Wesley

by Leanne Davis

  With me.

  But not just me. With Tara and Ryder and Chloe and Chet and yes, even Wyatt. There are customers at the café who are fascinated by his travel stories. He managed to capture the attention and concern of so many people around here. Yeah, it could be a home for him.

  He’s not ready to leave. He’s not the same Wesley he was when he arrived here. Can’t he see that? I wonder if it will be the same for him when he realizes what he found here. I don’t think I could ever talk him out of it. He needs to go and see, and maybe then he’ll recognize the changes he’s made.

  Not that living as a traveler is even wrong. If someone wanted something different than society’s view of “normal,” as in getting a job and having a permanent place to live, well, traveling could be an ideal alternative. But for Wesley? I see him always being on the run. Trying to avoid being hurt again. Hoping to stay emotionally safe from all the rejection and hurt his young life suffered. I see him finding answers through freedom of movement when being in one place led to abuse and feeling trapped. But here in Silver Springs? The recipe of his entire life was rewritten. He could be rewired. He could find a fulfilling life here.

  I’m not sure how much he could have here because only he can see that. And decide that. If he stays right now, he’ll have to leave months from now or when something goes wrong. I’m convinced of that.

  But I can also make sure he leaves with something special to remember, and perhaps someday, he could come back to it.

  “Could you wait a week or two before you head downriver?”

  His gaze whips down to mine, penetrating me. Suspicious. Wary. He’s waiting for my sales pitch to stay. He’s more than likely expecting I’ll break into hiccupping tears of grief, begging him not to go.

  “I could. I could also drag this out and make it a lot worse.”

  “I’m not trying to make you stay here. I have an idea. Somewhere we could go. Together. Like camping. Like a vacation together before you leave permanently.”

  “You want to camp somewhere with me?”

  “Yes.” I lift my head off his arm and kiss his bicep. “Yes. I have a few weeks before school starts. It would be like a mini-vacation to me.”

  “Where?”

  “On an island about twenty miles downriver. There’s a spot at low tide where it’s easy to wade across. People camp on the far side, the Columbia River side. Right on the beach. We could camp there.”

  “You’d tell your dad?”

  “I’ll tell my dad. Why? Would you not stay with me if I didn’t tell him?”

  He leans towards me and tugs on a strand of flyaway hair. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble. You should tell him.”

  “I will.” I shake my head at him.

  “What?”

  “You’re so not the badassed robber and trespasser I first thought I met.”

  “I hope not. I think you guys changed that about me.”

  “Will you then? You’re the one who brags about having no schedule, so why not?”

  “I do. I guess I could. But—”

  I squeeze his arm with both of my hands. “I know it isn’t going to make you stay here. It changes nothing. It’s just us on vacation before you go, and I don’t go with you.”

  “You promise you won’t forget that?”

  I want to squeeze my eyes shut. Block out how much it will hurt. But displaying that strong of a reaction would only scare him away right this moment. “I promise. I won’t forget.”

  “Then, yeah.”

  “Okay.” I rise to my feet. “I’ll pick you up in the morning. You’ll be leaving town in style.” I smile, but the tears feel way too close to falling.

  “You mean… going back to the Kincaids’? Tonight?”

  “I’m sure they won’t mind, right?”

  “Right.”

  I rise to my tiptoes to kiss him goodbye. He holds me extra long. I manage to hold back the stupid tears that are threatening to fall. Not now. There will be plenty of time for that. I can spend all fall crying. Right now? I have one last chance with him. I invited all this sadness. So, I really hope I can keep it in perspective.

  Chapter 16

  DANI

  “You’ll—you’ll be back, right?”

  I stop shoving clothes into my duffel bag. My dad is standing in my doorway, his hands in his pockets and his head hanging.

  I go to him and hug him. “I promise. It’s just a week, Dad. I always knew Wesley was going to leave. This is just goodbye for us. You know?” I refrain from adding, and I hope to have sex with him so I can show him what it should be like. I want that memory. I need that for my future, to memorialize the time I once knew and almost fell in love with a traveler.

  But my dad has been stressed since I told him about Wyatt and me. I only told him the short version of Wesley and me. He’s been kind and supportive, never once criticizing me. He’s always been like that. Even if he struggles with the subject of sex and how to approach me with it, he always tries his best.

  After seeing what the absence of good parenting does to a kid’s life, and what it can do to their future, my love and appreciation for my father has tripled. I hold his neck and press a kiss on his cheek. “I promise you I will be back. School is starting. I have a life here. I won’t disappoint you. I haven’t lost my way. It’s just that I started to care for someone I can’t have. But I can have him for just a few days.”

  I don’t expect the little side trip to change anything. I just hope it will give me some closure. Maybe it’ll give Wesley something to remember. He doesn’t have a lot of good memories and I guess I want his best memories to be those spent with me.

  I could fall in love with him in about five seconds if I let myself. But no, I’m not going to do that. There’s too much power in those words. I won’t beg him to stay. I won’t get needy and desperate and do all the things that would ruin his memories of me.

  I don’t like stressing my dad either.

  “Be careful, Dani. Please. I don’t want to see you…”

  Hurt? Pregnant? Is he worried I’m going to cling to Wesley in all the wrong ways? I hug him tighter. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

  “I meant, with your heart. I don’t… I can’t stand to see you hurting. I hate having to let you live your own life and all that. I want to wrap you up in bubble wrap and keep you here beside me always happy and free. But I know—”

  “Oh, Dad. You let me go when most parents can’t. I love you for it. But I’m going to get hurt and I still have to go. But remember this, I’ll come home to you again.”

  “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  I smile up at him. “I know. And I will be home sooner than you think.”

  He nods, and I see the fear and worry in his eyes, but he stays quiet and goes on being the best dad in the world.

  I throw my bag in my trunk along with the ten-man tent that Dad and I sleep in each summer of our lives. We have camped in several campgrounds along the Columbia River. Mr. Traveler never asked me, but I am a regular camper, and I know all about tents and stuff. Although we bring a car full of gear with groceries and sleeping bags, I don’t carry it all on my back. So, there is that difference. But still. I refuse to nibble off a bag of rice or oats or whatever the superhero traveler says he eats if I don’t have to.

  I hug my dad again, and he watches me drive off, looking forlorn in my rearview mirror. Then I pull into the Kincaids’ driveway. Wesley comes out with his pack. It fits in my backseat. He leans over and kisses my cheek.

  “Tara?” I ask.

  “She went to work. No one’s here.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  “Nothing different than our first goodbye. But you called Chloe, right? Telling her you’d be gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then she knows. She just understood I didn’t want any tears or long goodbyes. This is how it should go.” My heart clenches in sympathy for Tara. I imagine her heartache today.

  Right. I w
onder if he’ll walk away from me as easily as that. Without a word. Or a tear. Or a goodbye. And certainly without any promises.

  I cringe and shake my finger at myself internally. Duh. I feel a moment of smugness right now because he’s with me, but in a week or ten days, whatever it is, he’ll put his stupid backpack on and walk away. To nowhere. He’ll pick a nowhere destination over me. And I’ll be just as left behind as Tara and Ryder.

  I put my car into gear and start down the highway. “Have you ever been south of here?”

  “No. Longest I’ve stayed in such a small geographical area in a few years. I barely explored it.” We pass through the trees and foliage of the area. The mountain vistas offer breathtaking river glimpses as we zoom down the twisting road. The elevation from Silver Springs down to the island drops rapidly by several thousand feet.

  “Right.” Enough traveling. I pull into the parking lot. It’s a boat launch and small park with a daily parking fee. It’s one of the places that Ryder monitors. I pay the fee and put the tab from the envelope in my window shield.

  “So, you say we’re really walking out to an island?”

  “Yeah. The tidal action from the ocean affects the river all the way to Bonneville Dam. Did you ever notice the shoreline being higher or lower on the sand?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, when it’s low, the slough on the backside of the island is knee-deep and twenty feet across. Otherwise the island is deep, and the other side fronts the river. It’s pretty much all sand with some cottonwood trees and grass. I just checked, and in about half an hour it’ll be low tide.”

  I pop my trunk and pull out my bag, our tent, the camp stove, camp table, ice chest filled with food, my sleeping bag, and on and on. He stares at my growing pile. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”

  “To most normal people, Wesley-the-Traveler, this is actually roughing it. Now grab some things. We’ll have to make a few trips.”

  “A few?” he mutters as he grabs his pack and the heavier items of mine. I roll my eyes. Big hero man! Then I remind myself, he’s also a little afraid to kiss me, so not totally the big stud.

  I slip my flip-flops off. The sky is clear and promising a pleasant day of sun with temperatures climbing to nearly eighty degrees. The water is warm on my calves, and we haul our stuff, mostly mine, through the low, wet area before stepping foot onto the island. We climb up over it, dropping down to the riverfront side. We find a flat spot to set up the tent. It’s a cove off the white sandy beach. The beach goes up and downriver for as far as we can see. It has soft curves like a woman’s hips that roll in and then out. There are piles of driftwood left bleached and abandoned all along the shoreline. Other areas have willows growing beside the water. Twice a day, their low-lying branches are under water when the tide comes in. We get all our stuff out to the chosen spot, and I lock my car on the last trip before tucking my keys into my pack. I’m sweaty and my muscles strain from just that little bit of walking and hauling my stuff. No thank you to Wesley’s stupid heavy pack and choice of transportation, namely, his two feet. I shudder, picturing getting into a stranger’s car. No, never. Not for me.

  Wesley stops moving when he spots a large cargo ship that’s as tall as a skyscraper and carrying cars. The word Honda is emblazoned on the side of it. While the enormous ocean liner passes, the river’s water is sucked out twenty or thirty feet before it whooshes back in giant waves and rolls all the way up the beach. It’s an impressive sight, and the ship is the equivalent of a low skyscraper, towering over us as we stare up from the beach. It’s so close, you can see the little figures of the people. I only hope the captain is steering it carefully from the top wheelhouse. “Where are they going?” Wesley asks, stopping to stare. Even he’s mesmerized.

  “Probably up to Vancouver. They’ll dock at one of the ports and unload a bunch of new cars. Imports and exports right here in the flesh.” I smile, waving towards the rapidly retreating stern of the boat.

  Later, I hear the buzz of fishing boat motors that pass close to shore. “Okay, where are they headed?” Wesley inquires.

  “The mouth of the Cowlitz River is right down there, at the tip of the island. They like to fish there. It’s usually pretty crowded this time of year. People are anchored or tolling it.”

  “People like Ryder?”

  “Yes. People like Ryder.”

  “Do you think he’ll come by here?”

  “Maybe. But I doubt he’d realize he was seeing us.”

  “Right.” He stares out at the water with remorse? Regret? Longing? Yes, I’m sure it is longing I see flashing over his face. Then he shakes his head and turns back, rubbing his hands together. “Okay, how do we assemble your palace then?”

  I roll my eyes. It’s a basic, ordinary tent. The kind that could technically accommodate ten people, but barely fits four comfortably with gear and sleeping bags. He shows me his tiny one-man tent. Ugh. I’d feel like I was sleeping in a coffin. No way! Let alone that being your accommodations for most nights of your life.

  I unzip the tent from its bag and unfurl it. I’m very particular about finding a flat spot, preferably near trees that act as a wind break. The wind always blows here in the afternoon.

  “You’ve obviously been here before.” He watches me as I tackle it with speed and unapologetic skill.

  “Dad and I come here every August.”

  “You didn’t do it this year.”

  “No. I came with you instead. Plus, Dad took me to Hawaii for spring break as a special vacation. This was the first year we didn’t come here.”

  We start unrolling the posts that work like an accordion, falling back and forth. “What did you two do here?”

  “Dad likes to fish offshore. About once every trip he’ll manage to hook a salmon and land it. It makes his whole year. He never needed a lot. He mostly enjoys sitting in his chair on the beach, reading a book, and relaxing. I like to swim and walk and read and relax, too. We simply enjoy the time we get to spend together.” I begin hammering the stakes to anchor the bottom of the tent.

  “You never got bored with just your dad?”

  I hesitate before pushing the metal stakes through their slots into the sandy ground. “No, he’s pretty great.”

  Wesley pushes upwards, and the dome starts to rise as we each tuck our tent stakes into the hooks at the bottom of the tent. “I’m glad you had him.”

  I can’t see Wesley now, but I come around the tent. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  He stands back. “There… your castle awaits, my lady.”

  I roll my eyes and mutter, “Lord, you have a skewed view of castles and what it takes to pamper a princess. I can assure you, that isn’t me.” I grab my bag of stuff and my sleeping bag. There’s also a queen-sized air mattress and foot pump in one of my bags. I pull it out and start inflating my bed.

  He ducks his head in at the noise. “What the hell…?”

  “No way do I sleep on the cold, hard ground. Not this diva.” I grin.

  He shakes his head. “Now, I’m a damn princess.”

  “Who says I’m sharing?” I tease with a laugh, plugging the end of the air mattress with its cap, after I get it tight with air. Tossing my sleeping bag and pillow, oh, hell, yeah, I bounce on it. “It’ll help.”

  He comes in and sets his giant backpack down, opening it carefully… oh, so carefully. He sets his stuff in his corner and I notice a distinct order to his arrangement. I bite my lip to hold in the laughter. He’s got some kind of obsession and compulsion about that backpack and its few contents. He comes out with his sleeping bag, which he drags over to my bed.

  “May I be a soft diva with you?”

  I bounce. “Depends. Are you going to laugh at me when I pull out my toothbrush? Or is that too fancy, too?”

  I’m startled before laughing when he mock-tackles me, pushing me back on the mattress, which cushions us perfectly as he starts tickling me. “You are such a brat. Teasing me.”

  “You’re the one who thi
nks a nylon tent is a five-star resort! And you think it’s amusing that I packed up some food!” I’m laughing and squirming, but I stop when he leans down, and his lips touch mine. It’s not often he initiates a kiss with me. I freeze and try to stay calm. I always try to let him take the lead if I can. His lips move over mine, and he trails them down my neck and towards my ear as all my nerve endings perk up.

  His kisses trace my hairline and then fade off. He shifts until he’s at the side of me and holding me close to him. His arms wrap around my front and he tucks me under his chin and tight to his body. This man, this huge, aloof, hot man thinks he needs to travel the world all alone and forever, yet he absolutely loves to cuddle. He holds me next to him in ways that I love, but eventually I have to wiggle out of his embrace because I fear losing the feeling on my left side, and I need to breathe a bit. He ducks his head when I tease him about it and gets embarrassed, but there is no denying his hunger for human contact and affection and care. And me.

  I just wish I could convince him of that.

  The sun fills the tent. Its red nylon glows with the light, and in no time, it’s heating up in there like an oven. I start to sweat, and the flannel of my sleeping bag makes it worse. I tug on his wrist, which still holds me tightly next to him. Internally smiling with both amusement and sadness, most couples would have been making love by now. For a long time and possibly all day. Or at least they’d be trying. Or planning to do it. But still, he doesn’t mention it. He never presses for anything. And given his history, our history, I’m unsure of what to do. I can’t tell if he wants to or not. If he wants me to initiate it or press him to do it. Also, I’m well aware that if I had not proposed taking this trip, he’d have already been gone without ever even experiencing this. So, there is that. It fills me with a terrible insecurity.

  “Okay, I’m going to be swimming in my sweat soon. I’ve gotta go jump in the river. Join me?”

  He lets me go. I roll away and scrounge around in my bag for my swimsuit. I turn and find him holding Wyatt’s. “Did you take his shorts?”

  He grins. “I did. I still don’t have any. We know these fit. I left him a note. Figured…” he shrugs sheepishly.