I find a nearby campground and stay overnight. I haven't cried since Junction, and I wonder if maybe I’ve permanently depleted my reserves of tears. I eat the Goober Grape on the white bread and look at my poor list of forgotten cities. Maybe I should at least try out Las Vegas.
That doesn't sound appealing in the slightest.
Instead, I put Los Angeles on my GPS and just keep driving along I-10 until I hit the ocean. I'm not in Los Angeles proper. I'm in a place called Huntington Beach. It sounds familiar like one of those places where rich people go to enjoy the surf and the sand. But it's morning, dark still. I load the first video of the Grand Canyon, and Mom comments on it three minutes later.
I wait for the morning light to break over the horizon and keep Connor sitting in his little pill bottle, right there with me on the beach.
“I tell you what, Connor. This wholeexperiencing lifething is a racket.” I shake my head and breathe in the salt air. “Anyway, I've made it all the way out to the Pacific. And it's beautiful. You would've loved it here.”
And he would’ve too. I’m not sure how I know that, but I do. He’d have fit right in. And it’s only in this moment that it dawns on me that maybe I wasn’t the only reason for him to move out here. That he had his own motivations. That perhaps I wasn’t the only one who didn’t quite belong.
My feelings in a whorl, I walk a little out into the surf. I open up the bottle that used to hold my mother's blood pressure medication and finally look inside.
“Looking a little chalky there, brother.” I laugh at my stupid joke, then look up again as the sun fully breaches the horizon. It takes my breath away.
The ocean breeze has settled a bit, so I tip the bottle over and let the contents swirl in the ocean around me, watching as my brother’s ashes dissolve and become one with the sea.
“God, I miss you. I miss you so much. If I could’ve traded places with you, I would've. I swear to you, I would have.”
For just a moment, I feel his warmth again. And the tears, which were absent throughout the desert, find themselves again in the ocean.
They stop eventually, and for the first time in days, I can see clearly. Things that have been so lost and confused inside of me shift and settle.
This beach, this moment—these are Conner's. They belong to him. This was his dream. This was only ever my way out, but this was his dream. Somehow, someway…I hadn’t noticed it, but that persistent drumbeat ofgo west?It stopped when I reached Elgin. In my soul, I know where I'm supposed to be.
And it's not here.
Chapter12
Carter
It's been a week and a half since Knox left, and I keep dreaming of California, then waking up heartbroken all over again. The guys at the shop have been quiet around me, allowing me to keep to myself. I appreciate it. I'm trying to be okay.
I’m not quite there yet.
Last night was the first full night of sleep I’ve gotten since he left, and things seem a little brighter this morning. I still have hours and hours of sleep to catch up on, but I finally know that I’m going to be okay. Not one hundred percent, not for a while, but I am going to be okay.
Of course, now that I’m feeling my equilibrium start to return, life decides to flick me right in the nads. I’m closing out a ticket at the shop when a familiar-sounding car pulls into the drive. I know the make and model by heart, but I can’t deal with seeing someone else drive it.
Thankfully, the engine sounds good, so maybe whatever it is will be a quick repair, easily dispatched. I send Sally out to take care of it. She comes back into the office less than thirty seconds later.
“Boss. You've gotta check this one out.”
I don't…never mind. It's my name on the sign outside. And I've got to face it. It's just a goddamn car. I put on my sunglasses to hide the dark bags under my eyes. Taking a big breath, I push the door open and walk forward, head down, juicing myself up. It's just an old fucking car. Doesn't mean anything.
Thus fortified, I raise my head.
It’s not just any old car. It’s his car.
He's here.
I don't trust that he’s not a mirage. Or worse, that maybe he’s just here to pick up something he left behind. All I know is that my heart can't take watching him go again. I shake my head, my chest nearly caving in on itself. I turn back toward the office, unable to stop the tears, unwilling to cry in front of him.
“Carter?”
I stop, taking the handle in a death grip. His voice is calm. Clear.
“Carter, it wasn't my dream. It wasn't my goal. And it wasn't until I was knee-deep in the Pacific Ocean that I realized that. And I'm sorry I had to go half a continent away to figure that out. I’m so fucking sorry. But I got back as fast as I could.”
