by Sarah Noffke
“Let me out,” Adelaide says, busting through the door. She sprints for a nearby shop to do her business.
Pops already has Lucien out of his seat. “I’ll take the little tyke to that patch of green over there,” he says, indicating a park area. “Let him get out some energy.”
I peel out of the car to find the air is moist and full of salt. It’s clean and not laced with the exhaust I’m used to in Los Angeles.
“Come on, Ren, walk with me,” Dahlia says.
I join her on the sidewalk, offering an arm to her. Even with the ridiculously large hat and glasses she’s still the most beautiful woman in the world. Not beautiful because her features are perfectly balanced, although they are. There’s a mystery in this woman’s eyes, something that hints at her wild side. And what she said all those years ago when she barged into my flat and demanded I take her to lunch is true. Dahlia is too big for this world. She’s a magnet for attention because she’s completely extraordinary in a mostly ordinary world. And she has a work ethic to match mine. How could I not be enamored by this woman, the only person in the world that my powers don’t work on?
The shops fall away and we find ourselves on a boardwalk, the harbor quickly approaching.
“Ren, I want to talk about it,” Dahlia says, her voice faltering a bit on the last word.
My arm tightens around hers. “We promised we wouldn’t. Not while on this trip.”
“I know, but it’s starting to overwhelm my thoughts and I feel like talking about it will help,” she says.
Dahlia tugs me over to the rail, where the water stretches out in front of us. I have the urge to throw myself into the bay. It’s not like I need to worry about messing up my suit, which was cleaned again at the hotel but now has holes in places and my shirt has stains marked by this journey.
Instead of launching myself into the mossy water I turn to Dahlia, giving her what she deserves, my full attention.
“What do you want to discuss?” I say.
“Well, for starters, I feel like since we were given the news we’ve avoided talking about the future. We should discuss how we will handle things in a worst-case scenario. Actually, I think we are both in denial and need to come to terms with this reality,” she says.
“What’s happened isn’t something that we need to worry about affecting the future. We are going to deal with it and then we are going to move on,” I say simply.
“This may be something we can’t fix,” she says, taking my hands. Hers shake in mine, causing something to vibrate in my throat.
“We can fix this, Dahlia. This is going to go away,” I say, my voice gruff and raw.
She releases a nervous giggle and it sounds all wrong right now. “You, like me, are afraid to say it. To name it,” she says, and the smile is gone, replaced with a tragic piercing look. It’s as if all the light evaporated from her eyes all of a sudden.
“I can. It’s just not necessary,” I say.
“Cancer,” she says. And that one word is a bullet ripping through my insides. “Ren, I have cancer. We have to face it together.”
I want to tell her I haven’t stopped facing it but it isn’t true. I can’t wrap my mind around the idea. I’ve seen so much. My mind has sorted through the most complex scenarios in history and yet… The idea that the love of my life has cancer isn’t something I can come to terms with. It’s in her, the same way it was in my mum threatening to steal her life away. And again I’m helpless. And it’s not that I have so little faith in God. It’s that I know him. Know he rips people out of my life. Finds ways to make me tear my own heart out by tearing people away. Making me vulnerable to the one thing I can’t control. Saving the people I love.
“What do you want me to do?” I say.
“Nothing. I want you to allow me to say those words, the ones you interrupted the other night. The ones that should have followed when you read the doctor’s report and bleak prognosis,” she says.
“Why? What good will it do?” I say, squeezing her fingers so tight I’m afraid I’m hurting her. And that thought slices at my heart.
“I need to say it. I need you to allow me to say it,” Dahlia says. The event that triggered this trip’s conception happened three weeks ago. It was the news that Dahlia had cancer and it had taken over. My photographic memory won’t allow me to forget that look Dahlia gave me when she told me the news, like she pitied me, like this was my diagnosis and not hers. And then she opened her mouth to say those two words and sensing what she was about to say, knowing it, I turned and stormed away.
And she’s right. I blotted out her moment to express herself, and for the selfish reason that I couldn’t stand to see her weak.
“Go on then,” I say to her as warm summer air dashes across my cheeks.
Dahlia releases my hand and straightens, like she’s conquering something rather than lying down in front of it. Like she’s overpowering it rather than admitting she’s at its mercy.
With clear bright eyes she says, “I’m afraid.”
“I know,” I say with a curt nod.
“I’m afraid that this cancer is going to kill me. That it will take me away from you. And that you’ll never forgive God. That you’ll explode with fury and never have a moment of peace again,” Dahlia says.
Of course she’s worried for me in all of this. Worried of how I’ll survive if she dies. “Dahlia, if fucking cancer takes you away from me….” I say, but lose the right words, and they need to be right. My words need to be exact in expressing what I want to say.
“Ren, this is what we need to face together. To deal with. We need to talk through all of this,” she says.
I now grip both her shoulders and look down at her. “There’s nothing for me to deal with. I won’t be bitter if you die.”
She tilts her chin to the side, baffled by this response. “Really? Why?” And Dahlia almost appears a little disappointed, like me not being heartbroken without repair is unacceptable.
I squeeze her shoulders. “If God takes you from this world then I know how to find you. I know where you will go and I know how to get there,” I say, pure conviction in my voice. No one knows I have this power, but I indeed do.
She doesn’t look surprised. Dahlia would never be. She would have sensed this all about me. Know the great secrets I’m forced to keep. “What will something like that do to you?” she says because she’s incredibly brilliant and knows there would be a cost for something that great. She is keen about how actions and results work in my world, which is different than hers.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Ren…”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, and it’s true. Even though the act of finding her in the afterlife will create a schism in my soul I would do it. I know I’d have to. The way to journey into the land of the dead is relatively new knowledge for me but I believe it to be true and know I could pull it off.
“You mustn’t do this, Ren. I can’t allow you to follow me if I die. It isn’t natural.”
I smile and feel the tenderness in the expression mirror itself in Dahlia’s eyes. “You won’t be able to stop me.”
“Ren—”
“If soul mates exist, then Dahlia, you are mine,” I say, cutting her off. “And that’s exactly how I know I can find you. No matter where you go from this world I can find you.”
“But you belong here,” she says.
I shake my head, a sincere smile on my lips. “No, Dahlia, I forever belong with you. That’s not marriage, that not me blindly committing myself to you. That’s pure instinct. If I’m not yours, then I’m nothing.”
“Ren,” she says, breathless.
“I know it makes me sound like I need you, but—”
“It’s okay,” she says, pushing forward into my arms. “Because I need you.”
And I press her into me, realizing she’s right. And it’s all right for us to need each other.
Chapter Fifteen
> Dahlia lets out a long relieving sigh when she settles into the middle seat next to Lucien. “It feels so good not to drive and relax back here. Thanks, Reynold, for taking a leg of the trip,” she says.
My pops has checked the rearview mirror’s position fourteen times before putting the car into reverse and getting us back on the road.
“You know I could have driven,” I say to the road but meant for Dahlia.
“That’s okay, I wanted an adventure, not a car wreck,” she says.
“I’m a bloody fantastic driver,” I say.
“Yes, dear, but your driving is a bit aggressive for my taste,” she says.
“Well, at the speed we are going now we will never arrive to the bee farm or cheese factory or whatever other revolting place you have in mind for us,” I say.
“Well, I’m hoping you will keep an open mind about our next destination,” she says with a yawn. “Reynold, just follow the GPS and we will be there in an hour or two.”
“Or three,” I say, eyeing the speedometer. “You realize that this beast can manage speeds that would put the tractors in Peavey to shame. Feel free to step on it.”
Pops chuckles. “Oh, Ren, not everything is about speed and efficiency. You’ve got to learn to enjoy the ride.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, instantly dismissing his awful cliché advice.
“I’m just so thrilled to be on a family vacation,” he says and then slaps the steering wheel. “Who would have thought? You and me on a road trip. It’s about the best experience I could have dreamed of.”
“You should really get out more,” I say.
“Well, and to have you, Adelaide, Lucien, and Dahlia all together. Well, I’m one lucky man,” Pops says.
“It is wonderful being all together, Reynold,” Dahlia says, a smile in her tired voice. She sounds like she’s about to drop off into Middling dreams.
“I agree,” Adelaide sings from the back. “Even if Ren loathes my very existence, I’m glad we’ve taken the opportunity to do this trip together.”
“You all are going to make me throw up,” I say.
“And I appreciate you guys allowing me to tag along,” says a voice that I don’t recognize.
I twist around to see a woman sitting next to Adelaide. She’s in her thirties and has boring brown hair and glasses and looks just like an accountant with a rap sheet.
“Who the fuck are you?” I say to the lady.
“I met her back in Eureka,” Adelaide says, giving me a proud smile. “She asked for a ride and I figured no one would mind if she joined us.”
Dahlia, who is half asleep, waves absentmindedly at the back. “Whatever,” she says.
“The more, the merrier,” my pops sings.
“No,” I say to him. “Not whatever,” I say in Dahlia’s direction. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” I say to Adelaide.
“Oh, shocking, I’ve screwed up again by your standards,” she says.
“Not by my standards,” I say. “By any sane person’s standards. You all apparently aren’t that. Not anymore.”
“I’m not an axe murderer,” the lady says.
“That’s what all axe murderers say,” I say to the woman, who looks somewhat amused.
The hitchhiker then laughs. “He’s funny,” she says to Adelaide.
“Who are you?” I say, realizing we are in the middle of nowhere now but I’m going to drop this thing off at the next sign of civilization. I have really softened up.
“I’m Jessica. But I go by Sica,” she says.
I shake my head at her. “What? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. Who goes by the last part of their name?” Then I remember Leen and Ephanie, the dumb woman with the idiotic advice.
“I do,” Sica says with a shrug.
“Addy,” I say, looking at my dumbass daughter. “Why the fuck did you bring a hitchhiker into our vehicle?”
She gives me a mischievous smile. “I was bored.”
“That’s because you’re boring,” I say, realizing she did this as another tactic to try and irritate me. It really is her hobby.
“But honestly, I just felt compelled. I think she’s one of us,” Adelaide says with a giant wink. “You know, a DT. A reamda ravelerta. A sleep journey person. A—”
“I know what you mean. And if this woman was then she wouldn’t be hitchhiking. Did you ever think of that?” I say, resisting the urge to rip back there and strangle my offspring.
“Laide is right,” the woman says, pointing at my daughter. “We are really all one. We are the same. I am you and you are me and we bring people along because we are all connected.”
“No, no, and fucking no,” I say to the woman.
“Ask her where she’s going,” Adelaide says, looking excited.
I roll my neck, feeling a strain start to press into my muscles from being turned around in my seat.
“Jess, where the fuck are you going?” I say.
“Sica,” the woman corrects. “Jess is my sister.”
“How the fuck do you have a sister by the same name?” I say.
She shrugs. “My parents thought it would be cool,” the woman says, drawing out the last word like a fucking hippie would. “And I’m going through space and time, man. That’s where I’m headed.”
“See,” Adelaide says. “She’s one of us.”
“No, she’s on drugs,” I say.
“Aren’t we all on something?” the woman says.
“No, Sue, some of us are trying to hold onto our brain cells,” I say.
“What’s the point? Intelligence is infinite,” the hitchhiker says.
“No, stupidity is. Intelligence, I’ve found, is rare and possibly something most humans are allergic to,” I say. “And since this conversation with you is making me feel dumb, why don’t you shut your mouth unless you want me to hit the eject button for your seat.”
“I told you he’d let you stay,” Adelaide says. “He’s really a humanitarian, my father.”
“Thanks for allowing me on this part of your adventure, Nold,” says the woman, who obviously wants today to be her last on earth.
“Shut the fuck up, Jessy,” I say to her.
***
The ocean disappears on our left almost at once when the road veers to the right and then all at once we are cloaked in a green darkness. I look up from my book to find trees. Trees every fucking where. Massive trees with bark as red as my hair.
“Oh, we’re almost there,” Dahlia says, waking from her dreams.
“Almost where?” I say, an edge to my voice.
“Don’t be mad, but I’ve always wanted to see the redwoods. I knew you wouldn’t like the idea, but I’m hoping you’ll keep an open mind for me,” she says.
“Dahlia, you know I don’t do trees…” I say, pressing my eyes shut, my fingers pushing into my temples. An old anxiety storming back.
“Then stay in the car,” she says as Pops pulls into a turn-out. “I picked up a picnic at the town back there, though, and think you should join us.”
“No fucking way,” I say, staring out the windshield at the massive beasts towering everywhere, surrounding me like a bunch of demons about to close in on me and suffocate me with nightmares.
“Have it your own way,” she says as the lot pile out of the car.
Pops slaps me on the shoulder. “Hope you change your mind, son.” Then he slides out and joins the women and toddler as they stretch and walk off into the forest.
I pull up my book, certain that the last thing I’m going to do is join those pain in the asses as they cram cheese and crackers into their mouths. Then I remember I have to take a piss, which I should be able to do just outside of the vehicle. And then I can be back inside the compartment with a long stretch to read my book which offers the distraction I need.
I open the door and jerk with surprise when I find Jessica standing nearby, leaning beside the SUV.
“What are you doing here?” I say with disgust.
“Waiting,” she says simply.
“Well, sod off. I’ve got to take a piss,” I say.
“In a minute. I wanted to tell you something first,” she says.
I consider getting in the woman’s head and making her climb up a tree and jump, but decide against it. Something in her eyes gives me a curious pause.
“You seem like a man who has lived half a life,” Jess says.
“I’ve fucking had more experiences than anyone on this planet,” I say.
“And yet you’ve never experienced the shade of a tree or the laughter of a child or the heartbreak of losing a loved one,” she says, too much confidence in her words. And how could she know all that?
“I’ve lost people,” I say, my voice tight. I can’t believe I’m having a conversation with this halfwit.
“Yes, but have you ever allowed yourself to experience that loss or have you only shoved it away? Retreated from the pain? My guess is that you’re not a man who has dealt with the loss. That’s why it marks your eyes, and restricts your past and therefore your future,” she says.
“You know nothing,” I say with a hiss.
“Maybe, but I will offer you one piece of wisdom I learned on my travels.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I say.
“Then don’t, but I’m going to say this anyway,” she says with a prideful smile. “The future is a product of the demons we lay to rest. Get over the past to enjoy what’s to come.” And I don’t like her use of the word demons, knowing I’ve just described the trees as that.
“That’s shitty advice,” I say.
“Maybe so, but couple it with other words of wisdom and it might help you,” Sica says.
“Help me with what?” I say.
“With finally being present, not restricted by the loss of the past and the fear of that loss that will come in the future,” she says.