40. Bobcaygeon
CHAPTER FORTY
bobcaygeon
LOGAN
BLACKBURN FALLS, ONTARIO
PRESENT DAY
I don’t know what’s better: the enormous rushing waterfall illuminated by moonlight, or the sight of Abi’s frustrated half-smile as she tries with all of her might to rip the champagne cork out of the bottle.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for years, and the excitement that’s bubbling in the air is about as intoxicating as the booze she’s holding in her hands. It might be pre-emptive to celebrate, but if she gets this position, we could actually have a shot at being… us. If she still wants to, at least.
The champagne foams over the lip of the bottle as she finally wrenches the cork out, and she squeals with laughter, at first unsure what to do before trying to cut off the flow with her mouth. It starts to dribble down her chin which makes her laugh even harder.
I can’t help myself, slipping out my phone to snap a picture of her.
“Logan!” She yelps, tearing her mouth away as the champagne flow begins to slow. “You can’t just whip out a camera whenever you want!”
I chuckle, making the picture my wallpaper before flashing the screen at her.
“I’ve just never seen someone try to shotgun a bottle of champagne before, is all. Anyways, you’re immortalized now, no take backs.”
She sticks out her tongue, pouring me a drink.
“I hope yours has extra spit in it.”
“I licked your asshole less than an hour ago, Shortcake. This does not faze me.”
I raise my cup to the sky.
“Cheers to butt stuff!”
“And to job interviews!” Abi laughs. “But the butt stuff is probably more important.”
We clink glasses and each take a sip, the roaring waterfall in front of us providing a beautiful accompaniment to the excitement already lingering in the air.
Abi stretches her legs out, kicking off her shoes and pulling her phone from her pocket as she starts to scroll through her Spotify. I always loved her taste, mostly because it's so different from mine, but not in a way that makes my ears want to turn in on themselves. I’ve always been more into 80s pop, classical, jazz and even those pre-bottled Halloween soundtracks. I don’t tend to listen to a ton of ‘new’ stuff; maybe it’s my age, or maybe I’m just stuck in my ways, but it’s usually a struggle to get me onto something that came out anytime after the mid-90s.
Abi’s tastes forced me to branch out, and I’ve always loved that about her.
“When I was a kid, I used to come out here and listen to The Tragically Hip. I don’t know why, but this place just kinda feels like their music.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.”
“Makes sense, they’re more of a Canadian thing. I think you’ll like them. It’s what I listen to whenever I miss home.”
The first thing I’m hit with is the sound of a soft acoustic guitar and the near-instantaneous feeling of comfort that comes along with it, maintained even after the other instruments come in and the music begins to build.
Even though I’m sure this band’s not some hidden gem, it still feels like something she’s kept all to herself. It makes me want to know what else I’ve never seen; I want her secrets, all the things she wants to say but never does… I just know they’ll make me love her even more.
“So, the lead singer for the Tragically Hip was Gord Downie. Dude was the Canadian poet. He wrote a lot about our history, even the dark parts that very few public facing personalities wanted to acknowledge, let alone put down on paper. I always liked that.”
“You said he was? ” I ask.
“Yeah, he died in 2017. Brain cancer.”
I can feel my body tense a little, and Abi clearly notices, giving me a sad smile and resting her hand on my knee.
“The band did a huge goodbye concert. It was in Kingston, not too far from here. I went with my mom and we bawled our eyes out.”
Tears gather in my eyes and I blink them away. His voice is powerful, but with a slightly haunting quality to it that makes me miss those summer nights, sitting out with my dad on the patio and counting the stars.
“What’s this song called?”
“Bobcaygeon,” she whispers.
“Bobwhat?” I ask, suddenly incredulous in the face of such a strange sounding name. “Who’s Bob and why’s he in a cage?”
“Bobcaygeon,” she laughs. “It’s a little town in Ontario. Also happens to be one of my favorite Hip songs.”
“Well, I can see why.”
She leans up against me, gazing up at the stars with a venerable smile, like she’s thanking the universe for something. Sometimes being around Abi makes me feel like I’m experiencing turbulence despite being on the ground, and other times it’s like this: calm and tranquil flying.
“So, when’s the interview?” I ask, only willing to let the silence sit for so long.
“Friday at 3:00. I already put it in my calendar.”
“It’s gonna suck not having you in the same department anymore. No more meeting shenanigans. Maybe we can create interdepartmental shenanigans instead!”
“Well, I’ll probably have to avoid causing some sort of inter-faculty war for at least a couple months in my new role, so you’ll have to give me the lowdown via text. That is if I even get it.”
“You’ll get it.”
“It’s just an interview, and even if I’m one of the only candidates it could take months to get hired.”
“You know, after my dad died, I was so pessimistic.”
“You?” She laughs. “Pessimistic? That seems far-fetched.”
She didn’t know me back then. I think if she had, we might not have hit it off the way we did, and she definitely wouldn’t have landed on ‘Sunshine’ for my nickname either way. The optimism and faith I have now was reasonably hard-won, and sometimes I think I use my joy as a shield.
If I can radiate warmth, nothing bad can touch me again.
“There was a while in my life when I felt hopeless, and I was anxious all the time. It felt like nobody cared about my grief. The people I thought were my friends didn’t show up for me when I needed them. The silence was devastating, and it made me so fucking bitter . I was just carting this resentment around and it was bleeding into my grief. On some level I knew it was my responsibility to dig myself out of that pit, but I didn’t know how. Then, one weekend I was in Vegas for this conference and I walked by this little psychic?—”
“You? Went to a psychic?” She laughs. “Okay, now you’re just spinning yarn.”
“I think that’s spinning a yarn, Shortcake.”
She frowns.
“Why would it be singular?”
“It’s a nautical idiom. When sailors would have to repair rope, they’d tell each other really long stories to pass the time. Hence, spinning a yarn.”
“That would be spinning a rope?—”
“Can I just tell the story?” I laugh. “And I promise, this is anything but a yarn.”
“Okay, okay,” she chuckles. “Full steam ahead, aye aye Captain, or whatever the sailors say.”
I snort into my cup, doing my best not to burst into laughter.
I’ve never told anyone this story other than Imogen, who immediately pulled out four different decks of Tarot cards and asked me why I’d never gotten a reading from her. I quickly reminded her that she picked up that hobby for all of two weeks before giving up. She didn’t take too kindly to that.
“So I walk in to see this psychic, and I end up getting a card reading. I don’t know if it was the free mimosas I had at the casino beforehand that made me kind of loopy, but I went in with a completely open mind. She hit on everything: Dad’s death, my sabbatical, and my growing depression and pessimism. It was all laid out in front of me; everything I’d been running from was shoved in my face.” I shake my head, my stomach replicating the same discomfort I felt that night sitting across from The Great Madame Mavis. “I wanted to get up, tell her she was a great psychic, and that I didn’t need to hear any more.”
“Did you?”
“No. Crazily enough, I stayed.”
Abi grins, nudging me with her elbow.
“Of course you did, because you’re a nice person.”
“Sometimes,” I laugh. “But then she told me I needed to take more risks, and that our mindsets shape our view of the world around us. Even the things that happen to us. She said I needed to confront the universe and say, ‘Show me how good it gets.’ I’ll admit, I thought it was pretty stupid, but when I got back to the hotel I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, I went out on the balcony and yelled it out, real loud, right into the night sky. I felt like a total idiot, but pretty soon I was saying it every day. I hate to admit it, but she was right. I felt better, and once I really started embracing it, things shifted.”
“What do you mean shifted?” Abi asks, on the edge of her seat.
“I felt that spark for life again. I found a new research topic almost immediately, and dove in with both feet… and more importantly, I wound up at a shitty nightclub in Toronto and spilled a drink on a beautiful woman. Before that, my grief felt like some sort of freezing-cold straight jacket, wrapping me up endlessly, with no way out. The experience helped me reach for that hope, and made me realize it’s always there, you just have to manage to keep hold of it.”
“Kind of like Dorothy’s ruby slippers. You know, when she has the power inside of her the whole time or something?”
“You might be onto something with that.”
“I usually am. As you know, I’m very smart.”
She smiles, seemingly content, but it only takes staring at the waterfall for a few minutes for that familiar forlorn expression to reach across her face, and I feel like I’m losing her all over again.
Seeing her this anxious breaks my heart.
She needs a win, because right now, the only other concrete thing she has left to bank on is the upcoming budget meeting, and I don’t think that’s going to swing in her favor. As hopeful as I am, I also know when things are taking a turn, and lately our department’s been looking to make any cuts they can. Contract workers like Abi tend to be the first ones on the chopping block when times are tough.
So I pull myself up off the ground, and hold out my hand.
“Come on. On your feet.”
“What? Logan, no! I like sitting, sitting is good!”
“It’ll only be for a second.”
Abi laughs, letting out a pathetic little whine and playing up her resistance.
“Just trust me?” I ask, doing that puppy dog thing with my eyes.
Is it manipulative? Yes.
But will I stop?
Would you ask a master painter to stop painting? Of course not.
Abi groans, rolling her eyes dramatically as she lets me haul her to her feet.
“Okay, what are we doing?”
I breathe in the night air, the smell of dirt and soil that’s pungent and sweet, mixed with the mist from the fresh rushing water. It really is stunning out here when you take the time to appreciate it.
“We’re going to ask the universe to show us how good it gets.”
She does that little scowl that always makes me laugh, looking like an angry little kitten; it’s the cutest damn thing in the world.
“Come on! I know it feels dumb, but I promise, it’ll change your life.”
“Will I have to pay you a hundred dollars too?”
“Actually, I think that reading was more like $250, so…”
“Logan!” She whacks me on the arm, trying to look annoyed but laughing through it. “That’s a terrible financial decision!”
“What?! I was in a vulnerable place and my credit card had a lot of room on it!” I yelp, grabbing her hand. I can feel the amethyst from her engagement ring dig into my finger and I smile. “We’ll yell it together. Are you ready?”
She sighs, dragging in a breath, almost like she’s steeling herself for battle. I think Abi is a hell of a lot like me, using her sunny nature to hide her anxiety, and how much pain she’s still carrying with her even now. Like me, joy is her shield, but I know how exhausting that can get. She doesn’t have to keep it up, not here, not with me. I want all of it, the tears, the anger, the bad days along with the good. I don’t love her despite it all…
“I’m ready,” she breathes.
I love her because of it.
“Okay. On three. One… two… three! Show me how good it gets!” I bellow, lifting our linked arms toward the empty sky.
I have a picture in my mind, a picture of us. We’re sitting in the backyard on a Sunday morning, drinking coffee and reading the paper together. Then we’re off to a pumpkin patch, laughing at kids when they try to climb around on everything and fall on their asses.
Decorating the house for Halloween.
Christmas.
Painting the walls of a nursery.
But here and now, Abi is silent, standing next to me with that pained expression I know so well.
I nudge her gently, getting right up into her face.
“Abi you have to say it.”
“Showmehowgooditgets,” She mumbles. “Okay are we good? Can we sit now?”
“You have to say it and mean it!”
That only earns me another eye roll.
“Fine, but if I do this, you have to do my thing afterward.”
“What’s your thing?”
“I’m not telling you until you agree to it,” she replies, a bit of that devilish sparkle returning to her eyes.
I fucking love it when she gets that sparkle.
“Fine. But remember, it only counts if you scream it and you mean it.”
“Okay.” She shakes her body out like she’s getting ready for an Olympic event, taking a big breath before staring up at the sky. “Show me how good it gets!”
It’s barely a shout, and it doesn’t even come close to a scream.
“Nope,” I laugh. “Do it again. You have to mean it !”
“Logan, this is?—”
I grab her face, pressing my lips to hers, and she bursts into giggles after a moment of shock.
“Are you kissing me to shut me up?”
I pull back, feigning my own shock as I put a hand on my chest.
“Me? I would never .”
Abi gives me a gentle shove before clapping her hands together, and bouncing from one foot to the other like a boxer before a big fight. I wonder why this is so hard for her. I expected her to take to it like a duck to water.
Or a Canadian to ice hockey.
“Okay.” She turns to me with her shoulders pinned back and a bright smile. “I’ll mean it this time.”
The water roars on ahead as Abi holds both arms out to her sides, screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Show me how fucking good it gets! Come on, you fucker! Show me!”
“That’s great, Abi, but I’m not sure if you’re supposed to threaten the universe.”
“Hey, don’t tell me how to manifest!” She retorts, thrusting out a finger and poking me in the chest.
I raise my arms in mock-defense.
“Alright, alright. Just don’t hurt me!”
“Okay, but how was it?” She asks. “Did I do good?”
I pull her in close, kissing her softly on the cheek.
“You did great .”
Abi grins, rubbing her nose against mine.
“Okay, awesome, my thing now?”
“What’s your?—”
I can’t even finish the sentence before she’s slipping off her shirt and sliding her shorts down past her hips. I drink her in as she kicks them aside, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight.
“You like skinny-dipping, Sunshine?”
“I might make a habit of it if you can guarantee a view like this.”
I can’t get out of my clothes fast enough, nearly tripping over my pants as I rip them off, leaving everything in a chaotic pile on a rock. Abi doesn’t even wait for me, taking a running start and leaping into the water with total abandon; I fall in behind her with a big clumsy splash. It’s cold, but luckily not so cold that it’s a true shock to my system.
When we make it up for air, she whips her hair back, letting out a loud laugh before she starts splashing me.
“What the hell, King?!”
She cackles, swimming away without a word. Abi’s a good swimmer, and fast, too, speeding toward the waterfall much more quickly than I can manage myself. I haven’t done this in years, and within seconds my arms and legs are burning, but as she slows to a casual pace I manage to just barely creep up on her, reaching out and grabbing her ankle to drag her back toward me.
“You can’t escape!” I bellow, wrapping her in a big bear hug.
She laughs until she’s breathless, eventually going limp in my arms as she gazes up at the sky.
“Do you think I’ll get this job?”
I can’t tell if she’s asking me or the stars, but either way the answer is automatic. This is the closest we’ve ever been to something real, and I refuse to let a single negative thought enter my head right now.
“Yes. There’s not a doubt in my mind.”
Show me how good it gets.