Long Road Home

by Marie Meyer

  Ren studies the screen, circles a few times, and points northwest. “We’re almost there, ten feet or so, that way.”

  We start trekking in the direction she indicated. “Look at you, you’re a seasoned pro.”

  “I’m not a muggle anymore,” she says proudly. “Who would have thought my letter to Hogwarts would arrive in the form of a speeding ticket.”

  “I guess that’s true. The magic in your life didn’t begin until I showed up.”

  Ren punches my shoulder. “Ugh! You are so cocky. And your pickup lines still reek.”

  “Are they really pickup lines if technically, I’ve already picked you up?” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist, hoisting her off the ground. “See, so much magic, you’re levitating.”

  Ren’s giggles ride the breeze like a surfer catching a swell. I cannot live without her laugh. I let it crash down over me, swallowing me in its brilliant warmth.

  “Cayden!”

  I swing her back and forth, wanting to capture that sound so I can dial it back up when she’s not around, replaying it in the recesses of my mind.

  “Cayden, the cache is supposed to be right over there.” She tries to point, her index finger trailing all over the place.

  Okay. It’s time. I set her down, ready for her to find the real treasure. “Where?”

  She scans the GPS and nods her head. “There.” Stepping carefully over the gravelly terrain, she moves toward the tree where I (or Blake and Dylen rather) hid the cache.

  I follow behind her, coming to a stop in front of a massive pine tree. “Here?”

  Ren surveys the area. “Nothing looks out of the ordinary.” Shuffling her feet on the ground, pine needles pile up along the sides of her sneakers.

  “Want a hint?” My heart thumps, ready to jump out of my chest, pull down the cache, and hand it to her itself.

  She glares at me from over her shoulder. “That would be cheating, Officer.”

  I love the way she says ‘officer’ when she’s annoyed with me. I love everything about her. The curls that refuse to stay off her forehead, her gentleness when someone—or me—is hurting, her boundless energy, the way she sees the world, her strength and bravery, but mostly, for showing me that family isn’t just the people who share the same blood. She is my heart outside of my skin, the one person who makes my pulse quicken, my insides quake, and my blood flow.

  I smile, leaning back against a tree, falling in love with her all over again. “Yes it would be.”

  Ren searches high and low for the cache. I glance around wondering where Blake and Dylen are hiding. I know they’re close; Dylen wouldn’t want to miss the big moment. Hopefully, one of them thinks ahead and snaps a picture. I want to see the look on Ren’s face a hundred years from now. On our wall of memories.

  “I can’t find it.” Ren stamps her foot and a cloud of dust shimmers in the sunlight.

  “Let me see the coordinates.” Ren hands over the GPS and I give it a good perusal for effect. I know exactly where the cache is. “It says it should be right here.” I point to the pine tree we’re staring at.

  “That’s what I said, but there’s nothing here.”

  Playing it up, I step closer to the tree. Ren follows, leaning in. Pushing branches aside, I peek through the boughs. “What’s this?” Reaching into the tree, I wrap my hand around a life-size plastic bird strapped to a branch.

  “What is that?” Ren says in wonder.

  Bringing the plastic bird down, I put it into her hands. “I think this is it.” My pulse beats in my ears. My hands shake. I’m surprised she doesn’t notice. I’m a ball of nerves.

  Please say ‘yes,’ Ren.

  She stares at the bird. “I’ve never seen a cache like this.” She turns it over in her hands.

  Only one other time have I found a cache that looked like it belonged in the environment. Clever camouflage. Knowing Ren and her love of birds, I knew a bird was the perfect container to hide her ring.

  Flipping it upside down, Ren twists the cap and pulls it away.

  I hold my breath.

  Upending the cache, Ren shakes the contents onto the palm of her hand: a log sheet, a miniature glass bluebird figurine, and a golf pencil.

  Before she can say anything, I pluck the bluebird from her hand. “I remember the day I saw your tattoo—the bluebird. You told me some of the legends, why you chose to ink the bluebird on your skin.” Her eyes are wide and she’s hanging on my every word.

  Don’t screw this up, Sinclair.

  “You said some Navajo legends believe that the bluebird helps the sun to rise each day.” She nods, confirming the story. “Here’s my take on the legend…having you in my life makes the sun rise each day.” I press my hand to her side, right over her tattoo, pulling her close. “You’re my bluebird.”

  Before her, I drop to one knee, and turn the ceramic bird so she can see the ring suspended from the ribbon around the figurine’s neck. “Renata Elizabeth Daniels, will you make me the happiest man on the face of this earth? Marry me, please?”

  Ren claps her hands over her mouth, eyes locked on the ring dangling from the ribbon. She nods, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Cayden.” Wiping the tears from her eyes, a half hiccup, half sob, half laugh bursts from her mouth. “Oh my goodness! Yes!”

  She said, “Yes”! A blissful relief overrides my nervousness. Ren Daniels is going to be my wife. Mine, forever. My family. Standing, I take her in my arms and spin her around. “Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you.”

  Eager to slide the diamond and sapphire onto her left ring finger, I put her down and untie the ribbon from the bird’s neck. “You’re my happiness and my north, Ren. Without you, I’m lost.” I slip the ring over her knuckle, and push it into place, kissing her hand. “Together, we’re home.”

  See the next page for an excerpt from

  Across the Distance

  Available now!

  CHAPTER ONE

  The tape screeched when I pulled it over the top of another box. I was down to the last one; all I had left to pack were the contents of my dresser, but that was going to have to wait. Outside, I heard my best friend, Griffin, pull into the driveway. Before he shut off the ignition, he revved the throttle of his Triumph a few times for my sister’s sake. Jennifer hated his noisy motorcycle.

  Griffin’s effort to piss Jennifer off made me smile. I stood up and walked to the door. Heading downstairs, I slammed the bedroom door a little too hard and the glass figurine cabinet at the end of the hall shook. I froze and watched as an angel statuette teetered back and forth on its pedestal. Shit. Please, don’t break.

  “Jillian? What are you doing?” Jennifer yelled from the kitchen. “You better not break anything!”

  As soon as the angel righted itself, I sighed in relief. But a small part of me wished it had broken. It would have felt good to break something that was special to her. Lord knew she’d done her best to break me. I shook off that depressing thought and raced down the steps to see Griffin.

  When I opened the front door, he was walking up the sidewalk with two little boys attached to each of his legs: my twin nephews and Griffin’s preschool fan club presidents, Michael and Mitchell.

  Every time I saw Griffin interact with the boys, I couldn’t help but smile. The boys adored him.

  I watched as they continued their slow migration to the porch. Michael and Mitchell’s messy, white-blond curls bounced wildly with each step, as did Griffin’s coal black waves, falling across his forehead. He stood in stark contrast to the little boys dangling at his feet. Their tiny bodies seemed to shrink next to Griffin’s six-foot-four muscled frame.

  “I see that your adoring fans have found you.” I laughed, watching Griffin walk like a giant, stomping as hard as he could, the twins giggling hysterically and hanging on for dear life.

  “Hey, Jillibean, you lose your helpers?” he asked, unfazed by the ambush.

  “Yeah, right,” I said, walking out front to join him. I wrapped my arms around his
neck and squeezed. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the familiar scents of leather and wind. A combination that would always be uniquely him. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I sighed, relaxing into his embrace. I felt safe, like nothing could hurt me when I was in his arms.

  Griffin’s arms circled my waist. “That bad, huh?”

  I slackened my grip and stepped back, giving him and the squirming boys at his feet more room. “My sister’s been especially vile today.”

  “When isn’t she?” Griffin replied.

  “Giddy up, Giff-in,” Mitchell wailed, bouncing up and down.

  “You about ready?” Griffin asked me, trying to remain upright while the boys pulled and tugged his legs in opposite directions.

  “Not really. I’ve got one more box to pack and a bunch to load into my car. They’re up in my room.”

  “Hear that, boys? Aunt Jillian needs help loading her boxes. Are you men ready to help?” he asked.

  “Yeah!” they shouted in unison.

  “Hang on tight!” Griffin yelled and started running the rest of the way up the sidewalk and onto the porch. “All right guys, this is where the ride ends. Time to get to work.” Griffin shook Michael off of his left leg before he started shaking Mitchell off of his right. The boys rolled around on the porch and Griffin playfully stepped on their bellies with his ginormous boots. The boys were laughing so hard I wouldn’t have been surprised to see their faces turning blue from oxygen deprivation.

  Following them to the porch, I shook my head and smiled. Griffin held his hand out and I laced my fingers through his, thankful he was here.

  “I’ll get the trailer hitched up to your car and the stuff you have ready, I’ll put in the backseat. You finish up that last box; we’ve got a long trip ahead of us.” Griffin leaned in close and whispered the last part in my ear. “Plus, it’ll be nice to say ‘adios’ to the Queen Bitch,” he said, referring to my sister.

  “Sounds like a plan.” I winked. “Come on boys,” I held the door open and waved them inside. “If you’re outside without a grown-up, your mom will kill me.” They both shot up from the porch and ran inside.

  “Giff-in,” Michael said, coming to a stop in the doorway. “Can we still help?”

  Griffin tousled his hair. “You bet, little man. Let’s go find those boxes.” Griffin winked back at me and the three of them ran up the stairs.

  I trailed behind the boys, knowing that I couldn’t put off packing that “last box” any longer. When I got to my room, Griffin held a box in his hands, but it was low enough so that the boys thought they were helping to bear some of its weight. “Hey, slacker,” I said to Griffin, bumping his shoulder with my fist. “You letting a couple of three-year-olds show you up?”

  “These are not normal three-year-olds,” Griffin said in a deep commercial-announcer voice. “These boys are the Amazing Barrett Brothers, able to lift boxes equal to their own body weight with the help of the Amazing Griffin.”

  I rolled my eyes at his ridiculousness, and smiled. “You better watch it there, ‘Amazing Griffin’, or I’ll have to butter the doorway to get your ego to fit through.”

  Still speaking in a cheesy commercial voice, Griffin continued, “As swift as lightning, we will transport this box to the vehicle waiting downstairs. Do not fear, kind lady, the Amazing Barrett Brothers and the Amazing Griffin are here to help.”

  “Oh, Lord. I’m in trouble,” I mumbled. And as swift as lightning (but really not), Griffin shuffled the boys out of the room and down the stairs.

  I grabbed my last empty box and walked across the room to my dresser. I pulled open a drawer and removed a folded stack of yoga pants, tees, and dozens of clothing projects I’d made over the years. Shuffling on my knees from one drawer to the next, I emptied each of them until I came to the drawer I’d been dreading. The one on the top right-hand side.

  The contents of this drawer had remained buried in darkness for almost five years. I was scared to open it, to shed light on the objects that reminded me of my past. I stared at the unassuming rectangular compartment, knowing what I had to do. I said a silent prayer for courage and pulled open the drawer.

  Inside, the 5x7 picture frame still lay upside down on top of several other snapshots. I reached for the stack. The second my fingers touched the dusty frame I winced, as if expecting it to burst into flames and reduce me to a heap of ashes. Biting my lip, I grabbed the frame and forced myself to look.

  There we were. Mom, Dad, and a miniature version of me. Tears burned my eyes. My lungs clenched in my chest and I forced myself to breathe as I threw the frame into the box with my yoga pants. I pulled out the rest of the photos and tossed them in before they had a chance to stab me through the heart as well.

  Downstairs, I could hear the boys coming back inside and then footsteps on the stairs. Quickly, I folded the flaps of the box and pulled the packing tape off the dresser. With another screech, I sealed away all the bad memories of my childhood.

  “Well, my help dumped me,” Griffin said, coming back into my room alone. “Apparently, I’m not as cool as a toy car.”

  Before he could see my tears, I wiped my wet eyes with the back of my hand, sniffled, and plastered on a brave smile, then turned around. “There. Done,” I proclaimed, standing up and kicking the box over to where the others sat.

  “You okay?” Griffin asked, knowing me all too well.

  “Yeah.” I dusted my hands off on my jeans shorts. “Let’s get this show on the road.” I bent down to pick up a box, standing back up with a huge smile on my face. “I’m ready to get to college.”

  * * *

  Griffin took the last box from my hand and shoved it into the backseat of my car. “I’ll get my bike on the trailer, and then we’ll be ready to hit the road.” He wiped his upper arm across his sweaty forehead.

  I looked into his dark eyes and smiled. “Thanks,” I sighed.

  “For what?” With a toss of his head, he pushed a few errant curls out of his eyes.

  “For putting up with me.” He could have easily gotten a plane ticket home, but he knew how much I hated airplanes. The thought of him getting on a plane made me physically ill.

  He swung his arm around my neck, squeezing me with his strong arm. “Put up with you? I’d like to see you try and get rid of me.”

  With my head trapped in his viselike grip and my face pressed to his chest, I couldn’t escape his intoxicating scent. Even though it was too hot for his beloved leather riding jacket, the faint smell still clung to him. That, coupled with the heady musk clinging to his sweat-dampened t-shirt, made my head swim with thoughts that were well beyond the realm of friendship.

  I needed to refocus my thoughts, and I couldn’t do that pressed up against him. I shivered and pulled away. Taking a step back, I cleared my throat. “I’m going to tell Jennifer we’re leaving.” I thumbed toward the house.

  He scrutinized my face for a minute, then smirked. “Enjoy that. You’ve earned it.”

  I turned on my heel and let out a deep breath, trying desperately to rein in my inappropriate fantasies.

  Months ago, our easygoing friendship had morphed into an awkward dance of fleeting glances, lingering touches, and an unspeakable amount of tension. I thought he’d felt it, too. The night of my high school graduation party, I went out on a limb and kissed him. When our lips met, every nerve ending in my body fired at once. Embers of lust burned deep inside me. I’d never felt anything like that before. The thought of being intimate with someone made me want to run to the nearest convent. But not with Griffin. When our bodies connected, I felt whole and alive in a way I’d never felt before.

  Then he’d done what I’d least expected…he’d pushed me away. I’d searched his face for an explanation. He, more than anyone, knew what it had taken for me to put myself out there, and he’d pushed me away. Touting some bullshit about our timing being all wrong, that a long distance relationship wouldn’t work, he insisted that I was nothing more than his friend. His reject
ion hurt worse than any of the cuts I’d inflicted upon myself in past years. But, he was my best friend; I needed him far too much to have our relationship end badly and lose him forever. Regardless of his excuses, in retrospect, I was glad I wouldn’t fall victim to his usual love-’em-and-leave-’em pattern. Griffin was never with one girl for more than a couple of months; then he was on to the next. That would have killed me. So I picked up what was left of my pride, buried my feelings, and vowed not to blur the lines of our friendship again.

  Climbing the steps to the porch, I looked back at him before going into the house. Griffin had gone to work wheeling his bike onto the trailer. His biceps strained beneath the plain white tee he wore. I bit my bottom lip and cursed. “Damn it, Jillian. Stop torturing yourself.” Groaning, I reached for the doorknob.

  “Hey, Jennifer, we’re leaving,” I said, grabbing my car keys from the island in the middle of the kitchen. She sat at the kitchen table poring over cookbooks that helped her sneak vegetables into the twins’ meals. Poor boys, they didn’t stand a chance. Jennifer fought dirty…she always had.

  “It’s about time.” She turned the page of her cookbook, not even bothering to lift her eyes from the page.

  “What? No good-bye? This is it, the day you’ve been waiting for since I moved in. I thought you’d be at the door cheering.”

  Usually I was more reserved with my comments, but today I felt brave. Maybe moving to Rhode Island and going to design school gave me the extra backbone I’d lacked for the last twelve years. Or maybe it was just the fact that I didn’t have to face her any longer. By the look on Jennifer’s face, my mouthy comments surprised her as well. She stood up from the table, tucked a piece of her shoulder-length blond hair behind her ear, and took a small step in my direction. Her mannerisms and the way she carried herself sparked a memory of my mother. As Jennifer got older, that happened more often, and a pang of sadness clenched my heart. Where I’d gotten Dad’s lighter hair and pale complexion, Jennifer had Mom’s coloring: dark blond hair, olive skin. But neither of us had got Mom’s gorgeous blue eyes. The twins ended up with those.