Descension

by Burgess, B. C.

  Right beyond the timber—dark, mossy and moist—towered layers of volcanic rock. Once in a while the road opened to picnic areas, affording views of slender waterfalls trickling down the cliff face, but Layla bypassed them, knowing Oregon’s tallest waterfall was around a few more bends.

  She reached Multnomah Falls about an hour before sunset, ignoring her bubbling anticipation long enough to organize the backpack she carried in lieu of a purse. After double-checking she had her camera and keys, she walked to the visitor’s center and purchased a day pass to the state parks.

  Well worth it, she decided, finally approaching the pool at the bottom of the two-tiered waterfall. High above her, a bridge spanned the bottom half of the cascades, boasting a much more enticing view, so Layla snapped a few pictures of the pool then hiked up the cliff, patiently navigating through tourists to claim a prime spot on the catwalk.

  Awe-inspiring in its uncontrived glory, the falls sprung from the depths of Larch Mountain and powerfully rushed down its basalt cliff face, casting a cool mist that moistened Layla’s cheeks. She watched for a long time, reveling in its raw force. Then she closed her eyes, blocked out the tourists’ chatter, and listened to the roar.

  A peaceful moment, to imagine being the only human presence among untamed nature, but Katherine’s aching absence kept it from being perfect. Every step Layla took toward the west coast felt like a step away from the woman who’d inspired her to make the journey, like she was forsaking her old life for a new one that no longer included Katherine.

  Layla shook the sad musing from her head and opened her eyes, snapping several picky pictures of the falls. Then she returned to the gift shop, loading up on postcards for Travis and Phyllis. As she walked to her car, she stared at a post card featuring her next destination—the Crown Point Vista House.

  By the time she reached the observatory, the sun was melting into the western skyline, casting half of the octagonal Vista House in bright orange light. The two-story building was beautiful, with stained glass windows and a domed roof, but the panoramic view of the gorge was better. Across the river, the Cascade Range rose into orange-vanilla clouds, and the water below couldn’t decide if it wanted to reflect the sunburst on the horizon or the inky blue twilight flowing from the east.

  Layla snapped more pictures, knowing her mediocre camera would never do the view justice. Then she climbed into her car once more, pleased by her impeccable timing. She and Travis couldn’t have planned her trip across Oregon better.

  By the time she refueled and entered Portland, the skies were bereft of sunlight, a medley of dark blues and purples, and she was a nervous wreck as she followed her memorized directions. She did her best to maintain the speed limit, yet other cars flew by like she was riding her brakes. She almost missed her exit to Morrison Bridge—one of eleven spanning the Willamette River—and had to cut someone off.

  “Whoops.”

  She winced and glanced in the rearview mirror. The driver was undoubtedly pissed, but everyone drove bumper to bumper and zipped across lanes of traffic, so Layla easily forgave herself the goof.

  After crossing the river, it was a straight shot to her downtown hotel, and she breathed easy for the first time since entering the city, but when she circled the block to find the parking garage, she found it full.

  “Now what?” she mumbled, circling the block again.

  Crowds of pedestrians, zooming bicycles, and colorful streetcars simultaneously intrigued and disoriented her, and it had started misting, turning everything into a grayish blur that glaringly reflected the city lights.

  Layla drove to the next block, then the next. Then she followed the one-way streets back around, finding another full parking garage.

  “What’s wrong with you people?” she grumbled. “Don’t you know it’s a weeknight?” Apparently they didn’t care, because there wasn’t one parking spot within three blocks of her hotel.

  She expanded her search, steadily moving further away from where she wanted to be. By the time she found a parking garage willing to take her, she’d lost count of how many blocks she’d gone.

  She couldn’t scramble out of her seat fast enough once she cut the engine. The damn car felt like a spaceship manned by foreigners who didn’t believe in two-way streets.

  She opened her trunk, laying eyes on the large suitcase she’d packed for the hotel, and her shoulders sagged. “No way,” she decided, stuffing one day’s worth of clothes in her backpack.

  After slipping on a hoody, she slung the pack over her shoulder and marched into the rain, which was colder than she thought it would be.

  Five Portland blocks felt like ten Gander Creek blocks, and her fingers were going numb, but she was sure the hotel was around the next corner. When she took a left and looked up, finding a clothing store where her hotel should be, her heart sank and she spun around, clueless where she went wrong.

  “Oh no,” she breathed, eyes stinging. “Oh shit.” She suddenly felt tiny and weak—a foolish fish swimming in a sea of sharks.

  She dazedly noticed she was holding up foot traffic and moved beneath the boutique’s awning, blinking back tears as she dug her cell phone from her pocket. She could have asked one of the pedestrians for directions, but she was on the verge of bawling and didn’t want to do it to a stranger, so she dialed Travis’ number with fumbling fingers.

  “Hello,” he answered, and Layla nearly sobbed his name.

  “Travis.”

  “Hey, sugar. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m lost.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the point. I couldn’t find a place to park and had to drive forever down these damn one-way streets, and I thought I knew my way back to the hotel, but I get here and it’s clothes and I don’t know where I went wrong.”

  “Layla,” Travis interrupted, “breathe.”

  Layla obeyed, squeezing her eyes shut as she took a deep breath.

  “So you’re somewhere near your hotel?” Travis asked.

  Layla opened her eyes and looked around. “I think so.”

  “That means ya made it,” Travis praised.

  Layla rolled her eyes. “Yes. Now I’m lost in the rain.”

  “Ya like the rain.”

  “I do,” she whispered, “but it’s cold. Can you help me?”

  “I’m a man of many talents,” he boasted. “Is there a coffee shop nearby?”

  Layla furrowed her eyebrows as she looked down the block, finding a café across the street. “Yes!” she exclaimed, wondering how he’d found her so quickly.

  “Good,” he approved. “Go get a cup of coffee while I wait for my laptop to boot up.”

  Layla slouched. “I’m a mess, Travis.”

  “Without coffee,” he countered, “yes ya are.”

  Layla sighed and trudged to the café, answering Travis’ stream of questions about her trip.

  “Then it’s as pretty as they say?” he asked.

  “Prettier,” she confirmed. “Hold on. I’m going to order.”

  Layla tucked her phone in her pocket as she ordered and paid, averting her teary gaze from the clerk. Then she returned the phone to her ear as she walked outside, sipping the hot brew. “You there, Trav?”

  “Yep, and I got my computer goin’. What’s your cup say?”

  Layla read him the name of the café then waited as he searched her out.

  “You’re only a block away,” he said.

  Layla’s held breath burst from her lungs. “Really? Which way?”

  “South. Take a left outta the coffee shop.”

  Layla turned and headed south. “You’re a lifesaver, Travis. You have no idea.”

  “I’ll stick with ya in case I’m wrong,” he offered.

  “Thank you,” she returned. “What would I do without you?”

  “You’d look that café clerk in the eye and ask for directions.”

  “Smartass,” Layla smirked, rounding another corner. “There it is! You found it!�
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  “Glad I could help.”

  “You did, enormously. I was ready to jump in the car and backtrack to Oklahoma.”

  “Don’t ya dare,” Travis objected. “Ya gotta give yourself more than one day. You’re gonna be great, Layla, once ya start figurin’ things out. Ya got more to offer than Gander Creek can hold. Give the coast a chance to bring out the best in ya.”

  “You bring the best out in me,” Layla countered. “I’d literally be lost without you.”

  “Then I’ll be your personal GPS. Just promise me you’ll give Oregon a fair chance. I’ll need a place to stay when I get there.”

  “Right,” Layla laughed, knowing his encouragement had nothing to do with a place to stay and everything to do with his big heart.

  She entered the lobby of her hotel and walked to a couch, peeling off her wet hoody as she finished her conversation. “I really do appreciate this, Travis. I’m warm and dry because of you.”

  “Anytime. Now go stretch out in your comfy bed, ’cause I know your legs are cramped.”

  “A little,” she confessed. “Keep your phone handy tomorrow. I’ll probably get lost again.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that. Sleep tight, sugar.”

  “You, too, Trav. Goodnight.”

  “Night.”

  Layla hung up and stared at the phone, wishing she could show Travis how much he meant to her, but she’d missed her chance to be the friend he deserved. Now all she had was long-distance words.

  Exhausted, she followed Travis’ advice and stretched out in bed as soon as she got to her room, lazily wiggling out of her damp jeans. After throwing them in a corner, she reached over the side of the bed and pulled two photographs from her backpack.

  For a long moment she stared at the one of her and Katherine, wishing she was there. Then she stared at the picture of her birth parents, wondering why they were never there.

  When her eyelids grew wet and heavy, Layla tucked the photos under her pillow and turned off the lamp, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep.

  ~ * * * ~

  Layla took her time getting out of bed Friday morning, but once up, she didn’t lounge around. After taking a hot shower and dressing in comfortable layers, she shoved her dirty clothes in her backpack so she’d remember to transfer them to her laundry bag. Then she left the room empty, hoping she’d find a closer parking spot the next time she returned.

  Bypassing the coffeepot in the lobby, she headed for the café she’d visited the night before, unwilling to gamble on something as vital as quality coffee. Supposedly the best brew in the world was about an hour away, but she refused to make the drive to Cannon Beach without a jolt of caffeine. Besides, she wanted to get more familiar with the area around her hotel before venturing too far away from it.

  So that’s what she did. All afternoon she wandered from block to block, memorizing business names, street names, and most importantly, parking garage locations. Though she was busy learning, she kept her pace slow so it wouldn’t feel like work, taking time to window shop, people watch, and park hop; and she found a stationary store where she could mail out Travis’ and Phyllis’ postcards. When her stomach started growling, she got a pamphlet from a real estate office and searched out a casual restaurant, looking over local listings as she ate.

  She spotted a few properties in Cannon Beach—gorgeous photographs included—and suddenly yearned to see it in person, to sip the best coffee in the world as she walked beside the ocean.

  “Would you like a to-go box?” the waitress asked, snapping Layla out of her daydream.

  “Um… no thanks,” she answered, jittery with unexplained urgency. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Four-thirty,” the woman answered.

  Layla’s mouth fell open. She had no idea she’d been wandering the streets that long. She quickly stood, digging a tip from her pocket. “Do you know how to get to Cannon Beach from here?”

  “Sure,” the waitress answered, pulling a notepad from her apron. “You’ll want the Sunset Highway.” She jotted down a few directions then handed them over. “Is that understandable?”

  Layla scanned the paper then looked south. “That way?”

  “Right,” the waitress confirmed. “Follow the Oregon Zoo and Beaverton signs if you get confused. You’ll pass them on your way out of town.”

  “Thanks,” Layla returned, grabbing her backpack. Then she headed for her car, determined to reach the coast before nightfall.

  As she navigated her way out of Portland, bypassing the zoo and a few city suburbs, she wondered if Cinnia’s Cannon Café would still be there. Any number of things could have happened in the past twenty-one years—demolition, foreclosure, takeovers. It could be a Starbucks by now. She told herself she didn’t care as long as there was decent coffee, but she knew it was a big, fat lie. She couldn’t deny her deep desire to see where her mom and dad had once sat drinking their favorite brew. When she wondered what they liked in their coffee, she cursed and turned up the radio.

  Her ears felt the pressure rise as she left Willamette valley behind, following the narrow highway into the Coastal Range. Colossal trees lined the road—cedars, firs, spruces and hemlocks—and their greedy canopy blocked the waning sun, dimming the two-lane path and casting the undergrowth in murky green shadows.

  When the timber finally thinned, the sun broke through, practically blinding her despite the partly cloudy sky. Having been in the shade so long, tunneled by towering trees, the daylight and openness was like a wave of air, like when she’d lay on the bed as a child and let Katherine spread a cool sheet over her. She couldn’t see the ocean yet, but the oxygen leaking through her vents suddenly smelled salty.

  She followed the signs into Cannon Beach and kept driving west, looking for water, which she eventually spied in the distance, through gaps between buildings.

  Unsure where to go, she followed the foot traffic onto North Hemlock Street, passing shops and restaurants that looked more like houses than businesses, and she kept glimpsing the ocean at intersections. A road lined with inns ran closer to the beach, but Layla was keeping an eye out for one business in particular. After driving for several blocks without finding it, she sighed and searched out a parking lot, trying to deny the disappointment. With only an hour of daylight left, she didn’t want to waste time chasing coffee shops in the sky.

  When she exited the car, bitter wind whipped her ponytail around, and she quickly grabbed the long locks, pulling them in front of her shoulder as she raised her hood. Though she couldn’t see the ocean, she could taste it in the shockingly salty air, and she could hear its waves crash against the shore. She leaned against her car and closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like to stand on the beach when her senses were so overwhelmed at a distance.

  “Why speculate?” she mumbled, opening her eyes. Then she joined the pedestrians on the sidewalk.

  She quickly found a café… but not the one she was looking for, so she kept walking. A few window displays tempted her, particularly the ones advertising fudge, but she wanted to find a good cup of coffee—the best cup of coffee—then go see the beach.

  After another three blocks of crushed hopes, she decided to give it a rest and backtrack, visit a different café and perhaps ask about the one eluding her.

  She headed for the next crosswalk, wanting to explore the other side of the road, but when she reached the corner and glanced around, she finally found what she’d come for.

  Larger than she expected but as charming as she’d imagined, the L shaped building sat on a corner lot, a wooden deck stretching from one corner to the other, providing seating and scenery with cedar tables and overflowing flower beds. The smaller side of the L was devoted to a quaint bookstore simply named Enid’s, while the bigger portion of the building had a large, white sign curving over the entrance—Cinnia’s Cannon Café.

  Layla froze. She couldn’t make her feet move. A huge lump consumed her throat and her stomach knotted. After all these
years the café survived, keeping memories made within its walls alive.

  She tried to force the lump down, but her mouth was too dry. This is stupid, she scorned. There was good coffee in there and she was standing outside, afraid to move. She took a deep breath, trying to relax. Then she forced her feet forward, one shaky step at a time.

  Chapter 6

  The café was perfect, exactly the way a coffee shop should look—cocoa and cream color scheme, round wooden tables and high-back stools, comfy couches and chairs facing a wood burning fireplace. And the aromas were heavenly. Layla wanted coffee before walking in, but after getting a whiff of the place, she needed it like an addict needs their fix.

  The shop was busy and being tended by only one woman, who handled the pressure well, every move perfected and immeasurably graceful. She was around Layla’s age, but slightly taller with an outgoing attitude, and she was gorgeous, an unusual bright spot amidst mundane kitchen gadgets. Her long, blonde hair hung straight and smooth from a flawless part, boasting honey-gold undertones, and she had a friendly face, with round cheeks and a big smile exposing perfect teeth.

  When the line advanced, giving Layla a closer look, her mouth fell open. She’d never seen eyes like the clerk’s before. Around the pupil, ran a thin ring of pastel green, which was encircled by a darker ring, then another. They continued that way, subtly changing hues, until they reached the outer iris, a dark layer of forest green. They had to be contacts, Layla concluded. No one has eyes like that.

  When the man in front of her left with his order, Layla approached the counter, trying not to stare as the clerk wrote something down on a notepad.

  “One second,” she murmured, still focused on her memo.

  She’d only said two words, yet she had the most beautiful voice Layla had ever heard.

  “Take your time,” Layla replied, ridiculously in awe of the woman.