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My experience when traveling with women is that they spread. And they keep spreading until everywhere I look there’s something of theirs. Not that there have been many over the last few years. But Lorelai didn’t even have to pack because she stayed packed the whole time we were here. I don’t even remember seeing her toothbrush left on the sink.
My heart wrenches when I wonder if she’s always had to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. I wonder what happened to her between the stories she told with a slight self-deprecating amusement. I want to scoop up that little girl she talked about and make her feel safe, which completely doesn’t jive with the way I feel about her movie star smile and very grown-up body.
I load the suitcases into the back of the truck and go to get Lorelai’s pack, but she’s already pulled it onto her shoulders. I grab my navy beanie from the peg by the door and pull it over her head until it covers the tips of her ears. The blue enhances that darker rim surrounding her silver eyes until all I see is a pool of blue to drown in. She swallows, and I shake off the feeling and move to lock up the cabin.
Rusty follows Lorelai so closely I think she may have to push him out of her way, and he jumps up in the cab of the truck after she sets her pack on the floorboard. “Rusty, get down,” I tell him. He whines and sits firmly down in the middle of the bench seat.
Lorelai looks from him to me not knowing what to do. “I’ll take him to the office when I drop off the keys,” I shrug. She climbs up beside him and I shut the door and head to the driver’s side.
The trip to town is short, and neither of us says anything. I realize I don’t know anything about where she lives. I’m about to ask when she directs me to take a left at a stop sign and then to pull over in front of the local bus station. “Where are you headed?” I ask.
She’s already opening the door and sliding out, shrugging on her pack. She shrugs. “I’m not sure yet.” She pauses with the door half closed and looks back at me. “Thank you, James.” she says. “For saving me.”
Then she’s gone.
I sit for several seconds fighting the urge to go after her. Rusty whines and it startles me. He's leaning on the window, looking one way then the other. He paws at the door. “Yeah, buddy. Me, too.” I say and steer the truck back onto the road.
At the rental office, Rusty follows me in, and I hand over the keys. Sharon talks about how late in the season this unexpected storm was. She tells me about a kid who had pushed his way into town about the time it hit, frantic about a girl who had fallen next to the river. The police had searched the area he indicated and didn’t find anyone.
“That must be Lorelai,” and I tell Sharon about Rusty leading me to her and that she’d stayed with me in the cabin during the storm. I realize I don’t know her last name. We didn’t even exchange numbers. I ask about the young man, thinking he could give me her contact info, but Sharon says he had just picked her up before driving through the night and didn’t know anything about her.
She walks me to the door. “I’ll see you next year for sure,” I tell her.
“Hopefully, the weather will be clear, and you can get in some fishing!” She holds Rusty’s collar to keep him from heading out the door with me, and I give him another scratch before I leave.
I drive the few hours home without even turning on the radio. Scenes of Lorelai re-play in my mind and I feel a kind of melancholy settle over me.
Chapter 15
~~ Lorelai ~~
I’m standing in front of the route display at the station. Normally this is fun for me. Choosing for myself where I want to go next has been empowering this last year. My therapist has been happy with the confidence I’m gaining in making decisions for myself, even though she feels I’m taking too many risks in the way I’ve been traveling.
I had started to head west but found the ocean air called me back. So I’d followed the coast up. The colder it had gotten, the clearer my head was of the static and fear. So I kept heading north.
I know I'm going to have to go back to Miami at some point to take care of my grandmother’s estate, but her grouch of an attorney had reluctantly hired a service to keep it from falling into disrepair while I made up my mind what I wanted to do. I spent so little time there after she tracked me down that it doesn’t feel like home.
I find myself thinking about the childhood James had described and the longing I’d felt when he was telling stories about his colleagues and friends. Those are the kind of people I want to meet, the kind of neighbors I want to have.
Before I can change my mind, I approach the desk and pull out the shiny black credit card I’m still not used to using. I buy a ticket to Bearberry Bay.
With all the stops, I’ll get to my destination around dinner time. That won’t leave a lot of time to look around and find a place to stay, so I spend some of the driving time on my tablet looking for a motel. There is a cute bed and breakfast right in the middle of downtown, but they don’t have a vacancy tonight. I end up making a reservation at a motel by the interstate.
It’s far enough outside of town, I’ll need transportation. This doesn’t look like a town supporting ride services, although there is a city bus that makes a circuitous route. I consider renting a car but immediately dismiss that idea. I know I can afford it now, but the part of my brain shaped early by destitution won’t let me spend that kind of money on something I won’t ever own. There are two used car lots within walking distance of the motel, so I make a mental note to check them out after I get a good night’s sleep.
An incoming notification sends me to my email app to find my Educational Psychology professor following up with me on his offer to write a recommendation letter. I send back a grateful acceptance reply. I learned so much in his class about myself and how my early environment shaped my auto-responses. It was almost as helpful as therapy.
I go back to searching the town until I know the general layout of the streets by heart.
Chapter 16
~~ James ~~
I’ve already unpacked, started a load of laundry, and made a grocery order from Hannaford’s to be delivered in the morning. I called and talked to Emilie and Becca, both of whom I’ll pick up tomorrow, leaving Trev a week for himself. It's a good set up for us as single dads, and Trevor has become a good friend despite our angry beginnings.
I try to start the other thriller I hadn’t read at the cabin, but I can’t get settled even though I sit in my favorite chair in the game room. The reading lamp is at the perfect height, and the side table is close enough to hold a cup of tea or a beer within reach. A blanket is folded over the back in case it gets chilly. This is my perfect spot.
I reread the opening paragraph, wondering what’s wrong with me. Then I realize I’m listening for the soft rustle of Lorelai on the couch with Rusty at her side. I open my phone’s photo gallery and run my finger over the picture of Lorelai glancing up at me from the table. Her eyes are pure silver in this shot, but my mind fills in the blue rim, the taste of her peach-pink lips.
