The Moment of Letting Go

by J. A. Redmerski

  “And why do you want to do it?” I quiz her.

  “Because I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

  “And why don’t you want to be afraid?”

  “Because fear is like a vampire,” she says, still looking at the back of the seat in front of her. “And I’m tired of letting the bastard suck the life out of me.”

  “Hell yeah.” I smile proudly.

  When the plane takes off, Sienna’s fingers dig into the armrests. The back of her head has been shoved against the seat as though the plane were a fighter jet and we took off at an unimaginable speed. Her hazel-colored eyes are as wide as my fists underneath her short bangs.

  The plane levels out and soon after we’re surfing the clouds hanging over the Pacific.

  “Sienna?”

  Frozen in her seat, she won’t even move her head to look at me next to her.

  “Yeah?” she says with a nervous tenor.

  “You’re terrified right now,” I whisper, leaning toward her. “And I gotta say, I’m a little embarrassed.”

  Her head falls to the side and her eyes wrinkle at the edges with confusion.

  “You’re embarrassed?” she asks with disbelief.

  I shrug. “Well, yeah, I mean you have my balls in your purse and they really don’t seem to be helping much.” I shake my head solemnly. “It’s kind of hurtin’ my ego, y’know?”

  A smile sneaks up on her features, and the freckles splashed across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks seem to soften with the glimmer in her eyes. It’s what I was shooting for, that smile. I wouldn’t mind framing it on my nightstand so I could see it every morning when I wake up. I smile back at her, close-lipped, trying my best to contain the true measure of it.

  Then slowly her fingers loosen on the armrests. Her chest begins to rise and fall with a steadier pace. Her shoulders melt from the ice and begin to relax.

  “Remember,” I whisper softly, “this isn’t about getting it over with. It’s about wanting to do it.” I lean in so close that I can smell her shampoo and I point toward the window next to her. “Tell yourself that this flight is nothing and you’re not afraid of it. Smile to yourself and just let it go.” I spread my fingers toward the window as if I were releasing a butterfly into the air.

  Sienna

  I don’t know what has come over me, but I suddenly begin to feel freed, like I’ve finally crawled from underneath a thick, suffocating blanket and am tasting the cool air for the first time. I look toward the window, but not out it yet, and I see the baby-blue sky filling up the glass, unmoving, even though we’re traveling fast through the air. I begin to feel like I shouldn’t think about how I’m doing this to get over a fear, but instead I’m doing something as natural and as common as walking outside to check my mailbox. This is nothing, I tell myself. And I start to believe it.

  Finally I lean toward the window and without taking a deep breath or any other beforehand preparations, I just do it. I look through the small oval glass and down at the massive ocean and it takes my breath away. At first I’m breathless because of the fear as it tries digging its talons in me, but I force it at bay and watch with a breathless awe instead, letting the experience fill me from my head to my heels—it’s terrifying, but exhilarating just the same, like how a rush from the world’s tallest roller coaster must feel. My heart beats with a rapid fervor, making the blood around my eyes feel thin. I don’t think I’ve blinked in several long seconds. My lips are parted just a sliver, letting me suck in the air as it dries the inside of my mouth. And for what feels like forever, I can’t look at anything else but the sky and the ocean and the thousands of feet between them.

  “What’s your opinion on Norway?” I hear Luke say.

  Confused by the question, I look over at him. He’s staring down into the pages of a magazine.

  “Norway?” I ask curiously. “Well … I don’t really have an opinion,” I tell him. “I’ve never given it much thought, I guess. What do you mean exactly?”

  He glances over at me. “Oh, I just mean if you’ve ever been, or have you ever thought of going there?”

  “Nope, never been. And I can’t say I’ve ever thought about going, either.”

  Luke flips a page of the magazine and then rests his hand on the text.

  “I’m going there in a month,” he says. “I guess you can call it a vacation.”

  Crossing my arms over the top of my purse, I adjust my back against the seat so that I’m sitting at an angle, facing him somewhat.

  “I thought since you do so much traveling for your job,” he goes on, “you might’ve visited Norway—could’ve given me some firsthand insight.”

  “Nah,” I say. “I’ve never traveled outside of the United States. Jamaica was going to be my first really big trip.”

  He smiles and closes the magazine on his lap. “Well, I’m glad you decided to hang out with me instead.”

  “Me too.”

  Silence ensues.

  “Why Norway? Though I admit, it’d be awesome to see the fjords.”

  Luke shrugs and glances at the magazine cover briefly, then back over at me. “It’s just a place I’ve been planning to go for a couple of years with my brother and our friends. Part of a multi-stop trip. China, then Norway, then Switzerland …” He stops and gazes out ahead of him. A sort of sadness rests in his pensive features. “… well, I didn’t make the China trip, but I … well, I just had too much work to do and it wasn’t a good time to be taking a vacation.”

  He rests his back against the seat and crosses his arms over his stomach. I can’t put my finger on it, but it I get the feeling there’s far more to his story than what he’s letting on.

  I rest against my seat, too, and decide to change the subject, only because it seems like the thing to do.

  “So does your brother—Landon is his name, right?—does he live with you on Kauai?” That might explain why I have yet to meet him.

  A knot moves down the center of Luke’s throat, and for a moment he doesn’t answer. Then finally his head falls to the side and he says with a gentle expression, “Nah, Landon went to China as planned and never came back.” He laughs bitterly and his smile lengthens. “I guess he liked it too much.”

  The smile fades as his head moves to face forward again, where he stares off in front of him and says no more. I get the feeling he’s not OK with his brother’s choices; that shifty smile and the dark undertone of his voice bled sarcasm.

  “I bet you miss him.”

  He looks over, quiet and mysterious at first, as if contemplating, and then his eyes soften on me, and his mouth begins to turn up again. “Yeah, I do, but I’d say right now you’re giving him some real competition.”

  My heartbeat quickens; I press my lips together to keep from smiling.

  I have dozens of questions about Luke and his brother, Kendra and his other friends, and about the trip to China they were all supposed to take together, but this seems like sensitive territory to me even though he’s the one who brought it up.

  Reluctantly I ask, “Well, do you still talk to him?”

  He hesitates and then nods, but doesn’t look at me. “Yeah, every now and then.”

  He says nothing more on the issue. And neither do I.

  If Luke wanted me to know more he’d tell me. So I decide to leave the questions alone and stick with my hunches: There’s some bad blood between Luke and his brother; of this I’m pretty sure. And since Kendra used to be his brother’s girlfriend, there’s definitely something more to the story regarding her and Luke, or maybe Seth.

  As if time went by quickly as a favor to me, the next thing I know the plane is preparing to land, and the flight, which was supposed to traumatize me and make me never want to travel by air again, is about to end.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Luke asks, a knowing grin manipulating his delicious mouth.

  And it suddenly dawns on me, all that random talk about Norway that came out of nowhere was his way of helping cal
m my nerves and making me forget that I was on a plane at all. I never would’ve thought that simple conversation could achieve such a feat—and in the past, it never worked—but here I am, thirty minutes later, watching out the window with just an infinitesimal amount of lingering fear, as the plane lands.

  “I don’t know how that happened,” I say as we’re heading toward a long-term parking lot to find his car. “Actually, I’m kind of baffled.”

  He looks over, tugging on my hand as we continue weaving our way through parked cars.

  “I’ve tried everything,” I go on. “Therapy, medication, trying to trick my brain into not being afraid, but nothing ever came close to making me feel as relaxed as I did just now.” I laugh. “Paige hates flying with me, says I’m a crazy person. And my mom, she flew with me once on a job just for support so I wouldn’t be alone, but with her there, I think it was worse. All I wanted to do was curl up beside her until the plane landed.” I squeeze his hand and playfully add, “Maybe you should start up a business; fly around with people who have a fear of flying.”

  He laughs, and I hear his car beep twice somewhere to my right as he presses the button on his key chain.

  “You were more relaxed,” he says, “because I wasn’t paid to tell you not to be afraid. I’m not your best friend, who, despite being your best friend, thinks you’re just being a crazy person. And I’m not your mom, who’s probably the first person you want to cling to when you’re afraid because she’s your mom. No matter how old we get, when we get scared, we can become ten years old again just like that”—he snaps his fingers—“when Mama walks through the door.” We approach his car, a shiny blue Hyundai. “I dunno,” he goes on. “I think a lot of people who have debilitating fears need more than a therapist telling them why they’re afraid, a friend telling them not to be afraid, and a family member telling them that it’s OK to be afraid.” He opens the passenger door for me. “You need someone who understands the fear, who makes it their priority to help you overcome it because they genuinely want to and not just for a paycheck, and someone who approaches it in a way that comes from the heart instead of a list of stereotypical responses.”

  I smile warmly. “So I guess you’re that person, huh?”

  He smiles back at me and we just gaze at each other for a moment.

  I take him into a gentle hug. It surprises him a little, but he pauses only a second before wrapping his arms around me.

  “Yeah,” he answers in a soft voice. He nods, his eyes glowing. “I think maybe I am that person. If you want me to be.”

  My insides are mush.

  “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather,” I say with a thankful smile and then get into the car.

  “And a gentleman, too,” I add, adjusting on the seat. “You’re full of surprises.”

  He waits until I’m fully seated, propping one muscled arm along the top of the door, the other on the roof, and then peers in at me and says, “Hey, I’m just a guy who happens to be starving. How about some lunch?”

  I beam up at him wordlessly. His tall, tanned height dressed in khakis and a blue button-up shirt, adoring me with a gorgeous crooked smile as persuasive as it is mysterious.

  Luke Everett is dangerous.

  He’s more dangerous than flying in a plane or jumping from a cliff into water or from a bridge attached by a giant rubber band or getting lost in the forest. Everything about him screams change and the unknown and if you let him in, your meticulously planned life will never be the same again.

  But still I refuse to run away and I feel my legs running toward him faster, the muscles in my thighs hurting intensely with the kind of pain that a runner welcomes every day after that last lap. My heart is banging against my rib cage, my lungs gasping for air. But I can’t stop. I refuse to stop. I’m determined to see what’s at the finish line.

  SIXTEEN

  Sienna

  It’s raining by the time we get to a small strip of tiny shops and a farmers’ market. It was like the sky just opened up and dumped buckets of rain on the streets, so heavy I can’t see ten feet in front of the windshield.

  “How can you see where you’re driving?” I shout over the raucous pounding on the roof of the car. Both of my hands are fixed to the edges of my seat, and my head is pressed against the headrest.

  “I can’t!” he says, and I swallow a lump. “I just remember where the roads curve and whatnot!”

  “You better be lying!” I tell him, gripping the seat tighter. “The roads may not move, but I highly doubt the people and other cars on them stay in the same places, y’know!”

  He laughs and turns right at a stop sign and pulls into a small nook that I’m not even sure is an actual parking space, and then shuts off the engine.

  “Don’t worry about it! I could see just fine!” Before he even finishes the sentence, the rain just … stops, leaving his voice booming through the small, confined space inside the car. We both look at each other for a stunned second, and then laugh. God, he’s beautiful when he laughs.

  We get out of the car and start to stroll down the wet street, stopping at a few places along the way as I break out my camera and get a few interesting shots of locals in their everyday life with tourists.

  By the time we sit down to eat outside at a little restaurant, the clouds have moved off and the sun is shining again. The blacktop glistens with leftover moisture. I hear a constant dripping to my left, where water steadily falls from a roof into a little puddle. Voices hum all around, and there are sounds of the shuffling of shoes and the snapping of rubber against bare heels and the rolling of tiny wheels on baby strollers.

  “Other than the obvious,” I say across from Luke at a small round table, “why did you move to Hawaii?” I take another bite of my food.

  Luke swallows a mouthful down and then drags a napkin across his mouth.

  “Seth would be to blame for that,” he says with a smirk. “I met him years ago when I came here on vacation. Been best friends ever since.” He takes another bite, holding his head over his plate in case any of it misses his mouth.

  “Is he from here?” I take a quick sip of my soda.

  Luke nods with food in his mouth and then he swallows. “Yeah, Seth is a local, like Alicia and Braedon.”

  I pause, taking another sip, reluctant to ask my next question, but decide to anyway.

  “Not to be nosy,” I speak up, trying not to be obvious as well, “but does Kendra also live with you and Seth?” God, I hope not.

  He shakes his head rapidly. “Definitely not,” he says, and I quietly breathe a sigh of relief. “She used to when she and Landon were together, but after China …” He pauses briefly, almost inconspicuously, but I still make note of it. “She got a place of her own with a friend not far from Seth’s and my house.” He laughs under his breath. “She’s a good friend, but I lived with her long enough when she was with Landon. Too long. She drives me nuts sometimes. We get along a lot better now that we’re not under the same roof.”

  Well, that’s a relief.

  I take another bite, but offer no comment.

  After lunch, Luke takes me to some other places around town, where I buy a few small souvenirs for my parents, which I tuck away inside my big purse. But it’s when I notice that I’m literally the only girl walking around this place in a long dress that I regret not having packed a pair of shorts and a top, and I decide to buy a new outfit.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your dress,” Luke tries to convince me. “It’s a summery dress—not like you just left church in it, or anything.” He grins, looking me over once. “And besides, it’s sexy on you.”

  I blush hard—all that’s missing are my shoulders drawn up around my cheeks.

  “Well, thank you,” I say all fancy-like, stepping past Luke holding the door open for me and into a shop that sells all things cute and touristy. “But I’ll feel less out of place if I’m in shorts and flip-flops like everybody else.”

  The glass door closes behin
d Luke, the jingling of a bell fixed to the top, sounding around us. There are surfboards and surf-this and surf-that just about everywhere in this tiny place. Surfboards are mounted on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Surf accessories are placed here and there, leaving little room for the more normal summertime stuff, which is what I need. Migrating to a small T-shirt rack, I sift through them in search of my size.

  “How about this?” I hear Luke say from behind.

  An ugly button-up Hawaiian shirt with a loud flowered print dangles from a hanger on the end of his finger.

  I wrinkle my nose at him. “Seriously?” Then I lean in closer and whisper, “I think that’s for old men.”

  Luke laughs under his breath—because he totally knew that—and places the hanger back on the metal rack behind him.

  “Tryin’ to make me look like a tourist?” I accuse in jest and go back to sifting through the shirts on a more fashionable rack. “Might as well find me a muumuu and drape a lei around my neck, too.”

  He points and says, “I think the muumuus are on the back wall, but I, uh, wouldn’t go that far.” He almost looks scared.

  Shaking my head and trying not to laugh, I quickly find a suitable outfit: a simple white scoop-neck tee, a pair of light pink shorts with two white stripes down the sides, and a pair of white flip-flops—Paige would not be proud. Five-minute shopping, to Paige, is reserved for things like a quick run into the drugstore for a box of tampons.

  Luke breaks out his wallet when we step up to the register.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I protest sassily and reach inside my purse, but before I can fish my wallet out from underneath my camera, he slaps a credit card down on the counter.

  I lean toward him and hiss low under my breath, “Luke, seriously, I can pay for my own stuff.”

  “Yeah, so what,” he says in a normal tone, not caring that the cashier can hear us, “and so can I. As your host here on the best vacation you’ll ever take, I’m paying from here on out. I talked you into staying; it’s the least I can do.”