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Sitting on the steps in front of the cabin while Roman is on the phone inside, I smile as I watch two birds fly over the water and dive-bomb each other. We are supposed to leave tomorrow morning, and even with Roman and me going out every day to take in the sites and explore the area, I still haven’t found the spot for my mom’s ashes. I think it’s because something keeps pulling me right back here. She would have loved this spot. She would have been out here every morning, just like me, drinking coffee and watching the deer, who show up at the same time each day to drink from the pond and eat the tall grass at the water’s edge.
It's picturesque, even with the storm clouds rolling in over the pond, washing away the pretty pinks and blues reflected in the mirrored surface and turning it gray.
With my mind made up, I stand and head inside to get the bottle of her ashes that has traveled everywhere with me for the past few days. The moment I push through the door, Roman’s eyes track my every move, and when he sees me grab the bottle from the table where I placed it after we got back this evening and put it in my pocket, I hear him tell whoever he’s talking to that he has to get off the call.
“Where are we going?” he asks, tossing his phone to the bed as he stands.
“You don’t have to go with me. I know you’re working.” I grab my flannel off the back of the chair and slip it on.
“Where are we going?” he repeats, putting on his sneakers, and I stop to focus on him.
“To the other side of the pond.”
“All right.” He grabs his sweatshirt and puts it on, then walks to the door and holds it open for me.
When we get down the front steps, he takes my hand, and the two of us head around the edge of the pond. It isn’t very big, but it’s still large enough to take us some time to get to the area I picked from the cabin steps. Thunder rumbles in the distance as we walk, but Roman doesn’t pick up his pace or suggest we turn back. He walks beside me, only stopping when I pull the bottle from my pocket. It starts to sprinkle when we reach the large tree near the water’s edge, and I squat down, placing the bottle aside. As I start to dig, he comes over to join me, his hands and mine working in unison to create a hole in the soft dirt at the base of the tree. Once it’s a few inches deep, I take the bottle and dump the contents into the hole, then cover the fine dust with a layer of dirt.
“She would have liked it here,” I tell the ground, and he covers my mud-covered hands with his as I start to cry. Grabbing my wrist when thunder rumbles overhead, he pulls me up to stand, then, in one quick motion, I’m in his arms. I cling to him, my tears mixing with the rain that begins to pour down on us as he carries me back to the cabin.
When we reach the covered porch, he sits on one of the two rockers, and I curl up on his lap as the rain beats against the tin roof. I don’t know how long we sit there, but the mud on my hands turns to dust, and the rain stops long before my tears dry up.
Exhausted emotionally, I lift my head from his chest where I had been listening to his heartbeat in an even tempo against my ear.
“Ready to go inside?” he asks, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear.
“Yeah,” I whisper, my throat raw from crying.
When we get into the cabin, I kick off my muddy shoes and he does the same before he leads me toward the bathroom. When we get inside the confined space, he flips on the sink and steps up behind me, circling me with his arms and taking my hands in his.
“Thank you.” I swallow down the tears building in the back of my throat as he washes the mud from our hands.
“For what?”
“For making this all bearable, for being here.”
“There is nowhere else I’d rather be, Elora.” His gaze meets mine in the mirror. “Not one fucking place.” With my chin wobbling, I nod and drop my eyes to his hands and mine.
When there isn’t a speck of dirt left on our hands, he urges me from the bathroom and passes me my pajamas out of my bag. I don’t bother going back to the bathroom to change. It seems pointless when he’s seen me at my most vulnerable. Turning my back to him, I get out of my damp clothes and put on my shorts and tank top. Once I’m dressed, I turn to face him, expecting to find him ready for bed. Instead, he has a sweatshirt on and one in his hand that he holds out to me.
“What are we doing?”
“Taking in the quiet one last time before we reach the noise of the city tomorrow.”
“I thought you didn’t like the quiet.” I let him help me put on his sweatshirt that is so big it reaches me mid-thigh.
“I don’t, but I think I might miss it when it’s gone.” He leads me to the front door and out to the deck. Walking to the steps, he sits on the top one, and I take a seat next to him. With the storm now gone and the moon nothing but a sliver in the sky, the stars seem abnormally bright.
“I never noticed the stars before leaving New York.”
“You didn’t?”
“I never took the time to look up.”
“I don’t think I did either, now that you say it.” I lean into his side, and he wraps his arm around me.
“I think we all take them for granted because there is no risk of them fading away before we have the time to look up and appreciate them. Unlike so many other things, we know they’re there and aren’t going anywhere.”
“Yeah.” I drag in a breath and rest my head on his shoulder. “But I think I’m going to stop to appreciate them a little more often.”
