Terminal 19

by L. R. Olson

  She looks pale, thin, destroyed. Sebastian is still hanging on…but barely. Guilt washes through me. I’ve visited Sebastian a few times while Jessica was away. I should have called her, at least sent her a text, to see how she was holding up.

  She smiles tentatively. “You look…different. How are you?”

  I almost laugh at her lackluster compliment. Hell, when was the last time I’ve laughed? Do I even remember how? Obviously I look like shit. I rub the scruff along my jaw. Another few days and it will be a full grown beard.

  “I’m fine. You?”

  She gives a half shrug. I don’t know how she does it. How she sits by his bedside day after day, watching him waste away. Could I? Could I watch the person I love slowly die?

  “I’m fine,” she says, even though I know she’s far from fine. “He’s still…here.”

  A chill breeze sweeps down the street, tugging at her blue scarf and dark hair. The sky above is dreary. I take her arm and lead her to the nearest doorway so we’re protected from the bite of the wind. She clutches her coffee cup in her gloved hands. It’s bitterly cold, but neither of us seem desperate to go our separate ways. Maybe we want to cling onto the past we shared, a past of easier times. Or maybe we just don’t want to face our futures.

  “Are you going back to Norway for the holidays?” she asks.

  “Yes. I’m meeting my mother for dinner soon. Then tomorrow morning we’re leaving.”

  She nods. “Already done with tests? How was your semester?”

  I look away, rubbing the back of my neck. There’s something about Jessica that reminds me of Hope. Physically, they’re completely different. But they share a world-weary look in their eyes that says they’ve experienced too much. Too much pain. Heartache.

  “It could have been better. I kind of…skipped most of my classes.” How do I explain that I basically flunked my semester? “I’m leaving early. Actually switching schools.”

  Her eyes go wide. “Oh Christian, because of what happened with Hope?”

  Just hearing her name is like a punch to the gut. Jessica knows what happened between us, I can see the pity in her eyes. Who else knows the truth? The image of Hope kissing her ex flares to mind.

  “I’m sorry, Christian. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but…Matt and I have known each other for so long.”

  Every feeling I’d had, every emotion I’ve experienced, tears through me. Truth is that meeting Hope seemed like fate. And I feel like an idiot for even believing in such nonsense. I lift the collar of my coat, trying to block the chill wind. “No. Not because of what happened with her. I just realized I’m not studying what I want to study.”

  “Oh. I see.” She sips her coffee. Her American accent is too much like Hope’s. Shit. Everything reminds me of her. I’m haunted. “Well that’s good, right? Better to change it now. Have you talked to…you know…”

  “No,” I snap out a little more harshly than I intended. She cringes, and I feel guilty as hell. “Why would I talk to her? She made it clear she had no further interest in me.”

  Jessica’s eyes fill with a sympathy I don’t want, nor deserve. She rests her hand on my arm. It’s my turn to flinch. “Christian, you know why. She wasn’t herself. She was scared.”

  I release a wry laugh. “Scared? Of what?”

  She hesitates and I can tell there’s something she’s holding back. “I thought…” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

  There’s a knowledge in her dark eyes that gives me pause. Secrets. She knows something. What the hell is going on?

  “What do you mean?” I demand, and hate myself with a bitter disgust for even asking. Flurries are falling, twisting and spinning in the wind, peppering her dark hair. I don’t like games, and I can’t help but feel as if I’ve been trapped in a never-ending scheme since meeting Hope.

  “Hope was closed off from the moment you met her. Maybe, just maybe, there was a good reason why.”

  I can’t deny the sense of foreboding that weighs down on me. My hands curl at my sides. My throat feels thick. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “I thought she would have…I just assumed…” She hesitates as if unsure, then shakes her head. “Did you know that when Sebastian was first ill, he tried to break up with me? He didn’t want me to suffer because he loved me that much.”

  “Why are you telling me this? What does it have to do with Hope?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, it’s not my story. I’m sorry.”

  “Jessica,” I snap. “You can’t…”

  Before I can question her further, she darts out from under the doorway. I watch with annoyance, as she scurries across the road, disappearing around a corner. What the hell does she know? I pull out my phone. My hand is shaking. Hope’s number is still there. Why haven’t I deleted it? With a frustrated growl, I shove the phone back into my pocket and make my way across the street, the flurries swirling angrily around me.

  I do not play games. Things with Hope are over. Hell, they were over before they even started. I turn the corner and find the Thai restaurant. Through the window, I can see my mom. I pause and take in a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart, the heated anger. That fake smile will have to make an appearance once more. She’s been worried about me. She doesn’t deserve that. Not after what happened with my sister. Forcing the corners of my mouth to lift, I enter the restaurant.

  She stands as I approach and hugs me, all warmth and vanilla scent. “You have dark circles under your eyes. Are you not getting enough sleep?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She doesn’t look convinced. After everything my father put her through, after losing my sister, I hate making her worry. “You’ll come home and help me decorate for the holidays?” my mother says. “You know it’s my favorite thing.”

  We settle at the table. An energy is thrumming through me that I can’t ignore. It’s hard to focus on my mom. What had Jessica meant? What does she know? “Mom, Christmas is over a month away.”

  She grins. “Never too early.”

  I drink my glass of water.

  “Ugh. Why do you like mineral water so much here?”

  “Do you really want to compare food? There are quite a few things I could bring up—”

  It’s hard to believe that in a month and a half it will be Christmas. Hard to believe that she’s been gone so long. Over four months since I met Hope. Since she tore down that wall and destroyed my life. My hand tightens around my water goblet. She was smart, funny, intriguing…she was also a liar. Why hadn’t she told me if she still had feelings for her ex? Why drag it out?

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” my mom asks. “Is something wrong with your friend Sebastian?”

  “No, Mom.” What had Jessica meant? Why tell me the story about Sebastian being sick, unless… Memories whisper through my mind. Details that seemed important, yet I’d overlooked.

  “Just got over a bad case of flu not too long ago,” Hope had said. “Still recovering.”

  “Are you, Audrey, and Max coming for Christmas, like last year?”

  I nod, barely aware of what my mother asks.

  “I was sick as a child. I had hearing loss so my balance isn’t great.”

  Realization hits me like a punch to the chest. My heart thrums madly in my ribcage, the world around me fades. I always knew it, didn’t I? There was something I was missing… Something she wasn’t telling me. I’d known, but I’d assumed she would eventually open up. She would eventually trust me. When I’d seen her kissing her ex, nothing had mattered but my own pain. My own anger. What had I missed?

  “I don’t know, Christian.” Audrey’s voice whispers through my mind. “There’s something off about her.”

  “She looked bad, mate,” Max said. “Really bad. The thinness, the paleness…. She could barely walk to the taxi.”

  “Are you sure you’re alright, Christian?”

  My mom’s voice startles me. The world comes roaring back into focu
s. “I’m fine.”

  But as I stare at my mom’s familiar face, one more memory appears. “It was nothing. Some antibiotics, and I’m fine. Even saw your mom there. Although you should make sure you go to the clinic if your throat starts to hurt. Strep, they said.”

  The memory becomes startlingly clear, pulsing around me like someone pounding at a front door, demanding to be let in. “Is there something wrong with Hope?”

  My mom stiffens. “What? Who?”

  She’s playing dumb. I swallow hard. It’s in her gaze. Guilt. Shame. Worry. “Hope. She said you saw her at the clinic, when she had strep throat months ago. Is there something medically wrong with Hope?”

  My mom’s gaze drops to the tabletop. I don’t miss the way she nervously straightens her silverware. She’s fighting for the right words. She knows. She knows something. The panic I feel slices bitterly through me. She pauses for a long, long moment. Just when I’m about to demand she respond, she finally does.

  “You know I can’t talk about that.” She pushes away from the table. Her hands are trembling. “I have to make a call.”

  “You’ve known, all this time, something was wrong with her,” I grind out, surging to my feet. I don’t give a damn about the people who are looking curiously our way. “And you’re not going to tell me?”

  Calmly, she lifts her bag, pulls out a file, and places it on the table. “I really have to make a call. Please watch my things for me.”

  “Mom…”

  Before she leaves, she gives me a hard, pointed look, and taps the folder with her fingertip. Shrugging her bag onto her shoulder, she walks toward the door. She leaves her coat and the folder sitting there before me. My heart hammers wildly. I know without doubt everything is going to change the moment I read whatever is inside that folder. Do I want to forgive Hope? Do I want to care?

  I open it.

  Hope Reynolds.

  I focus immediately on her name. The world tilts off balance.

  Why the fuck is my mom carrying around Hope’s medical records?

  And why would she have brought this folder to dinner, unless she meant to show me all along? I sink into my chair. The blood is pounding through my veins so hard it drowns out all other noise in the restaurant. I can see my mom outside the windows, speaking on her phone. She must be freezing in only her slacks and sweater, but she stays put, giving me time.

  I focus on Hope’s paperwork. Part of me feels guilty about reading her private information. I know it’s wrong. So very wrong. But nothing will stop me from looking. No more secrets. No more lies. At first the numbers and letters are a blur of medical terminology I don’t understand.

  Tests. Lab results. Blood counts.

  Too much information for someone who just had strep throat. And then I see the word I’ve been searching for but didn’t realize until now. An explanation. A reason.

  All the times she tried to warn me away come surging back.

  This is a bad idea.

  It can’t last.

  We should end it now.

  A roar of anguish bursts through me. My hands clutch the corner of the table. The entire world tilts off balance. “No,” I whisper. “No.”

  Hope has cancer.

  ****

  The town square is glowing with white Christmas lights in a way that makes it look magical. It’s late enough that not many people are here. Only a few tourists wander the area, looking around in awe, taking photos. You can’t help but notice the happiness that seems to pulse from everyone. It’s catchy, like a virus. Or maybe that’s just me because I’m close…so close to seeing her.

  I take in a deep breath, glancing over the palm trees, the historical buildings. This is where Hope grew up. This is her. I swear I can feel her essence within the cobbled streets, the culture, the very air that’s scented with sea salt and warmth.

  But the tourists don’t interest me. Not the hundreds of thousands of Christmas lights. Not even the ancient history of the city. I move quickly through the town square, around a large Christmas tree and white gazebo. And then I spot it…the gallery where Gabrielle said Hope would be tonight.

  Through the windows, I find her immediately.

  She’s standing in the large room, wearing her black dress and pearl necklace, holding court like a queen. That body. That smile. The way her hands flutter nervously when she talks. She’s still breathing. Still alive. Still healthy.

  My knees go weak, and there, on the sidewalk, I almost sink to the ground. Tenderness and regret rush through me all at once. My hands curl. I want to scoop her up and take her back to my hotel room. I want…her. But what if Jessica was wrong? What if she didn’t purposefully break things off to save me the pain of losing her? What if it really was just a fling?

  “Hope,” I whisper.

  She turns toward the windows, as if she hears me. That face could make the angels cry. I know she can’t see me but it doesn’t keep my heart from hammering madly. Only yesterday, I wondered how Jessica could stand by Sebastian’s side while he died, now I understand. A man walks up to her and they turn toward one of her photos, discussing her art.

  I thought being with her made me weak. But the strength I feel now that I’m close makes me feel like a damn superhero. Like I could do anything. I would do anything for her. I want her. Want her in my life for as long as possible.

  I start toward the door. The world around me fades and only she remains. My heart hammers so loudly I can hear nothing but its beat. Mine, mine, mine, it thumps. She was mine from that first moment I saw her trying to break into the toilets without paying. Hell, she’s always been mine. From the day she was born, she was put here for me. And I was put on this earth for her. I know that now without doubt. It is fact.

  My heart slows its beat the closer I get. It settles, it calms. It knows now that there’s no reason to be frantic…I’m home. Not a place, or a building…her. Time seems to slow. This is where I’m supposed to be. With her. Anywhere with her. The sweet, sweet bliss I feel overwhelms me. A feeling of rightness that descends from nowhere and everywhere at once.

  I pull open the door, a bell overhead rings merrily. The place is crowded, thrumming with activity. People mingling. Drinking. Discussing art.

  “You’re him, aren’t you? I recognize you from her photos.”

  I glance down at the teenage girl who stands in front of me. I know immediately she’s Hope’s sister. Same full lips, same hazel eyes, same blonde hair. She picks up a glass of champagne from a small table and hands it to me.

  I down the drink, the bubbles dancing across my tongue.

  “I knew you’d come to your senses…eventually,” she says.

  I like this girl immediately.

  “She’s not with Matt, her ex, you know. She never was.”

  I nod. Of course she wasn’t. I was too stupid to see it. I tear my gaze from her sister to focus on Hope. Damn it all, she looks so adorable as she speaks to a couple about one of her photos. I want to sink to my knees and beg her to forgive me for not knowing. Not understanding. Not seeing the signs.

  For the first time in my life my mind is clear. I know what I need. What I want. I know what she needs. What she wants. There is no fear of rejection. This is right. This is supposed to happen.

  “Go on, then,” the girl whispers. “She’s been waiting for you for months, even if she didn’t realize it.”

  I start across the small gallery. Three weeks. I spent only three weeks with her. At times it seems as if I’ve known her forever, and other times it seems as if we just met. But one thing I know for sure is that we’re supposed to be together.

  She shifts, giving the couple a shy smile. She looks like something dropped from the heavens. And it practically kills me to see her standing there, looking so healthy, so full of life, knowing her body is betraying her. I don’t know how much time she has, but I plan to spend every minute with her.

  “It was lovely,” she’s saying to the couple before her. “So much history.”
/>   “Well, they’re wonderful photos,” the older woman says. “You seem to capture the life, the soul.”

  Hearing Hope’s voice makes this all so very real. She’s real. What we’ve experienced is real. I pause only a few feet away and force myself to look at her photos. About ten pieces in a variety of sizes are scattered along a wall. Black and white close-ups of smiling faces. Hands clasped together. People she knows, people I know. My hands in one picture. My profile in another. The pride I feel overwhelms me. She did this, she made it happen.

  But in the middle of those photos is a quote painted onto a canvas. Something that startles me, makes me understand her in a way I hadn’t before.

  “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

  The couple leaves. She’s alone, her back to me as she looks over her art work. I can practically sense the pride pulsing from her. Despite what she’s going through, she hasn’t given up on life. Has she given up on us?

  I step closer. The cacophony of conversation fades into a low buzz. My entire world centers on her. “Hello, Hope.”

  She stiffens, but doesn’t turn around. Maybe she thinks she’s dreaming. Maybe she’s scared. Maybe she doesn’t want me here. Neither of us speak. The silence between us lengthens. I step closer.

  So close, I can feel her heat, her energy. “Did you miss me?”

  My voice comes out strained and hoarse. I don’t realize the importance of my question, until the words are out and I wait for her response. Damn it all, I didn’t mean to sound so pathetic, needy. But I do and I am, and I’m standing there with my heart on my sleeve…waiting. Slowly, ever so slowly, she leans back into me. Her warm body molds to mine. I close my eyes, resting my chin atop her head and breathing her in. It feels right. So damn right.