by Sarah Noffke
I beam as the ideas spring to mind. “Well, as long as I’m pretending, I’d own the farm. It would be off the grid and surrounded by blankets of lavender fields. From the goat’s milk I’d make artisan cheeses that I sold at the farmer’s markets. Also I’d send a bundle of it to Misty, aka Goat Girl.”
“That’s extremely thoughtful of you. Would you have a garden?”
“No!” I say with mock offense. “My job is the goats. You’re in charge of the garden.”
He strokes his stubbled chin, a slow grin sliding over his face. “Of course. I’m remiss to not realize you’d put me in charge of the fruits and flowers.”
“Indeed you are,” I say, suppressing a laugh. “From the garden you make jams and other goods.”
“And sell these and the organic produce at the market, right?”
“Yes, we have side-by-side stalls. And we’re known as ‘that mysterious couple’ who never talks to the locals except to explain our exemplary production processes. As soon as market closes we ride back to our cottage, which is a good distance from society.”
George props himself up on his elbows, a dimple-producing grin on his face. “And I read you Madame Bovary or Leaves of Grass by candlelight.”
“But not too late into the night,” I scold.
“Of course not,” he agrees. “We have to get up early to milk the goats.”
“Exactly,” I say, drawing the word out. “You know, if I keep up news reporting, in two years I’ll have enough money to buy this farm.”
“I’d be all too happy to be your farmhand to earn my keep.”
Shuffling back to the edge of the bed I kick my legs over the side. “You will be no farmhand.”
“No?”
“No. There’s other ways you can earn your keep,” I say, a bashful smile making my ears burn.
“Oh?” he says, sitting up all the way. “Like offering you my endless love. Is that what you had in mind?”
The mention of that word strips the smile off my face. Love. I’m not sure why––it just makes everything suddenly real, and not a safe fantasy.
I expected that my sudden seriousness would make George retreat, but he stands, a heated look in his eyes. “Come here,” he says, extending his hand to me. I take it and he easily pulls me up from the bed and to him. “Farm or no farm. Whether we’re in the Institute or traveling the world, you have my unwavering affection. Roya, I love you.”
I freeze. I know how I feel about George but I can’t voice it. Everything I say sounds too small in comparison to his unyielding love. “George, I...I’m bad at this.”
“That’s not true, you just don’t know how.”
“Remember in Love in the Time of Cholera when Fermina says love is a natural talent?”
He nods, his expression growing worried.
“She says, ‘You are either born knowing how, or you never know.’”
“Even poetic words can be wrong,” George says, sliding both his hands up my arms. “Love isn’t inborn, it’s learned. You never learned how to love unconditionally because your parents never loved you that way. I don’t understand how though. How could anyone spend a minute in your presence and not fall crazy in love with you?” He half smiles. “Well, from my observation, most people do. You have the adoration of everyone in this place.”
“No.” I shake my head, pinning my eyes on the middle of his chest.
George guides my eyes back to his by tipping my chin with his forefinger. “You believe love is a curse because it will never last and always dissolve the moment you stake faith in it.”
“Maybe I’ve closed off my heart for too long because I don’t understand unconditional love and don’t feel I’ll ever have the capacity to love like that, and then what’s the point?”
He gives me a reassuring smile. “The point is to open yourself up to the possibility. Remember when Florentino told Fermina, ‘Think of love as a state of grace; not the means to anything but the alpha and omega, an end in itself’?”
I nod, liking that George memorizes his favorite quotes from books too.
“The beauty of love is you don’t have to think about it, it just happens,” George says, sounding much more mature than he should be at the age of seventeen. “Love isn’t governed by logic or understanding. You don’t enter into it like an agreement. It crashes down on you. You wake up one morning and realize the reason you can’t take your eyes off someone is because you’re in love with them. Over the long hours you’ve spent together, you’ve fallen for them. If my time loving you has taught me anything, it’s that love grows with every returned smile, every second of communal silence and every word exchanged. Unconditional love is built and when it’s finished nothing destroys it.”
I press my lips together. Who knew George would be the one to teach me how love works. When I threw the frequency adjuster at him I thought he was my downfall. But his purpose in my life is more about growth than anything else. “I want to believe in a capacity like you speak.”
“That’s the first step,” he says, cupping my chin with his firm hand.
“What’s the second?” I say, a nervous laugh in my throat.
“After that, the steps are kind of interchangeable,” he whispers against my lips.
“Oh, well, that’s confusing.”
“Stop overthinking this.” He leans down and kisses the corner of my mouth. His thumb swipes along the curve of my jaw and he trails kisses behind it.
“Is this one of the steps to unconditional love?” I say, my voice aching in my chest.
“Yes,” he breathes against my throat.
George brings his eyes up to meet mine. I’m suddenly captured beneath his glare, which isn’t cloaked in its usual firmness. My fingers find the loops on his jeans and with a small tug I encourage him closer. He takes my face in both his hands and kisses me once upon my mouth. And again his lips grace mine. On the third kiss I open my mouth to his, tasting his warmth.
On top of his shirt, I walk my fingertips up from his waistband, along his stomach, and slide my hands around his back. I pull him into me, inciting a more passionate kiss. Too curious, I slip my hands under his shirt. He pauses, a heated expression hooding his eyes. Hastily, he throws his arms over his head, binding up the fabric of his shirt and pulling it off forward. Greedily, I take him in, running my eyes over the angles on his chest.
Suddenly my hands are weighted down by my side. I want to touch him, and I also don’t. I don’t know how to start. Everything feels too real as we stand a foot apart watching each other. George reaches down, seizes my hand and presses it into his chest. His skin has a lovely warmth under my fingertips. I glide my hand up, taking in the contours that make up George, studying them. His muscles flex under my fingers. I glide my hands along his body until they’re around his neck. I’m not surprised when my eyes look up to his face to find him biting his bottom lip. I untuck it from his teeth with my finger and cup his chin, drawing him into my eager lips. His face leans forward into mine and the kiss that follows I expect, but the ferocity behind it I don’t. His lips smash into mine hard, his breath hot. Unleashed by my hands and my wants, George releases the aggressions that he’s harbored for too long. I don’t back away from it. Instead I push my body more firmly against his. He knots his hands into my hair, his lips moving against mine with a firm intensity.
Without a second thought I tug my shirt off too and pull George down on the bed on top of me before he has a chance to give me a proper glance. My hands eagerly explore the parts of him––the curves of his chest, the slope of his waist.
Each of my hungry emotions encourages him, making him wilder moment by moment. His large hands tangle in my hair. I wrap my legs around him pressing our bodies more firmly together, enjoying our skin touching. He groans. A sound that releases a thousand stallions from my gut. All racing to him.
“Sorry to interrupt, Stark, but your immediate attention is needed.”
Horrified, I whip my head to the side. Joseph is
squatted down giving me a devilish grin.
“Joseph, are you out of your mind?!” Blood thunders in my head, roller coasting my thoughts into a million places. George tries to sit up, but I pull him down on me to cover up my toplessness. “Have you decided you’re too good to knock?”
“I did knock, but I don’t think either of you could hear it over...well, you know. Seriously, Stark. Important news. Get your shirt on, we need to talk.”
“Turn around,” I command.
As he does, I give George an indignant expression which he returns, his face flushed. He hastily finds my shirt and tosses it at me before tugging his own over his tousled hair.
“Oh, and…” Joseph says, tottering back and forth, back still to us, “nice abs, Anders. Do you work out?”
“Shut up, Joseph,” I say, pulling my shirt over my head.
Breathless, George leans down and whispers in my ear. “I’ll be in my room.” He grabs my hand and gently squeezes it. Stepping up on my tiptoes I give him a peck on the cheek.
“Okay,” I mouth, taking a few steps back. When George is gone I spin around and face Joseph. “What in the hell is your problem!?” I say loud enough George can most certainly hear me from the hallway.
Joseph pivots, a mischievous grin on his face, eyes dancing with joy. “I know how we’re going to defeat Zhuang. We’re going to use the greatest weapon on earth. One that you happen to have direct access to,” he says, firing his hand at me like it’s a gun.
My face falls into dumbfounded embarrassment.
“Chase,” he says finally, triumph revolving on every one of his features like a strobe light.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I just had a dream of the future. It was exactly like how you described the one of Flynn, Trey, and Eloise. It was real.”
“A premonition, but while you were sleeping?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t in the distant future. It’s going to happen soon.”
“It’s eight o’clock. Why were you sleeping?”
Joseph slides his hand along the side of his head. This nervous gesture is in essence the same as Trey’s but doesn’t disrupt Joseph’s spiky hair on top of his head. Funny how we’re all just a conglomeration of our nervous habits. I see them like road maps in each conversation telling me more about the people than their words.
“Did you forget that you woke me up at the crack of dawn this morning? And sleeping is a great way to avoid people.”
“Like Trent?” I ask, knowing from dipping into his thoughts that I’m one hundred percent right.
“Do you want to know how we’re gonna demolish Zhuang or not?” Joseph says with an exasperated sigh.
“But we’re supposed to leave the Institute as soon as he arrives,” I say, although I never had any intention of doing that.
“And in my vision, we stay.”
“But do we survive?”
Joseph whistles through his teeth. “Who knows.”
♦
“That’s all you saw?” Disappointment riddles my voice.
“I think it’s enough for us to figure out what we need to do,” Joseph says, voice jittery with nerves.
“You mean what I have to do.” I tremble at the thought.
“Well, my part isn’t all that easy either. You have to admit that if we can pull it off it will be brilliant.”
“I’m willing to consider this strategy for one and only one reason,” I say, working my fingers through the knots George made in my hair. “I fear Trey will fail and Zhuang will still be our problem.”
“I see your faith in Pops hasn’t recovered since you figured out he’s a compulsive liar.”
“I guess that’s where you get it from, huh?”
Joseph ignores me. “You on board?”
“Sure, I don’t have anything else to lose…well, except my virginity,” I say with a chuckle.
“From what I just saw, you were desperately close to losing it tonight.” He jerks back, but not before my punch connects with his arm.
“Why don’t you finally learn some kung fu so that you survive long enough on Day Z for our plan to be executed. I don’t want to be responsible for protecting your ass.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do my best to hold my own. Lord knows you’ll have your work cut out for you.”
♦
“Why Vegas?” I ask, watching the Bellagio fountain, waiting for the show to start.
“Just thought you could use some superficial flashy nightlife,” Bob says, leaning over the edge of the railing, peering down. “I know you prefer dream travels that are more nature based, so we can go somewhere else if you’d like.”
Violin music starts and with it the cascading water perfectly mimics every beat of the compelling notes. The combination of the two entrances me immediately. A woman’s elegant voice begins singing in Italian.
“What’s this song?” I ask, feeling the music convulse in my heart oddly.
“‘Time to Say Goodbye,’” Steve says, staring at the incredible display of spiraling water shooting in uniform rhythms along the large pool of the Bellagio fountain.
“Besides from the obvious, based on the title, what’s she singing about?”
“She just said, ‘Into me you’ve poured the light, the light that you found by the side of the road.”
“That’s gorgeous,” I say, accosted by a sudden rush of emotions. The intensity of the water and lights speed up and with it my heart.
“Wait until Andrea Bocelli starts singing,” Steve says, and almost as if cued, a man’s voice fills the air. It’s as smooth as the pool of water was before the fountain started.
“Tell me what he’s saying,” I urge, a desperate need to know.
“‘When you’re far away I dream of the horizon and words fail me. And of course I know that you’re with me, with me,’” Steve says, his eyes closed, a peaceful look on his face.
For a good minute I’m captivated by the music, the water, and the lights. I don’t know how to waltz but as I listen to this music I feel the need to move, to sway like one might if they were waltzing. The night’s air wraps around me with its warmth and strength, leaving me fully content. I want to look up and take in one of my companions’ expressions but I’m too overwhelmed. I’m accustomed to being stunned lately, but not like this.
The man’s voice is full of confidence. It assures me that his love for her will overcome anything. I don’t understand Italian, but I feel enough of the emotions to know their message of love. For the first time in my life I understand something.
I draw in a long deep breath and stare at the night’s sky. I hold the breath and wait, but I’m not sure what for, it just doesn’t seem right to breathe freely right now. The drums pound once and then both voices join in unison and harmonize with such soul. Water shoots to new heights. How could it be possible that in the most commercial of places I’m having a truly spiritual moment? The tears slip down my cheeks, unleashed by a tender ache I didn’t even know lived within me.
Bob half encircles me with his arm, squeezing me into him. It makes me feel slightly less dramatic to notice his eyes wet with moisture.
“Shall we walk?” Steve asks.
I nod, knowing my voice will crack if I say something aloud.
Luckily for me Steve starts talking right away. “The reason we love Vegas is pure and simple. It’s where we met.” Steve laughs, exchanging a fond look with Bob. “It was a total accident.”
“That’s usually how the best things in life happen,” Bob chimes in as he strides beside me.
“I was walking down a busy part of the strip, just like here,” Steve says. People mill about everywhere and although we move to avoid them, many times they pass through us like ghosts. “The experience was very much like this. I wasn’t paying much attention to the people who I passed through, too busy taking in the sights. Bob was doing the same.” The memory seems to surface in Steve’s vision. “We crashed into each other, sending both of us to the ground.” Steve l
aughs again, shaking his head. “Can you believe it? Out of all the places we could have been walking. It just means we were on paths that were destined to collide.”
“It took a minute for it to register what had actually occurred,” Bob says, reaching out and offering his hand to Steve. He wrings it sweetly. “I’d dream traveled my entire life and had never accidentally run into another Dream Traveler. There’s just not many of us and this Earth is so vast.”
My head easily moves back and forth between the two men on either side of me as they take turns telling the story. “After we’d recovered from our fall, we chatted, sharing our backgrounds, dream travels, interests.” Steve winks at Bob. “I liked him immediately.”
“That’s the best story of how two people met that I’ve ever heard.” I beam.
“We like it.” Steve slows and turns, facing the turquoise water at the Venetian Resort. A gondola sails through the waters. A couple sits in it cuddling as a man in a black and white striped shirt pushes the boat. I lean on the railing, looking down into the water as it churns from the movements of the sleek boats.
Even though it’s late, crowds of people shuffle down the sidewalk behind us and over the bridge in front of us. Stopping, laughing, taking selfies. The traffic on the streets buzzes loudly. I find myself strangely enjoying the energy that this city exudes.
“So, tell us, what’s new with you?” Bob watches the couple in the boat until they move off from our sight.
Pulling in a long breath of air, I sigh. “Where do I begin?” I eye the large column to the right of us and decide to take a seat at its base. Bob and Steve squat down next to me on either side.
“Uh-oh.” Steve gives Bob a worried look. “This must be big if we’ve got to sit for it.”
“It is,” I confirm. I watch the gondola passengers take their rides through the Grand Canal. They all appear so happy and carefree. Suddenly I have the urge to jump into one of those boats and let all my worries float away. Shaking off the thought I fill Bob and Steve in on the newest bit of lies. After my long and sordid explanation, they both do a poor job of hiding their grave expressions.