If I'd Known

by Paige P. Horne

  Elizabeth with short blonde curls and my son, the most handsome I’ve ever seen him, with a navy tux and baby pink tie. Those two have had some rough patches, but they always seem to come out stronger in the end. Like Travis and me, they have a rare love that will outstand time.

  Exhaling, I push up from my chair and plug my phone back up, leaving it to charge. I grab my pig timer from the counter, and once again, I make my way to the back porch and across it to the screen door leading out to the beach. I step onto the warm sand and look out at my umbrella. It has two seats under it, and one of them is occupied. Turquoise highlighted hair waves in the wind like a flag on a flag pole but prettier. Cynthia Rose sits facing the crashing waves, her toes dug into the white sand. I shut the screen door softly until it clicks and leave my sandals before I make my way out to her.

  She turns when she hears me approaching, and I see she has on sunglasses that look like they are wrapped in newspaper.

  “Hey,” she says softly.

  “Hey,” I counter. “What are you doing out here?” As I sit down, I notice she has her notebook and pen on her lap. She shrugs and looks out.

  I wonder what to say to her. I don’t want her to get upset like she did the other day, so I don’t mention what happened before. Instead, I take my hanging eyeglasses from around my neck and put them on. I open my book, flipping to where my bookmark is. I’m two sentences in when she says, “You know, sometimes it’s nice not to talk.”

  I don’t look over at her, but agree, “Yes, it is.”

  “Sometimes it’s good to have the silence. To not have to fill an empty void with useless words no one wants to hear anyway.”

  I don’t say yes to this one. I don’t make a gesture because I want to hear. I want to hear everything about this girl’s past. I remove my glasses and look ahead. My squinted eyes watch as a pelican plunges down into the water after a fish. I wonder about that bird, and in an odd way, it reminds me of our situation.

  “Did you see that bird?” I ask Cynthia.

  “Yeah.”

  I nod and close my book. “I’d bet good money that pelican had no idea what dangers were lurking below the surface of that water. He simply knew he had to eat, and his only way of doing so was to go all in, blind or not.”

  “Um, true,” she replies dubiously.

  I smirk at her confusion. “We often shy away from things that scare us––moving on, talking about things we don’t want to talk about, diving into dark water without knowing what’s below,” I say. “Because it makes us uneasy or brings up bad memories, or it just fucking scares us,” I say plainly. “But the reality is, like that bird must eat, we must heal, and sometimes the only way to do that is to dive in blind.”

  “And pray to the gods there’s no shark on the other side,” Cynthia says with a lift of her lips.

  I chuckle. “Yeah. That, too.”

  We are still for a moment, and then I say, “I guess my point is, that for so long, I’ve kept my past to myself, afraid that all of those feelings from back then would come rushing to the surface, and it would be like I’m reliving it all over again. And it has,” I say meekly. “That’s why I avoided you at first.”

  I look down at the cover of my book and run my hand across it in thought.

  “But you know what?” I question as I look over at her. “After we talk, sometimes I cry and say every cuss word in the book, and occasionally, it makes me feel a little better. Like a weight has been lifted from my chest, giving me a chance to breathe again.” I take in a shaky breath. “I haven’t even told my kid some of the things I’ve told you, and it feels good to talk about it. Because it happened. All the good, the bad, the ugly. It was all real. There’s still so much I haven’t told you, but I’ve been thinking about all of it and, you know what? I’ve lived one hell of a life, and you’ve made me realize I still have so much more to live. You, Cynthia Rose, made me a pelican.”

  Cynthia gives a small smirk before looking away, and then she says softly, “My dad used to call me Cyn.”

  I peer over at her. She looks ahead, still hiding her eyes behind those shades. Her red bottom lip is sandwiched between her top and bottom teeth, and she toys with a tiny seashell.

  “In fact, until you, no one else has called me that since. Well, except for one other person,” she says mostly to herself. I want to ask her who this other person is, but I don’t want to interrupt, afraid she may stop.

  “My parents were doctors. They worked too much and lived too little. They spent their whole lives saving others,” she says pensively. “But in the end, they’re the ones that needed to be saved.” Her voice is grave, and my heart literally breaks for my girl. I have so many questions. Who’s this other person? Who did her parents need to be saved from? But I keep them to myself, hoping that soon she will be brave and dive in.

  Cynthia sighs and tosses the seashell to the ground. “So, how about you tell me some more of your story?”

  “Okay,” I say, but wanting to keep talking about her. Exhaling, I peer down at the seashell she tossed. “Where was I?”

  “You and Travis had just done the deed,” she says.

  “Oh, yes,” I say, trying to think of the timeframe, and then it hits me. “It was the beginning of September,” I tell her.

  I grow quiet as I stare out at the calming waves, thinking back on that exact moment. His words, the way he looked at me like he had it all figured out. God, how I wish it were that simple, but life isn’t simple. It’s ugly, and it’s downright hard sometimes. I believe occasionally we all go through hell just so we can appreciate that little bit of heaven we get to witness. Travis Cole was my heaven. He was my everything.

  ––––

  September 1973

  With the windows down in his GTO and the warm fall ocean breeze blowing around us, we eat lunch quietly, just enjoying each other’s company. Still sneaking around behind Mama’s back, we had to park in a beach parking lot, away from downtown and her nosy friends’ eyes. Last week, Travis’ boss at the mechanic shop told him he had to cut back, so Travis got a job in construction a few days ago and he seems restless. With a white stained T-shirt and worn blue jeans on, he tosses his hamburger wrapper into the takeout bag.

  He grabs his smokes from his dash beside his tool belt and pats one out. Placing it between his lips, he cups his hand around the end and lights it. I watch him as he settles down into the driver’s seat, staring out the window at nothing, enjoying his smoke soundlessly. I look out of mine and listen as the cars pass by behind us and the waves roll repeatedly in front of us.

  “Let’s run away,” I hear his deep voice say. I turn my head quickly in his direction.

  “What?” I kinda smile and kinda can’t swallow because I know from the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice he is serious, and that both scares me and sends an exciting rush through my blood.

  “I’ve got an uncle who lives in Virginia. We can stay with him until we get on our feet.” He takes another drag from his smoke and flicks his ashes out the window.

  “I can’t run away,” I say as I pick up the takeout bag and put my trash in it.

  “Why?” he asks point-blank.

  Yeah, why? my heart counters.

  Because…I…Mama, my conscience tunes it.

  Shut up, both of you.

  I blink my eyes and just stare over at him, trying to come up with reasons I can’t do this. But my thoughts scatter like the ashes he just flicked away.

  “We can do this, Charlotte. We can make this work, and honestly, baby, I don’t see any other way. She’s never going to let us be together.”

  I swallow and look down at the floor mat, studying a tiny piece of sand. He’s right. She’ll never let us be together. Travis is who he is, and she will never accept him. My heart wins over the thinking, and I hear myself say, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  ––––

  “You said yes?” Cynthia asks, her voice full of surprise.

  “I did,” I reply
. “I wrote Mama a letter on the stationary at work.”

  “What did you say?”

  I think back on that letter I wrote forever ago now. The squeaky desk chair surrounded by four nicotine-stained walls, a rotating fan in the corner of the room, and brown shag carpet underneath my feet. I was nervous and sad. Regardless of how Mama felt about Travis, she was still my mama and I didn’t want to hurt her, but my heart was made up.

  Mama,

  Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. I hate it had to come down to this, but I didn’t see any other way. I love him Mama or at least I think I do. I’ve never been in love before, and you won’t give me a chance to find out for sure. You won’t give us a chance to find out if we can make this work. I know you just worry, but I am old enough to be able to decide on my own, and I choose him. I’d choose him every time. Travis may not be perfect to you, but he is what perfect means to me. I’ll call as soon as we get settled. Again, please don’t worry. I love you so much. I’m safe. I trust him with my whole heart.

  Love, Charlotte

  “Of course, later in life, I realized how that would be impossible for her not to worry. I mean, I couldn’t imagine if my son ran away at seventeen. I would have been a mess.” I shake my head. “But when you’re young, you think you’ve got it all figured out—that you’re invincible.”

  “Yeah,” Cynthia agrees quietly. “Life sure does have a way of showing you, you have nothing figured out.”

  “It does,” I reply solemnly.

  She reaches down into her bag and grabs her eyeglass case. As she clears her throat, she says, “I guess I should be writing this stuff down, huh?” Trading out newspaper shades for hot pink specs, my interviewer opens her notebook. “So, how did y’all do it?”

  I inhale and rub my neck. “Well, I told Mama I was going out with Jennie and, of course, she told me to be back by eleven, but I already knew I wasn’t coming back…”

  Chapter Ten

  September 1973

  “I need you to give this to Mama,” I tell Jennie as we stand in her yard.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” She looks past me to my car. I look back. Travis stands outside, leaning cool against the driver side door with a smoke between his lips. His hands are shoved into his front jean pockets, and his eyes are on me. He wanted to take my car instead of his GTO because it’s been acting up, and he doesn’t have the money to fix it if we get stranded. I give him a closed-lip smile and turn back to her. “I love him, Jennie. That’s all there is.”

  “I know,” she says as she sighs. “Just be safe. Call me when you can.”

  “I will.”

  I hug her bye and walk toward my troublemaker.

  “You ready to go?” he asks as he tosses his smoke.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He grins and pulls me to him.

  “I love you,” I tell him as I pull back, lazily lacing my fingers with his.

  “I know,” he says, looking at our linked fingers. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks me. “You can change your mind, you know?” He brings our hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles, gazing at me with love in his eyes. My heart is racing, and on the inside I’m a nervous wreck. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I do know I want him. All of him, all of the time, and since Mama won’t approve, then this is the only option we have.

  “I’m sure,” I say. “Where you go, I go.”

  ____

  “We didn’t get very far the first night. Only made it to Daytona and we spent the night at a hotel off the interstate. Our room was right across from the pool, and there was a bunch of bikers with beer bellies and leather vests hanging out there. Travis left for a beer run, and I jumped in the shower.” I start laughing thinking back on it.

  “What’s funny?” Cynthia asks me.

  “While I was in the shower, an idea hit me. See, it was our first time being alone with an actual bed. I was excited about that, as I’m sure he was, too. So, after my shower, I decided I’d wait for him behind the door, and when he came in I was going to drop my towel. Good Lord.” I laugh and put my hands over my face as the embarrassment hits me just like it did a lifetime ago. “It didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted it to.”

  ––––

  September 1973

  With a pounding heart, I stand behind the door. I hear my car pull up, and a few moments later, I hear the key in the lock. As the knob turns, I loosen my towel and let it fall, puddling around my bare feet.

  It all happens so fast. Travis yells, “What the fuck, baby?” as I’m being pushed back farther into the room. Bikers whistle and catcall, and with wide eyes, I realize I’m on display for every one of their asses to see.

  “Shit,” I curse as I feel my face burn, and I quickly reach for my towel. I run to the bathroom and slam the door shut with such force it rattles the hung-up mirror above the sink. I twist the lock on it and lean back against the door, sliding down to the floor.

  Exhaling, I wipe my hands down my face, trying to rein in my embarrassment. A light knock sounds on the door, and I grumble, “Go away.”

  “Charlotte, did you forget the door opened out?” Travis asks with a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “This isn’t funny,” I reply, deadpan.

  “It’s a little funny,” he says. “Come out.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Charlotte.”

  “I was trying to surprise you and only ended up embarrassing myself. This is horrible,” I mutter, putting my face in my hands again.

  “You surprised more than me,” he says.

  I groan and look up when I feel the door open behind me. “That door was locked,” I say, moving in front of the sink.

  “It’s not now,” he says.

  “Travis Cole, you shouldn’t be picking locks.” I stare down at a loose string on my towel.

  “Look at me,” he says.

  I dart my eyes to his face.

  “It was a good thought, baby.”

  “Whatever,” I pout.

  He bends down, and I look over his handsome face as he stares back at me. A slow, crooked smirk spreads across his lips, and he says, “Show me again.”

  I bite my bottom lip as his smile makes me melt. He gently takes my hands and pulls me up with him. I let the towel fall, and he looks down before his smile widens and his eyes meet mine. He lifts me up, gripping my waist with one hand while the other holds onto my thigh. I link my ankles behind his back as he walks us out of the bathroom.

  “A fucking bed,” he says before his kiss captures my laugh, his tongue breaking my lips apart. He tastes like breath mints and Marlboro Lights. He smells like fresh linen mixed with sawdust from working. I pull up on the bottom of his shirt so I can feel his skin. He bends down and yanks the comforter off the bed before I feel the coolness from the sheets against my back. The roughness of his jeans rubbing against my naked body sends a shiver down my spine, and he quickly undoes his belt. I help slide his pants down with my feet, and in one movement he is where we both crave him to be.

  The headboard slams against the wall, and the fitted sheet pops off the side. He’s everywhere, and I hold onto him, wishing we could always stay in this safe little bubble.

  After we christen the bed, I lie here, slowly listening to his heart flutter under my ear. I rub my fingers over the light sprinkle of hair on his chest as he smokes a cigarette.

  “Is it possible to be happier than this?” I ask.

  “I just hope you’re always this happy with me,” he says.

  I look up at him and see his expression is serious and slightly worried.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Charlotte, I know you love me, but I also know you love your family just as much, if not more.”

  “I want to be with you, Travis.”

  “I know. I just wish there was another way, is all. I want you to have everything.”

  I sit up on the bed. Bringing the sheet with me, I tuck it un
der my arms. Travis hits his nicotine, and I reach out and take it from him. Leaning over, I put it out in the ashtray. He blows smoke from his lips as he watches me with narrowed eyes. I put my hands on both sides of his cheeks and stare into his golden browns so he’ll know I mean this.

  “Travis Cole, as long as I have you, I have everything.” I kiss him, showing him once more that he is my whole world.

  ––––

  “We woke up with the sun the next morning and drove straight to Virginia,” I tell Cynthia as she pens away in her notebook.

  “Why don’t you have a laptop?” I ask her.

  She looks over at me and shrugs. “I guess I’m old school. Marty bought me a typewriter from a yard sale one year, and that’s what I use.”

  “You use a typewriter?” I question in shock. Who uses those anymore?

  “Yes, I like the sound.”

  “You are one peculiar child.”

  She shrugs again. “Maybe I was just born at the wrong time.”

  I smirk. “Maybe so. Do you prefer landlines also?” I ask because she never has a cell phone.

  “Cell phones are a distraction that’s destroying people’s ability to be social face-to-face.”

  I chuckle. “I’ll agree with that.”

  “So, you drove to Virginia?” she asks, obviously done with the conversation about technology.

  “Yes,” I reply. “If we were on a farm, there would have been roosters crowing. That’s how damn early we got up the next morning. The weather was sticky, and there was a light drizzle of rain coming down. Travis grabbed a coffee from the first convenience store we ran across, and I stocked up on candy bars and Coca-Colas.

  “We filled up the tank, and I mapped out our directions. We were headed north, and we had almost 700 miles to go. It would take us a little over ten hours to get there, but I was so damn happy, I didn’t care how far we had to go. I just wanted to be near him.