Chasing Fate

by Rachael Brownell

"Maybe," I echo, my voice conveying my disappointment.

  "Hey, why don't we go cross a few things off your list while we wait? There's no sense in sitting here depressed before we have a reason to be."

  Nodding, I take Jackson up on his suggestion. We gather our things, making sure I have my phone, and set off on our adventure.

  #9 Drink coffee in Seattle

  "What can I get for you, ma'am?" the teenage boy behind the counter asks.

  That's a first. Do I look that old?

  "I'll take two large coffees to go, please."

  "Can I interest you in any of our pastries?"

  "No, thank you," I reply, looking over at the dessert case for the fourth time since getting in line. The truth is, I want one of everything, but my stomach is turning right now. Food is not a good idea.

  Stopping to doctor up my coffee, I pick up a free magazine from the rack above the counter and flip through it quickly. The visitor's guide gives me a few ideas of what we should do this afternoon.

  Handing Jackson his coffee, I drop the magazine on the table in front of him.

  "Anything good in there?"

  "Tons of stuff."

  "Where do you want to start?"

  Smiling, I hold my coffee up in the air. Raising his own cup, Jackson and I say cheers before we both take a sip.

  Hot! It scalded my tongue. Not to mention, that was less impressive than I was hoping for. Maybe it's not so much the coffee as the taste of burnt tongue that I don't like.

  "It's... good," Jackson says, placing his cup on the table.

  "No, it's not. I'm sad," I say, sitting my cup next to his and picking up the magazine.

  "Why was this on your list again?"

  "Because I love Starbucks and they originated in Seattle. I guess I figured all Seattle coffee would be amazing, and I wanted to drink amazing coffee in the city that produced it."

  "Let me get this straight. You wanted to drink coffee in Seattle because you like a company that makes coffee that came out of Seattle?"

  "Yep."

  "If that's the case, why are we not at Starbucks?"

  "Um... I don't know."

  "Hold on," he says, pulling his phone from his pocket. Feverishly typing, he smiles when he finds what he's looking for. "Are we headed to Pike Place Market by chance?"

  "It sounded interesting. I thought we might check it out. Why?"

  "The very first Starbucks originated there. Why don't we see if it's still there and get coffee worth drinking?"

  "Perfect," I reply, hopping out of my seat.

  Leaving our cups on the table, Jackson and I make our way back onto the street. Pulling up directions on his phone, we walk hand in hand through the streets of Seattle in search of better coffee. It only takes us twenty minutes, but by the time we arrive, I'm exhausted and in need of a break.

  "There it is," Jackson says as the sign to Pike Place Market comes into view.

  "Good. I'm getting tired," I admit, knowing that my words will concern him. I don't want to worry him, but if we're being honest, he needs to know.

  "Want a ride?" he asks. I raise my eyebrow at him suspiciously. When he turns around and bends his knees, I laugh. "Jump on. I'll carry you the rest of the way."

  "I can walk, Jackson," I laugh.

  "Yes, but it'll be more fun to have a ride."

  "I'll give you a ride," I whisper as I wrap my arms around his neck.

  "I'm going to hold you to that," he says, grabbing me by the knees and standing.

  #23 Visit Pike Place Market and #9 Drink GOOD coffee in Seattle

  Starbucks is on the corner at the entrance to the market. Walking in, the delicious aroma of perfectly brewed coffee assaults my senses. I'm in heaven. My mouth begins watering just thinking about what I want to order.

  Setting me down next to an empty pair of comfy looking chairs, Jackson heads to the counter. The room is abuzz with energy. There's a young girl sitting across from me, working on her computer. At the table behind her, three men in suits are having a meeting.

  An older couple across the room is looking at a brochure. I can't read the title from here, but judging by the way she keeps pointing out the door, I think they might be tourists. There she goes again. Point at the door, point right, point left, point at the brochure. Her husband shakes his head and points at the brochure. If they're fighting, you wouldn't be able to tell. She's smiling and so is he. I hope that's how Jackson and I are after were married.

  We'll disagree, I'm sure, but I hope we don't fight about stupid things. I don't want to yell and scream at him, and he's the type of man who would let me. He'd take it and then calmly say what was on his mind.

  "What's making you smile like that?" Jackson asks as he takes the seat next to me. Handing me my coffee, he shoots me a suspicious look.

  "That couple over there," I say, nodding my head in their direction. "They're arguing about something, but they're both smiling. I hope that's how we are. That's all."

  "I don't want to argue with you, Jessa."

  "I don't either, but it's bound to happen."

  "Not if you agree with everything I say. You should start working on that. You know I'm right all the time anyway." Arrogant bastard. Just as I'm about to say the words aloud, the young girl sitting across from us laughs.

  "I'm sorry," she says.

  "Don't be."

  "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. I swear."

  "It's not like he was talking quietly," I reply, poking Jackson in the side.

  "True," she admits before returning her focus to her computer.

  "Shall we?" I ask, motioning to the door.

  "How about we relax, drink our coffee, and then head out?"

  "Okay," I agree, sitting back in my chair. It really is comfortable.

  "See, life is better when you agree with me," Jackson whispers in my ear so no one else can hear him this time.

  Shaking my head at him, I sip my coffee and watch as people come and go. As soon as I finish my coffee, I make a trip to the restroom, and then we head out. Walking deeper into the market, I'm impressed by what I'm seeing. Shop after shop, market vendors sell everything from produce to handmade items. We browse for an hour before I'm exhausted again. Just as we're walking out of the last shop, my phone rings.

  "It's the doctor," I tell Jackson as my phone shakes in my hand.

  "Answer it, Jessa."

  "I don't know if I can."

  "You can. Come over here," he says, taking my free hand and pulling me over to a bench. "Now, answer your phone. This may be your only chance to talk to him. Don't pass it up."

  Sliding my finger across the screen, I can't help but wonder if I'm making the right decision. I guess I'm about to find out. Either he's going to try and help me or it'll turn out like all the other calls have today. They'll see me in a month or two, and we'll go from there. I would wait if I thought I had the time. Time is not on my side. It's slipping away quicker than I would like already.

  "Hello."

  "Is this Jessa Klein?"

  "This is her."

  "Jessa, this is Doctor Fielding. I'd like to talk to you about a clinical trial I'm running right now. Do you have a few minutes to tell me about your diagnosis and current symptoms?"

  "Sure."

  As I sit in the middle of the market and explain my situation to the doctor, I watch people pass by our bench, unaware that I'm dying. You can't tell by looking at me, thankfully. Once I'm finished, he explains the program to me. Clinical trial. It's a test. It may work, it may not. They're going to pump me full of drugs and want me to track every time I sneeze, cough, and poop.

  It sounds like they might be onto something. Their results so far have been fairly positive, with only one fatality due to an unforeseen complication. This is my option. This is the only shot I may have to beat the odds. I don't like it, but I have to try.

  The doctor and I plan to meet in San Diego in 18 days. Our trip needs to be complete by then. That means our stop in wine country will
only be for one day, not four days. From there, we need to drive straight to the Grand Canyon, see the sights, check it off the list, and drive home.

  I'll fly back to California once I say goodbye to everyone. If the trial works, I'll be back in two months. If it doesn't, I'll either be coming home sooner or I won't be coming home at all. I'd like to think this is going to be a good thing, that I'm risking it all because it's going to give me the best outcome possible. When the only alternative is death, any outcome is better.

  Chapter 20

  "Get packed," Jackson demands as soon as we're back in the room.

  After walking a few blocks, Jackson called a car to come pick us up. He could tell I was drained, physically and emotionally. My mind is running a mile a minute. He was trying to have a conversation with me, and I spaced out on him.

  All I can focus on right now is the risk I'm taking. I'm scared out of my mind. What if it kills me? What if it doesn't? Where do I go after that? I haven't given any thought to my future because, for the last six months, I haven't had one. I'd passed the stages of anger and depression and moved on to acceptance. Right now, it feels like I'm starting over again.

  "Where are we going?" I ask, following him into the bathroom to start grabbing things.

  "Napa Valley, the Grand Canyon and then home."

  "Maybe we should skip all that," I suggest, even though I know he's not going to go for it.

  "If that's what you want," he replies, turning to face me, “but I don't think it is. I think you're scared right now, and you're probably replaying every word the doctor said to you in your head repeatedly. That's not healthy. You need to focus on something else, let it go until it's time to deal with it.

  "Everything is going to be okay, Jessa. We'll make it home, you can spend some time with friends and family, and then we'll head back to California. Let's finish this trip first, though. You wanted to see these places and do these things. I'm here to make sure that you check every tiny thing off your list so when you go for treatment, you have no regrets."

  He said we. We'll head back to California. I can't let him come. I don't want him to watch me die. He's been destroyed enough over the last two months as I deteriorate. That would break him. After the treatment, if there is an after, I'll go back to him, but I need to do this alone. If I'm not strong enough to fight this, I don't deserve to be with him. I have to stop relying on his strength to get me through each day.

  As we leave Seattle behind us, I watch the Space Needle get smaller and smaller in the side mirror. It may not have been on my original list, but I was hoping to see it. Instead, I was focused on stupid things, like drinking coffee and browsing a market where I bought nothing.

  Resting my head against the window, I close my eyes and let the music lull me to sleep. It doesn't take much these days. After our walk through the city, I could have fallen asleep in the chair at Starbucks. Watching as other people went about their everyday lives was the only thing that kept me awake. They all seemed carefree. I want that. That's all I want right now. A life where my greatest worry is what to wear in the morning or where I'm going to spend my day.

  When I wake up, darkness has fallen, and Jackson is lightly tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Watching him, I see the sadness and worry in his eyes. I wish my problems weren't weighing on him so heavily. He'll never admit it, but I think he's just as scared as I am. He doesn't like to talk about the negative, though.

  "Where are we?" I ask, stretching my arms and legs out the best I can.

  "Well hello, sunshine. We're about four hours from Napa Valley. I was waiting for you to wake up so we could grab some food and find a place to stop for the night."

  "What are you in the mood for?"

  "You, but I'm also hungry," he replies with a straight face as he keeps his eyes focused on the road.

  Giggling, I point to the next sign I see that offers both food and a hotel. Jackson takes the exit and heads in the direction of the hotel. Once we're checked in, he heads out in search of food while I take a shower. It's close to midnight by the time he returns, and I'm starved.

  After we eat, Jackson and I cuddle up in bed and watch TV as if nothing is weighing heavily on either of our minds. I don't want to talk about it, and I'm sure he can tell. He tried to bring it up over dinner, and I brushed it off.

  I'll deal with it when the time comes. Then, I won't have an option but to deal with it. If we discuss it now, I'll feel as if I need to tell him that he's not coming with me. That's a fight I don't want to have for the next two weeks. Our time left together won't be as enjoyable if he knows the end is coming. It's bad enough that I think about it every few minutes.

  We're on the road as soon as the sun breaks the horizon. I feel rested, but my body aches as if I haven't slept at all. Pushing through it, I give Jackson directions to the winery he's chosen. Apparently, he has a huge surprise waiting for me when we get there. Doing the best I can, I try to guess what it could be, but he's not giving anything away.

  It's lunchtime when we arrive. After getting settled in our room, we head to the restaurant and grab a bite to eat. While we're waiting for our food, a man dressed in a suit comes over and asks to speak with Jackson privately.

  Standing only a few feet away, I study their body language and hand gestures. There's a smile on both of their faces. Jackson seems relaxed. After they shake hands, Jackson returns to the table and sits down without explaining anything.

  "Well?" I ask, irritated that I'm not in the loop. "What was that all about?"

  "Nothing," he says, avoiding eye contact.

  "I call bullshit."

  "If I tell you, it won't be a surprise."

  "Fine. When do I get my surprise?"

  "After we eat," he says, looking directly into my eyes as he reaches across the table, taking my hand in his.

  "You're sweet, you know that? I'm beginning to love surprises, but not the part about keeping secrets."

  "You'll like this, I promise. It'll be... refreshing."

  "Refreshing?"

  "Well, maybe that's not the right word."

  "You say refreshing, and I think a large glass of wine. I already have one of those," I reply, motioning to the glass of Moscato in front of me that I've barely touched.

  "Just eat and then you'll find out. Okay?"

  I agree, but only because the waiter arrives with our food. It looks delicious, and my stomach growls, but as I begin to eat, I feel nauseous. Not wanting to worry Jackson, I pick at my food, eat small bites, and wash it down with water and wine.

  "Ready?" he asks as he signs the receipt.

  "I sure am," I reply with forced excitement. My stomach is still turning, and now I'm cramping.

  Making a pit stop in the restroom, I expel my entire lunch. Feeling better instantly, I decide not to tell Jackson. I will make a note of it for the doctor, though.

  #24 Make wine

  "You want me to what?" I ask a woman dressed in an apron. She's standing next to a small wooden barrel.

  "Remove your shoes and socks, step in, and stomp all the juice out of the grapes. We used to do it this way, now we have modern machines that do the work for us."

  "Why am I doing this, then?"

  "Because I requested it," Jackson says from behind me. "They'll take the juice, do what they do to make wine, bottle it, and we can open it in a few years. You're making us a bottle of wine, Jessa."

  "Seriously?" Now I'm excited. Unless it tastes like my feet when we open it. That would be gross.

  "Yep, now lose the shoes and get your butt in there," he demands.

  Holding Jackson's hand, I step into the barrel one foot at a time. It's weird. The grapes are smooth against my feet until they explode. Then, it's sticky and somewhat slimy. Lifting my foot, I step down and feel the juice slip between my toes.

  "Ewe! This feels gross," I exclaim.

  "Just think, we get to drink what you make. Make it good," Jackson replies with a wink.

/>   "Oh, it'll be the best wine you've ever tried."

  Making it my mission to stomp the crap out of these grapes, I start moving faster and faster. After ten minutes or so, I'm starting to get tired. Thankfully, the lady who was helping us tells me I can climb out.

  My feet are tinted a dark shade of purple. The juice splashed up onto my legs and knees. Sticky and feeling dirty, I need a shower.

  "That was great," I say as I strip my clothes off.

  "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I thought you might once you got over the fact that it was going to be sticky."

  "That didn't even bother me after a minute. It was when the grapes exploded that got me. I could feel juice between my toes and squirt in every direction. Just look at my legs," I say, sticking my left leg out in his direction so he can get a better view.

  "They look delicious," he replies, taking a step in my direction.

  The look in his eyes tells me what's about to happen. I was hoping for a round this morning before we left, but he wanted to get on the road. Looks like I'm going to get what I wanted now.

  "Come over here, Jessa. I want to taste those gorgeous legs of yours. Then, I'll wash you from head to toe once I've had my way with you." His voice is deep, sexual, causing a shiver to run up my spine. That doesn't stop me from rushing over to him.

  One night in Napa Valley wasn't enough. I wanted to visit other vineyards and stock up on wine for the trip home. According to Jackson, it wasn't an option. We're headed to the Grand Canyon today. It's a twelve-hour drive so we're going to make a pit stop in Las Vegas tonight and make the rest of the drive tomorrow.

  Night falls just as we get close to the city. The lights of Las Vegas can be seen for miles. The closer we get, the more excited I become. I've never been before, and I'm like a kid in a candy store as we make our way into town.

  "Where are we staying?" I ask.

  "Caesar's Palace."

  "Is that a good one?"

  "They're all good in this city, Jessa. The hotels are lavish. The shopping is extreme. Everything about Vegas is over the top. You'll like it, I promise."

  We pass beautiful hotel after beautiful hotel, each bigger than the last, as we make our way down the main strip. When I see the sign for Caesar, my leg starts bouncing up and down. Pulling into the valet, I reach for my door handle, ready to jump out of the car. Jackson stops me and points to a young kid in a vest headed our direction.