by Mandi Lynn
“Do you still get them?” I ask, wondering if that’s too personal.
He’s quiet for a moment, and I feel like I’ve pushed too much.
“Not as often,” he says. “I should have turned around that day. The weather kept getting worse, but we were less than a mile from the summit. And then I fell. My dad said it would’ve happened even if it had been blue-sky conditions, but you never know, I guess.”
“People get injured even under perfect conditions,” I remind him.
“I know, I just wish I had had the sense to turn around.”
I nod, and the moment floats between us for a second. There have been plenty of times where I’ve heard of hikers who didn’t turn around soon enough. And they paid with their life for it.
Chapter 18
When I wake up the next day, I’m determined to get my photo in Snapshot Café, for no reason other than wanting to see one of my photos hanging there before I leave. It’s silly, but the blank space on the diner wall keeps coming back to me.
After my date with Dylan, I spent all night flipping through my photos. It wasn’t like usual late nights where I couldn’t sleep because my mind wouldn’t stop reeling. I felt unsettled, like something was picking at my brain, and I wouldn’t be able to rest until I found a solution. And that solution was finding the right photo.
I went through every photo I’d taken in the past five years, and nothing felt right. It was sometime around 3 a.m. when I found the perfect one. It was from last summer, the last vacation I had gone on with my parents to a beach in Maine. I’ve never been a beach person, probably because there’s no place to hide from the sun, but for my mom, the beach was her happy place, so we went every year.
On our last day of vacation, we woke up early to see the sunrise, and my mom had found what she dubbed the “perfect sand dollar.” It was about the size of her hand and still fully intact when she found it washed up in a pile of seaweed. When the sun was rising, she held the sand dollar up next to the sun, and everything was glowing in the fresh morning air.
I took the photo, with all the pinks and purples of the sunrise in the background. It’s my mom’s perfectly manicured hand in the photo, holding the sand dollar up. The sun was just barely touching the horizon, hovering in a cotton-candy sky.
In truth, I hadn’t seen the photo since we’d gone on vacation. Besides the family photos we had taken, it was my mom’s favorite, and she had asked me to print it for her so she could hang it in her office. I’d never gotten around it, so it was time to print it now, even if it wouldn’t be hanging in her office.
I ordered an eight-by-ten print online and scheduled a store pick-up at the nearest Staples. I finished paying for my order right as my phone chimed with a text from Stacey.
So sorry I missed our hike, Dylan said it went well. I’ve been stuck at work, but I’m off today! Want to meet for lunch?
I smile and respond quickly.
Sure! I have to go into town later today anyway. Meet me at the Snapshot Cafe at 1 pm?
Dylan’s already showed you the best place to eat? Sure, see you then!
I take my time packing up the bus and leave the campground to drive out to the Staples I had ordered my photo from. By the time I have my photo in hand and arrive at Snapshot Cafe, it’s only 12:30 p.m. I head in, with the new frame clutched in my hand. The café is already busier than the last time I was here, with most of the tables filled and waitresses running about. The sounds of voices and clinking silverware fill the room, along with the aroma of fried food.
“Hi, I wanted to talk to someone about hanging one of my photos on the wall?” I ask a waitress who walks by as I step in.
She sees the frame in my hand and smiles.
“Sure, I’ll grab Riley for you,” she says, before rushing off.
I’m standing at the door for a few minutes, looking around the room until my eyes meet the spot on the wall where my photo was supposed to go. My stomach drops a little when I see that a photo has already taken up the blank space. The new frame in residence is a photo of four vintage cars lined up, each one a different bright, pastel color.
“Hi, you wanted to talk about hanging your photo?” a voice interrupts.
I turn and see an older woman standing in front of me. Her blonde hair is cut short, large curls framing her slim face. Laugh lines around her eyes give her a permanent smile.
I clutch the frame to my chest, suddenly regretting coming here.
“I have one printed and framed already,” I say, but my voice gets softer as I speak. I glance around the walls trying to find another open spot, but there isn’t any.
“You have to apply to get on the waitlist. Usually, photographers submit a portfolio and we pick which photographers can showcase their prints based on their portfolio. There’s a bit of a waiting list, but it moves quickly,” the woman says, smiling as she talks.
My spirits drop as I realize how little I had thought about this. Of course there’s a waiting list. I kick myself for thinking it was as simple as just showing up with my print.
“Oh, sorry,” I say so quietly I’m not sure if she heard. I start to turn away, frame still tucked in my arms.
“Wait,” Riley says. “Can I see?” She points to the frame.
I hand over the picture. Even if I do apply, and they like my portfolio, I’ll be gone soon. And then what? Do I drive all the way back here just to hang my photo?
Riley smiles as she looks it over and turns around, glancing at the walls. “It would fit right in,” she says so quietly I think she’s mostly talking to herself. “Why don’t you write down your contact information?” she asks, pulling a notepad out of her pocket. “Just write down your name, email, and phone number. If we have space open up, I can see if I can fit it in. We usually sell photographs based on the size, so this would be fifty dollars, then the café takes a ten percent commission. I can email you the contract.”
“Really?” I ask, taking the notepad from her hand. I jot down my information.
“Your photo is here and ready. Sometimes our go-to photographers are a little slow to drop off new prints, and we end up with blank spots in the walls, so I’ll use this as a filler. I have a feeling it will go fast anyway. People love a good sunrise photo.” Riley smiles, holding the frame up.
“Thank you,” I say, handing the notepad back over.
“Sure thing, I’ll be emailing you.” She walks off with a wave, my photo tucked under her arm.
I feel a mixture of pride and disappointment as she walks off. I’d been hoping I’d be able to see my photo hanging on the wall, but it will be up there eventually. I just won’t be here to see it.
Grabbing a table, I text Stacey to let her know I’m here. I’m scrolling through my phone when I get a tap on my shoulder.
“Hey! So sorry again about the hike.” Stacey slides into the booth across from me. “I didn’t mean to ghost you like that. I figured lunch would be a good way to make up for it though!”
Yeah, of course,” I say, putting my phone away.
“So I have a question,” Stacey says. She looks down at the table, but then meets my gaze. “Are you and Dylan going out? Because I asked him, and he won’t give me a clear answer.”
I can feel the surprise on my face as she talks and try to hide my gaping mouth by picking up a menu. She certainly knows how to get straight to the point.
“Um, we haven’t really had that conversation yet. We’ve gone out a couple of times,” I say.
Stacey nods, my words confirming her suspicions. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, I just…I don’t know. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I open my mouth to say something, but then stop myself. Our waiter comes over and takes our drink orders, and when he leaves, we’re left sitting in our own silence.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Dylan to
ld you he used to travel a lot, right?”
I nod my head, waiting for her to continue.
“Well, he had a bad habit of dating a lot of girls when he was traveling. Every month or so he’d check in, telling us about another girl he’d met. He’d date them for maybe a month or two, but then he’d leave for the next place on his bucket list, and the girls always got left behind. Dylan goes all in, in everything he does, including his relationships. He’d shower these girls with attention, and then leave them heartbroken when he moved on to the next place.”
I pull away from the conversation quickly. In my head, I had built Dylan up to be some guy of my dreams, and then very quickly, I can see it—girl after girl, pining over him, and him casting the girls to the side. Dylan is a charmer, and I guess that comes with experience. I’ve dated plenty of guys before, and he’s dated enough girls to know exactly what to say.
“Oh,” is all I can muster.
“I don’t mean to say my brother is an ass. I mean, he is to me, mostly because he’s my brother, but I’m just sick of seeing him go through girl after girl without even realizing the damage he’s doing. And I know you have the bus and that you’re probably leaving eventually, and I just didn’t want you to expect him to follow you.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to brush it off. “No, you’re right.” But the words feel hollow. I smile, but my face turns down. I had expected him to follow me. “I’m leaving Thursday anyway, so it never would have worked.” The reality of the words hits me as I speak, and I’m surprised by my own disappointment.
“Where are you going?” Stacey asks. And just like that, the conversation shifts from Dylan to the Mark Twain National Forest, and we move on.
§
“What’s making you want to go to the Mark Twain National Forest?” Dylan asks.
It’s the last night before I leave. Dylan took me out to dinner somewhere local, and we’re finishing it with a short hike to watch the sunset.
“My roommate, Lori, is the one that picked out the Mark Twain National Forest. She says there are some caves that I need to check out.”
“Have you ever gone into caves like that?” Dylan asks.
His hand is wrapped around mine as we walk, and the air is colder than usual for summer. I find myself wanting to walk closer to him, but catch myself pulling back every now and then. Stacey’s words still ring in my ears, but it doesn’t matter. Dylan lives here, and I live states away. It wouldn’t have worked anyway.
“Nope, so I guess it will be a good opportunity to find out if I’m claustrophobic.”
Dylan laughs and drops his hand, exchanging it for wrapping an arm around my torso. I lean into him, enjoying the warmth. There’s a break in the trees ahead of us, and Dylan turns to me before I can take another step.
“Close your eyes, okay?” he says, his eyes mischievous.
I do as he says.
He guides me a few extra steps and then rubs my arm with his hand, keeping me warm.
“Okay, you can look now,” he says, whispering close to my cheek.
We’re standing at the edge of a cliff while the sun sets. The sky is cotton-candy pink and blue, and the sun is just barely peeking over the mountains off in the distance. A few feet in front of us, the rocky terrain drops off to a lake below that’s perfectly mirroring the sunset, making the evening air glow.
“You should have told me to bring my camera,” I say, half-joking, half-serious. Bright colors are already streaking the sky as the sun kisses the world goodbye. A strong sense to cry overcomes me out of nowhere, and I try to blink it away.
Dylan laughs as he moves to wrap his arms around me from behind. I tuck myself into his warmth, covering his hands with my own. I keep my face angled away from his, trying to hide the silent tears that stream down my cheeks. He rests his chin on my shoulder, and I can feel his breath on my skin. I’m acutely aware of how much this feels like goodbye.
“Less than three weeks until I see you again?” he asks, his voice low.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. I take Stacey’s words to heart and wonder if three weeks later, he’ll still be the perfect boyfriend or if he will have forgotten me and moved on to the next girl. It would be an easy break for him. As of tomorrow, I’ll be out of his sight and easy to forget.
“And you’re sure you can’t stay longer?” he says, his voice playful.
I let out a single quiet laugh. “I can’t,” I say, lifting my hand to tuck my hair out of my eyes. I wipe away the tears as discreetly as I can. Dylan shifts behind me until we’re face to face and my back to the sun. The sky is reflecting back at me in his eyes, and I lose myself in his gaze.
I dare myself to be happy to leave. If I don’t leave tomorrow, I’ll find myself even more wrapped up in Dylan than I already am. At least now I can make the break before Dylan can. If heartbreak is inevitable, then let’s do it now.
“This is what I get for dating a girl who’s badass enough to travel the country in a VW bus,” he says, chuckling. But I can’t help but think of how many girls he may have left behind when he was the one traveling the country.
Dylan smiles, and I try to meet his gaze, but I find myself looking at my hands resting against his chest.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, his voice serious.
I meet his gaze and smile. It feels forced, but I rely on the fact that Dylan doesn’t know me well enough to notice the difference. “Yeah, just not ready to say goodbye,” I say, which is true, even if Dylan doesn’t know the full truth.
“It’s not goodbye,” he says. “It’s see you later.”
It’s almost like I’m reliving a memory that I can’t pull myself away from. It’s weeks from now when Dylan and I have long ago broken up—if we were even together in the first place—and I’m reliving this memory over and over again, trying to live in this last happy moment. Except now I know this is the last time.
Dylan kisses me, and I let myself go. I forget that we’re saying goodbye, and I pretend that for this moment, this is forever. We’re here, watching the sun set over the horizon, and I’m in his arms, feeling his heartbeat under my fingers, hyperaware of every inch of skin that he touches.
And this is goodbye. The last kiss. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.
Chapter 19
It feels wrong to leave in the morning. Stacey sends me a text, apologizing for overstepping, but I reassure her I’m thankful.
I was leaving anyway, I text her, even though I’m trying to convince myself more than I am Stacey.
There’s also a text from Dylan when I wake up.
I hope you slept well. If the drive gets boring, feel free to give me a call. Can’t wait to see you in New Hampshire.
Attached is the picture of us hiking Mount Elbert, but it’s cropped, and there’s a time and date at the top of his photo, showing that he set the image as the lock screen on his phone. I smile despite myself. For now, Dylan is still here, texting me, but part of me wonders when that will stop and the novelty of dating will wear off.
Thank you for such an amazing night, I text back, trying to leave it short and simple.
I pack up the bus quickly, closing all the windows and taking the pop-up down. I make the bed by folding the sheets forward and pulling the foot of the bed up until it makes the bench seat. I pull the table out from where I store it in the front of the bus and fold it into place. Other than that, all that’s left is to make sure all the cabinets are shut.
The drive is long and tedious. Lori calls when she gets off work so she can get the full scoop on Dylan and how our last night together went.
“Lori, he basically lives on the other side of the country,” I say, trying to turn the conversation away from Dylan. I don’t tell her what Stacey said, sure that things will fizzle out on their own.
“Love finds a way!” Lori chimes in. My GPS starts talking, telling me to ta
ke the next exit.
“Always here for the love story,” I mumble, half-paying attention to her and half-watching the road. I make sure I’m in the right lane and merge onto the off-ramp.
“Are you not?” Lori says.
I glance over at my GPS and see there are 187 more miles to go before my next exit. I try to ignore the dread of sitting in the bus.
“What?” I ask, following the flow of traffic.
“Are you here for the love story?” Lori says.
“What does that even mean?” I ask.
“What if Dylan was the perfect guy? Maybe the guy, would you embrace it, or would you push him away like you’re so good at doing?” Her tone is accusatory, with only a hint of sarcasm.
I try not to roll my eyes. “Lori, I’ll be states away. It’s not going to work.”
“Yeah, but you said he used to travel! Maybe he’ll travel right on over here,” she says. All it does is remind me of the traveling girlfriends Dylan used to have.
“I doubt that,” I say, trying to brush her off.
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” she says.
Even though we’re only talking on the phone, it feels like she’s right here with me, laughing as she wiggles her eyebrows mischievously.
What Stacey said doesn’t matter at this point. Dylan and I will call and text for the next couple of days, but slowly, the calls will become just texts. And eventually, the texts will be less often until they don’t happen at all. When I get to the Mark Twain National Forest, I’ll find something else to talk to Lori about.
And there won’t be more heartbreak. That much I’m sure of.
§
The two days of driving are uneventful. Some of the roads are more scenic than others, but for the most part, it’s just lots of highways with endless flat fields on the edges of the road. I talk to Dylan and Lori both days, giving them calls, not so much out of loneliness but out of sheer boredom and wanting to stay awake.