Field-Tripped

by Nicole Archer

  Dead air.

  “Still there?” he asks.

  “Are you nervous? About getting married?”

  “Hell, yes. You’ve met her sister, Callie, right? She keeps threatening to kill me.”

  I try to laugh, but I can’t. “No, I mean in general. Aren’t you worried about your future with Effie?”

  “I just want to get this over with. She’s been putting me off for a year. I wanted to get married after a month.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, man. So what’s up with you? You sound funny.”

  “I ran into my ex out here.”

  “That’s tough,” he says. “You okay?”

  “No.”

  Dead air again.

  “Elias?”

  He sighs. “Listen, I’m terrible on the phone. Hang up and text me. Or better yet, let’s get a bite to eat when you come home.”

  I hang up. So much for my best friend’s support. I wish I could talk to Patrick. He’d know what to do. That is, after he kicked my ass for leaving his sister again.

  I tear open the gift Burt gave me. It’s a leather-bound journal with puppies embossed on the front. I unsnap the strap and read the first page:

  Charlie’s Field Guide. Keep out, Weiner, or I’ll shave your head.

  For the next thirty minutes, I read page after page of her innermost thoughts from childhood on.

  Every line I read grates a piece of my heart off.

  When I reach the part where Patrick told her about the ring, they announce my flight is boarding.

  My feet shuffle through the line, barely able to carry my dead weight. I find my window seat and stow my backpack.

  In the distance, the setting sun casts a violet hue on the snowy peaks. I crack open the diary and read her last pages. Then I get to this part:

  “My family is gone. I don’t know what I’d do without Elliott.”

  Two weeks later

  “Elliott is gone. I have no one.”

  It’s like a car just crashed into me. I’m about to walk out on her again. I’m not a stupid twenty-one-year-old kid. I’m a fucking man. A fucking man who needs to grow a pair.

  And we’re not kids anymore. Everyone has a past. What does it matter if she’s a mess? So am I.

  Look at Elias and Effie. If they made it, so can we.

  Charlie was always there for me growing up, and I need to be there for her now.

  My phone vibrates, and a notification from my Buddhist quote-of-the–day app pops up.

  “In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.” ― Gautama Buddha

  I grab my phone and dial my parent’s house. “Mom? Can you come get me at the airport? I’ve made a huge mistake.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  Charlie Takes A Bath

  Eli’s Mixtape: Brandi Carlile, “Raise Hell”

  AFTER I TAKE A BATH, I sit in my bathrobe on the couch in front of the fire and watch the snow fall.

  Art plops next to me, his mass nearly bouncing me to the floor. For a while, we stare through the window as if it’s the most fascinating television program.

  “Did he call?” Art asks.

  “Who?” I say in an absent-minded voice.

  “You really going to play that game with me?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “You okay?”

  Actually, it feels like a million needles are lodged in my heart. It’s hard to breathe or bleed or live. “I will be.”

  “Want some cookies and milk?”

  “No.”

  “Wants some booze?”

  I manage a laugh. “No, I’ve had enough depressants for the day. I’m just going to be still for a while.” And wait for Elliott to come back. Because he’s coming back. I know it. Maybe not now, but soon.

  Art rubs the back of my neck, and I lean against his shoulder. “Love is hard.”

  “That it is. But it makes the world glow, sweets, especially you.” He lifts my chin with finger. “Don’t give up.”

  I smile through my tears. “I’m thinking about taking a trip to Peru.”

  “Burt and I took our executives on a company vacation there. Pretty wild. You’d like it. We’ve got some airline miles if you want to use them before they expire.”

  “I just may do that.” But not until I hear from Elliott.

  The front door opens, and Burt stomps inside. Our gazes connect, and his mouth twists.

  He’s not coming back.

  Fury shoots through my veins. Screw him. I’m going to Machu Picchu.

  I turn to Art. “You mentioned I could have your airline miles?”

  He stands and ambles over to the front desk. “Let me call my secretary. See if she can’t help you out.”

  “First class, one way.” I tell him. “I want to leave New Year’s Day.”

  Screw it. I’ll go on an adventure by myself. I don’t need anyone else. I’ve been living on my own for ten years, and I can do it for ten more.

  I ask Burt, “How do you feel about watching the boys while I travel around the world?”

  “Done,” Burt says.

  An hour later, I hover my finger above the mouse. My flight is on the screen. Charlotte Sullivan. Seat 1A. I click back and check out the seating map. There are still plenty of seats left. I click “book it,” and let out a loud sob.

  Then I accept Art’s offer for booze and cookies. We play a game of checkers. I paint my toenails. And I stuff my sorrow into the pit of my belly, where it’s been for ten years.

  Two hours later, the doorbell rings. Burt pads to the lobby in his bunny slippers and opens the door.

  “Welcome back, Bearded Clam.”

  Air whooshes out of my lungs. Thank God.

  Elliott nods. “Burt. Art.” Eyes a wild blue storm and hair a terrible mess, he doesn’t move from the entryway when he greets me. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I say casually.

  “I didn’t leave.”

  “I see that.” My pulse is about to jump out of my throat. I swallow and force my attention back to painting my toenails.

  Burt and Art get up and leave.

  Elliott strolls over and stares at me. “Isn’t this the part where you jump into my arms and tongue kiss me?”

  “I just painted my nails.”

  The creases in his forehead deepen.

  “Come here, you idiot.” I pat the cushion.

  My dogs jump on the couch and lick his face. “I missed you guys, too,” he tells them, furiously trying to pet all of them at once.

  “How was the airport?” I ask.

  “Shitty.”

  “Crowded?”

  “Yeah.” He pulls an envelope from his back pocket and hands it to me. “Got you these.”

  I open it slowly. “Hmm. Tickets to Peru. For New Year’s Eve.” I yawn. “What a coincidence. Same date. Same flight. But I’m in first class. Pity.” I stuff them back in the envelope and chuck it at him. “Hope those are refundable.”

  “They’re not.” He slips his hand inside mine. “Chicken?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you punishing me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m an amateur.”

  “A total loser.”

  He tucks me under his arm and lays his cheek atop my head. “I missed you.”

  “I knew you’d be back. No one can resist my charm and good looks.”

  “You got that right.” His fingers feather sparks up and down my wrist. “Can we kiss and make up now?”

  I plop my feet in his lap. “First, I want a foot massage.”

  The St. James smirk slides up. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

  “Nope. You can kiss your simple life goodbye.”

  “Screw simple.” He rubs a knuckle in the arch of my foot. “I need difficult. I need a challenge. I need you.”

  “What
made you change your mind?”

  “I read your journal.”

  I sit up. “What journal?”

  He cracks a grin. “’Elliott is the most beautiful boy alive. He’s so nice and wonderful. And I think we should just do it and get it over with.’”

  My cheeks burn up. “I never said that.”

  He wiggles his brows and pulls the journal out of his backpack. “Yes, you did.”

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Burt. Wait until you hear what they did.”

  I groan. “I don’t want to know.” I crawl over and get in his lap. “You’re such a loser.”

  His smile presses against mine. “I still have to go back to New York when we get back from our trip.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  “Yep, I’m not leaving you ever again. You’re too dangerous on your own.”

  I hug him so hard he grunts. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too, Chicken. Oh my God. I can’t breathe.”

  I let go. “I think we should do it.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  Eli Reaches The Sun

  Survival Tip: When traveling, it’s always a good idea to look back at where you were so on the return route, things will be more familiar.

  Eli’s Mixtape: Donavon Frankenreiter, “Free”

  ON THE WAY to South America, Charlie sits in first class and I sit in coach. She visits me in my crappy center seat, only to gloat and wave her free champagne in my face.

  When we arrive in Peru, we take off on our five-day hike—twenty-six miles on the Inca trail through lush cloud forests, jungles, and rainbow-colored mountain valleys dotted with wild orchids.

  The stone paths, sharp cliffs, soaking rain, and log bridges make for a perilous journey.

  Sometimes Charlie sings songs with made-up lyrics. Sometimes I smack her ass to give her a little pick-me-up. “Come on, woman, you’re slacking.” It’s a lie, of course. She never slacks. And sometimes we hike in silence, awe-struck by the magnificence.

  She’s always in front of me. I like it better this way. The breathtaking view of her natural beauty against the backdrop of this gorgeous place makes my heart ache with joy.

  We walk. We talk. We cheer each other on and laugh. We fall in love again.

  At night, we set up camp and dine on yucca, sweet potatoes, and soup with our Peruvian guides around a warm fire. We stare at the stars and plan more adventures. The guides play pan flutes, and it’s almost silly how magical it is.

  Then, exhausted and electrified, we slip inside our tent and melt together, quietly panting in ecstasy, inhaling our earthy natural scents, and we cling to each other as desperately as we clung to the paths that brought us this far.

  “I feel so free,” she hums against my skin. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

  I stroke her tangled hair. “Me, neither.”

  Five days later, we arrive at the steps of Machu Picchu, and I suddenly feel deeply religious. There are spirits here. You can feel them in the air.

  At the summit, beside Intihuatana, the ritual stone pillar used as a sundial by the ancient ones, Charlie removes three Tupperware containers.

  “Jesus, you put your family in Tupperware?”

  She shrugs. “It’s the lightest thing I could think of. I tried a sandwich baggie, but that just seemed wrong.”

  I stare at her for a long moment then shake my head.

  “I guess we should say a few words?”

  “Whatever you want, my love.”

  Her mouth swishes back and forth then she speaks to the containers. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Hi, Weiner. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to bring you here.” Her voice cracks. “I wasn’t ready to let you go. But we all need peace now, and so here I am. Elliott’s here with me. He wants to say a few words.”

  “I do? Oh, okay. Let’s see. I miss you guys. I’m sure you know this, but you were the chosen ones—my preferred family. I’m here with your daughter. She’s the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen—”

  Charlie punches my shoulder.

  “Ow!” I rub my arm and continue. “Okay, guys, I hope you like it here. It’s, I don’t know, as close to heaven as we can get, I suppose.” I step aside and let Charlie continue.

  She inhales a shuddering breath. “Well, I guess it’s time. I love you.” She lifts the lid off one container.

  “Not here,” I say. “The wind. You don’t want a Big Lebowski moment.”

  “Where should I do it, then?”

  “Over there, maybe? By that temple?”

  We carry the Tupperware over to the green moss and stand by the edge.

  She dumps out the first batch. “Bye, Dad.” Then the next. “Bye, Mom.” And then the third. “Bye, Weiner.” The ashes float on a breeze and swirl down to the cloud cover.

  Then she accidentally drops a plastic lid over the edge.

  She groans. “We can’t just leave that there.”

  So I scale down the cliff, nearly die on the way down, and retrieve it.

  Once that stunt is done, I hold her and smile.

  She gives me a soulful kiss. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Chicken.”

  A short while later, we’re on our way again, but it’s not over, our adventure. It’s just the beginning. The beginning of our new story.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Charlie Wears Something Ugly

  January, Peru

  TODAY, Elliott and I got married in a little chapel in Ccaccaccollo, Peru, on our return hike from Machu Picchu.

  It was totally spur of the moment. And believe it or not, it was his idea. He told me it was about time he put that ugly ring on my finger.

  I’ve never been so happy to wear something so hideous.

  Mine, all mine.

  Acknowledgments

  Elements of this story really happened. I’ll let you guess which ones, but I will tell you this, a lot of readers think I make up a lot of my ad agency stuff. I’m telling you right now, stories like this really exist. Bosses like Skip exist. Clients like this are real. I once had to compete against another agency very much the same way.

  I had a lot of help this time. Thanks to my beta readers: Jodie, Julie, and Eileen. They helped make the story much better.

  Thanks to my editor, Kiezha, who walked me through plot holes like a fairy godmother.

  As always, I’d like to thank my crazy kid and fuzzy dog, for giving me love, even when I’m an asshole on a deadline.

  And I’d especially like to thank Irene Oust for loving my books and promoting the hell out of them. Love you, you crazy lady.

  About the Author

  Nicole Archer’s lengthy career as an advertising copywriter not only polished her writing skills—it provided a lifetime of book material. As a single, full-time working mom of a beautiful, brilliant, and horrifically energetic son, she has little time to do much else besides work, write, read, drink wine, and breathe. She’s originally from Colorado, but lives in Dallas now. This is her third book.

  Sign up for updates from Nicole

  Website

  Facebook group

  Facebook author page

  Twitter

  Instagram

  Pinterest

  Goodreads

  BookBub

  Spotify

  Review Me

  Hey, Fabulous Reader! Raise your hand if you liked this book? Or better yet, leave a stellar review everywhere. Positive reviews are critical to the survival of new indie authors, and I’d be ever so grateful if you took the time to write one. It helps feed my kid.

  Please review me on Amazon, Goodreads, or wherever you purchased your book.

  Road-Tripped—Ad Agency Book 1

  What’s worse than driving across country in a phallic-shaped RV with a coworker you hate? Falling in love with them.

  Copywriter, Callie Murphy, has a bad attitude, a vicious tongue, and a serious aversion to Shimura Advertising’s reside
nt manwhore, Walker Rhodes. Know where he can stick his good looks and Southern charm? She can think of a few creative places. Avoiding him wouldn’t be a problem, except her boss threatens to fire her if she doesn’t go along with him on their RV client’s cross-country tour.

  Walker is sick of his job, tired of women, and in a big old creative rut. The upcoming client road trip is just what he needs to shake things up and rediscover his lost passion. But his plans go south when his partner drops out at the last minute, and Callie, the foul-mouthed tiny terror, takes her place. Unless he can find a way to thaw his icy coworker, he’s looking at two months of pure hell.

  Buy on Amazon.

  Head-Tripped, Ad Agency Book 2

  A rock star romance meets Alice in Wonderland.

  Effie’s a gifted musician and a hot mess.

  Elias is the front man in a popular band and hates fame.

  They both just want to be normal.

  Except there’s nothing normal about the way they meet.

  And there’s definitely nothing normal about the connection they share that weekend.

  But he’s leaving for his European tour.

  And she still has to dig herself out of the hole.

  If only they could forget that weekend and go on with their lives.

  Or...

  He could break all the rules, invite her to play on tour with him, and travel across Europe in a Barbie Disco Bus with a bunch of weirdos.

  Normal is boring

  Crazy is better.

  Or is it?

  Buy on Amazon.

  Guilt-Tripped—Ad Agency Book 4

  Coming soon! Avery Adams’ story.

  Sign up for my newsletter on nicolearcher.com to get updates.