Wander and Roam (Wander #1)

by Anna Kyss

  You will always be my first love. While I’ll never forget your memory, it’s time for me to start living again. You would want that. The old, laughing, goofy Abby, rather than this shell of an Abby that I’ve become. Goodbye, Robbie Williams.

  XXXOOO

  Abby

  As tears splatter the paper, I fold it then place it in one of the small purple envelopes. I begin to stick it into my backpack with the dozens of other letters that crowd my front pocket but look back at the tombstone. After a long pause, I place the envelope into a crevice along the top of the marble. Slowly, I insert the other envelopes wherever they fit, until purple lines the carving.

  Hopefully, the other Robert, 1848-1898, will not mind.

  I make my way back to the trail. Tears continue to trickle when I finally find Sage. “Ready to finish our hike?”

  “Are you okay?” He wipes a droplet from my cheek.

  What does “okay” even mean?

  Holding onto Robbie for so long has been destructive. I haven’t just lost my beloved; instead, I’ve screwed up my schooling, ruined my friendships, and angered my family. By refusing to let go, I nearly lost myself.

  My aboveground tomb looked different from Robbie’s, but the end result was pretty much the same. If I’m ever going to be okay, I need to move on.

  We continue the last stretch to Coogee in silence. The sun has just begun to sink, and pinks and oranges illuminate the ocean. The smell of the ocean scents the air as I wipe the last salt-tinged tears from my face.

  When the trail ends, we find the bus stop and ride silently back to the ferry landing. The last ferry moves through purple-hued skies and lavender waters. Finally, we reach our campsite. Sage builds a fire. As its warm glow lights up the night, I open up my backpack then pull out the hundreds of unused envelopes that remain. One by one, I fling the purple rectangles into the blaze. Each causes the fire to surge.

  Sage sits right next to me, despite the length of the log. “Are you sure?”

  “Robbie gave me the envelopes when I left for college.” I throw another one into the fire. “So that each time he saw a purple envelope, he would know immediately that it was ‘precious.’”

  “You wrote to him the old-fashioned way?”

  “Every day.” I remember my college ritual, sitting in my dorm with pen, paper, and purple envelope. “Sometimes, on hard days, more than once.”

  “Why—?”

  “He was worth the effort. I mean, we talked on the phone, texted, and video chatted, too, but taking the time to write showed how much I cared.” The blaze intensifies as another envelope hits the flames.

  “You never stopped writing.”

  “The ritual—writing to Robbie, folding my letter, sealing the purple envelope—brought me comfort. Sometimes, it was the only thing that did.” I hold the last envelope in my hands. Goodbye, Robbie. I prepare to throw it.

  “Don’t!” Sage grabs it. “Sorry, I have an idea for the last one. Something we can do back at the farm.”

  “I just want to forget. I’ve spent too much time grieving.” I’ve written my daily letters, month after month, as if Robbie was on a long trip instead of buried in the ground. I’ve avoided cemeteries and all talk of death, so I could pretend he wasn’t really gone. I cannot bear any more sadness.

  If I don’t find a way to move on, I’m not going to make it.

  He squeezes my hand. “Today’s been overwhelming. Why don’t you sleep on it?”

  The inky blackness surrounds us, with only small licks of fire lighting our campsite. Today has been overwhelming. Between our romantic morning swim, the exhausting hike, and my cemetery meltdown, I’ve been riding an emotional rollercoaster. I’m never going to fall asleep.

  And if I do, I’m terrified that memories of Robbie will haunt my dreams.

  Sage’s warm leg presses against me. His arm, all muscles and tone, rubs against the softness of mine. His scent—salt-kissed sunshine and ocean water—surrounds me. I can’t help but remember the highs of that morning. Only ten hours earlier, I had been so happy. I want, no, need, to replicate those moments. I need to forget.

  “Abby?” Sage watches me carefully.

  “Make me forget, Sage.” I lay my head against his shoulder.

  Sage leans down, zips the envelope into his backpack’s pocket, then wraps his arm around me. “I’m not sure this is the best time.”

  “Please!” I hold his face close, rest my forehead upon his, and kiss the bridge of his nose. “Remember my words earlier? I meant them.”

  Sage inhales suddenly. When I lean back, his eyes darken. He stares at me with desire, longing, and… something else. Hesitation?

  “You’re worried it’s too soon.” I kiss his chin, his cheeks, and as he closes his eyes, each eyelid. “But you won’t be taking advantage of me.”

  He sighs as I nip at his lower lip.

  “You’d be helping me.” I brush my lips against his. “I want to move on.”

  He grabs my shoulders and presses me to him. He runs his hands down each arm then up again. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” I whisper into his ear before nibbling on his lobe.

  Sage’s resolve melts with my teases. Breaking away, he rests his forehead against mine. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

  I nod my understanding, but I’ve already decided. I need Sage’s closeness, comfort, and caring. I need to be whole again, rather than this withered up version of myself.

  Sage brushes his lips against the soft skin of my eyelids. His lips trace the trails of dried tears from my eyes to my cheeks then continue lower until they reach my neck. The whisper-soft brushes of his lips tease me until I press myself even closer to him. We merge together as best we can on the rough, bark-covered log.

  “Can we move into the tent?” I stand, pull Sage up, and wait as he fiddles with the zipper. He gestures for me to crawl inside then enters after me.

  “Oops, wait.” He exits then throws a bucket of dirt onto the flames. The fire flickers out, and darkness surrounds me. Moments later, Sage reenters, zips up the tent, then turns to me. In the moments he was gone, my brazenness has faded into shyness. I hug him and savor the warmth of holding another so close. It has been so long.

  He pulls me on his lap then resumes his slow exploration. I place my hands upon his chest. Through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, his heart thumps. Normally at first, but as my thumb circles his heart, faster and faster.

  My heart speeds as well.

  In the black of the night, in the isolation of our campsite, in the comfort of Sage’s arms, I lose myself to him. Everything fades away but the two of us. Nobody else and nothing else matters. The peace that brings is nothing less than ecstasy.

  I WAKE, safe in Sage’s arms, as the sun warms the tent with its first rays. The temptation to remain snuggled close overpowers me. Our little tent shuts out the world, its thin canvas walls a barrier against memories, worries, real life.

  Sage opens his eyes, a smile already forming on his face. “Morning.”

  The glow of sunlight streams through the leaf-green tent walls, painting Sage in nature’s colors. I nestle closer and tuck my head against his shoulder. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Me either.” He wraps both arms around me, pulling me closer.

  Leaning my head back, I kiss the underside of his chin. His prickly, unshaven hairs tickle my lips. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Sage holds me quietly.

  “Helping me move on.” I trail my fingers down his chest. “I don’t know how much longer I could have survived.”

  “What do you mean?” His body stiffens.

  “Losing someone I loved ripped a part of… me out. I spent six months feeling like I was drowning.”

  “Drowning?” His voice quiets.

  “In my grief. For months, I never saw the surface—until, this weekend.” I weave my fingers between his and gently raise them to my lips. “You gave me hope.”

  S
age doesn’t say a word. I brush my lips against his knuckles, but he abruptly moves his hand out of my reach. “Susan will be waiting,” he says. He jumps up, grabs his backpack, and abruptly exits. I’m left to wonder about what happened. Disappointment over leaving or the awkwardness of the morning after? I can’t help but hope it’s the first.

  I slowly pull fresh clothes on, brush my hair for an extra-long time, and linger while tying my shoes. Last night, this tent served as a refuge from my grief and sadness. What if it all comes rushing back as soon as I set foot outside?

  “Abby,” Sage calls. “We need to hurry. The next water taxi leaves in a half-hour.”

  When I unzip the tent, he’s all business. He has torn the camp down, with the exception of the tent I’m sitting in; the gear’s carefully packed and piled; and the tent bag waits. I head to the tree line to brush my teeth, using my water bottle to wet the travel-sized toothbrush and rinse. By the time I finish, the tent’s completely disassembled and packed.

  Sage attaches it to the bottom of his enormous backpack. “Ready?”

  No. I want to shake my head, shout my protests, and dig my heels into our little sanctuary. This weekend has been transforming. For months and months, I carried the weight of Robbie with me everywhere I went. Until now.

  I’m finally free. I left that stiflingly heavy backpack of memories in the cemetery yesterday. I want to revel in my newfound freedom, enjoy life again. Spend more time with Sage.

  “Come on.” He’s already walking toward the path. I grab my backpack, throw my dental supplies back in, and follow him.

  Within five minutes of reaching Susan’s dock, the breakfast bell tolls.

  “I’ve missed Susan’s cooking.” He heads toward the dining table. “Might as well drop off her camping gear before bringing my pack back.”

  And then he’s gone.

  I wait in the yurt for as long as I can. While we never spoke of our expectations, Sage’s obvious brush-off hurts me. I initiated everything that happened last night, though. I cannot blame Sage. It wasn’t as if he seduced me with whispered promises.

  I thought our connection was real.

  I wouldn’t even know what “real” feels like, with my inexperience. I can’t help worrying I scared Sage off with my complete openness about the mess of my life since Robbie died. No one would want to get involved with that kind of dysfunction.

  When I can’t wait any longer, I head down to the dining area. Surprisingly, Susan still sits at the table, nursing little Zachary. She’s usually not here so late.

  “I’m sorry I’m so late. Don’t worry. I’ll still put in my five hours today.”

  “I’m not worried.” She runs her fingers through Zachary’s fine blond hair. “I imagine you were tired after your long weekend.”

  “Something like that.” I pile a plate with fresh fruit, homemade granola bars, and cold pancakes.

  “What did you think of Sydney?” She places the baby upright and pats him gently upon the back.

  Sydney. I don’t want to remember lying on the blanket watching the bats lift off nor the amazing kiss atop the Harbour Bridge. “Um.” I cannot meet her eyes. “What a beautiful city.”

  “Abby, did something happen? Between you and Sage?” Susan glances at his still-empty seat. “I know it’s none of my business, but if you need someone to talk with…”

  “I’m fine. We’re fine.” I eat my remaining pancake in two large bites then wrap the granola bars in a napkin. “I just overdid it. Trying to fit the whole tourist experience into one weekend was pretty exhausting.” I grab the granola bars and head off to the gardens. I remember my friends’ sighs of annoyance whenever I tried to share my worst fears about Robbie’s illness. When you’re young, the last thing people want is to be reminded they’re vulnerable to disease and accidents, too.

  Once in the gardens, I’m completely alone. I settle among the bed of garden greens and pick a selection of salad greens: arugula, red leaf lettuce, and tender baby spinach leaves. When my bag is full, I move to the potatoes.

  The repetitive work of digging up the red-skinned potatoes, shaking off the excess soil, and smoothing the ground is freeing. Here in the gardens, I can lose myself in my work and forget about all of life’s outside stressors. Sage was right. Focusing on the present is freeing.

  The thought of the present brings the hurt of Sage’s absence back full force. After all we shared this weekend, how could he avoid me?

  AFTER AN entire day passes without any contact, I’m fed up. Sage must have stayed out until I fell asleep. I heard him rustling in the middle of the night, but by morning, he’s already gone.

  I need to confront him. I’m too fragile to deal with this hot-and-cold crap. The only problem with questioning him is finding him. In the last twenty-four hours, he’s become an expert on disappearing.

  The breakfast bells rings much earlier than normal. I throw on clothes and head down the trail. Since I probably won’t even see Sage, I don’t bother taking time to look cute. It’s not as if he’ll even notice me.

  What changed?

  Maybe this day-after brush off is normal. I wouldn’t know, given that I’ve always been loyal to Robbie. I haven’t been with anyone else, not in high school, not in college. Sage could think I was just a casual hook-up, but it’s not likely with everything I shared.

  When I reach the tables, he’s actually sitting at one. He eats his breakfast without even looking up or saying hello. I fix my plate then pause in the gap between the tables. I could plop myself right next to him, making it impossible to avoid me or mimic his cold-shoulder routine and sit at the empty table. I’ve never been a confrontational person, and this mess I’m in is so personal. I’m afraid of losing control when we finally talk, but don’t want to break down in front of Susan. She should be back any minute to collect the dishes.

  I place my plate at the opposing table, so we’re sitting back to back. Perfect. We can’t see each other, so we don’t have to talk to one another. But if it’s so perfect, why am I so upset?

  My lip starts to wobble, and tears well in my eyes. I quickly bite my lip, blinking back tears before they can fall. I force myself to take a bite of the oatmeal. I can barely swallow the thick, congealed mass.

  “Well, don’t you both look happy as can be?” Susan walks into the dining area, holding a fussy Zachary in her arms.

  I stare into my bowl, mortified that Susan has probably guessed why we’re not talking. Sage doesn’t respond, either.

  “I need a favor. A big one, given how friendly you’re being to each other.” Susan soothes Zachary as his fussing increases. “The poor little guy’s running a temperature.”

  “Do you need some medicine? I could take the water taxi to town,” Sage says.

  “I wish it were only an errand trip.” Susan sighs. “The farmer’s market opens today. The money I make at the market funds the farm for the year.”

  “The produce won’t last until next week.” Sage stands and clears his dishes.

  “Exactly.” Susan gently rocks back and forth, and Zachary’s cries soften into sleepy whimpers. “Can you and Abby handle it?”

  Susan has so many responsibilities between raising a child and running a farm completely by herself. I would be happy to help her. “Of course—”

  Sage cuts me off. “I think I can handle this on my own.”

  “No, it’s a two-person job. I usually have a friend from town join me.” Susan gives him a sharp stare. “Even with having breakfast early, we’re already running late.”

  “You really can’t handle spending one day with me?” My voice is so low, I’m not sure if he even hears me.

  Sage’s voice softens. “Abby, it’s not that. I just thought—”

  “The two of you can work out your differences once the produce is unloaded, but you really need to hurry.” Susan quickly shares information about the market. “My friend will be waiting with his truck when you get to the dock.”

  For the next half-ho
ur, we lug boxes of packed produce down the steep trail. It’s an exhausting job since wheeled carts don’t work on the rocky path. When the water taxi arrives, I help load the boxes in. Thankfully, nothing falls in the bay, which isn’t an easy task given the boat’s swaying.

  We’re so busy hauling and loading that we couldn’t stop to chat even if we wanted to. But as the taxi takes off through the water, minute after minute silently passes. Sage chooses to stand at the bow, as far from my bench as he can possibly get on this tiny motorboat. My fists clench tighter and tighter as the dock approaches. At the very least, he owes me some answers. Maybe this awkward trip is a blessing. While we’re manning the booth, he’ll be trapped for six straight hours, unable to hide from me.

  Now, I just need to figure out what to say.

  The taxi docks one town down from where we caught the ferry. My taut muscles loosen. At least we won’t have to walk through a place so ripe with memories.

  A tall, heavyset man pulls his pickup truck to the edge of the dock when he sees the boat arrive. “Let’s load it up! The market will open soon.”

  We lug each box of produce to the truck and slide it into the open back. The work goes quickly with all three of us helping. Before the man closes up the pickup, Sage hops into the back. “I’ll ride back here.”

  I head to the passenger side. While we would have been cramped, the seat’s long enough for three people. I can’t help feeling snubbed. Again.

  “My name’s Lonnie.” The man jumps into the front seat then holds out his hand. “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself sooner.”

  “No worries. I know we’re in a hurry.” The waterside disappears as the truck weaves through the little town.

  “You’ll have an easier trip back,” he says. “Usually, you sell out of most stuff, so you’re just hauling empties home.”

  “Are you staying for the entire market?”

  “Nope. I’ll help you unload, then I need to bring Susan some supplies.” He pulls onto a crowded street. Trucks line the side, and tables rest on the inside of the town square. “She said the two of you might need some time and space. Something about a lover’s spat?”