by T. K. Leigh
“It sounds like a very rewarding venture.”
“It is. Anytime I want to complain about something in my life, I remember their generosity.”
I nod, a beat passing before speaking again. “So you’ve photographed them?”
“Yes. With their permission, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“This was years ago now, but I wanted people to see what I do when I visit these villages. Wanted to instill the same humility I experience. I wanted to show these places where a family of ten lives in a hut no bigger than this room…” He gestures around the space, which is probably only ten by fifteen feet. “But they’re happy. They don’t need material things. Don’t need the latest game system or iPhone. They have each other. In my eyes, that’s what makes them wealthy beyond measure.”
“And the exhibit?”
He worries his lower lip, the excitement draining from his expression. “Kendall died a few weeks before it was supposed to premier. After that, I couldn’t stand the thought of going through with it. Of being surrounded by the memories of her, considering it was her encouragement and motivation that made it happen.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why you should do it. You have unfinished business.”
“I don’t—”
“You do, Anderson. Trust me. I get it. It took me six years to take this trip Hunter and I had planned. I was so scared of what it would mean. I avoided this because I didn’t want to let go of the one thing of Hunter I had left. Just like your exhibit. The one thing you have left with Kendall.”
He closes his eyes, his silence the only confirmation I need that I’m right.
“And if I’m being honest, I wish I’d taken this trip sooner. It would have saved me from a lot of bad decisions and a marriage to a gay man,” I add in an attempt to get a laugh out of him.
Instead, he brings his hand to my face, cupping my cheek. I melt into his touch, inhaling his calming scent of ocean breeze and something else that is quintessentially Anderson. His lips skim mine in a simple kiss that lights my soul on fire.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t take this trip until now.”
“I am, too."
Chapter Thirty-One
Anderson
I steal a glance at Nora as we sit at yet another stoplight. Over the course of the past several hours, we’ve watched the sparsely populated areas that make up most of Route 66 transition into more heavily developed towns. Now we’re almost at the finish line. Just another ten miles or so until our adventure is over.
What I wouldn’t give to turn this car around and start this journey again. To stay in this bubble.
The last few days have been some of the best of my life. They were certainly the most satisfying and fulfilling since I lost Kendall. An easygoing atmosphere had settled between Nora and I as we traveled through New Mexico and into Arizona before navigating through Sitgreaves Pass and entering California.
We posed with a giant jackrabbit at the Jackrabbit Trading Post in Joseph City. We stood on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, that was complete with a red flatbed Ford, an homage to the classic Eagles tune. We had to navigate around burros roaming the streets in Oatman. And we marveled at the majesty of nature as we admired the Grand Canyon, having taken a detour to visit since we were so close.
In each place, Nora left more of Hunter’s remains. Instead of it being a solemn event as she was forced to say goodbye to another piece of him, it seemed to lighten her load. She was no longer filled with sorrow, thinking how much Hunter would enjoy the kitschy shops in Seligman, Arizona, or the giant rooms in the shape of teepees at the Wigwam Hotel in Holbrook. With each throw of his ashes, she cut another tether keeping her bound to her past.
Sensing my eyes on her, Nora looks at me, offering me a smile, but I can tell it’s contrived. She’s as twisted up inside as me.
“You doing okay?” I ask.
The light turns green, and I shift into first, creeping along Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. My left leg aches from the constant stop and go of traffic, requiring me to use the clutch more than I have the entire trip. I try not to focus on it. Try to tell myself it’s not my body giving up on me. That I’d be sore even if I didn’t have MS.
“Of course.” She quickly nods, her voice more high-pitched than normal.
“It’s okay if you’re not. This is your final goodbye.”
She brings her gaze to mine. “It’s not today’s goodbye I’m dreading.”
I nod, swallowing through the pain, the vice-like grip on my heart threatening to undo me. I grab her hand and bring it to my lips, brushing her knuckles, trying to offer her the comfort she needs. That I need.
Like Nora, I’ve been apprehensive about reaching the end of the road. Not just because I’ll have to say goodbye, but because I have to decide what to tell her. Do I let her go home without knowing the truth, her feelings for me still intact? Or do I tell her about my involvement in the night her life was ruined, forcing her to see me for what I really am?
After another hour of navigating heavy traffic through Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and Brentwood, we hit Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica and turn left, no longer able to continue West any farther.
I drive south along the coastal road, joggers and cyclists getting exercise in the park to our right, tourists filling the sidewalks and stopping for food at the restaurants lining the street to our left. The bright sun glimmers on the ocean, surfers cresting on the waves. When I first decided to drive across the country, since I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to do something like this, I looked forward to reaching California. To have some time here to decompress before needing to return home and address my diagnosis.
Now, I’d give anything to have more time on the road, crappy motel rooms and all.
When we reach Santa Monica Pier, I turn onto the wooden structure and navigate toward the parking area. Even after I kill the ignition and yank on the brake, neither one of us makes a move to get out. Seagulls squawk overhead as the occasional thunder of the rollercoaster booms around us. But it’s muted, our bubble blocking the outside world.
Nora lifts her sad eyes, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to open the door.”
I bring my hand to her face, and she melts into my touch. “Either do I. But we came this far. We have to see this through to the end.” I glance at the brightly colored buildings on the pier, the Ferris wheel turning a slow circle beneath the picturesque backdrop of the California coast. “And that’s the end right there. It’s within your grasp. Time to close this chapter.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and pulls in a deep breath. On a long exhale, she returns her gaze to mine and nods. “Okay. Let’s turn that page.”
I leave a tender kiss on her nose, then jump out of the Jeep, rushing to help her. She places her hand in mine and I squeeze, leading her up toward the frivolity and carnival atmosphere of what’s become the point of celebration for most Route 66 travelers. But for us, it marks the ceremonial end of the adventure we’d give anything to continue.
The smell of fry oil and sugar, mixed with briny, ocean air, greets us as we maneuver through hordes of people walking in every direction, the wood groaning beneath our feet. Bells ding from the myriad of carnival games as excited children run past us, their parents hurriedly trying to catch up. I notice Nora touch her stomach, probably thinking that could have been her.
If it weren’t for me.
As we make our way past the roller coaster and Ferris wheel, the crowd thins substantially, the only people out this far a few couples strolling hand-in-hand as the sun inches closer to the horizon.
We come to a stop at the end of the pier and stare into the distance. The wind whips Nora’s hair in front of her, but she does nothing to smooth it back. It’s a complete contrast to the woman I first met nearly two weeks ago. Hair impeccable. Makeup covering her face like a mask. The picture of perfection. Now she’s content to be a little messy. Life is messy. We’re both living proof of th
at.
“At least the wind isn’t blowing straight at us,” I joke, cutting through the tension. “Otherwise, I fear this scene would be reminiscent of The Big Lebowski.”
“Goddammit, Walter!” Nora laughs, quoting what Jeff Bridges’ iconic character said when he’d attempted to spread their friend’s remains, a typical California wind blowing them back on both men.
With a calming inhale, she reaches into her bag, withdrawing the canister for the last time. A bittersweet smile pulls on her mouth as she stares at it, a single tear cascading down her cheek.
“Do you want to say anything?” I encourage, not wanting her to feel like she shouldn’t make a big deal out of this for my sake.
“I didn’t plan on it. Do you think I should?”
“If you want.” I start to step away, giving the moment the deference it deserves, but she grabs my wrist, preventing me from doing so, an unspoken request. I nod, remaining at her side, although I feel like an intruder being here.
She takes a second to collect her thoughts, peering at the miles and miles of ocean in front of us. I can faintly make out the outline of Catalina Island toward the southwest. Other than that, there’s nothing but sparkling water.
“I’ll never forget the day my cell buzzed with an incoming text from a number I didn’t recognize,” she begins after several long moments, smiling through the nostalgic tears brimming behind her lids. “I almost didn’t respond. It was obviously a wrong number. I would have remembered going out for drinks the night before with a guy who sounded as endearing as you. Your words made it seem that you liked whomever you thought you were texting. If I were in your shoes, I would have wanted to know my affections were being wasted.
“Turned out, your affections were being wasted, that she intentionally gave you the wrong number. I’m just lucky she gave you mine. For weeks, we exchanged texts. Shared parts of ourselves with each other. Parts I never shared with anyone. It was so refreshing to talk to someone I could just be myself around with no judgment.” She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “You know how my mother could be.
“The night we agreed to meet after months of exchanging messages and late-night phone calls, I almost turned around a dozen times. I was so worried it would change what I felt in my heart. Worried that the playful banter and flirtatious jokes wouldn’t be the same once we met in person. But it was. In fact, it was better.” She smiles, swiping away at her tears, the moment overwhelming her.
“You were my first serious relationship. My first love.” She chokes out a sob. “And my first heartbreak. After you died, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to move on, that I’d ever find what I had with you.” She gradually tilts her head, her gaze locking on mine. “Up until two weeks ago, that was the case.” Her lips tease at a grin. “But now I know it’s okay to live my life again. To allow you to live on, but only in my memories.”
With a shaky breath, she slowly turns over the canister, dumping the final remnants of Hunter’s ashes into the ocean below us. We both watch as the sea takes him, spreading him along its waves and crests.
“Take care of Ember,” she strains to say. “All little girls need their daddies. I’m glad she has hers, that she’s not alone. That you’re not alone. I love you, Hunter, with all my heart. But it’s time I let you go.”
I reach for her hand and squeeze it, giving her the encouragement she needs. Then she looks at me, her mouth curving up in the corners, serenity crossing her expression.
“Because I found someone worth letting you go for. And he deserves all of me, not just the broken pieces.”
I no longer care what’s appropriate and what’s overstepping my bounds during this personal moment. One she wanted to share with me. To let me know she’s relinquishing the ghost that’s been between us since the beginning. That she’s ready for it to be just us.
Her cheeks clutched in my hands, I press my lips to hers, my kiss respectful but still greedy at the same time. I breathe into her, my grip tight, my admiration for this woman growing with every second, every swipe of her tongue, every heartbeat.
Because with every second, every swipe of her tongue, every heartbeat, my time with her grows shorter and shorter. I no longer want that to be the case. Not now that she’s finally free, finally let go of Hunter. Now I want nothing more than to run away with her where we can have a future of our own. Free from our past. Free from my future. And free from the truth that will inevitably be our undoing.
I pull back, peering down into her eyes I’d give anything to wake up to every morning. “Come on. Time to write the next chapter of your life.”
“I like the sound of that.” She links her fingers with mine, and I lead her away, her steps light and shoulders no longer carrying the weight of her grief.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nora
“What is this place?” I squint as I peer up at the high-rise building a mile or so north of Santa Monica Pier. The glass panes glimmer in the late afternoon sun, fractals of light bouncing off it.
“You’ll see.” Anderson smirks as both our doors are opened simultaneously by men in shorts and a polo shirt, obviously valet attendants.
“Afternoon, Ms. Tremblay,” the man who opened my door greets, smiling as he helps me out of the Wrangler.
“Welcome back, Your Highness,” the attendant at Anderson’s side states.
I pause in my tracks, his acknowledgment striking me, leaving me momentarily stunned. It’s the first time I’ve heard anyone address Anderson that way. I’m not sure how to process it. I still struggle to see him as royalty. To me, he’s just the cocky man who offered to help when I needed it most. Who had faith we’d see each other again, and that faith brought us back together.
“I trust you had a pleasant journey,” the valet continues, following him toward the back of the Wrangler.
“I was the adventure of a lifetime,” Anderson answers in a formal tone I’m not used to hearing from him. It’s lacking the ease and familiarity I’ve grown accustomed to. I imagine this is his Prince Gabriel voice. “You’ll see that our bags are brought up?”
“Certainly, Your Highness.”
Anderson removes several large bills from his wallet and hands one to each of the attendants before placing his hand on my lower back, ushering me, wide-eyed and bewildered, into the building.
Everything in the cavernous lobby is marble and crystal, the aroma of fresh-cut flowers and ocean breeze filtering into my senses. Leather couches and reading chairs are arranged in small groupings, but it’s not densely furnished.
We only make it a few steps before a man hurries out of one of the few offices located off the lobby. His dark hair is impeccable and slicked back, his dark purple tie perfectly straight, not a single wrinkle to be found on his navy blue suit or light purple shirt.
“Your Highness,” he exclaims jovially, approaching us with a wide smile. “So wonderful to see you again.”
“It’s good to be back in LA, if for only a few days.”
I note that the man doesn’t extend his hand toward Anderson, at least not right away. He waits until Anderson offers his for a shake before taking it. I wonder if that’s some sort of protocol. I imagine it must be.
“As always, we hope to make it as difficult for you to leave as possible,” he says with a flourish, leading us past a round table in the center of the room, a crystal chandelier overhead. An arrangement of white lilies and irises overflows from a large vase.
When we approach the elevator bank, the man presses the button, barely even stealing a glance in my direction, as if pretending I don’t exist. Able to sense my thoughts, Anderson pulls me closer, wordlessly reminding me that I do.
“Everything has been prepared as requested. The kitchen is stocked, as is the wine cellar. Is there anything else you require?”
“This is only a short stay.”
The man finally looks my way, giving me a once-over before returning his attention to Anderson. “Yes. Of course.” The elevator dings, stee
l doors opening to invite us inside.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Anderson offers with authority, effectively dismissing him.
“It’s my pleasure.” The man reaches into his pocket and holds a business card toward Anderson, who takes it. “If you have any additional requirements, do not hesitate to reach out, no matter the hour.”
He simply nods, then ushers me into the elevator. After he punches a code into the keypad, he hits the button for PH1, which I can only assume is for the first floor of the penthouse. The second the doors close, we both expel a breath. But it does nothing to push aside the unease coiling in the pit of my stomach. The way that man looked at me made me feel like I was just another woman Anderson brought here for a few days. It’s probably irrational, but I always thought I was different. He always made me feel like I was different. What if I’m not? What if he’s not on the same page as I am. Do I even know what page we’re on?
“Are you okay?”
“Is this what it’s always like for you?” I blurt out.
“What do you mean?” he pushes, sensing there’s more behind my question than simply wondering if he’s always waited on like this when people know who he is.
“Do people always fawn over you, then look at whatever girl you’re with like they have no idea how she caught your eye? Because, believe me, I have no idea how it happened and still question it—”
He cups my cheeks, cutting me off. “Don’t.” His gruff voice is filled with emotion. “Don’t ever question why I’m with you. Your soul spoke to me the second I felt it. This is why I didn’t tell you who I was. Why I normally don’t tell anyone until I…”
“Until you?” I urge when he pauses.
His expression softens. “Until I know it’s real. And I knew from the very beginning this was real. It just took a little while for my head to catch up to my heart.”
The door slides open and he winks, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the elevator and into one of the most glamorous places I’ve ever seen. It even edges out Julian and Evie’s penthouse apartment overlooking Columbus Circle, albeit on a smaller scale.
