Never Stop Falling

by Ashley Drew

  “Random, no. I think it was more of a...spontaneous decision.”

  With that, I’m down on the blanket beside Cori, sitting shoulder to shoulder as I whisk her aviators away from the top of her head, completely catching her off guard. She gazes at me with curiosity in her eyes, and we allow a few seconds, but seconds well spent, to pass in a breezy, wave-crashing silence.

  Then she smiles at me, adoringly. “That’s my line.”

  I wrap one arm around her as the other holds my smaller handheld camera in front of us, making sure to capture the stunning scenery in the background. The second she leans her head against my shoulder, I snap the photo. Securing this memory. Seizing it to keep in my heart—another thing I really shouldn’t be doing.

  A fire-like glow erupts across the sky and lights up the horizon well beyond the edges of the ocean in the distance. By the time we make it to McWay Falls, dusk has filtered through, and it’s fantastic. I just hope the magazine agrees.

  Once I’m finished taking the shots, I wrap up and gather my equipment. Cori leans over the guardrail on the side of the trail, looking down to the waterfall that empties out to the pristine beach below. A perfectly layered horizon falls behind her. The aqua blue, a fiery orange, a hazy pink—beauty in every sense of the word yet it is no competition for Cori.

  “I think I got everything I need,” I declare, walking toward her.

  She whips her head around, her hair tossing perfectly over her shoulders, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was one of those cheesy shampoo commercials. Only, there isn’t anything cheesy about this. Cori is fucking gorgeous, and I can’t help but feel guilty for noticing that every second.

  “I’m sure the magazine will be very pleased. I’m eager to see the pictures myself.”

  I flip the cap over the camera lens. “I hope so. Mother Nature did her part. I just hope I kept up my end of the bargain.”

  I look over the wooden railing, scanning the beach down below. Not many shots have been caught from that angle, mainly because the state park prohibits anyone from going down there. It’s not like it hasn’t been done before, but it’s rare.

  “How awesome would it be if I was able to get a few shots of the waterfall directly from the beach, at eye level? Now that would be the money shot.”

  Out of nowhere, she gets caught in a fit of giggles, and the image of a ten-year-old Cori giggling hysterically as I chase her down Mill Road invades my mind. I smile.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask her, swiping my nostrils with the back of my hand. “Do I have a booger or something?”

  Her giggle grows into a full-on laugh, and she hunches over, bracing her hands against her knees as she looks up at me with the cutest grin.

  “Tell me what you find so funny? What’s going on in that cute little head of yours?”

  Fucking-A. Did I really just say that? A Freudian slip? So I said the word cute. Big deal, right? That word could have multiple meanings other than in a flirtatious context, and I’m not flirting with her, at least not on purpose.

  Cori’s laughter never wavers in spite of me backing myself into a corner with my word choice. Maybe she didn’t hear it. Maybe she doesn’t want to think that she heard it. Or maybe she doesn’t want to make the situation awkward for either of us, so she pretends like it’s the most casual thing in the world. I think she and I both know that surely isn’t the case.

  Once the laughter subsides, she takes a look over the guardrail, surveying the drop to the beach. I’ve seen that look in her eyes multiple times before. It’s the same look she had before she convinced me to trespass and investigate the farmhouse up on the hill near our houses, the one rumored to be crawling with ghosts. It’s also the look she had before she got Braiden and me to jump out of an airplane with her.

  “I know that look,” I recognize, watching every calculating move of hers. “Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  She turns her head in my direction, a Grinch-like smile spreading devilishly across her face. “Of course I am. You want your money shot? We’re gonna go get it.”

  She begins to walk in the opposite direction of the Jeep when I tug at her elbow, halting her to a stop. “Hell no. Not happening. Can’t do it.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says that sign over there saying it’s completely illegal to go down to the beach. Plus, it doesn’t look safe at all, and I’m not going to let you leave here with a broken ankle or leg.”

  I would never admit it out loud because I’d look like a pansy, but chances are, I’d be the one leaving here with the broken something, and Cori sees right through my assumption.

  “Well, that’s rather sexist,” she smirks, crossing her arms. “For all we know, you could leave here with the broken leg.”

  “No one is going to leave here with anything broken, because we’re not doing it.”

  I’d like to say that putting my foot down on Cori’s crazy antics in the past had been pretty effective, but I’d be lying. What normally started off as me putting my foot down usually ended up with me and my foot in my mouth because I’d often end up going along with whatever she wanted to do. But not today. The climb down would be too dangerous. Plus, it’s getting darker by the minute, so nothing about doing this would be safe. I think she gets it, but it doesn’t mean she won’t stop trying. It is Cori I’m dealing with here.

  “Hey, you put the idea in my head, pal,” she says as she places her hands on her hips and shoots me a suggestive look. “I’m only trying to do you a favor. You know, get your money shot.”

  And suddenly, I understand the reference. “Sick, man. That’s just sick.” I grin from ear to ear, shaking my head.

  She shrugs her shoulders. “You said it. I didn’t.”

  “I’ve changed my mind about that money shot, so the only favor I need is for you to get the idea out of your head and start heading back to the car,” I insist, pulling her arm as we walk up the trail.

  I have to say, I probably would’ve thoroughly enjoyed scaling down the hill to the beach, especially since I’d be doing it with Cori, but all of those thoughts are quickly pushed aside, because before I’m fully aware of it, I have my hand wrapped around hers.

  I don’t know how, I don’t know when, and I don’t know why, but our hands have joined together somehow. We’ve held hands in the past, like it was the most natural thing in the world, but let’s face it, our situation is different now. Funny thing is, neither one of us lets go.

  “Hot shot,” I taunt, continuing forward on the trail without stopping or turning around to look at her, never breaking the grip on her hand.

  “Chicken shit.”

  I wouldn’t have expected any other response, and we walk in a comfortable silence back to the Jeep, when it hits me.

  I’m fucking screwed.

  If there is a psychological term or theory for when a person’s judgment goes completely out the window, then screwed would be the right one. If you told me a few days ago that I’d be screwed for putting myself in this position, I would have told you I was screwed long before today. I was screwed the second Cori walked into my bar and back into my life. And if I’m being completely honest with myself, then I think I’ve been screwed my entire life.

  First he calls me cute. Now, he’s holding my hand. This is what we do, Nick and I. We tease each other, disagree on certain things, and hold hands. It’s us. It’s innocent. It’s our norm.

  At least it was back in the day. No matter where we were, Nick and I could hold hands, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and no one would ever second guess it. But now? If Cooper or Riley witnessed our little public display of friendship, would they see the situation as innocent? I’m betting on the contrary as that small voice in my head scolds me unabashedly, shouting into my ear that this is beyond wrong.

  If so, then why does it feel so right?

  I push that voice out of my head, letting Nick hold my hand, and we make it back to the
Jeep, only to run into some car trouble when he tries starting the engine.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he curses.

  What a way to end such a perfectly good day. The engine won’t start, darkness has fallen over, and we’re practically in the middle of nowhere almost a hundred miles away from home.

  I know. Total B-Horror flick scenario.

  “What do you think it could be?” I yell from the passenger’s seat when he gets out of the Jeep and flips the hood to take a look.

  Nick curses under his breath, the defeat heavy in his sigh. “No fucking clue. And I’m wasting time trying to figure it out. Do you mind handing me my phone? I need to call for a tow truck.”

  I step out of the car and hand Nick his phone. He multitasks, dialing a number while he continues to inspect the engine.

  I take in our surroundings. Except for the glow of his flashlight bouncing out from underneath the hood of the Jeep, every sign of daylight has succumbed to nightfall. The hoot of the owl replaces the chirps of the blue jays, a speckled blanket of black drapes over the blue, and though I can’t see it from here, the moon tag-teams the sun, taking its nightly watch over the earth. It all sounds aesthetically pleasing, but throw in the eerie silence of a desolate parking lot, and what could have been a teenage campy road trip movie has turned into a Blair Witch situation. Don’t get me wrong. This sort of thing doesn’t bother me too much. Nick, on the other hand, never fared well with the spook factor.

  The tow truck estimates an hour wait, if we’re lucky, and Nick combs his hands through his hair, his frustration rapidly eating away at him. His apologetic eyes find mine once they adjust to the darkness. “I’m sorry, Cori. You probably didn’t envision spending one of your last nights here this way.”

  “You mean out in the middle of nowhere, in complete darkness and with no one else around, except maybe a knife-wielding psychopath on the loose or the wandering soul of a hundred-year-old spirit? Not to a tee but still quite close.” I try to amuse him in hopes of lightening up his mood a bit. We’ve had such an amazing day, and I’d hate for this issue to take it all away.

  Even in the darkness, I can see a smile break through his chagrin. “Man, you never fail to add an element of creepy to everything.”

  He tries to be subtle about it, but it doesn’t take much to sense Nick’s nerves on high alert while he scans the surrounding area. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre really did a number on him when we were younger. He never denied it, but according to Tess, he practically begged her to let him sleep on her bedroom floor in the days after we watched it. I guess no matter how old a person is, some things never change. Any other grown man with this sort of reaction, and I’d probably call him a wuss. But Nick? It’s actually quite cute.

  “I guess that means there’s no chance I could get you to go on a night hike with me, is there?”

  He shakes his head repeatedly. “Not. A. Chance,” he replies, emphasizing each word in order to get his point across.

  When the tow truck finally arrives, it’s nearly eleven, my exhaustion evident in one drawn out yawn after another. The sun did a number on me today, and dreams of unwinding in a bubble bath with a glass of red wine fill my thoughts. Unfortunately, my hopes of that happening any time soon diminish when Bob, the tow truck driver with the beer belly and unruly black mop of hair, gives us the discouraging news.

  As an English major, I don’t have an issue with big words. However, when it comes to automobile terminology, I lack the expertise. But even when Beer Belly Bob spews out words like timing belt and camshaft and not drivable, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that bubble bath is going to remain a distant dream.

  Bob gives us two options. One, he can tow us back to Santa Cruz for a hefty charge, and I’m not certain the price he quotes isn’t an instance of extortion. Or two, he mentions a gas station with a garage about fifteen minutes from here that he can tow us to, and they can take a look in the morning. If it’s a timing belt issue, they can probably fix it with no problems. Until then, there’s a lodge a half-mile away from there we can crash at for the night.

  Nick wipes a hand across his face, gripping his chin as he curses under his breath. Granted, he makes a good living off of the pub and his freelance work, but the amount this dickwad is asking for surely isn’t pocket change. I see the frustration growing in his heavy breaths, so I decide to make the decision for him, choosing the latter.

  “I feel awful. Are you sure about this, Cori?” Nick asks, looking for reassurance as we walk to the cab of the tow truck. He places his hand on the small of my back, sending a shiver along my spine, though it can’t be less than seventy degrees out. My body guilt-trips me for reacting in such a way, and because of that, I should be saying, “No Nick, we should tow the Jeep back to Santa Cruz, no matter how much it costs.” Instead, I look into his worried eyes, give him a reassuring smile, and shove away the guilt.

  “The best adventures are unplanned. And you did promise me an adventure today, didn’t you?” I say with a wink of my eye.

  By the time Bob drops us off at the lodge, I feel like a zombie. Luckily, the sign at the entrance flashes vacancy in bold, capital letters. The lodge is definitely quaint, and besides the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, it’s fairly quiet.

  When we enter the office, the scent of stale cigarettes punches my nose, and the woman at the front desk completely ignores us. She snacks on a bag of potato chips and focuses her attention on the small TV off to the side. Hospitality must take on an entirely different meaning here at the lodge.

  “Hi. We need two rooms for the night,” Nick says as he approaches the desk.

  The woman, middle-aged with deep lines around her jaw that resemble a marionette, doesn’t seem too pleased with the interruption, but when she turns to Nick, her annoyance quickly dissipates, and a flirtatious smile spreads across her bony face. “Well, hello. How may I be of service to you this evening?”

  Good lord. You would think that Brad Pitt had just walked into this joint with the way her demeanor does a total one-eighty.

  Nick removes his wallet from his back pocket, explaining our situation with the car and how we need to crash here until the garage opens up in the morning. “We’ll need two rooms.”

  “Two rooms?” She asks, her raspy voice heavily tarred by what I can only assume are the hundreds, if not thousands, of old cigarettes wafting in the air. Curiosity looms in her question while she continues to gawk at Nick, who is apparently blinding her of my presence.

  “Yes, two rooms,” I interject, making my presence known when I stand beside Nick and place my crossed arms over the countertop, my head held high and my confidence unyielding.

  Wait...did I just stake a claim? It’s silly because I certainly do not have the right. She eyes me up and down in dissatisfaction, and I revel in it.

  She reverts to her role as the welcoming front desk host, just without the welcoming factor. “We have cottages, not rooms.” She looks at each of us with a curious and confused expression. “Two?”

  God, is this woman hard of hearing? The number that follows one and precedes three. Two hands and two feet. Two is company, three’s a crowd. Two! Two! TWO! My patience has worn thin, and if this cougar didn’t realize how irritated I was before, surely she’s aware now after I release the longest, heaviest, drawn-out sigh.

  “Well,” the cougar says, raising her eyebrows, “I hate to break it to you kids, but we’ve only got one vacant cottage tonight. Call me an optimist, but I’d say you’re pretty lucky for stumbling in here without a reservation, considering this is the high season.”

  “Lucky, huh?” Nick leans over the counter, whisking his hands through his wavy hair. He turns to glance up at me and pauses. He’s thinking what I’m thinking. Our luck ran out the moment the Jeep decided to fail us. “Any chance this cottage has two doubles?”

  “Not that any of our cottages have two doubles anyhow, but no. Cottage ten comes with one queen. We call it the Honey
moon Cottage.”

  Well, this has gotten interesting. Talk about being thrown into the most cliché situation possible. I shake my head and laugh to myself because it’s actually pretty funny. But then a knot in my belly forms, and the guilt comes swooshing back in like a fifty-foot tidal wave, ready to wreak havoc and destroy my conscience. Thoughts of Cooper and Riley flood my mind, and I start to drown in my guilt, finding it more and more difficult to breathe.

  Nick doesn’t seem as guilt-stricken as I am, or if he is, he hides it well. Perhaps he has such confidence in his relationship with Riley that he has no reason to feel guilty. On second thought, what am I saying? Does this mean I’m not confident in my relationship with Cooper? That’s silly. Of course I am. So why am I questioning it?

  “Listen, Cori,” Nick turns to me, his demeanor unchanging. “You can take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  I notice the cougar eyeing the diamond wrapped around my finger, her left eyebrow rising suggestively, and I know what she must be thinking. I tuck my left hand under my right, covering the ring, but what I’d really like to do is tell her to mind her own damn business. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.

  “Yeah, it’s no big deal,” I say, smiling at him like I don’t have a care in the world when in reality, all the weight of the world is on my shoulders. Turning back to the cougar, who continues to study us with scrutiny, I confirm, “We’ll take the cottage.”

  Besides, if Nick isn’t worried, then why should I be? I mean, we’ve done the sleepover thing countless times before. It’ll be like old times.

  If that’ll help you sleep tonight, Corinne.

  Cottage ten—The Honeymoon Suite. Simple and cute, the quaint room boasts a fireplace, loveseat, a table and two chairs, and a wooden four-poster bed. A sheer canopy falls softly over the bed, which is lined neatly with pristine white sheets, almost virginal, just waiting to be christened. Only, I’m pretty sure this bed has been christened bazillions of times, so there isn’t really anything virginal about it. And there’s no television or radio.