Always

by Sarah Jio

  “Nice to meet you, Cade,” Kyle says, pretending quite well the situation is like any other run-of-the-mill restaurant interaction.

  Cade stares ahead.

  “I think I’ll just order for us both if that’s okay,” I say nervously.

  Kyle nods agreeably. “Perfect.”

  “We’ll have the chicken satay, the eggplant, and green beans. The prawns and pot stickers. An order of the sea bass and, oh, the pad Thai.”

  “I’ll get that right in,” Kyle says, spinning on his heels.

  Cade keeps his hands in his lap, where his gaze is fixed.

  I don’t know what is going on in his head. I don’t know what he must feel. But my heart is beating so fast, I worry that it might burst.

  “Cade, you and I had our first date here,” I say, letting out a nervous laugh. “You probably don’t remember. It was a long time ago.” I turn and point across the room. “We sat over there.” I smile. I’m not sure if he’s even listening. And I feel as if I’m talking to myself in the mirror. “I was nervous about my dress,” I continue. “But you said I looked like Stevie Nicks. Remember?”

  His gaze doesn’t leave his lap.

  “Well,” I say. “That comment made me feel pretty cool.” I sigh. “You always knew what to say.” I keep my eyes on him, willing him to look at me. “You always made me feel special, wanted.”

  The waiter fills our water glasses, and I take a sip. Cade guzzles his, and Kyle instantly returns to fill it a second time.

  “You saved my life,” I continue, once we’re alone again. “Do you remember?” I don’t wait for him to respond. “I almost fell down a cliff.”

  Cade listens, but I’m not sure he understands.

  When Kyle brings out our food, Cade surveys the table with big eyes.

  “Go ahead,” I say. “Dig in.”

  He cautiously reaches for a pot sticker, and I push the plate toward him. “Have as much as you want. All of it if you’d like.”

  He shoves the pot sticker into his mouth, and then another. With no regard to napkins or silverware, he reaches for a prawn and then a slice of sautéed eggplant. He crams a handful of green beans into his mouth next, then moves on to the pad Thai after I’ve spooned some of it onto my plate. I hand him a fork, and he takes it.

  He’s ravenous and focused, as if, without a moment’s notice, the waiter will return and whisk all of this luscious food away and shoo him out the door in the process.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying the food,” I say as he polishes off the prawns.

  “When you left,” I say, “I didn’t know why. I didn’t know whether you needed a break from me, or if you needed to take time away from life, from the company. I waited, Cade. I waited so long.” I wipe away a tear, and when I notice a bit of food in his beard, I inch my chair closer to him and dab my napkin to his face and beard. He doesn’t flinch. I don’t even know if he’s listening.

  I sigh. “But you never called. You never wrote me, not even once. You just…disappeared.” I nod to myself. “And, just when I’m about to get married, I find you again. On the streets. And you don’t know me. You don’t even know me.” A lump is forming in my throat, and I swallow hard. “But I know you. I could never forget you.” I extend my hand across the table to him. “And I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

  He is unfazed, and his eyes remain cemented to his lap. Tearfully I pull my hand back.

  The waiter returns to the table. “I’m glad to see that you two have enjoyed things.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I say, offering my credit card. He returns a moment later, and I sign the receipt.

  Following my lead, Cade rises to his feet and lifts his bag from the floor. As we weave through the restaurant on our way out, a few diners at nearby tables gawk and whisper, but Cade registers no response. I realize that at this moment, there could be a half dozen of Ryan’s or my colleagues and friends looking on. But I don’t care. All that matters to me is this moment. And all I can think is: What next? When we get out to the street, then what? Do I let him slip away? What if I never find him again?

  It’s a warm day for November, and the spicy food has made my cheeks red, so I peel off my sweater and tuck it into my bag. The brisk air feels refreshing on my bare shoulders.

  I look Cade straight in the eye a final time. “Well,” I say, my voice faltering again. “Thank you for letting me take you to lunch. I…I mean, if you…if you ever…” My voice trails off. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t want my help. I take a deep breath. “I wish you the best,” I say. “I always will.”

  As I turn to leave, I feel a light hand on my shoulder, gently pulling me back.

  Cade looks at me quizzically, then drops his bag to the sidewalk. As I face him, he touches my shoulder again, at the place where my tattoo resides. He delicately touches it, tracing the lines and swirls with his finger, then rubbing it lightly as if it might come off.

  A moment later, he steps back and unfastens the last remaining button on his jacket and lets the right sleeve slide off, revealing a dirt-stained, torn T-shirt and a bony shoulder beneath. And then I see it, his tattoo, just like mine. Still just as vivid and beautiful as on the night we wandered into that tattoo shop in Belltown and, on a whim, like the wide-eyed hopeless romantics that we were, got matching tattoos. Just like that.

  A decade later, we stand on this Seattle sidewalk, our tattoos the only evidence of that old life. But it is evidence, and my heart flips and flutters when I see a flicker of recollection in Cade’s eyes. He’s in there somewhere.

  His eyes lock on mine. “Kailey,” he mutters, his voice soft and timid but familiar. So familiar. “Kailey,” he says again, as if he’s learning how to form the word with his mouth.

  “You remember,” I cry. A single tear trickles down my cheek.

  I close my eyes tightly, then open them again, looking up at the sky. Just above the buildings, painted across the sky in the faintest swath of colors, is a rainbow.

  AUGUST 3, 1996

  “Let’s go up to the deck,” Cade says as the ferry slowly releases itself from the dock and forges out into Elliott Bay.

  I scrunch my nose. “Won’t it be a little cold up there?”

  “Nah,” he says confidently, slipping off his black denim jacket and tucking it over my shoulders.

  The crossing to Bainbridge is only thirty minutes, and fifteen minutes in I can see the island in the distance.

  He offers me his hand, and together we walk up the narrow stairway that leads to the upper deck.

  We’ve been dating about two and a half months now, and I still feel butterflies flutter inside when we touch.

  On the top deck, he reaches for the camera dangling by a strap from his shoulder. “Wow, the light is beautiful out here. There’s just enough cloud cover.” He points to the railing ahead. “Stand over there. Let me take a picture of you.”

  “I don’t know,” I say shyly. “I’ve never liked having my picture taken.”

  “Humor me,” he says, pointing ahead. “Just one photo.”

  “Okay,” I finally say, walking ahead. I lean back, letting my arms drape across the railing on either side of me.

  What I don’t admit to Cade is that cameras have always made me feel anxious. Behind the lens, someone is looking at you, but you can’t see them. It’s one-sided and nerve-racking. And I feel vulnerable as Cade’s camera flashes again and again.

  “Try to relax,” he says, lowering the camera and walking toward me.

  “I’ll do my best,” I say, looking away. My cheeks feel stiff, my mouth awkward.

  He lifts the camera back to his eye. “If only you could see what I see.”

  The wind is cold and it’s whipping my hair across my face, this way and that. Cade takes one more photo, then walks to me, wrapping his arms, warm and strong, around my waist. And when our mouths find each other, he pulls me even closer. For a moment, a magical moment, we’re so entwined in this embrace that I’m not sure where he begi
ns and I end.

  —

  The ferry sounds its horn as we arrive on the island. We walk with a herd of other passengers off the ramp and through a long corridor that leads to the terminal. The little town of Winslow is just ahead, and we walk hand in hand along the sidewalk that leads to Main Street.

  “Hey,” Cade says, pointing ahead. “Let’s rent a motorcycle and see the island in style.”

  On the next block, I see the rental company, with a lot of motorcycles and scooters parked in front. “Really? Do you know how to ride?”

  He grins. “Do I know how to ride?”

  I flash him a playful smirk.

  “I guess I’m going to have to prove it to you, then,” he says, still smiling as we weave through the rows of bikes. Cade walks into the rental office and comes back with the key to a shiny black motorcycle trimmed in chrome. He hands me a helmet and then puts one on himself.

  “Ready?” he says, straddling the bike.

  “I guess,” I say nervously.

  He hands me his camera. “Mind stuffing this in your purse?”

  “Sure,” I say, fitting it inside my bag.

  Cade pats the seat behind him, encouraging me to get on. “Don’t be afraid, baby.”

  I swallow hard. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before. What if I fall off?”

  “You won’t,” he says, handing me his jacket, which I immediately put on. “I promise. Just hold on to me.”

  “Okay,” I say, climbing onto the bike and wrapping my arms around his waist as he guns the engine.

  I close my eyes tightly as he peels out of the lot and into traffic. The engine sputters and pops as Cade careens right, then left, until we’re on the main road that bisects the island. As he picks up speed, the wind has its way with every part of me. I hold on tighter to Cade. It’s scary and exhilarating at the same time.

  He turns right, and we find ourselves on a road that hugs the shoreline. We whiz by weathered homes and beach cabins, the scent of the sea ever present.

  When we pass a little outlook beside a public beach, Cade slows the motorcycle and turns around. “Let’s stop and check out the beach,” he says, pulling into the parking lot beside the road.

  We leave our helmets on the bike and follow a trail that leads to the beach, which is ours alone, aside from a seagull pecking at a clamshell ahead.

  Cade walks to the water’s edge, seemingly unfazed when a wave laps up against his shoe. The shore transfixes him, I can tell.

  “Should we take a plunge?” he asks with a grin.

  I smile a little self-consciously. “But we don’t have towels or a change of clothes.”

  “All right,” he says with a grin. “I’ll let you off the hook this time.”

  I look away from the shore to the cliff behind us. “I bet we could hike up there and take some amazing photos from the overlook.”

  “It looks a little steep,” he says.

  I take his hand. “Come on, we can do it.”

  He smiles and follows my lead. “I have a daredevil girlfriend.”

  I grin as we begin climbing. The trail is steep and jagged, winding so close to the edge of the cliff that I feel a bit woozy when I glance below. “I guess this is more of an advanced hike than I anticipated,” I say, a bit out of breath.

  “Do you want to turn back?” he asks. “We can take some photos by the beach instead.”

  “No,” I say. “Let’s continue on.”

  Eight switchbacks become fourteen, and fourteen become twenty. “We’ve got to be close,” I say. The sun is about to tuck itself in for the night behind the horizon. A band of orange and yellow streaks the sky.

  “If we’re lucky, we’ll make it to the top by sunset.”

  “I hope,” I say.

  “Makes me think of that Robert Frost poem,” Cade says.

  I nod. “So dawn goes down to day…”

  “Nothing gold can stay,” he continues.

  I smile as we round the last corner, which opens up to the top of the cliff. We both marvel at the views all around us—pristine tree-lined hills surrounded by sea. I feel both big and small.

  “Stand right there,” Cade instructs. “I want to take your photo. The light is incredible right now.”

  I inch closer to the ledge as he fiddles with his camera. I smooth my hair and instinctively reach for my necklace and give it a small tug, but when I do, the clasp breaks free and falls to the gravel at my feet.

  “Oh no,” I exclaim. “My necklace broke. That’s never happened before.” I fall to my knees and pat around the ground as Cade sets his camera down and walks closer.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll find it.”

  Still facing Cade, I look over my shoulder at the edge of the cliff. “What if it…fell?” I feel suddenly dizzy, my legs weak. And as I try to step closer to him, I lose my footing.

  “Cade!” I scream as I slip backward. Time suddenly slows, as one terror-filled moment blends into the next. I feel myself falling over the ledge. I claw at the uneven hillside, which seems to melt beneath my grasp. And then strong hands meet my wrists. Cade’s voice, solid and sure. “I’ve got you,” he says. Rocks from the hillside are falling into the air. I feel dirt in my eyes. “Don’t panic. Just stay still.” His eyes are locked on mine. “I’m going to pull you back.” My legs dangle over the rugged cliff. The beach is hundreds of feet beneath me. For a moment, I can see my end. The way the air would feel as I fall to the shore. The sound my body would make when it meets the rocky beach below. The blood trickling from my nose when Cade finally gets to me.

  Cade slowly pulls me back to him. As he does, more gravel and rock fall from the cliff to the beach below. “Almost there,” he says calmly. “I’ve got you.”

  I’m too scared to cry. Too scared to breathe. It might be a moment or a half hour by the time he’s pulled me to safety; all I know is that I am alive. And Cade has saved me.

  I crawl into his arms and weep.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says, kissing my face. “Baby, I’m so very sorry.” He presses his sleeve to my nose. “Your nose is bleeding. Are you hurt?”

  I shake my head as he helps me up. “I don’t think so.”

  “Look,” he says, pointing to the gravel at our feet, then kneeling down to pick something up. “Look what I found.” My necklace dangles from his fingers, the locket still intact.

  “Thank you,” I say, tucking it into the pocket of my jeans.

  Cade’s eyes are fixed on mine. “I almost lost you.”

  “You saved my life,” I mutter. “I…I don’t know what to say.” I swallow hard. “How can I thank you?”

  “No thank-you necessary,” he says.

  I search his moist eyes, and wipe away tears from mine. “I will always be indebted to you.”

  “Better plan,” he says. “How about you just save my life someday, then we’ll be even?”

  “I will,” I say, smiling through tears. “I will.”

  —

  We walk hand in hand off the ferry ramp, down the steps to the city. Cade’s apartment is just a few blocks away.

  “Want to go back to my place for a little while?”

  All I want is to be near him, now and always. Especially tonight.

  “Yes,” I say.

  We walk a block ahead, under the viaduct, then down the little side street to his apartment. I toss my sweater onto his sofa. My mind is so full of the events of the day that I’m grateful for a quiet moment while he fiddles with his record player.

  I listen and hear our song, the one we listened to backstage, the one that was playing the first time he held my hand. When the chorus sounds, anything can happen, and then it does.

  His arms are around me, his lips are on mine, and, as the lyrics command, I fade into him. I know exactly what I’m feeling, this thing I’m afraid of, this emotion that keeps bubbling up inside me like a pot on the stove that I’m trying desperately to keep from boiling over.

  I open my mouth to speak
, but he places his hand on my lips.

  “I know what this is,” he whispers, his voice faint above the music. “I’ve known it from that first night I saw you at the show, but now there’s no doubt in my mind.”

  My gaze is entwined with his. Our eyes are locked and the key is gone. My heart feels full in my chest, heavy but in a good way.

  “It’s love,” he says, letting the words slip freely from his mouth. And when they do, they fill the air and multiply like musical notes in a cartoon.

  “Love,” I say as the record crackles and skips.

  “Love,” he whispers back, weaving his fingers in mine.

  And when I set my head on his pillow, and our bodies become one, for the first time in my life I feel as if everything in this crazy, complicated world makes complete and utter sense.

  NOVEMBER 17, 2008

  “Hi, baby.”

  “Hi,” I say to Ryan later that night.

  “Sorry to call so late,” he says. “I just got back to the hotel.”

  I look up from my laptop and glance at the clock on the wall. It’s half past ten.

  “I had a productive discussion with the bank executives today,” he continues. “Their concern in this tough market is our ability to secure high-profile tenants around the TV facility, but I walked into the meeting with contracts in hand. I think we may actually close this deal.”

  “Congratulations,” I say, with a catch in my voice. This is terrible news for Hope Gospel Mission and all the people who depend on the shelter.

  “I know you’re caught in a hard place,” Ryan says. “We don’t have to talk about business anymore. Tell me about you. How was your day?”

  “Oh fine,” I say. “Just normal.” I think of Cade, our lunch at Wild Ginger, how he finally recognized me. When we parted, I didn’t know what to do, so I told him to promise to meet me in front of Westlake Center at noon tomorrow. He nodded, but I’m not sure he understood. What if he didn’t understand? Then what?