I watch two young girls swing on a swing set and when they hit the highest point, where it looks like they could fly off into the sky, I snap a picture.
I notice a young woman and her son in another corner of the park. She’s picking some of the wild daises that grow in the grass. She carries a handful and wraps one in her hair. She wears a long peasant dress over baggy jeans and her hair is tied back in a loose braid. I take her picture. Her little boy is running through the tall grass in nothing but his diaper, which is sagging halfway down his butt. He laughs as the breeze tickles his skin. I smile and when he turns to run back to his mother. I catch his leaping prance on film.
As I circle the park, the last thing I notice is an empty wooden park bench. A colorful mural is painted over it, a sky with clouds and a meadow of flowers. There are words painted on the bench in black letters that say, “Reserved for Dreamers.” I stare down at the words and take a picture.
I finish up my roll of black and white film at this perfect park, with the perfect name. In that short amount of time, something is liberated. Something shifts. I’m me again, reintroduced, seeing people, forgetting myself, loving the moment, and living the moment, carefree.
I walk to the Desert Gallery, but it’s closed so I leave my letter in a plastic bag and hang the bag on the doorknob. I also leave the black and white roll of film I took today, scribbling a note telling them to do whatever they want with the pictures. I write the name of this particular collection: At Our Best.
I hail a cab, but before I get in, I take one last look at the gallery, where a few of my prints still hang in the window display. I think about the day Gray brought me here, helped to show me my potential. I think about our kiss. I look at my roll of film, hanging in the plastic bag. I almost let this city trap me. I was settling to feel safe, to avoid taking a risk. This is dangerous because fear stunts your soul. And I’d much rather grow.
While the taxi creeps away from Albuquerque, I pull out a piece of paper Mary gave me, with the travel photographer’s number. I starting dialing the digits and with each number I press, I feel lighter. I feel excited again—thrilled to be moving.
Maybe, I think, just maybe this is me, at my best.
Maybe Gray did me the biggest favor of all.
Maybe it’s not the doors that open in our lives, but the doors that close that define us. That guide us. Because they force us to move on. Instead of thinking about what we lose, look at what we can gain. I know Gray closed this door to force me to open up all the other ones inside of me. Outside of me. Around me. And now I’m stepping through.
GRAY
I throw a black suitcase in my trunk and slam the door closed. Lenny’s smoking on the porch steps, watching me. Miles, Bubba and Todd have already left town for summer league teams all over the country. I’m playing in Nebraska.
I’m looking forward to a change of scenery. To the hot summer nights. To a field where I can control my actions everyday, where I can mentally escape. And to days where all that’s expected of me is sleeping in and lifting weights. I know some guys on the team—I played against them this year—and a few of us are renting a house for the summer, downtown, close to the University. I know there will be parties and late nights and girls and memories to make. But I don’t care about all that. I’m just ready for a long distraction.
Lenny jumps down from the steps when she sees I’m ready to go. She’s wearing my Spinal Tap shirt, just to annoy me.
“When do you start classes?” I ask her. Her face lightens up and she tells me one week. I tell her she’s the only person I’ve ever met who’s excited about summer school. She just found out she’s a finalist for a full scholarship and as long as her references follow through, she’s in.
“You’ll be busy,” I say. She nods and even though we’re not sentimental, I scoop her up in my arms and give her a hug. I pick her up off the ground because she’s a good foot shorter than me. When I set her down there’s something serious in her eyes.
“Don’t lecture me on staying clean this summer,” I say. “What happens in Nebraska stays in Nebraska.”
“I’m the last person to lecture you,” she says. “Besides, I still argue smoking pot makes you live longer.” She takes something out of her back pocket. At first I think she’s actually giving me weed, but it’s an envelope, folded in half. She opens it and I see my name spelled out in unmistakable handwriting. I wrinkle my forehead and Lenny extends it to me.
“I wasn’t sure if you were ready, that’s why I waited to give it to you.”
I stare down at it, but I don’t take it. Lenny and I haven’t talked about Dylan since the day I told her we broke up.
“When did she give it to you?” I ask. Lenny tells me Dylan stopped in the day she left. She tells me she wrote a few letters and asked Lenny to hand them out to people, since she was leaving town too fast to say goodbye.
She holds the envelope between us and I feel like so much of my life is folded up inside that stupid piece of paper. She’s holding a slice of my heart there, a secret, a story. The greatest story I’ve ever experienced. I don’t want to read it. I want to burn it. But, I grab it out of her hand.
“Thanks,” I say. Lenny watches me shove it in my back pocket.
“Aren’t you going to read it?” she asks.
I shrug and open my car door.
“It might give you some closure,” she says.
I smirk. Closure. That’s probably the most unrealistic word in the English vocabulary. It’s up there with heartbreak, pain, loss, and abandonment, all these things that you’re supposed to get over and mend and heal but really, do you ever get over those moments?
Do you ever forget your first love? So much stems from there, and your life will always be connected back to that person. The faintest trail of memories will always be there, like a map scarred into your mind.
I tell Lenny goodbye, get into my car, and start the engine. I slide a mix I made for the drive into the stereo. As I merge on the freeway, the envelope feels like a rock in my back pocket, so I pull it out. I roll down my window and I’m about to fling it out, but I stop. I tear through the paper and open up the folded note. There are only a few sentences written in her sloppy writing that I swear looks tear-stained and it makes my heart pinch in my chest to see it. I glance down quickly and read the writing as fast as I can to get it over with.
Dear Gray,
I understand. You were right. I need to keep moving. Thank you for loving me enough to help me realize it. You’ll always make me shine.
I hope you find your constant sun.
Love always,
Dylan
I take a deep breath and hold the letter between my fingers. Dylan will always be this butterfly in my eyes. Something beautiful I held long enough to be spellbound with what exists in the world. But the problem with butterflies is they flutter off, and you spend the rest of your time running and jumping after them and making an idiot out of yourself trying to catch them, only to come up empty handed and looking like a fool in the process. The point of it all is, they aren’t meant to be caught, and you would feel guilty trying to contain them. They’ll wither in your hands and suddenly you realize they’re beautiful because they’re free. They’re meant to be wild. Unattainable. Like they belong in a fairytale.
I stare out at the sunny horizon. And I’m surprised because I’m waiting for tears or pain in my chest but, instead, something heavy is lifting. It isn’t quite closure, but Lenny was right, I do feel better. I’m relieved Dylan understood so quickly. That she forgives me. In a way, this sets me free. So I throw the white piece of paper out of my car window and it sails like a bird into the wind.
In the very back of my mind, there’s a tiny sliver of hope. Maybe we’ll meet again someday. Maybe Dylan’s been right all along. We can’t force it. We need to leave this one to fate.
I turn up my stereo to Bob Dylan singing, Don’t Think Twice. The lyrics sum up my life. Like magic. The harmonica wails and I foc
us my eyes ahead and set my destination on the horizon, and, always, on the forever glowing desert sun.
Readers:
Do you want Gray and Dylan’s story to continue? Well good news, there’s more to come!
Be sure to read the first book in the series, First Comes Love, and keep your eye out for the third and final book in the Gray and Dylan saga, titled Finally, Forever. Release date information will be posted on Katie’s website. www.katiekacvinsky.com
Acknowledgements:
Thanks to my agent, Helen Breitwieser. You are my compass. Thanks for loving this book and helping to steer it into publication. Thanks to my amazing content editor (and sister), Sarah Moeser. I had a blast working with you on this manuscript. When we weren’t exchanging movie and music recommendations (or obsessing over how much we both loved Magic Mike), we were talking about Second Chance. Thanks to Jennie Bartlemay for being a copy editing wizard (yes, she is seriously part wizard). I also need to thank Julia Richardson, my editor from Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. She read this manuscript and made some wonderful suggestions that helped shape the story. Thanks to Graham for getting me outside every day, to Kaleb for reminding me what is most important, and to Adam, for making this all possible.
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