Where the Mountains Meet the Sea
Page 37
But I can't.
"Hi," I whisper, turning back toward the casket.
I hear footsteps, and a hand lays on my shoulder. I close my eyes in a flinch as Lonnie speaks in my ear, "I'm so sorry, Luna. Roman was unlike anyone else in this world. He loved you so much. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Your love was fucking true. It was pure. So damn real." His voice chokes up, and he clears his throat. "I've known him my entire life, and he changed when he met you. I know him, and he's going to be waiting at those fucking gates in the clouds, just waiting for the day you walk through to him."
My eyes burn, but no tears come. I imagine him, waiting. Waiting for years. Watching me live. Watching me grow old. All the while he stands there, his elbows on the clouds as he stands there all alone.
"Luna, I wanted to give you this." Clyde hands me a beat-up notebook, worn around the edges. The spine is broken, bent, and well-used. "This was our song book, but Roman used it mostly. I thought you'd like to have it." He smiles at me, a pool of liquid wobbling at the bottom of his lids. I look away, taking the notebook and smooshing it against my chest. Burrowing it against my heart that doesn't know how to beat anymore.
My black dress is soft against my skin, a light, flowing piece that ends at my knees. It feels like death on my skin, though. Just another reminder of what I've lost.
And I've lost everything.
"Thanks," I mumble, suddenly eager for his words. His handwriting. I turn around, walking away as I search for my mom.
"Where are you going?" Lonnie asks.
I look at the casket, knowing I have a while before they bring the empty box to the cemetery. Whatever remained of him was cremated. His parents gave me the urn, telling me they know he'd want to be with me.
It's back in my room, shoved underneath my bed. I don't know what to do. I barely know how to function.
"Roman isn't in that box," is all I say to the guys before I turn around and walk away, in search for my mom.
I see her by the front door talking to Goldie. Clutching the notebook against my chest, I walk up to her. She gets a concerned look on her face when she sees me. I haven't left the casket since we got here.
"Sweetie, what's wrong?"
"I'm going home for a while."
Her eyes widen. "What about the burial?"
My heart sinks. I don't want to go, but from the look in her eyes, she expects me there.
"I'll meet you there,” I plead.
She stares at me, her eyes flitting across my face. Making sure I'm okay. Trying to read what I'm not telling her.
There is so much, Mom. So much.
"Do you need a ride?" she asks, looking over her shoulder for my dad. I lift my hand, bringing it to her arm. She flinches, looking back at me.
"I could use the fresh air."
Her face softens, a sad look covering her features. "Go ahead, we'll meet you at the cemetery in an hour."
I attempt to give her a smile, but I don't think one lifts my face.
Instead, I walk out, my flats soundless as I walk through the parking lot. So many cars, different sizes, colors, makes, models, prices. Our small town is busy this weekend. The famous rock star that lost his life during 9/11 isn't going to go unnoticed. Everyone heard. Hearts were broken all across the world.
Our sleepy town turned into a tourist attraction, and people flooded the doors of the church with such sorrow on their faces like they've lived here their entire lives.
They haven't. The truth is that no one knows him. No one except for me.
I walk through town, past my old dance studio. It's no longer a dance studio, but a bakery. I glance away without staring too long, my heart aching in the deepest areas of my chest. I smoosh the notebook further into my breasts, wishing this permanent pain would lessen over time, but I don't think that'll be the case. Over the days, the pain has only grown stronger.
There's a crisp breeze in the air, the weather inconsistent this time of year. We usually get a snowfall that melts right away. Then it snows again, and repeat. The chill in the air makes me feel like snow is on its way. The trees are stuffed with the most colorful leaves, from brown, to red, to orange. Some have fallen, their crunchiness tumbling across the streets with a light scratch.
I turn left, passing the park. It's empty, the swings blowing in the wind. There's a slight creak from the metal hinges. I glance away, my eyes burning with emotion. Every step I take is painful, my joints and muscles filled with an overwhelming amount of exhaustion. I brush the back of my hand against my face, and when I pull my hand back there's a streak of mascara on my skin.
My shoes crunch the leaves that have gathered to the sides of the streets, and my hands grip the notebook, my fingers pushing in between the pages.
What did you write to me, Roman?
It feels like he's close to me, with just this simple notebook. Something that he's touched. Written in. Something that he's hunched over, with pain in his heart and mind.
The cornfield is knocked down for the winter, and I can see over the hill, far out into the distance.
I make it to our houses, walking in between our yards and down the grass. My shoes kick the leaves, big piles gathered in our yards. What used to be well-manicured has turned into a mess these last few weeks. None of us have the ability or mindset to do something as simple as raking the leaves from the yard.
I head down to the lake, the stillness of the cold air shocking it into place. Barely any waves crest the shore. Maybe the lake is in mourning, too. Maybe it knows the greatness that has left this world, and it has no energy to shake the waves to shore. Maybe it's numb, like me.
I head onto the dock behind Roman's house, the boards loose and creaky, but I still walk down the length, all the way to the edge. Crossing my legs, I sit down on the cool wood, the breeze chilly out here as it brushes my hair away from my face.
I press the notebook against my lap, running my fingers across the hard cover. There are so many scribbles in it, so many scratches and doodles. My fingers run across the guys' names, stopping as I hit Roman's. It's his handwriting. A little messy, slightly illegible. Like he doesn't have enough time to slow down for just a moment to pick up his pen until he gets to the next letter. No, everything is mashed together. He pushed the pen too hard, too, as his letters are indented into the cover. I trace each letter, his scrawl so familiar it fills my chest with pain.
My fingers curl behind the cover, and I lift it, my throat closing up as I see the guys' songs. Some of their popular ones, the ones that still play on the top hits on the radio. My nose burns, and I use the sleeve of my dress to wipe the run.
I fold the stiff pages, crinkling from being unused for so long, and my eyes start to water the further I get into the book.
The boys lied to me. At least a little.
Maybe this started as a music book.
But it's not how it ended.
The first few pages are filled with music. But the music turns into poems. Poems turn into letters. Some pages are just filled with my name.
I miss you, Luna. Come home to me.
I wipe my eyes, the first tears since that day rolling down my cheek.
I can feel you out there, Luna. Can you feel me? I'm in so much pain.
I know, baby. Me too.
I don't know how to keep going without you. Where are you?
I'm here.
Luna,
I love you. I never should have left for California. Without you, none of this means anything. How can I tell you this, though, when I don't even know where you are? I want to cross every state and city until I find you and beg for you back. Would you take me back? My heart aches every fucking day that I don't get to see you. That I don't get to hold you. Our love story can't be over, right?
Tell me our love story isn't over yet.
Roman
I sob, my fingers turning white around the notebook as I read his words. I see the pain in the way he scribbled the letters, a little harshly, the letters
smeared across the page.
My eyes swallow every word, every syllable that's written on the pages. My fingers brush the pen marks, wishing they would pull away with ink. Wishing his words were fresh, that he would still be here with me. Only he's not, and the paper is dry, crackly, and stiff. There is nothing fresh about his words.
They are long gone.
My fingers move slower as I get to the back of the book, and my tears roll faster as I get to the last page. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as I read the last letter he ever wrote.
Luna,
There are so many things I wish I could say to you. Wherever you are right now, I hope you're okay. I hope you're exploring the world, finding whatever it is you're looking for. Find it, Luna, and then come back to me.
I'll wait for you. I wait, watching the clock tick by, hoping for a glimpse of you in the crowds as I sing my music. Hoping I'll see your dark hair swaying to the beat of the music. Wishing it would be your pale fingers lifted in the air as I sing my broken-hearted songs to the world.
The moment I find you, Luna, I'm never letting you go.
I'm going to look into your gray eyes for the rest of my life. We're going to watch the stars every night, counting and naming each constellation. We're going to watch the moon glow, lighting up the night as we sink into the darkness together.
I'm going to wrap your feet in the ribbon of your slippers, perfecting them just as you taught me to all those years ago. I'm going to watch you dance. I'm going to watch you conquer the stage, making every eye in the crowd shed so many tears they'll sweep us away. I'm going to watch you twirl and leap into the air. Fuck, Luna, you get so tall on stage. The beauty in your dance is exquisite. Like nothing I've ever seen before. I dream of you dancing. Every single night, it's you, with your pointed feet, and your beautiful spine as you make the most delicate moves I've ever seen.
I'll keep dreaming about you, until it's time for us to meet again. Because I know, Luna, that we will meet again.
Until then, I hope you think of me. Think of me as you travel and know that I'm thinking of you. And when you're feeling lonely, go to where I always promised I'd bring you. Go to where the water crashes against the dark walls of the cliff. To the place where the sand sweeps you off your feet. Where the salty air brushes the hair from your shoulders. Meet me there, Luna, and I'll be there waiting.
Meet me where I always promised I'd take you.
Meet me where the mountains meet the sea.
Yours. Always yours. Now and always.
Roman Hall
The notebook crumbles and smashes against my chest as I sob into the papers. The grief, the loss that I feel in every inch of my body makes me feel like I'm being pulled apart piece by piece. There isn't a shred of anything good left in me. I feel in ruins. Wrecked. Completely obliterated.
My face meets the cool wood of the dock as I roll over, until I’m crunched in a ball on the faded wood, the light color darkening beneath my face from my tears. Reaching into my bra, I pull out Roman's pick, the one I gave him so many years ago. I clutch it in my palm, wanting it to grant me all the wishes in the world, but knowing it'll do none of them.
I cry and sob, my screams echoing across the lake, across the dark waters of the cool afternoon. I cry until my arms are freezing, and a hand lays upon my shoulder. I can barely see through the tears as I look up at the sky, seeing my dad’s sad face glancing down at me.
His face is one of pure torment, like my pain causes him pain. He bends down, picking me up off the deck. My hand snaps out, grabbing onto Roman's notebook and hitching it under my arm. I curl into my dad’s arms, so sad. So, so fucking sad.
"I miss him so much, Daddy," I sob.
He presses his cheek into my hair, his own tears hitting my forehead. "We all miss him, Luna, but I can't imagine for a second what you must be going through."
"It feels like I'm dying," I cry.
He squeezes me tighter to him, like he can pull the pain from my body if he wishes hard enough. "I'll be with you every step of the way."
I burrow my face into his chest, wishing he could take it all away. Just for a second. Each breath is pained. So much pain.
"Let's go say goodbye to him, okay?" he mumbles into my hair.
I nod my head, wanting to tell him that there's no one to say goodbye to, because he's not there, but not having the energy at this point.
Meet me where I always promised I'd take you.
Meet me where the mountains meet the sea.
Closing my eyes, I take a breath, knowing exactly where I need to go.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
LUNA
I step out of the cab, the cool wind blowing in my face.
"Thank you," I tell the cabbie, handing him the folded-up bills in my hand.
He nods gratefully, and I grab my backpack, shutting the door behind me. I let out a breath, seeing a hint of my breath puff from my mouth. I look up at the mountains, shrugging the straps of my backpack over my shoulder.
The snow caps look so white. Only slightly whiter than my skin as they sit on top of the mountains.
I'm here.
Slightly north of Seattle, I only have one destination in mind.
Our spot.
I arrived in Seattle last night. It's been a week since Roman's funeral. I told my parents my plans. I told Roman's parents. With tears in their eyes, they all nodded. They understand. Even though I think a part of them doesn't understand.
I have to do this.
It's about a mile walk from the small city to the path, and from there it's about a thirty-minute hike up the cliff. The place where Roman proposed. I remember it as if it were just yesterday. How happy he was, the anticipation on his face. The gentleness in his words. I should've known then. I know everything about him, but I was so sidetracked by the happiness on his face that I couldn't think of anything else. His happiness made me happy. We were two souls that were brought together again, and the only thing on our minds was being together. Enjoying every moment.
I walk through the small town, looking at the happy people. The couples, the families, the groups of friends. I pull the pick out of my pocket, holding the worn plastic between my fingers. Flipping it back and forth. I glance down at the faded letters, the R & L still engraved in the center.
I miss him.
"Whoa!" I get slammed back, a heavy, leather arm hitting my chest. I look up, seeing a group of men standing before me. Large, scary-looking biker men with leather vests on. My eyes widen, realizing I was about to walk straight into oncoming traffic. Cars whiz by, not a care in the world as they fly down the streets.
I didn't realize, didn't even hear them roaring by.
I glance at the blond man. "Thank you," I say, a little scared to be in his presence. He's tall, trim, but I can tell he’s capable of doing things I can't even imagine.
We don't have guys like this in Wisconsin.
I glance behind me, seeing the guys walking back toward the bar. I see a line of motorcycles lined up outside, all shiny and black.
I swallow, slightly nervous to even be in their presence.
"You okay?" The man asks me. I take a look at his friendly face, his kind smile. Although, he looks a little concerned, maybe slightly on edge. He looks to be about my age, maybe a few years older. His blond hair is pulled into a ponytail at the base of his head. He's tall, too. Taller than Roman.
I nod.
He points at my face. "You sure? You're cryin'."
I bring my hand up to my face, wiping away the tears that I didn’t even notice were there. "Oh, yeah. I'm okay." Embarrassment hits my cheeks, and I turn away from him. I'm sure I look like a wreck.
"What's your name?" he asks. Well, it kind of sounds like an order coming from his tongue.
"Luna," I whisper, gripping the pick between my fingers until my fingers go cold.
He glances down at it, concern lining his forehead. "You sure you're all right, Luna? Need me to take you somewhere?"
He puts up a finger, walking toward his bike. I stand where I am, on the corner of the cold street with my backpack on my back.
With my fiancé’s ashes inside.
He comes back with a pen between his fingers. Without even asking, he grabs my hand, yanking it toward him. Not even a slight hesitation about how I feel about it. He writes on the inside of my wrist, the dark pen slashing across my pale skin. "Here's my phone number. If you're ever in any trouble, give me a call. Even if you aren't in trouble, give me a call." He frowns at his words, like he's unsure why he said them.
I glance down at the phone number and the scratchy scrawl next to it. "Lynx," I mumble to myself.
He nods. "That's me. I hope to see you around, Luna."
I nod, watching him turn around and walk back to his friends. He gives me a small wave, and I give him one back.
Turning back around, I hit the crosswalk button this time, waiting for the miniature person to glow green on the other side of the street.
Once it does, I head across, making my way toward the hidden path.
It takes a while, and my cheeks feel raw, and my fingers are numb, Roman’s pick hot against my palm. But finally, I get to the top. The gravel crunching beneath my shoes as I walk. No other sounds. It's silent, as if the world around me is giving me the peace and quiet I need.
I set the backpack down once I get to the clearing, seeing the ocean dance rapidly before me. In the fall air, the water looks darker. The waves harsher. Unzipping my jacket, I set it on the ground and pull out the heavy urn. The black and gold swirl together in beautiful designs. It’s heavy in my arms, and maybe that’s because Roman took my heart with him, too.
Meet me where the mountains meet the sea.
A tear falls down my cheeks, blowing in the wind as I walk toward the edge. My jaw trembles, my lips quaking as I open the lid.