed in the sky like pink cotton candy. And the waterfall behind billowed down the canyon like melted butterscotch.

  Both dressed in white, the sisters looked like fairytale princesses against the mystical backdrop.

  He captured hundreds of images of the bewitching twins. Together, apart—it didn’t matter—the camera loved them both.

  He loved them both.

  They were Yin and Yang—different, but the same. While both had the same arctic eyes, Callie’s were lighter and more hopeful, and Effie’s seemed darker and wizened.

  Their hair—short black feathers versus golden blond ropes—added more disparity.

  Even their postures were distinct—Callie’s pin-straight and edgy and Effie’s slouchy and almost broken.

  He captured the nuances of their relationship as well. Their expressions as they spoke their secret twin language, their laughs, their embedded desolation after a terrible childhood—he caught it all.

  One shot after the other, drums beat in his chest. Every time he released the shutter, he thought, this is it! This is the one.

  For weeks Callie had been pushing him to tell a story with his photography. “Give people more than a pretty picture. Make them wonder.”

  Now he knew what she meant.

  Later that night, he couldn’t sleep. He was too drunk with excitement. He’d been waiting for that moment his entire life. That moment when he’d congratulate himself on a job well done. That moment when he could honestly say, goddamn, I’m good.

  That glorious day, on that magical mountaintop, with the incredible woman he loved, he’d reached it. The pinnacle. The goddamn-I’m-good moment.

  And he’d never felt so high in his life. No joke. From then on out, he had a non-stop buzz.

  “Last night, while I lay thinking here, some Whatifs crawled inside my ear, and pranced and partied all night long, and sang their same old Whatif song.”—Shel Silverstein

  After a long hike, Callie and her sister sat on the banks of Mirror Lake and talked. At the beginning of her career, she’d written an ad for an air freshener called Mountain Breeze. It smelled like a truck-stop urinal cake and not at all like the damp pine needle scent surrounding them.

  This was the thought she had right before her sister blurted out, “Pregnant?”

  She darted her gaze toward the Mormon family picnic currently underway on the opposite bank. “Lower your voice.”

  Effie’s eyes bulged. “When will you find out?”

  “In five days.”

  “What are you going to do if you are?”

  She tried to skip a stone across the water, but it sank on the first try. Her sister’s question was the same one she’d been asking herself. “Guess I’ll be a single mom.”

  Her back straightened. “Single? Why? What about Walker?”

  “He doesn’t want kids. And I’m not going to force him to parent a kid he doesn’t want.”

  Effie didn’t need a second explanation—their parents, the Daniel situation—she understood completely. “What if you’re not?” she asked. “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. He’s quitting the agency and leaving New York.”

  Dragging her hands from her eyes to her mouth, Effie wiped away her confusion and uncovered frustration. “And what about you?” she asked, placing angry pauses between each word. “Where do you end up?”

  The ache in her chest inflated. “Nowhere. That’s the point.”

  “So that’s it? You’re telling me in five days it’s over?”

  Since she didn’t know the answer, she picked up another rock and chucked it into the lake.

  “Do you want to go back?” Effie asked.

  “I don’t have a choice. You’re coming to live with me.”

  “Forget about me—”

  “Other than you and Skip, I don’t have any reason to stay there.”

  “Why don’t you quit too?”

  “Right. And then what would I do? Where would I go? How would I live? And on what money?” She didn’t bother to hide her scorn. If her sister hadn’t stolen her savings, she’d at least have the cushion of time to make a decision.

  Effie stared at the ground. “I’m sorry about the money,” she said, reading her mind. “I promise I’ll you back someday.”

  The tragic level of remorse in her voice heaped a pile of guilt on Callie’s already overburdened shoulders. She puffed a resigned sigh. “Money wouldn’t solve everything. Remember the last time I gave up everything for a guy? If I did that again, I’d be like a female Bill Murray, repeating the same stupid mistakes over and over again like that movie Ground Hog Day.”

  The muscles around Effie’s mouth tensed as if she were desperately holding back a frown. “What about the book?”

  Her sister was grasping at straws. Unfortunately, she’d already grasped all of them, used them twice, and recycled them again. “I’m not finished with it. And there’s no guarantee it’ll get published when it’s done.”

  “Maybe your weird friend from college could help. The uber-jaded, rich chick? What’s-her-name? The publisher?”

  “Oh yeah, Barbara! Wow, I forgot about her. How do you know her?”

  “I hung out with her and Skip a couple times after I got out of rehab.”

  “Skip knows her?”

  She shrugged.

  Barbara. Good old Babs. Callie should look her up. They majored in creative writing together. Now she was some sort of bigwig at one of the major publishing houses.

  Effie lit a cigarette.

  “Seriously?” she coughed and waved her hand. “Are you going to smoke that out here? And stink up the fresh air?”

  “What can I say? I’m an addict.”

  “Nice way to take responsibility for your actions.”

  Smoke circled around her head as she slowly blew it out. “I’m doing the best I can right now, Callie.”

  She took her sister’s cigarette-free hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it’s been. And I’m extremely proud of you. Really. It’s remarkable how far you’ve come. You’re so incredibly talented. I guess I’m just dying for you and the rest of the world to figure that out.”

  Effie sniffled. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.” She stared out at the lake for a minute then said, “Eve
rything will be okay, Cal. Love will prevail and all that shit. You are in love with him, right?”

  “I don’t really know what love is.” The truth was she did love him and spiritually so, but if she admitted it out loud, it’d be real, and when it was over, which it would be in five days, the pain would be so intense she’d never recover.

  Effie studied her with a suspicious glint. “What do you mean you don’t know what love is? Even I know what love is, and I’ve never had a boyfriend. It’s all the beauty in the world. All the stories, the music, the art—” Softer she added, “Love gives me a reason to live.”

  How did her formerly homeless junkie sister have a better outlook on love than she did?

  “Besides,” she added. “Walker’s different. He’s nothing like Daniel.”

  “You’ve only spent forty-eight hours with him.”

  “I only need thirty seconds to figure out if someone’s a creep. Daniel never said anything nice to you. That jackass probably criticized the way you slept.”

  “Actually,” she said solemnly, “he did.”

  “Walker, on the other hand, worships you, warts and all. Even with your dreadful haircut. Are you going to keep it like that?”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you look about five years older—”

  “Not my hair, ass. I’m talking about Walker. How do you know? What if this is all just a fantasy? What if we can’t make it outside of our RV cocoon?”

  “But what if you can? Or what if you’re pregnant? Or what if you’re not? What if a tornado blows you away? Or what if your vagina burns up in a freak accident aboard the Silver Bullet? You can’t think that way. You just have to go for it.”

  The sun peeked out of a rolling cloud. As the warmth flooded her, she imagined a blue-eyed boy with glasses, sitting atop Walker’s shoulders. Another cloud passed by and the sun disappeared.

  “Dildo,” Callie said

  “Huh?”