Pieces of Hope

by Carter, Carolyn

  “Stop here,” Ethan said quietly. I felt the warmth of his breath on my ear, and the insistent beating of his heart against my shoulder. It was good to know that mine wasn’t the only one pounding out a complicated rhythm.

  I shivered, but it had nothing to do with the mist.

  “Are you cold?” he asked. Without waiting for a response, he untied the cardigan from my waist, slipped my arms into it, and sat me down on a thick blanket. I stretched out my legs, leaned back against my hands, and focused on the sound of his voice.

  “We’re here,” he said. Mimicking my posture, he slid an arm behind my back.

  “Now what?” Surely there was more to my glorious surprise than a blindfolded jaunt across the countryside—even if the walk here was pretty exciting.

  “Shhh . . . just listen.”

  There was something in his tone, not a command, more of a request, that made me want to try. It seemed a little silly at first, what with the pounding of the water drowning out every other sound. But the more I listened, the more I heard.

  The sounds became so distinct that I began to see the images in my mind, almost as if the blindfold were missing. I even reached up once to make sure it was still in place. The acoustics were incredible, like being at an outdoor amphitheatre. I heard the highest highs and the lowest lows—a woodpecker pounding out a drum solo, a series of nasally honks from a flock of Canadian geese, the wind rattling the pine needles, and tiny insects whispering secrets from the wet ground around me.

  I turned my face in Ethan’s direction and smelled the warm scent of his skin, felt where his chest rested against my shoulder, heard his heart tap-dancing with mine. He was different here, and it wasn’t just physical. His smile came easier. It seemed that it always had been there, but something had hidden it from view, like a dark cloud passing over the sun.

  Suddenly, his breath was near my lips. I froze, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. With his mouth next to mine, he whispered, “Can you guess where you are? Can you guess your surprise?” When he lifted the blindfold, I squinted against the glowing sun, or maybe it was Ethan’s pale, pale hue.

  I paused for a moment. It was an easy enough guess. Only because it was the sort of thing I might have done—minus the blindfold.

  I bit my lip. “Is it an outdoor concert, maybe?”

  To my delight, he smiled. It lit up his face, made him seem more approachable. “Are you sure you’ve never been blindfolded before? I think I’ve been duped.”

  My mind went blank. My face flushed before I had a chance to think of something funny to say.

  “I must have overestimated my ability to surprise you. You should at least have to get in two guesses before you get it right,” he said. “I’ll have to be more creative next time.”

  “I’m up to the challenge,” I mumbled. But my heart had stopped on “next time.” He was already planning for it.

  I looked around, and saw that I had been here before. Sort of. It seemed that Ethan had taken some liberties with reality to improve upon perfection. Black, ancient-looking boulders, nearly close enough to touch, graced the back of the waterfall. A wide stream of water rushed across its peak. After falling about a hundred feet, it collected into a rocky pool at the bottom before overflowing noisily down the hill. It was an image straight out of a fairy tale—with trees towering all around us and feathery ferns carpeting the ground in emerald green. Now I knew why Creesie had made such a fuss at the Station. She had wanted our date to be perfect.

  And it was.

  “Hidden Falls?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. “I used to hike these with my family all the time. Some of the bigger ones, like Multnomah, have their charms, but I like these the best. They’re quieter.” Secluded, I’d almost said.

  “I found this place a few months ago, shortly after I’d moved to Eugene. From the moment I saw you, I knew I’d have to bring you here one day.” He laughed a little. “But then you went and dream-stalked me and foiled my secret plan.”

  “But you don’t really believe that’s possible,” I reminded him.

  “I’m leaning in your direction,” he said, his body mimicking his words. I smiled as he did it, hoping it was true. “Oh, I almost forgot . . .” He reached behind him and placed a wicker picnic basket between his legs. “What good’s a concert without terrible food?”

  “Hot dogs, giant pretzels, nachos?” I guessed, playing on the concert theme.

  “Maybe not that terrible,” he teased. “What kind of picnics have you been on?”

  “None like this,” I said. None with you.

  From the basket, he retrieved cookies, strawberries, two bottles of water, and a pair of cloth—as in real cloth—napkins. The gesture was so sweet that tears welled in my eyes. It wasn’t how I would have normally reacted, if I were truly myself. But here, my emotions were as exhausting as they were embarrassing. Kind of like swimming naked against a riptide while your friends looked on. Turning to fake a sneeze, I forced them away.

  As I munched on a cookie, I said, “I have a few questions. Do you mind?”

  Lying on his side, he looked up and studied my expression. “A few? You strike me as the curious sort. Maybe a few . . . thousand?”

  Inwardly, I cringed. Ethan knew me all too well. Or maybe Brody had been doing some of his usual spilling. For once, I didn’t mind the thought.

  “Let’s start with the basics today,” I said. “I think we have plenty of time.” I liked this new and seemingly confident me, as if I talked to guys who looked like Ethan all the time.

  “Ask me anything.” His voice, deep and soft, set my nerves on edge. I reached for another cookie to ease the tension. The sugar seemed to help. But just because Ethan had given me the green light, it didn’t make the words come any easier, especially with the way his eyes never left mine. It scrambled my brains, left me weak. Now I understood how a certain superhero must have felt around kryptonite.

  “Come here often?” I joked.

  “You would be the first.” He bumped my shoulder with his, prodding me. “Don’t be shy, Hope. It’s just the two of us. Ask me whatever you what.”

  “Long version or short?” I quipped, delaying once again.

  “Whatever you want . . .” His voiced dropped to a huskier tone. “I’m all yours.”

  I swallowed. He had to put it like that, didn’t he?

  Ethan waited patiently as I closed my eyes—temporarily blocking the effects of the kryptonite—inhaled one enormous breath, then exhaled every ridiculous question in my head in one exasperatingly long sentence.

  “If you could be here with anyone, would you still want to be here with me? Why d’ya smell so good? When’d you learn to fly-fish? D’ya remember anything else from before? D’ya look more like your mom or your dad? Why’d you become a nurse? How long’ve you been climbing? Ohhhh . . . were you born with those lips or did ya have to grow into ‘em?”

  I inhaled another deep breath and opened my eyes.

  Embarrassed, I mumbled, “Ignore that last one. I plead temporary insanity.”

  He laughed softly. “You said we had plenty of time.”

  “You asked!”

  “I did. I did,” he admitted. “Let me see if I can sort this out. I guess I should have taken notes.”

  It was my turn to nudge him back.

  “To answer your first question as concisely as possible . . .” He brought his lips a few centimeters from mine. I could feel his warm breath on my face. “If I could choose to be with anyone in the world in this single moment in time, and given your rather crazy explanation it seems I can . . . let me assure you the only name on my list would be yours—Catherine Hope Valenti.”

  My arms gave way, but I quickly recovered by shifting onto my side. Ethan gave a low chuckle, but made no further comment. “Onto the next?” he asked.

  I nodded like my head was on springs.

  “I promise to give each question equal importance,” he said. “I think the next one had to do wi
th why I smelled so good.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Truthfully, it can’t be nearly as enticing as the way you smell to me. You make me hungry.”

  “You’d be surprised how often I hear that lately.” I muttered, thinking he had meant something other than the obvious. At first, I thought he was about to explain the hungry part, and I looked away the instant my heart started pounding. Ethan gave no further explanation. A few awkward seconds later, I cleared my throat. “Fly-fishing,” I reminded him.

  “Yes, fly-fishing,” he echoed, slightly distracted. “Let me ask you a question first.”

  “Fire away,” I told him, my heart still pounding.

  “Were there certain . . . truths you knew about yourself, even as a child?”

  Truths? He looked so serious that I knew he wasn’t talking about being intelligent, or living daily with unruly hair. Less superficial. Something deeper.

  I had to think about it. “Sure,” I finally said. “For starters, I knew I’d be older when I married—twenties or early thirties, maybe. And I didn’t want a boy . . . a man, to interfere with my career. Becoming a vet takes a while, you know. Then after I received my D.V.M., I knew I’d have to get started on a family, if I was ever going to have one.”

  He looked impressed. “I like that you’re so open,” he said. “It takes courage to be so candid. While it’s a quality I greatly admire, I don’t do it so well myself.”

  Even though I loved the way he was looking at me, I decided to tell him the truth.

  “It’s not what you think. I’m not courageous. It’s . . . well . . . my filter’s broken.”

  He almost laughed. “What filter is that?”

  “You know, the one that stops you from becoming a social pariah by preventing you from uttering every ridiculous word in your head?” I shrugged in disgust. “Had you known me in the living realm, you would see that my filter used to work just fine! And I’m not sure why, but since I’ve had my accident . . . or since I met you . . . it seems to have broken.”

  “I want to tell you something.” He dragged a hand through his hair. It seemed to help him to think. When he spoke, his words, though startling, seemed to come easily. “When I turned four, I remember thinking that I was going to die a young man. I’m not sure what age I thought old was . . . but not very old. Younger than most.” Relief flooded his face. I sensed he’d never told anyone this before. “Because of that truth, I’ve lived entire my life as if every moment counted.” He managed an apologetic shrug. “And that’s why I learned to fly-fish when I was only six-years-old.”

  “I share my truth,” I teased, clutching dramatically at my chest. “And you turn it into a story about fly-fishing? You could have just told me you were a goof. I, of all people, would have understood.”

  “I forgot who I’m talking to,” he replied in mock seriousness. “You are, after all, the girl with the broken filter.” He sighed. “It’s more serious than I thought. You’re contagious.” The way he said it made me feel like we were in this thing together. And not quite so idiotic.

  When his eyes found mine, his voice went deeper and softer. “I’d like to save your ‘before’ question for last, if you don’t mind.” He looked down at his hands as I nodded. It was a rare moment when he wasn’t searching for something in my eyes, though I wasn’t sure what he was seeking. “Let’s assume I believe what you told me earlier—about this not being a dream. If that’s true, how much time do we have?”

  “Till you wake,” I said, hoping that wasn’t anytime soon.

  He brightened. “Then we’ll have to make the best of it, won’t we?”

  At once, he pulled me into him. As we lay back against the blanket, I worked at settling down my breathing. But I never quite got it right. My head rested in the crook of his shoulder, and if I tilted my head just so, I could make out his perfect profile, catch the subtle changes in his expression. Suddenly, it didn’t seem as if there would ever be enough time.

  “Where were we?” he asked politely.

  “You just shared your so-called fly-fishing truth,” I reminded him.

  “It wasn’t so-called,” he corrected, laughing. “I’ve lived my life as if I were running out of time. Until I started college at seventeen, I didn’t spend one day in school. I travelled the world with a tutor and, occasionally, my parents. But there’s so much I still haven’t seen or done. I guess, in my heart, I’m first and foremost a traveler.”

  I gaped at him. Other than my recent trip to the Station, my personal travels were too limited to mention. Compared to Ethan, I suddenly felt as if I hadn’t done much living. Not before my coma, anyway.

  “My mother wants me to become a doctor,” he went on. “But I don’t think that’s my calling. Who says you have to be great at one thing in life? Why not be great at several?”

  “How did you . . . I mean, why did you become a nurse?” I was trying to be delicate and this seemed to humor him.

  “You mean real men and nursing don’t go together? How about a figure skater?” he teased. “Would that be easier to swallow?”

  I pinched his side, frowning. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I’m used to it,” he said, unaffected. “You should hear my buddies in Boston. I’ve been harassed more than you’d care to know. But Brody was right about one thing.” My ears perked up. Brody and right so rarely happened in the same sentence. “The ICU is only about procedures. You don’t do much talking to unconscious people on their death beds.”

  I grimaced, knowing I was one of those people.

  “But the truth is,” he went on. “I chose this occupation because, when I was fifteen, I saved a man’s life.”

  “That’s an amazing coincidence,” I said, thinking of Creesie. “When I was fifteen, I saved a woman from dying of a heart attack.”

  “They say there are no such things as coincidences in life,” he mused.

  “They do?” I marveled, wondering who this mysterious they was. “Who did you save?” I asked. “And how did it happen?”

  I felt him shrug. “There’s not much to tell. I was hiking a part of the Appalachian trail when I spotted a hiker who had fallen down a steep embankment . . . I kept thinking, what if I hadn’t come along when I did? If I’d taken a different route or altered one thing, would that man still be alive today?” I nodded into his shoulder. It was similar to what I’d asked myself at the time. “That single event changed my life. I couldn’t imagine anything more satisfying than saving lives every day . . .”

  He looked sideways at me, a smile tugging his lips.

  “Unless, of course, it was figure skating.”

  “You’d look phenomenal in a silk leotard,” I said. He gave me a gentle shove and I sat up to grab another cookie (my sugar craving was relentless). After wolfing down the first one, I grabbed another then leaned across his legs. It was easier to his changing expressions from here. Ethan crossed his hands behind his head and looked down at me.

  “But of all the places in the world to live, why Oregon?” I asked him.

  He hesitated. Though I wasn’t positive, I sensed I’d touched a nerve. I wanted to take it back, ask something in its place. But Ethan spoke before I could think of anything else to say. “Mmmm, that’s a long story,” he said. “How about we save that one for another day?”

  I opted to change the subject to something more lighthearted. I already missed his smile. “Okay,” I agreed. “Why don’t you show me some of your talents?”

  “Talents?” He looked puzzled.

  “Talents. Gifts. Stupid things you’re exceptional at. Everybody has them.”

  “I suppose this means you have several.” He was humoring me, I could tell.

  “I do. As you already know, I have toes like lobster claws.”

  Ethan glanced dubiously at my feet. “And . . . that’s a talent?”

  “How many girls do you know that have vice grips in their shoes?”

  “Good to know,” he replied with a straight face. “If I ever
lose my vice grips, I’ll know who to call.” Whatever it was that had spoiled his mood now seemed in the past tense. “Tell me another.”

  “I can cross my eyes and make them stay that way.” I demonstrated this for him until he begged me to stop. “And I can whistle through my teeth. Gigi taught me how just before I entered the first grade. I guess while you were learning how to fly-fish, I was learning how to bring people down with a single whistle.” I gave an ear-splitting demonstration.

  “Your grandmother taught you how to do that?” He was still holding his ears when he said, “And has it been useful?”

  “Not yet,” I said seriously, “but you just never know.” He raised his eyebrows as if pondering the possibilities.

  “What about climbing?” he asked at last. “Not to diminish your other talents, but shouldn’t that one make the list? A love of yours, I’d guess. There’s something graceful and effortless about the way you move. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

  He didn’t blink as he said it, so I know he must have caught how my mouth parted in surprise, how my eyes widened. It was all I could do to suppress a sigh. Around Ethan, it was impossible to hide. I suddenly felt exposed. Naked, almost.

  “Don’t try to distract me.” I shook myself to lift the spell. “Now it’s your turn to be mortified.”

  With a mock salute, he sat up and I followed. I started to sit cross-legged as he did, but then I remembered why I didn’t like dresses and crossed my ankles (ladylike) in front of me instead. “It’s going to be difficult to top your stellar list of achievements.” He managed not to sound the least bit sarcastic. “I’ll need a moment to think.”

  He fell silent and his gaze drifted to the waterfall. In that moment, I worked to define the exact shade of his eyes. Jade, but more golden. Emerald, but more honey. By the time he started speaking, I still hadn’t nailed it down.

  “I’ve never really considered this a talent.” He frowned. “But my mother tells me I had this expression when I was younger that made it impossible for her to punish me.”

  I flashed my open palms. “Show me.”

  “This is embarrassing. I can’t believe I just told you that.” He sighed and I gestured again. “Okay,” he agreed. “But if you tell anyone, I’ll have to enter witness protection, grow a foot-long beard, and move to some remote location in Idaho.”