Terminal 19

by L. R. Olson

I part my lips to deny the accusation, but he continues.

  “You barely drank it on the train. Which means when I’ve seen you with a cup, it must be…tea?”

  I nod sheepishly.

  “As I was saying…you barely speak about yourself. So I’m thinking you’re either in your American witness protection program, or wanted by the law.”

  “Wanted by the law, for sure. But now that you know, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “Or…” he continues as if I haven’t spoken. “You joke to cover up things you don’t want to answer. Topics that make you uncomfortable.”

  I laugh, but it comes out harsh, almost desperate. He’s onto me. While everyone else believes my lies, he sees through them. Dark clouds are shifting, rolling in, bringing with a cool breeze, yet I’m hot. So nervous and sweaty that my shirt sticks to my back.

  I tug at my scarf. “Okay, okay. Ask away, I swear I’ll answer anything.”

  And I realize in that heart-stopping moment I will. If he asks me if I’m sick, if he asks me if there’s something wrong…I know I’ll respond with the truth, because a part of me is tired of hiding it. Tired of making excuses. Tired of lying.

  I lean down and pick up a smooth, blue pebble while he’s lost in thought. The castle provides a formidable backdrop to the left of us. There’s some land across the water to the right. He’s looking at me, studying my face as if he sees straight through me. Growing nervous, I shift around him and head to some large boulders near the water’s edge.

  As I climb up and settle on a rock, he stands in front of me, hands in his pockets. “You talk about your mom, but you don’t about your dad.”

  I shrug. “He’s not in the picture. Hasn’t been for years.”

  I toss the blue pebble into the water, sending it back to from whence it came. Be free, little rock. A gull cries from above. I don’t believe in omens, but I swear it sounds like a warning.

  He settles on the boulder next to me, his hard warm thigh presses to my leg. “Alright. Boyfriends?”

  “Yes, many. At once.”

  He quirks a brow. But he’s not laughing. This is the serious part of our relationship. Hell, it is going to actually be a relationship if we discuss our pasts, our feelings. My chest feels suddenly tight. It’s not supposed to be a fucking relationship.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I had one pathetic first boyfriend when I was twelve, who kissed like a fish gasping for air. Then the one serious boyfriend. We’re still friends though. Good friends.”

  He’s watching me so closely I have to resist the urge to tug at my scarf again. “How good?”

  I grin. Is that a note of jealousy? But then I realize there’s no reason for him to be jealous. This is supposed to be a fling. We just met a few days ago. Damn it all. “Not that good.”

  He looks out over the water. “So then, you have a mother, sister, an ex-boyfriend who is still a good friend. Your mom is an artist. You like photography and historical buildings. And of course prefer tea over coffee.”

  “That sums it up.”

  But he’s back to looking at me like he wants more. He wants depth. He wants to know me, the real me. I’m not sure if I can give him what he wants. Hell, I’m not sure I even know myself. I’ve become a shell of the child I had been. But I can try, I suppose.

  “I live in Florida. A couple blocks from the beach. I can surf.” I shrug. “I’m not good, but at least I can get up on the board. I didn’t want to try at first. But when I’m afraid of something, for some reason, I want to meet it head-on, I want to conquer the fear.”

  “I didn’t know there was surfing in Florida.”

  “On the east coast…where I live.”

  “Any other sports?”

  “I used to play lacrosse, a long time ago.” I play with the ends of my scarf as I look out over the water. My father was coach, he loved to watch me play. As silence stretches, as if he’s waiting for more, I realize I’m spewing facts like a robot. “I was actually decent.”

  “Why’d you quit?”

  I shift, uneasy. This is why I don’t talk. Because everything leads back to the cancer. Everything. “I stopped enjoying it.”

  It’s a lie. And I have a feeling he knows I’m lying. He’s too respectful to call me out on it.

  “Is that Sweden?” I point to the land across from us. So close, a good swimmer could make it. I’m changing the subject, which he realizes. I can see the resignation in his eyes.

  He looks out at the land across the bay. Thank god, he’s given up for now. But what will he ask me the next time we see each other? If there is a next time. Maybe there shouldn’t be. “Yes, that’s Sweden.”

  “How many countries have you visited?”

  He brushes his fingers over a small, purple flower that has somehow managed to grow within these rocks. “Many. Germany, France, Italy, Greece, Great Britain. Switzerland is stunning, you’d like it. My parents traveled a lot for work.”

  “This is the first time I’ve been to Europe.” I give him something, because I know he’s annoyed with me for not opening up. “I wanted to come here because my father’s family is from Scandinavia and I thought I might feel closer to them. Know them.”

  He looks at me through his thick lashes. “Do you?”

  I shake my head. “Not really. But I do love it here. I don’t want to leave. It feels…comfortable. Maybe I didn’t come here to get to know them after all, but rather to know me.”

  “I don’t want you to leave either.”

  His words send an unwelcome bolt of pleasure through me. Too soon. This is going too fast. His gaze is dark again, intense. There are moments, like now, when I know he has a passion inside him that could delight me as much as it might frighten me. I wonder what would have happened the other day if Gabrielle hadn’t returned home. Will he be sweet in bed, or will he be demanding?

  A week. My heart is hammering. We’ve only known each other a week. I shouldn’t be falling for this guy. I can’t fall for him. This was only supposed to be a fling. A chance to lose my virginity. Not…whatever this is. Yet, I can’t let go.

  We’re sitting on the boulders that line the shore, across from Sweden, trapped between two countries, trapped between two worlds…the living and the dead. There are people walking around, but I don’t notice. It’s just the two of us. He presses his face into my neck, kissing the delicate skin, and sending chills down my body.

  “You know, I think this is probably the best date I’ve ever been on,” I whisper.

  And although my rational mind tells me not to get close…to back away, I lean into him. He wraps his arm around my waist and lowers his head, his breath warm across my lips. “Me too.”

  And then we kiss.

  In front of Denmark, in front of Sweden, in front of Hamlet’s castle, we kiss the perfect kiss.

  I should be happy that our physical relationship is moving forward, but I’m oddly sad. Sad that this is the last time I’ll experience romance like this. Sad that in a year, two, I’ll be gone, just a memory of a girl who sat on this boulder, kissing the perfect guy.

  Chapter 7

  Be more social and spend time with new friends

  Catch cheater in the act

  When Jessica rang the buzzer the next morning I’d been shocked, to say the least. She’d gotten my address from Christian, claiming she needed to be around another American.

  I’m pretty sure she’s just checking up on me, which makes me feel guilty as hell, considering what she’s going through with her boyfriend.

  I’ve been trying to keep our conversation light as we walk through the park, telling her about our date to Kronborg. She laughs and nods in all the right places, but I can tell she’s not truly listening. She doesn’t notice the soft, warm breeze. The mother cooing to her baby on a blanket in the grass area. She doesn’t notice the guy who walks by, checking her out.

  She’s lost in her own issues. Her own pain. Pretending to be in this world. In reality she’s a pittance of a person. A half-hu
man. Worry, sadness have eaten away until only her soul remains, encased in a brittle shell. She’s like a trapped ghost. It’s the same way my mom looks at times.

  “How are you?” I finally ask.

  It’s the question I’ve always hated the most, and now I’m doing to her what people do to me. How am I? How do you think I am, I’m dying for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t be so hard on them. They know I’m dying. Their question is more to fill the awkward space, a question that says they care. It’s still annoying.

  “Good.” She nods firmly as if she’s determined. As if she’s trying to talk herself into believing the lie. “And you?”

  “Fine, actually.” I sip my tea. And for the first time in a long while I actually mean it. “I’m a bit tired from all the walking I do. I’m not used to exercise. But overall…okay. I’m sleeping better, eating more…my mom would be ecstatic.”

  She smiles. “You look good.”

  “Thanks. Still need some curves,” I say apologetically and I wonder why I sound so ashamed. Why can’t women ever take compliments? But I know why my body is such a sore subject. “You know, once when I was really thin, going through chemo, I was at a store and some guy actually yelled at me to eat a hamburger already. All of his friends started laughing. No one stood up for me because they agreed, even if they weren’t that rude about it. I went home and cried in my pillow for an hour. People don’t realize how badly I wished I could gain ten, even twenty pounds.”

  She frowns. “What an asshole.”

  I nod. “Very much.”

  “Well you don’t look sick. There’s color to your face. Bounce to your step. You look…happy.”

  And I am. So happy that at times it makes me nervous. I wasn’t supposed to come here to fall in love with life. I was supposed to come here as a last hurrah, to say goodbye to life. And suddenly, whereas before dying seemed like a relief, the thought of leaving no longer holds any appeal. When did my very beliefs, my desires, change? But I know the answer…the moment I stepped off the plane.

  “Can I ask you something personal?” she says softly.

  We’re walking down the path that goes between the trees. I want to live here. I want to lay in the grass every day and study. I want…to go to college. I’ve never even allowed myself to think about the possibility. “Sure. Why not.”

  “Your prognosis?”

  I can tell she doesn’t want to be invasive, but needs to know. I don’t mind. I understand. If we’re going to be friends, get close, she has to prepare herself in case I’m gone soon. Hell, if I don’t feel guilty. Maybe I should be avoiding her. She’s already got to deal with a dying boyfriend.

  “Is it rude of me to ask?”

  I shake my head. “No. I don’t mind. There were trials. But nothing worked.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “I’ve had time to accept it all, you know?”

  I hate the sadness in her eyes. She’s too young to deal with this shit. I’m too young. Beth is too young. Even my mom. I glance up at the sky as I fight my sudden and swift anger. Fuck you, Universe. Ok, so maybe I haven’t quite accepted it.

  “How long do you have?”

  “Anywhere from two years to four. How’s that for a shitty answer?”

  She sighs. “I hate that bullshit kind of response from doctors. One man actually said it depended on Sebastian’s will to live. Well, don’t most people want to live? And then you have some in horrible pain, who probably want to die, but don’t. It makes no damn sense.”

  She’s upset, obviously. I don’t blame her, and I don’t try to placate. I’d rather have my friends and family angry than sad any day. “How is your boyfriend?”

  She looks so tired, so depleted. I thought seeing the constant frantic hope in my mom’s gaze was annoying. But seeing Jessica’s despair, the lack of hope in her eyes, is worse. So much worse. I want to hug her, tell her everything is going to be okay, but I can’t. I won’t do that to her. Because it won’t be okay. It will be horrible for a long, long while.

  “Sebastian isn’t good.”

  We pause where a path splits off and heads toward the castle. I can’t believe in a few days I’ll be leaving Denmark. I want to see Norway, but I don’t want to leave this either. Leave my friends. Leave Christian. We still haven’t slept together, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe it’s better that way. Shit, I have friends. Friends I like. Friends I care about. Who care about me. How could everything change so much in two weeks?

  “That’s why I hate when doctors say it’s up to the patients will.” She swipes at her eyes. “He wants to stay here, he wants to stay with me…so badly. But he’s fading so fast.”

  I don’t bother to respond. There’s nothing I can say that will help her. Instead, I just listen. I be the person I wish someone had been for me. She moves to a trash can, but when she reaches it, she just stares into the distance. I wish I could take a picture of her at that moment. The despair, the pain that’s written across her features. This is death. The after-effects.

  She tosses away her coffee cup and returns. “They say he has six months, at the most.”

  We continue down the side path toward Rosenborg. It’s stately and tall, and still here hundreds of years after it was built, unlike the people who worked on it.

  I glance at Jessica. I can tell she wants to say more, but is holding back. After all, we really don’t know each other that well. And she realizes I have my own horrors to deal with. But this thing—death—has brought us together. It connects us in a way that other people can’t understand.

  She releases a wry laugh. “This sucks. You suck!” she screams at the sky, gaining a few concerned glances. She doesn’t care anymore. Why should she? The worst thing that could happen, is happening. In a way it’s sort of like gaining your freedom. At least that’s one positive to death. There’s nothing worse that can happen.

  “It does suck.”

  She faces me. “How do you get through it?”

  Her gaze is pleading. She wants answers. Hoping I can be her guru, share some sort of life lesson. Hell, I don’t know. I don’t know anything. But I have to give her something. “I’m not religious. But, well, we’re all made of energy, right? And that can’t be destroyed. So I know in some form I’ll go on. I just don’t know how. Where.”

  She hesitates, and I know my answer isn’t good enough. “And you’re okay with that?”

  “I have to be.” I smile as I toss my cup into the trash. “I like to think that I’m going on an adventure.”

  She slides her arm through mine. She smells of cinnamon and coffee, her body warm at my side. “What do you mean?”

  “Like…a new world. A new realm. Some sci-fi bullshit. You know, instead of rotting in the ground, gone for good. I joke that I’m going to Hogwarts.”

  Although there is still that sad heaviness in her dark gaze, she gives me a hesitant smile. “I like that.”

  We pause near the narrow bridge that leads to the castle. A little girl runs by, screaming with laughter. Another little girl follows. They don’t think of the future, worry about tomorrow. Hell, they don’t even understand what next week means. They only live in the moment.

  “But if you want honesty,” I say hesitantly. “What worries me most are the people I’ll leave behind. I don’t want to be the reason they don’t try. More than anything, I’d love for my mom to say to me that once I’m gone, it will hurt, but she’ll be okay. She’ll move on eventually, and try to have the best life possible. That’s what would bring me the most peace. I don’t want to be the reason for her to give up.”

  She swipes the tears from her eyes and nods. “I get it.”

  And I know she does. And perhaps I’ve said something that will help her when it comes time for Sebastian to die. Perhaps now she’ll understand that her boyfriend doesn’t want her to wallow in misery once he’s gone. That he’ll want her to go on. Easier said than done.

  “We met online,” she says. “Three years ago. It was an inte
rnet high school exchange program. Skype, email, and all that. We were paired.”

  She smiles, her gaze hazy with memories.

  “For two years we chatted, finally dating. Everyone thought we were silly. That we couldn’t have a real relationship. He came to visit me in California twice. And then…” Her smile falls. “Last year he got sick.”

  A cool breeze whispers through the park, rattling the leaves of the nearby trees. I zip my blue hoodie. “You don’t go to school in Denmark?”

  Despite her sadness, she’s wearing a bright red sweater that looks so cheerful, it’s almost amusing. She shakes her head. “He was in college here. He was the one who was supposed to be friends with Christian, Fiona and Ben. I was at Berkley. Did a year. Was supposed to go to Spain on an exchange program. My father’s family is from Spain, my mother’s from Mexico.”

  “So you quit school?”

  She shrugs. “I had to. I used the money I was saving for Spain and came here. I was already totally in love with him by then, and even though it was stage four, I was so sure he would somehow survive. He told me we should break up.”

  Same thing I did to Matt. “Because he wanted you to go on with your life.”

  She nods, her eyes filling with tears again. “But I couldn’t leave him. I told him whatever time we had left, we would be together. My parents were not happy that I put school on hold.”

  I think about my past. Although Matt protested at first, he didn’t really put up much of a fight. Perhaps he really wanted to let go, and I’d done him more of a favor than I’d realized. We move down the path. Thinking about Matt makes me oddly sad, because I know we are truly over for good. I can’t even think of him romantically anymore. Not when I’ve kissed Christian. The realization is as annoying as it is startling.

  “He agreed we could stay together as long as I moved on after he died. No sitting around and crying. I have to go back to college.”

  She says it with a wryness to her voice, as if it’s preposterous. We walk for a while in silence. I haven’t known Jessica long, but I know she’s going to have a hard time dealing with Sebastian’s death. But then when you’re that in love, its normal to mourn. Which is why I’m determined to die on my own, no lingering attachments. No romantic entanglements.