by SJ Cavaletti
She caught me in her peripheral vision. Staring at her as she stared at the fire. She spoke, without looking at me.
“Your song. I want to ask you something,” then she looked at me, took my hand in hers, soft and tender, “Are you the impressionist? Or was it supposed to be my Dad? Because I’m guessing that… I’m the lady hanging sheets? With work to do? Not noticing the sea view? You’re quite the poet. The lyrics, and everything. Blew my mind.”
I took her other hand in mine. “Yes. You’re the lady with work to do.”
“And…?”
“The song. I think we were both singing it. Me and your Dad. After hearing about him today, it sounds like we’re both impressionists.”
“Painting with light.”
“I like to think so. I try. I try hard to go through this world painting with light,” I chuckled, “Something has to illuminate me.”
I gestured to my all black outfit. She smirked.
“You’re right about my Dad. He did that, too. When he looked at things, he didn’t box them in with rigid lines, just looked for the part that’s shining. And, yeah… you are a lot like that, Drake. Silver lining.”
She looked back at the fire, her lips scarlet, changing color in the dancing light between cherry and wine. She spoke again, without looking.
“You’re right. You are both right. My Dad always said things like that to me, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am that woman. I am the one hanging sheets. Blocking beauty out of my life, focusing on work and tasks. Protecting myself from loving too much. It doesn’t hurt behind the sheets.”
She stared at the flames, looking up toward the sky where bits of each structure wisped away, charred, into the night. She continued.
“Or at least that’s what I used to think. I believed it didn’t hurt behind the sheets. If I kept myself busy, I wouldn’t notice any pain. But you’re right. What you said about love.”
I took her by the waist, into my hands, to hold her and look into her soul as she spoke.
“You said love is the only thing that doesn’t hurt. And now it all makes sense. That even though I was wrapped up in armor, behind the sheets as you say, I wasn’t protecting myself. I was actually imprisoned with all my pain. When what feels like such a risk, the sea view, the impressionist, that’s the thing that doesn’t hurt.”
She looked down at the ground. “I hope I interpreted your song right. Don’t mean to bastardize your lyrics.”
If she had been looking at me, she would have seen nothing but awe. It couldn’t have been more unbelievable that in a matter of minutes she could unpick my ballad.
But she did. Because she was so much like me. She was a miner, too. She dug deep inside the crust of the earth. Just like me. She wanted to know what it would be like to figure it all out.
Because my stunned silence was all that had replied to her, she continued, “Yeah, I really should have majored in poetry.”
“Yeah. No. I mean… you got it perfectly.”
“Are all your songs like that? So poetic and figurative?”
I pulled her in close. “No. But some. I’m glad you liked it.”
Her body felt perfect in my hands as I pulled her in for a kiss. Her lips, featherlight, delicious. Every nerve in my body so attentive. So full of life.
When we pulled back, she opened her eyes.
So beautiful they made me whince. And there was a lot more than beauty within them.
Intelligence.
Sass.
Wit.
Strength.
And my future.
Later that night, while watching Maeve sleep next to me in the caravan, El asleep in the room next door and everyone home after an emotional burn, I thought about a conversation I had had with Mr. Fry. Jason’s Dad.
I was eighteen, about to graduate from high school and still had that cheerleader girlfriend. A part of me cared for her, a part of me thought it wasn’t going to last. Or maybe shouldn’t last. I couldn’t tell the difference then.
Mr. Fry had been married to Mrs. Fry for twenty-five years at that point. And because my Mom hadn’t, as far as I knew, even dated a guy since my Dad left, I turned to Mr. Fry for advice.
I asked him, “How do you know it's the One? I mean, how did you know, when you met Mrs. Fry, that you two could stay together this long and be happy.”
He put his hand on my shoulder, because he always put his hand on your shoulder when he was serious. He had said, “If you’re wondering, it’s not.”
During this week, I’ve never once wondered about Maeve. I knew she was everything I’d ever want in a woman. She ticked every box and then some with extras I hadn’t even known were available.
I thought I’d be scared when I found the One and was ready to settle down. I thought I’d be scared about losing my old life, losing total freedom. I didn’t feel scared now.
My eyes grew heavy with Plain dust. With dust from the Sandman. It was time to let go of today. A day I would never forget.
When I woke up, ready to tell Maeve about Mr. Fry, she was gone.
25
My promise to Dad, complete.
A week of dehydration.
Sex. Sex. And more sex.
I snuck out of Drake’s feeling like a Mac truck had hit me. The week’s events shook me to the core. Adrenaline. Serotonin. Dopamine. Gone. It felt gone, all gone.
I should have stayed. Let his black eyes shine brighter than the sun on my face one more time. But my usual habit, run before you’re hurt, took over my weakened body, and I used those fairy powers Drake said I possessed to sneak out of the bed, hardly moving a fiber of the covers.
I needed time to think. Not that it was easy to do that now that I was in my fusty hot tent. Agony. This environment only increased my agony.
I opened the tent flap. At the exact same moment, Isolde’s head popped into view, like when you answer the phone and the person you wanted had been calling, anyway.
“Maeve. Hey girl. How was your burn?” She asked, as if she was coming down from a session of meditating.
“Amazing.”
I still wondered if Gina had told Isolde about my Dad. But I didn’t need to wonder for long because Gina’s face was the next to pop into the tent.
“Boo!” She tried to surprise me.
“Gina!” I hoisted myself up and out of that tent faster than I’d ever moved.
It was incredible that I hadn’t run into her here, that she hadn’t come to seek me.
“I stopped by a couple times, but you were never here,” she said.
Oh. She had. But… Drake.
She continued, “Guess you managed to have a good time?”
Isolde put her hand on Gina’s shoulder. “I gotta pack with Tris but come see me before you leave,” she started off then turned, “You, too, Maeve. I wanna hug you bye.”
Gina and I met eyes again after watching Isolde’s butt wiggle away. For a spilt second Gina looked concerned I might ask how she knew Isolde. Then again, maybe I was reading into it. And it didn’t matter. So I didn’t ask.
“Thanks for hooking me up here. Isolde and Tristan have been super nice.”
“They said you’ve not been around much.”
My eyes wandered to somewhere behind her. Eye contact was tough. I felt almost guilty suddenly, for the week I’ve had. For falling in… like. Or maybe even love.
Gina read my sheepish silence. She wasn’t one to let it go. She didn’t run a billion dollar company by being a pushover. “Where you been?”
“Just checking everything out. Like Gypsies do.”
“Maeve?”
I looked up, a mother-like cocked eyebrow staring back at me.
“What?”
“Why aren’t you being more specific. I know something’s up. Knowing you, I thought you’d move between here and Magpie, occasional stop at Center Camp. I haven’t seen you once. And you better believe I’ve spent the better part of my week at those places.
I’ve been worried.”
“Whatever happened to ‘we never had this conversation?’ I thought you wouldn’t want to incriminate yourself by seeing me this week.”
She took me by the forearm. “Lady, I’ve known you since you’ve been in diapers. I wouldn’t throw you to the wolves. Even if it means dealing with the wrath of Dixie. I was just really hungover when you called me and also, shocked. Your Mom told me you two had settled this thing over your Dad and you weren’t coming.”
“Changed my mind.”
“Clearly.”
“Did you do it?” She asked.
My body glowed from within. I remembered Drake’s song, Koa’s ukulele and Jasmine’s hips. I remembered opening El’s box and the Queen who raised him to the sky with her dance.
I smiled, beaming, and shook my head.
Gina threw herself on me, crushing me with the biggest hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she said into my ear.
“Thanks.”
“He really wanted this, Maeve. He told me all about it, too. You did the right thing.”
“I did save some ashes. For Mom.”
“Maeve,” she lifted her hand to her mouth. She looked ready to cry, but she waved her hands in front of her eyes to stop it and said, “I can’t talk about this anymore.”
I didn’t push. Everyone has to creep out of that shell at their own pace.
She took in a deep breath, clearing the emotions.
“Well, I’m glad you had fun. Who were you with? Or did you spend the whole week alone? Kind of hard even if you want to around here.”
“I met some people.”
Nothing got past Gina. “Are you blushing?”
“What?”
“Are you blushing? When you said you met some people, you blushed.”
“I’m hot. It’s the sun.”
“No, it isn’t.” She put her hand on her hip. “Did you meet a guy?”
It was hard to read her now. Her expression interrogated me and was at the same time protective. Like she was about to get her shotgun ready. Like the old-fashioned joke Dads tell about their daughters when they go on their first date.
I knew Gina would worry I was vulnerable. She also knew that even though people connected deeply here, those friendships seemed very strong while here, but could fade the minute one stepped back on pavement. She didn’t want me to get hurt. She wouldn’t want me getting hurt under normal circumstances, let alone during this period of grief.
And because she’d known me since my very first boyfriend, she knew I was a serial monogamist. Rightfully, that had crossed my mind. Drake would be an awesome boyfriend.
“I did,” I said, thinking instantly that maybe I shouldn’t have admitted to it.
“Mmmm…”
Gina waited for more. Not trusting herself to speak just yet. She was a tough person to impress. A tough one to convince. Years in the L.A. music scene does that. Or maybe she’d always been that way. Maybe that’s why my Dad chose her as his trusted partner.
“I’m being reasonable about it. Not like I’m expecting it to last or anything.”
It hurt to say that.
I didn’t want to mean it.
I didn’t mean it.
“You don’t mean that,” Gina said.
Fucking hell.
“Whatever,” I retorted, not proud of how lame it sounded.
“He’s turned you into a teenager again!” She laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but it didn’t. Her judgment obvious through the joke.
I decided not to say anything more. It wasn’t worth talking about some invisible future that was yet to pass. And I really didn’t want her doubt to break my resolve.
“What’s his name?”
“Drake.”
She rolled her eyes. Not a mean eye roll. Disbelieving. Like I had just said his name was Fabio.
“What’s his deal?” She asked.
“He was… is…” Did I really want to tell Gina about Drake? About the week together, the song, his support of me at Dad’s ceremony… that he was a musician? Not really.
“Look, he’s hot. We had fun. And, it’s nothing, he lives in Seattle anyway.”
Now I flat out lied. Well, not a lie. In lawyer speak, we call it misleading. She didn’t pick up on it. Normally there was no pulling a fast one on Gina, but she was probably as wrecked as I was from the week.
At the sound of many miles between me and Drake, she called off that conversation. He became instantly less alarming.
“Listen, honey, I have to run to get to the airport on time, but Isolde told me they have plenty of time to help you with the tent if you need it,” she bent and peered inside.
“Jesus.” She looked back up at me, impressed. “You’re even tougher than I thought. Proud of you, my girl.”
She put both arms out, inviting me in for a hug. I gladly took it. The familiar comfort. Gina was one of the few people I’ve hugged since before I stopped hugging. I pulled in her energy, grounding myself.
As I watched Gina walk off, I thought again about Drake’s question. Where did I get this tough exterior? My first female role model was Dixie, my second, one with an absolute killer instinct. Gina had definitely rubbed off on me. I was lucky to have her. About to drop my defenses, it was comforting to know two warrior women had my back.
I started to believe I had made a mistake. Leaving Drake sleeping. Not leaving a note. Tell him I wanted to say goodbye. What was I thinking, leaving this to chance?
I had loaded my few belongings up in the Prius. I laughed to see that I’d re-packed almost all the nutrition bars I’d brought. Drake was right. People don’t eat normally here.
All that was left to pack was my Dad’s lunchbox and the tent. Should I go back to Drake’s camp and meet him there? I really didn’t want to have the conversation in front of the entire tribe. In front of El. Facing dejection in front of a crowd…
“Hello?”
“Ahhhh!” I screamed.
I turned around and in the doorway of my tent, he was there. Drake.
“You scared me,” I said.
“You scared me, too. Thought I might never see you again.”
Charming. More than charming. Better than charming. Charming is flaky. Drake made me feel secure. The most sexy, attractive quality any man could have.
I stepped outside the tent so we didn’t have to bake and have this conversation sweaty. And not nice sweaty.
“I don’t really have a good explanation for…”
“Ditching me like some one night stand?”
Was he annoyed? His dimple appeared. No.
“I was just feeling drained and yucky. There’s a lot to do the last day. With packing up and all.”
“Uh-huh…”
He wasn’t buying it. Because I only had about fifteen items in my possession.
“Listen,” he said, taking my hand, “I don’t want to talk about that. We both have to pack out and I’m not leaving here without saying what I have to say.”
My heart fluttered erratically. My palms grew sweaty. Crap. Drake took a deep breath and continued.
“To say this week has been a once in a lifetime experience is an understatement. And probably not that amazing a statement if I think about it, because probably no two days are the same. Even the ordinary ones.”
I tucked some hair behind my ear.
“But Maeve, you are… you know, I think there might be something pretty special going on here. What do you think?”
I shook my head up and down. Of course I agreed.
“Do you want to come to Seattle?” He asked.
Yes! Fucking yes!
But no. This wasn’t going to plan. I was supposed to be brave. I was supposed to make the first move.
I lifted a brow and gave a cocky smile. “You know, Drake, you just ruined this moment.”
His body pulled back a few inches, surprised. Almost hurt. “How is that? And by the way, I was looking for a yes…”
I took his other ha
nd in mine. I loved his hands. Soft, all but the tips wore guitar callouses. Reminding me of his passion. They were my favorite part about his hands. I laced my fingers through one of his hands. My tender gesture put him at ease.
“You just ruined my move. I was about to sky dive. Never done that before.”
Confused, his eyes narrowed. I explained.
“I was really proud of myself. Because I’ve never made the first move. Not in almost anything, really. I know this probably surprises you because I pretend to be confident. And I guess, in some ways, I am confident. But the truth is, I have always waited for some sign of outward affirmation before giving things a go. So I’m not sure that’s really true confidence, and it’s definitely not courage. Like, I always made my brother jump first, or… I always let men come to me.”
“I’m sure you’ve never had a problem with that.”
“Shush. That’s not my point. My point is, which I’m not making very eloquently is that, well, now you maintained my track record. And I want you to know that, even if you hadn’t asked me to Seattle first, I would have… hold on.”
I ducked back into the tent and came out with the black box.
“Your Dad’s lunchbox?”
I opened it and pulled it out. The last thing inside. A business card. I handed it to Drake.
“Mitch Lewis? And his phone number.” He looked up at my eyes, back down at the card, up at me and down again, “What’s this?”
Drake’s eyes searched mine.
“It’s a gift that my Dad put into his lunchbox. In this box were all his Uyu gifts. And that was one of them. It was his business card. He kept it simple.”
Drake still didn’t understand. How could he? He didn’t know who my Dad was, where I worked… how interrelated our dreams were. How much we really had in common. He was a musician. I protected them from bullshit.
Drake held up the card with a twinkle in his eye, “You forgot to write your number on this.”
“Well, I wasn’t really sure the conversation would go like this. I thought I’d be asking you to meet me in L.A.”