by Raen Smith
“As much as I hate to admit it, it has to be a sign. These people that we’ve come across…it’s too coincidental. Everything has been too coincidental. First, there was Luella. Then Hudson just happened to find you after I’d been searching for five years. It feels like the universe is trying to tell us something.”
“What happened with your mom?” Piper asks.
“The night before Hudson gave me your address, I found a box in the basement of my dad’s house. It was a box I don’t remember, but it was sitting there like it was waiting for me to open it or something. There was a heart on it that I must have drawn when I was little. The scribbled crayon was definitely one of my many masterpieces. The lines were hard and thick, like they always were and it even looked like I broke my crayon half-way through my shape. I was always pressing too hard and breaking crayons,” I say.
“So the box…” Piper says, circling her hands to move me along.
“The box. So naturally, I opened the box. There was an old cassette player with a tape inside. I didn’t think much about it and tossed it aside. Then I found some old folders with records and different paperwork from my mom. Her diploma from Cornell and a few pictures of her and Big Dave. Then there were a few pictures of her and me that I’ve never seen before. Then I found a picture of her with a bald head. It’s bizarre because I’ve only ever seen pictures of her with long, brown hair like this one.” I nod to the picture on the dash.
“No…” Piper breathes barely a whisper. A boom of thunder cracks.
“So I went back to the cassette player and plugged it in, not sure of what to expect. I thought maybe it would be a mixed tape or something that Big Dave made for her in college. You know, that apparently was a thing,” I say. “Or I thought maybe it was a tape of lullabies to put me to sleep or something. But it wasn’t. It was her.”
I pause, but Piper doesn’t say anything. She’s just motionless in her seat, her legs still pulled up as she hangs on to my every word.
“It was the first time I’ve ever heard her voice, at least that I can remember,” I say. “And it was beautiful and everything I imagined it to be. It was surreal hearing her voice and looking at her picture at the same time. It was the closest to meeting her I’ve ever been. So I sat in the basement for two hours, listening to her talk about nothing and everything.”
“What did she say?” Piper whispers.
“Do you want to listen to some of it?” I ask as I reach toward the dash. I pick up my phone and hand it to her. “I recorded some of it on my phone.”
“Yeah,” Piper replies. I hear the hesitation in her voice, but it doesn’t stop her from sliding through the screens on my phone and hitting play. Luella’s sweet voice comes alive in the cab.
“March 29, 1992. Well, I’m finally doing it. Today marks the first official entry in the Luella Audio Diary. This diary is for you, Cash. You’re probably wondering why I couldn’t be like any normal person and leave an actual written diary for you to read or why I didn’t go for the video diary. I get it. You want me to be conventional just like every other mom. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Cash, but I’m not. The first few things that you should know about me are that I’m completely awkward in front of a camera, have penmanship of a first-grader, and have stage four brain cancer.”
Piper stops the recording. The rain thrashes on all sides now, but I look over at her for a split second to see her staring at me with glistening eyes.
“No one ever told me,” I say, my voice shaking. Even though I listened to her hour long recordings two times already, the first entry still stings like a fresh wound. “And as much as I wanted to confront Big Dave with fists swinging the second I heard the tape, I knew there was a reason why he didn’t tell me. He always has a reason for everything he does, whether it’s his sock choice for the day or his blatant disregard of his college degree. He has reasons so I knew I needed to sit on this revelation before confronting him. And to be honest, I didn’t know if I was ready to hear why he hadn’t told me.”
“So you didn’t say anything to him, yet?” Piper asks in a small voice.
“Well, I did say something. It wasn’t much, but I mentioned that I found the box on my way to get you. I didn’t really hound him or anything, but I did ask why he didn’t tell me.”
“And?”
“He said that he didn’t want to worry me. He said I was always worrying as a kid, and he felt like this would be just another thing for me to obsess over,” I reply.
“Do you believe him?”
“I do. I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me, but I just don’t understand why he would lie to me about it. I mean, she still died in a car accident,” I say. “And I still survived.”
“I’m sorry,” Piper whispers as she presses her hand against my arm. Her touch feels different now. It’s still warm, but it’s soothing and comforting now. “Do you want to listen to more?”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind if you’re up for it.”
“I would love to.”
We listen then to all the recordings of Luella I have on my phone. There are ten entries total, some longer than the others. She talks about the first day Big Dave tried to convince her to go out on a date. It was during their senior year at Xavier after the first football game at the annual senior bash. Apparently, my parents were cooler than I was. She also talks about the beautiful fall weather at Cornell and the day of their wedding and how Big Dave was so nervous that he tripped on the steps on the way to the altar. She laughs then, a sweet melody that’s so contagious and real that Piper and I both laugh right along with her.
She mentions her cancer then and just briefly talks about how she’s feeling. It’s so clinical and distant and not once does she mention how terrible she feels. But I can sense it in the exhaustion in her voice as the recordings go on; the cancer has its fingers surrounding her throat, squeezing just a bit harder each day. She tells a joke then. Her voice is laced with a raw seriousness, but she doesn’t swear like the pirate Big Dave has warned me about. “Cash, did you know that diarrhea is hereditary? It runs in your jeans.” Even though this is the third time I’ve heard the joke, I laugh again. All three of us laugh.
Her voice is genuine, smooth and clear as she talks about how much she loves me and how much she needs me to know that there was not a single moment she wasn’t going to fight just so she could be with me. Another month, another week, another day. Just one last minute, she said.
It’s the final entry. Date: April 17. It’s the day before she died.
“That’s it,” I say as Piper sets the phone down in her lap. Her motion has a finality to it that sinks deep into my heart. Luella is gone, and I miss her.
I settle back into my seat and turn down the wipers to a slow methodic pulse. The rain is letting up now, but still steady. A quick lightning flashes, but the thunder doesn’t sound until much later. It’s just a soft rumble now somewhere in the distance.
“It’s beautiful,” Piper replies, setting the phone back on the dash. She wipes away the tears that are streaming down her face. “I wish I would have had the chance to meet her.”
“I wish I would remember her.”
“I do too,” Piper says. “I wish I could remember my mom. I’ve never heard her voice. It’s surreal hearing Luella’s voice. It’s like she was here with us.”
“I think she is,” I say carefully. As much as I want to discover a reasonable explanation for everything that has happened in the past two days, I can’t. There’s no law or definition or logic that can explain what’s happening. It defies all reasoning.
“What do you mean?”
“It can’t be a coincidence that I found the recordings the day before I found you after five years. And it can’t be a coincidence that we are running into all these people that represent some sort of significance to us. It all means something. The universe is flashing a bright, neon sign at us, and I don’t know exactly what everything means, but it all seems to be pointing at one thing.”
“What?”
Piper breathes.
“That we belong together.”
I let the words roll from my mouth hoping they’ll find a place that makes sense. I hope they’ll find a place in Piper’s heart.
She’s silent, looking out the passenger window at the rolling fields or at the yellow lines on the road or the beads of rain dripping down the glass or maybe nothing at all. All I know is that she isn’t looking at me.
“Cash.” My name is just a whisper from her lips. “Pull over.”
“There’s nowhere to go,” I say, pointing to the four lane highway we’re driving along. “We’re on the highway going sixty miles an hour.”
“Take this exit.” She points out her window at the exit sign maybe twenty feet ahead.
My foot releases on the gas and the wheel turns in my hands.
“Take another right.”
My body submits. Breathless but obedient.
Chapter 12
Time stands still as I exit off Highway 75 somewhere near the lower half of Georgia. Everything else is frozen around us except for the truck and the rain. I can hear our breath above the muffled roar of the engine and the soft patter of the rain. Her chest is swelling now with each intake of oxygen as she points to the road that snakes to the right. I don’t ask her where we’re going, and I don’t ask her why. I just obey and follow her directions because it feels right, and I realize then, in this moment that is engraving itself into my bones, that:
Georgia is the Peach State.
“Right there,” she says, pointing to a sign. I can’t make out the jumbled letters of the sign; they’re just arbitrary letters that have no meaning to me. All that matters is that it’s where she wants to go. Wherever it is, I’ll bring her there.
“Pull in here. In this parking lot,” she says.
I turn Cash Money right, pull into the parking lot of storage units, and let the truck idle. “Turn off the engine.”
My hand turns the key toward me, and all that’s left between us is the patter of raindrops against the windshield. They’re softer now, just a light grazing against the glass, as she turns toward me. She parts her lips the slightest bit, as if she’s about to say something, but then she closes them. I’m about to reach out to her when she turns away from me and opens the door. The drops scatter on the open door as she steps out into the rain. She glides down the steps and the door closes with a resounding thud that rattles the cab.
I scramble out the door, feeling the warmth and humidity of the early Georgia evening. The cool drops of rain splash against my body as I jog around the front of the truck and then I finally see what she sees.
She’s already headed down the grassy slope, her blonde locks streaming behind her as she slides down the wet hill toward a rocky edge. Her arms are flanked as if she is surfing down the hill. She wobbles for a second, on the verge of falling over, but she catches herself and regains her balance until she’s standing at the bottom. She wades through a small stream of water that’s snaking along the rocks. A subtle flash of lightning flickers in the sky momentarily, highlighting the shimmering surface of water below her.
I run-slide down the slope with my arms out just like Piper did. The spring grass is moist and muddy beneath my shoes, creating a slick surface that swiftly moves me down the hill. I catch myself a few times, teetering as I increase velocity. The rain is coming faster now, dripping along my face and soaking my hair. My shirt clings to me, becoming heavy as I close the gap between us.
She’s standing now at the edge of the rocks, her head bent down to peer at the water below. I slosh through the small stream, the cool water coming up to my ankles, before I land on the other side. I stand panting alongside her and look down to see trickles of water streaming down the side of the bluff from all different rocks and crevices. The hillside is a series of mini-waterfalls cascading down like sheets of glass. Five feet below is a pool of white churning water from the flow of the streams. A lake extends far into the distance, the shore barely visible with the rain and gray skies.
All I can hear is the sound of rain slapping against the surface of the water as I grab her hand. It’s wet and warm at the same time and fits into my own hand just as it should. A light rumble of thunder rolls somewhere in the distance. Her voice finally breaks the sound of the rain.
“Do you trust me?” Piper asks, still staring at the water below.
I stare at her profile. A thick strand of hair is plastered to the side of her face, and a bead of water drips off the tip of her nose as she blinks away the water. I reluctantly move my eyes away from her and to the water below. Except for the white crashes of the waterfall, it is a deep bluish hue verging on gray.
“I trust you,” I reply, squeezing her hand. “But I don’t know if …”
A flash of lighting streaks the sky with a beautiful eeriness.
“One of the most dangerous –” I start, but I don’t get far. She interrupts me.
“Shh.” She points to the sign next to her that reads ‘Dive at your own risk.’ Below the words is a picture of a stick figure jumping feet first off a cliff. Next to that picture is another stick figure jumping in head first with a slash through it. “See, it’s safe.”
My stomach turns at the thought of diving off this cliff, “Swimming during a thunderstorm is one of the –”
“Single most dangerous things you can do. Lightning strikes water all the time and since it conducts electricity….blah, blah, blah,” she finishes and turns to face me. She reaches out for my other hand, and we’re standing face to face. The tips of our shoes graze each other. She tilts her head up to look at me with those gorgeous green eyes that are clearer than I’ve ever seen. Beads of water slowly gather and drip down her lips. She finally opens them and adds, “I’ve been waiting to do this with you for five years. Remember that day when you ran through my backyard and hopped over the fence? You promised me a rain check.”
“Of course, I remember. I’ll never forget that day or any day I spend with you,” I reply. “So this is my rain check? You want to jump off this cliff in the middle of a storm without knowing how deep or cold the water is?”
“Yes. And I want to do it with you. I want you to cash in that rain check.”
I want to reply logically and tell her that this is crazy and totally dangerous and completely irrational and that I won’t do it. But her eyes are begging me, convincing me otherwise. She squeezes my hands and lets out a small sound that resembles ‘please.’
A thrill rushes through me and pleads me to say yes. I can’t resist this girl. Her sweater clings to every inch of her skin, outlining the mounds of her breasts and the small frame beneath them. Her jean shorts are a dark blue now and hug against her with no restraint.
“Yes,” I finally whisper. “Yes, I would do anything for you, including jump off a cliff in the middle of storm even though it runs with a high risk of severe injury or death.”
“You’re so romantic.” The words slip from her lips in barely a whisper. All I want to do is feel the warmth of her lips against mine, but she lets go of my hands and pulls at the bottom of her sweater, lifting it up past her bra.
I know what you’re thinking here. You’re thinking that I’ll stand across from her gawking at the sight of her pink lace bra like the insecure seventeen-year-old I was when I first met her. I’m happy to say that you’re wrong, and I think you’ll be happy to hear what I do next.
I reach out and help her slowly pull the sweater over her head, admiring the softness of her skin. I let the sweater drop to the rocks as she reaches out for my shirt and begins to pull it off. I help her, tugging the soaked cotton off my chest and over my head. She grazes my hard chest with her fingertips, feeling the ridges of my abdomen. Her fingers are slick against my skin as the rain soaks our bodies. She reaches for the button of my jeans, pops it open and unzips my fly as my heart pounds. She’s slow at first, tugging the thick denim down with little success. My jeans are plastered against my skin so I move my hands to help her, yanking t
hem down with forceful pushes until they’re around my ankles.
My hands are steady, despite the urge I feel to rip the shorts away from her body, as I slowly unbutton her shorts and tug them past her hips. She wiggles out of them, sending my body in overdrive with every shake of her hips. She’s left standing on the rocks in matching lace underwear in an impeccable shade of pink. They cling to her body as the raindrops slide down past her navel. The shorts fall gently to the ground.
Then we’re both kicking off our own shoes and socks until I’m standing just in my boxer briefs, and she’s in her matching set that is making my mouth salivate and my knees knock together. She smiles underneath the cool rain that’s splashing against her skin.
Oh God, does she smile.
She grabs my hand and says, “I’m ready. Are you.”
But it’s not a question; it’s a declaration that I can’t argue. And I should be nervous about jumping into an unknown body of water while it’s lightning. The temperature, the depth, the pH level, a thousand dangerous possibilities. But somehow, none of it matters. All that matters is that she’s leading me here, and I trust her so I squeeze her hand and reply, “On the count of three. One, two…”
“Three,” she yells as she leaps off the edge. Her hand pulls me with her and our bodies are still connected as we take the plunge.
We’re leaping through the air feet first, the rain falling on us as we’re suspended above the water. It’s only five feet down, but somehow I see the pink toenail polish on her feet and the sheen of her legs. Then I see her feet hit the water before I do. I’m holding my breath now, anticipating the cold rush of water around my whole body.
And it feels surreal, the rain pummeling my body as I jump off this cliff with the girl I fell in love with when I was seventeen. To say that I’m falling all over again is cliché and mushy and hopelessly romantic, but it’s true. And even though it’s just mere seconds that we’re suspended in the air, it feels like forever that we’re dangling there together. I’ve never seen my life and future with such clarity as I do now, inching toward the water. Whatever happens in the next seventy-odd years that I plan on living, the only thing that matters is that Piper Sullivan is with me. I won’t ever let go of this hand.