Tailwinds Past Florence

by Doug Walsh

  He stared, transfixed by this beautiful being standing before him, glowing with the radiance of an eclipse, blinding to behold, but impossible to ignore.

  “Finally,” Kara said, smiling at the sun, her eyelids squinting against the light. “Just you and me and a sunny campsite.”

  Edward could only smile back at her, unwilling to interrupt the moment with his voice.

  She twirled in place, her arms stretched wide, then dropped onto the freshly mowed grass with the carefree grace of a schoolgirl. “I can’t believe we’re almost to the Atlantic.”

  He smiled, his eyes fixed on her stomach, perspiration glistening.

  “You’re going to love Cape Cod. And Fourth of July in New York! It’s going to be amazing.” She shielded her eyes from the sun, beaming. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he said. And for the first time he allowed himself to think ahead to the day he could tell her about the contest, his new job, and the income that would allow him to give her anything she desired. She’d be ecstatic. He was sure of it.

  The ride into Montreal proved far longer and more complicated than Edward anticipated. With no directions to go by and only a small-scale map of the city to reference, Edward struggled to navigate. Congested roadways, multiple river islands, and surprisingly steep hills conspired against them, making the going as stressful as it was confusing. He knew their hostel was in the historic quarter, not far from the Basilica de Notre-Dame, but he wasn’t sure how to get there. And it didn’t help that the signs were in French.

  He knew Kara could read the street signs but, for whatever reason, she was in no mood to offer assistance. She only spoke to voice her frustration with Edward’s inevitable mistakes. With every additional hill and wrong turn, Kara soured further, muttering complaints about their lack of a GPS, the long miles, and the weeks of enduring a too-fast pace. Edward did his best to ignore it, knowing she would perk up once they got to the hostel. We all have our days, he figured.

  He slowed to a stop at a red light, finally inside the city limits, thanks to the compass on his handlebars. He was straining to read the street signs when he heard a commotion, followed by the blare of a car’s horn.

  He turned in time to see Kara struggling to stay upright, as much atop her bike as she was inside the passenger window of a car. But it didn’t register. Four thousand miles of uneventful cycling dulled him to the dangers of their endeavor. Then it hit him.

  Edward leaped from his bike, heaving it onto the sidewalk, and ran to her, his heart racing.

  “It’s okay. I got it,” he said, grabbing the bike, hoping not to scratch the car.

  “I couldn’t unclip. My foot’s stuck in the pedal,” she said, grimacing as she pushed herself out of the open window of a red Honda Civic stopped alongside her. “God damn these shoes!”

  The driver shouted at them in French. Noise.

  Edward grabbed her shoe and twisted it free, mindful of the ankle it was connected to. “Okay, it’s free.”

  Kara stood, her face as red as Edward’s panniers, tears welling in her eyes. “I lost my balance. The shoe got stuck.”

  The cars behind them honked while the driver of the Civic continued to berate them. At least he waited until Kara and her bike were clear of his car before speeding off. As Edward walked Kara’s bike to a nearby bench, her bicycle helmet flew past his head. Was it meant to hit him? He wasn’t sure.

  “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.” Kara stomped past and slumped onto the bench, sobbing into her hands.

  Edward watched her, unsure what to say. They’d been arguing throughout the day and he didn’t want to make it any worse. He picked up the helmet and sat, leaving room between them. He spun the helmet in his hands, waiting for the dam to break, for whatever was really bothering her to come spilling out.

  “We’re never there. We’re always going. Every day, another destination. I just want to get there.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I’m soooo tired.”

  Edward didn’t know what to say. One moment she’s twirling like Julie Andrews in the Austrian countryside, and now she’s crying her eyes out five miles from their hostel.

  “This is sooo hard.” Kara wiped the tears and faced him, looking desperate. “I want to get to the beach and sleep for days.”

  He took her hand in his. He hated seeing her like this and a part of him knew he was to blame. The long miles, the minimal days off the bikes. That was his doing. His guilt beat down upon him, crushing his words into silence.

  “And you’re in such great shape. It makes me so mad because I ride all the time, and you just get on your bike and a few weeks later are faster than I’ll ever be. I can’t keep up with you.”

  So that’s what’s bothering her? Edward looked at his legs, carved lean, a braided river of blood pumping through the swollen veins. His racer’s legs were back.

  “Baby, you’re not slowing me down. I’d have to wait twice as long for the guys I rode with back home. You know that.”

  Kara sniffled and turned away, never one to be patronized.

  Edward wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to him. “Nobody likes being waited on. That’s natural. But I’d wait all day for you if I had to. Hell, I’d carry you if I could.”

  Kara wiped the snot above her lip, then sighed. “It’s not just that. I feel useless. This trip was my idea and you do all the navigation and you’re the one keeping the bikes running—”

  “With your help,” he interrupted.

  Kara rolled her eyes. “I feel like all I do is wash our dirty shorts and lay out the sleeping bags.” She blinked away another tear. “You even do the cooking.”

  “Kara, there’s not been a single moment when I felt you were useless. I’m so damn impressed with you each and every day. How many other people could do what we’re doing?”

  A trace of a smile creased her lips. Then, after a moment she said, “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just feeling sorry for myself today.”

  “Remember. The highs are higher—”

  “And the hormones are stronger too,” she said with a chuckle.

  Edward handed back her helmet and looked to his bike, still lying on its side by the street corner.

  “Can we take a few extra days off in Montreal?”

  He flinched. He couldn’t help it. A few?

  “Absolutely,” he said, staring straight ahead, knowing how precious every day’s progress was, updating the math in his head, wondering where he could shave some miles.

  Chapter 16

  Saturday, May 30 — Highgate, Vermont, USA

  Kara watched as Edward rifled through the pages of his passport, searching like a child who couldn’t find his homework.

  “He didn’t stamp it.”

  She shrugged as she tucked in the ends of a tortilla and rolled her second burrito. Jelly squirted onto her fingers as she took a bite.

  “A whole month in a foreign country and I don’t even get a stamp? That sucks.”

  “Canada doesn’t count.”

  “Of course it counts,” Edward said, his voice cracking into a falsetto, reminding her of Jerry Seinfeld. “They use a different currency, the road signs are metric, and Quebec—”

  “I’m kidding,” she said, tonguing the peanut butter stuck to her teeth. She found his disappointment cute, the man who never wanted to travel anywhere suddenly upset because he didn’t get a passport stamp. “Don’t forget to eat.”

  A plain tortilla sat on his plate, turning doughy in the sun. Edward fanned the pages of the passport a final time and tucked it beneath his thigh. They sat atop a low wall at a sleepy border crossing in northern Vermont, enjoying an early lunch on their way south after four days at a hostel in Montreal, and two more in Quebec City. A mild breeze blew, rustling the emerald leaves of the trees, fanning the scent of freshly mowed grass.

  “At least the border agent was friendly. The ‘Welcome home’ was a nice touch.”

  “And he didn’t find anything to confiscate,” Kara sai
d.

  “That reminds me. Should we replace the pepper spray they took on our way into Ontario?”

  Kara didn’t care. “If we see some.” They would be at the beach soon. Definitely wouldn’t need it on the Cape. In New York? Maybe.

  “As long as it’s not law-enforcement grade,” Edward added, imitating the stern wording of the customs official who had taken their original canisters. Anything not intended for use against animals was banned in Canada—and using theirs against a human could have been considered a pre-meditated attack. Kara didn’t think they really needed it in the first place, but knew Edward appreciated the security it provided. He’d always pretend it was for wild dogs, but she knew the truth.

  She thought back to their day riding through the Blackfoot reservation, the guys at the taco joint, and then later, Edward’s hesitation outside the American Legion. Always protective, forever cautious. She figured he was like a lot of guys that way: smart enough to know the odds of needing a weapon were low, but wary enough of the greater world to want one anyway.

  The terrain in New England proved unlike anything they had ridden thus far. The mountains didn’t reach as high as those out west, but the roads were steeper—and the hills came in bunches, unlike in Washington. Here, they were grinding their way through multiple ascents a day. The downhills were over in a blink, barely long enough to dry the sweat from their arms before their wheels tilted into the next climb.

  Kara attacked the corduroy landscape with newfound energy. Crossing the border had her feeling like a thoroughbred at the quarter pole of the Kentucky Derby—knowing a white sand finish line lay less than a week away.

  Nearly three months in the saddle had whipped her into shape, but their ride across Ontario left her exhausted. The quickened pace and excessive mileage was grueling, the time off in Montreal proving only a tease. Now, she couldn’t wait to park the bikes, to spend enough time in the same place so she wouldn’t have to wonder where the bathroom was if she got up to pee in the middle of the night.

  She had read the warnings of other globe-trotting cyclists before they left—burnout was inevitable. It was important to take time off every few months. And that was her plan for Cape Cod. It wasn’t just a chance to return to where she summered with cousins as a child. It was an opportunity to have a proper vacation. As much as she enjoyed the awe with which strangers now viewed her, bicycle touring was a really tough way to see the world.

  Kara tingled with excitement, thinking ahead to her two weeks on the Massachusetts coast with Edward, and rode each day harder than the last, chasing the respite over the horizon.

  “Boston? I thought you’d be in Europe by now. What’s with all this north-south crap, Ed? You’re supposed to be heading east.”

  Edward cupped a hand over the earpiece and twisted in the armchair, trying to shield Tom’s booming voice from the hotel receptionist, but the lobby was small and the telephone’s coiled cord short. He cursed himself for leaving his cell phone on after last week’s call, allowing the battery to die.

  “We ran into snow in Ontario. And the cycling wore Kara down in Montreal so we took some days off.”

  “I’m not going to pay you to make excuses. And neither will our clients. Here’s a tip. The number one rule for working for me is be a man. Own your mistakes. You want to spend a few nights eating foie gras in Montreal with your pretty little wife, that’s fine. But own it! I’ve got no respect for men who hide behind their wives. Did she make you spend a few days in Montreal?”

  “No,” Edward muttered, wondering why Tom was so worked up. So long as I’m ready to start in October, what difference does it make?

  “Good. I expect to hear some French waiters in the background the next time you call.”

  Down the hall, an elevator dinged and Edward froze, fearing Kara had come looking for him. A couple stepped out, arm in arm, dressed for a night on the town. Edward exhaled, but his relief was quickly replaced with embarrassment as he became acutely aware of his disheveled hiking pants and wrinkled tee shirt. Meanwhile, condescension oozed from the phone as Tom lectured him with the tone of a drill sergeant.

  Edward massaged his forehead and sighed.

  It’ll be easier back in Seattle. Once the office is set up, I probably won’t even have to deal with Tom that much.

  “Uh, huh.” Edward struggled to focus.

  “So I got myself a map and started plotting your position and …” Tom’s voice trailed off. Edward could hear him rustling papers. When he resumed, his voice took rose in octave and tempo, as if he was explaining a revolutionary discovery. “I’ve run the numbers and, depending how far north you go, you need to average 97 miles per day, due east, to win the job. Unless of course you want to head to the Arctic.”

  Edward imagined a basketball spinning atop his finger, the seams converging toward the top, spreading at the logo. He began to sweat, thinking how many unnecessary miles they packed on by heading south.

  “Now, I don’t care if you bike the whole way or take a train. Hell, take a goddamn hot air balloon for all I care. But I want to see progress. If you’d rather spend the summer zigzagging all over the place or riding in circles, that’s fine. Tell me now and I’ll call it off.”

  “No need for that, but I’m curious. Why does it matter where we go so long as I’m ready to start on time?”

  Tom snorted. “Ron said you were good at finding loopholes.”

  “Ron … Madsen?” Edward ground his heel into the red and gold carpet at the thought of his former boss.

  “Yep. He offered me a side bet after I told him about our little arrangement.”

  Edward groaned.

  “Ron doesn’t think you’ve got what it takes to get around the globe in six months. Thinks you’re too soft—especially when it comes to your wife. We’ll see …”

  Edward had been twirling the phone’s cord around his arm and now tugged it tight enough to restrict circulation, make his fingers numb. He wanted the job. More than ever. And most of all, he wanted to be there when Ron paid up, to watch him squirm. Edward couldn’t believe he had the nerve to mention Kara, as if he’d ever begged off overtime because of her.

  “So, what are the stakes?” Edward asked, his voice laced with the detachment of an assassin inquiring about his next hit.

  “Don’t worry about that. You just get to Europe and cover those miles.” Tom kept talking with barely a pause to breathe.

  The bet with Ron changed everything. For both of them.

  “When can you get to Europe?”

  Edward sighed, realizing the bind he was in. “Kara, er … We were going to spend a few weeks at the beach, and then head to New York in July.”

  “Last I checked New York wasn’t on the way from Boston to Rome.”

  “I’ll think of something.” Edward rubbed his forehead, grinding the skin across his skull as if he could erase the details of the past few months.

  “Well, you’d better decide now. Otherwise, just return the signing bonus and I’ll tell Ron he was right.”

  Edward’s shame hardened like a diamond. Sharp. He wanted to explain Kara’s desire to go to New York City, but knew Tom wouldn’t care. “You’re asking an awful lot, Tom. How do I know you won’t go back on your word?” He pictured the moment the autographed baseball shattered the window. And the security escort out of the building. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had that happen.”

  “Are you questioning my integrity?”

  “No, it’s just—”

  “Listen here, you ungrateful son of a bitch. I’m the only one willing to take a chance on you. Don’t question my word again. Is that clear?”

  Edward agreed through clenched teeth, flashing his middle finger at the phone. Across the room, the receptionist watched him, giggling conspiratorially.

  “I’ll hold up my end of the deal. All you need to worry about—listen closely—all you need to worry about is holding up yours. I’m just here to keep you on track, like a coach. Now get to Europ
e.”

  Edward’s heart pounded in his chest. The elevator chimed again. At once, he was certain Kara would pass through and see him on the phone—see him ready to blow. And once the questions began, they’d never stop. He had to hang up immediately. “We will. Thanks again. Hope you and Brenda have a nice night. I’ll call next week.”

  Edward cradled his sweating head in his hands. Why did he mention Brenda? He was only trying to be polite, but now he couldn’t stop hearing Kara’s description of the woman echoing in his mind. She was lonely. She lived like a widow. Kara called her the Ghost of Housewife Yet to Come. But what did she mean by that? Did Kara feel that way too? Was she afraid he’d become like Tom?

  He smothered the doubts and questions beneath a blanket of determination, knowing what he had to do. Just this once, he figured. She’d understand.

  It never occurred to Edward that Kara might be in the hotel’s business center. But there she was, occupying one of two adjacent computer terminals. The cramped, undecorated room smelled as if it had been recycling the same stale air for months.

  She saw him before he had a chance to turn around.

  “How’d you know I’d be in here?” she asked, spinning atop the office chair, her feet tucked beneath her. “I was just about to go looking for you.”

  Edward watched her, round and round, a silly smile on her face. Behind her, an oscillating fan glared at him like a cyclops with a lazy eye, its stationary blades coated in dust.

  “I didn’t,” Edward said. “I thought I’d take a look at airfare.” The words dribbled from his mouth, soaking his shirt in shame, spilling his honest intent.

  “Great. We can look together.” She patted the burgundy chair next to her, sending a poof of dust into the air. She spun the long way around to face the computer she was using. “First, you gotta see this great place I found. We can rent it for two weeks and still have enough time to get to New York City for Independence Day.”