10. Elora
10
ELORA
41.7726° N, 124.0994° W
B linking my eyes open when the van begins to slow, I catch a glimpse of a sign out the window as we pass it, but I’m not fast enough to read what it says before it’s out of sight.
Sitting up, I look over at Roman, who has been driving since we left the auto shop in Cannon Beach over seven hours ago. Even when we stopped to get gas twice, he refused to let me drive. Not that I put up much of a fight. It’s been nice not having to worry about the giant semis, traffic, and all the things that come along with being the one behind the wheel.
With him driving, it also gave me time to go over the contract Kandi sent over. When I saw the offer amount written out in black and white, that wave of relief I was missing earlier came at me in full force. I didn’t realize the enormity of the weight I had been carrying around until I saw it would be possible for me to pay off my mom’s bills and figure out what’s next for my own future. A scary thought, considering that, when the deal is done, I won’t have a home to go back to, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
“Where are we?” I ask when I realize there isn’t a gas station up ahead.
“The Grove of Titans,” Roman says, glancing over at me. “I did a little research this morning while I was waiting for my ride back to the hotel. I figured we could stop here and stretch our legs, then head on to the campsite that is about an hour further.”
“You researched it?” I watch as he drives into a parking area surrounded by trees, where there are at least a dozen cars parked.
“It came up in a Google search as one of the top ten places to see the redwoods, and the trail is only a little over an hour walk roundtrip.”
“Cool.” I hide my smile that says the fact that he did research is cute. “I need to change into my sneakers.” I unbuckle and climb between the seats into the back. Going to the box I placed in one of the cabinets, I take out a single small bottle of my mom’s ashes and tuck it into my pocket just in case this place feels like the right spot. When I’m done, I grab my sneakers and sit on the plywood floor between the front seats and the bed. While I’m tying my shoes, the back door opens, and Roman reaches in next to me, grabbing his backpack and putting two bottles of water into the front pocket.
“Ready?”
“Yep.” I nod, and he reaches for my hand and helps me out. I dust off my bottom once I’m standing on my feet.
“Do you want a sweater?”
“I’m okay.” The look he gives me makes it obvious he’s not happy with my decision, and I sigh. Turning, I grab the flannel shirt I tossed into the back this morning. I don’t put it on since it’s too warm out. Instead, I tie it around my waist.
Obviously satisfied now, he shuts the back door, then places his hand against my lower back, leading me toward the head of the trail at the edge of the lot.
Before we even reach the inner forest, I’m overwhelmed by the sheer height and size of the trees. Oregon was covered in thick forests, and as we drove today, all I saw were tree-covered hills and mountains, but this is different. I stop to tip my head back and look up. The trees are so tall they feel like skyscrapers looming over us.
“Is this how it feels when you’re walking down the street in New York?” I ask quietly, glancing at my side.
“Maybe,” he says just as quietly, tipping his head back. “I’ve lived there so long I never look up.” He drops his eyes to mine and holds his hand out to me. “Come on.”
I don’t hesitate to place my hand in his, and the two of us walk side by side down a metal-grate-covered path into the forest. With the sun just a couple of hours from setting, the dimming light casts a golden glow through the canopy of trees, making everything seem like it’s sparkling. I’ve never felt so absolutely in awe in my life.
We walk in silence, taking everything in, from the moss-covered forest floor to the wild ferns that seem to be growing everywhere. It feels like we’ve entered some mythical realm where magical creatures and fantastical beings could be just around the corner.
As we walk, silence settles between us. It’s peaceful, with a quiet hum of contentment floating through the air. The farther we get along the trail, the cooler it gets, so I take my hand from his and put on the flannel, leaving it unbuttoned. He doesn’t say a word, but I don’t miss his smirk.
Going up stairs and down some, we walk deeper into the forest, passing tree after tree, each seeming bigger than the last, until we get to a tree that is so huge I have no possible way to describe it with words. And as a human, I have never felt more insignificant or so small. Walking over to a sign on a raised placard close to the edge of the grate, I read about the Lost Monarch that is over fifteen hundred years old.
“When this tree started growing, we as humans probably still thought the earth was flat,” I whisper to Roman because talking too loud seems disrespectful. Like instead of standing in the middle of the forest, we’re in a church or a library, where people are attempting to gain some kind of knowledge for the greater good of humanity.
“Imagine what we’ll find out in another fifteen hundred years,” he says quietly, letting go of my hand and wrapping his arm around me as we both look up.
“We’ll probably be populating Mars by that time, and Earth will be a summer destination for the rich and famous,” I mumble, and he laughs, the sound wrapping tight around my insides.
“Probably.”
Smiling, I look up at him. “Should we go before it gets dark?”
“Yeah.” He gives my waist a squeeze, then dips his face closer to mine, so even with the trees above us, he’s all I see. “This isn’t the spot?”
Darn. Somehow, he knew I brought my mom’s ashes with us. I shake my head, and his face softens before he turns us and leads us back the way we came.
When we reach the van, I put the small bottle back into the box with the others and get into the passenger seat without bothering to ask Roman if he wants me to take over.
The drive to the campsite I found online is a little over an hour with traffic, and when we arrive, Roman parks at the guest check-in. The two of us get out and walk toward what looks like a small cabin. He opens the door, and I enter before him. It smells like dust and damp wood inside, but something about it is almost nostalgic.
“Hi, how can I help you two?” an older woman with long gray hair pushed back away from her face with a bright pink headband greets us with a warm smile.
“We’d like a campsite for the night,” I tell her as we walk toward the desk.
“Did you book online?”
“No.”
She cringes. “I’m sorry. All of our sites are booked.”
My heart plummets to my stomach. “Really?”
“This is our busiest time of year. I’m so sorry.”
“Do you know of another place that’s close that might have a spot available?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. I wish I did.”
“What about a cabin?” Roman asks, picking up one of the brochures from the counter. “Do you have any of those available?”
“Only one. It’s the honeymoon cabin.”
“We’ll take it.”
“Great.” Her smile is wide.
“Roman,” I murmur, but he ignores me.
“Do you know of a place we can get something to eat?” he asks.
“We just started something new a couple of days ago,” she says, sounding excited. “They’re uncooked meals in a bag. We have dinner and breakfast options, and you just choose what you want from the list.” She passes over a piece of laminated paper to him, and he hands it to me.
“You choose.”
“How much is the cabin?” I ask, not looking at the menu I’m now holding.
“It’s just $627 a night with tax.”
“ Just ?”
“It’s our best cabin,” She defends.
For over six hundred dollars, it better be.
Roman takes the paper from me. “We’ll take the chicken and vegetable kabobs for dinner and the omelet breakfast for two,” he tells her.
“Roman, I can’t afford six hundred dollars for one night,” I whisper, glancing at the woman out of the corner of my eye as my cheeks burn.
“I’ve got it.”
“Roman.”
“Elora.” His hand comes up to the side of my neck. “It’s fine. We need a place to sleep. We can call around tomorrow and see if somewhere else is available.”
“Okay,” I give in, and he squeezes my neck before he drops his hand and takes out his credit card, passing it over.
When she’s done checking us in and has given us the key, she disappears into the back of the office and comes out a few minutes later with a large paper bag, passing it over to Roman.
“You two are all set. Have a wonderful night.”
“Thanks.” I force a smile and follow Roman back to my van.
It takes us a few minutes to find the secluded cabin by a small lake surrounded by trees. As Roman parks, all I can think about is how beautiful it is. The location is stunning, especially with the sky overhead, now a mixture of pinks and purples reflecting off the small body of water.
Roman gets out before me, but I’ve only just gotten my door open by the time he gets around to my side since I’m still staring in awe at our view for the night. The two of us walk up the four steps to the front porch, and I take the key from him since his hands are full. As soon as I push inside, I fight the urge to laugh. It looks like Cupid puked on every single surface. Hearts are everywhere, from the curtains to the rug on the floor. Even the hot tub sitting almost in the middle of the room is red and shaped like a heart.
“I guess I understand now why they call this the honeymoon cabin,” Roman mutters, going to the kitchen and placing the bag on the counter.
I go to the TV, grab the remote stuck to the side, and turn it on. The moment I do, the sounds of people having sex fills the room. It’s so loud I’m sure it could be heard from miles away. Panicked, I try to change the channel, but all that comes on is a different porno, this one raunchier than the last. Seriously.
“Let me see!” Roman shouts, and I toss him the remote like it’s on fire.
He points it toward the TV, and the sound cuts off, but my heart still pounds frantically.
“Oh my God.” I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the TV in horror. “What was that?”
“Porn.”
“Thanks.” I laugh and fall to my back, my eyes widening when I see the mirrors on the ceiling.
“They really went all out with this place.” I meet Roman’s gaze in the mirror and start to giggle uncontrollably. “Come on.” He chuckles, stepping toward the bed, grabbing my hand, and pulling me up. “Let’s figure out how to cook dinner. I’m starving.”
“I think I saw a grill on the front porch. We should use it.”
“How do you do that?” he asks, and I give him a double take.
“Are you serious?”
“I live in Manhattan.” His face says “duh” without having to verbalize anything.
Of course. I don’t know much about living in Manhattan, but I imagine outdoor space is probably limited, so a barbecue is a luxury most people don’t have at their disposal. I walk out the front door, and he follows me over to the grill. When I open the lid, I find it’s actually propane, so I turn it on to let it heat.
“It’s beautiful out here.” I step to the edge of the porch and rest my weight against the railing.
“It is.” He leans against the railing next to me. “But it’s too quiet.”
“I can turn on the TV if you want.” I grin, and I watch him laugh, the sound of it wrapping around my insides, making me warm once again. “You don’t like the quiet?” I ask when his laughter has calmed.
“It’s difficult to get used to,” he replies softly, taking his eyes off the water to look at me. “But it’s becoming more bearable by the day.”
“Yeah,” I agree, but it has nothing to do with the quiet and everything to do with the pain that has consumed me for so long, seeming a little easier to deal with lately.