Chapter 52
CHAPTER
CHARLEY
The day after I broke out my storm theory, we were riding high. Noon brought a gate, a gorgeous single. Flashing fast and furious across the southern black field, Thad didn’t have a prayer of catching it, but it was there. And then it was gone.
And so the chase began.
We chased gates, and we chased noons, and the faster we ran, the faster time flew. Minutes drained like sand through a sieve, too many at once, too fast to stop. Each time I reached out to seize a moment, it was gone.
Day 331 turned into 332; 332 flew into 333. Sunrise, sunset—334, 335.
Three hundred forty.
Three hundred fifty.
Each dawn broke sooner than the last; each noon came faster still.
Stop! I wanted to shout. But we couldn’t stop the clock; we could only hope to beat it.
Time only slowed during that excruciatingly long moment when we grasped that noon had passed and Thad was still here.
That moment felt like an eternity, until a mix of guilt and regret and worry came to wash it away.
Then time sped right back up, like pressure made the minutes fall faster.
Trying to relax, I focused on the ocean. Usually the waves were a sure-fire cure, peaceful and rhythmic. But not tonight.
Camped on the north shore, nights here were unnerving, creepier than nights near the City. With clouds to the east blocking the stars, blackness saturated the night, the sky, even the sea. Right now, the invisible ocean crashed incessantly against the rocks, furious and impatient.
Blocking out the sea, I switched to my charts, mentally reviewing my latest notes. Using the storm theory, our gate sightings had definitely increased. But it still wasn’t enough. I knew it wasn’t enough, because Thad was still here.
He should already be gone.
Instead, he lay beside me, one arm slung across my waist, eyes closed, jaw relaxed. Sleep softened his ever-present intensity. For countless minutes, I watched him sleep, forcing the moment to slow, trying not to freak out.
He’d challenged me, weeks ago. If you really believe in us—that we’ll both make it—it doesn’t matter if we wait.
I hadn’t brought up making love again; neither had he. But I thought about his words, more often than he knew, because they went so much farther than just the physical. Wait to make love, wait to dream. Wait to plan. Wait to talk about the future, because lately it hurt too much.
He should already be gone.
The thought crept back in, persistent and disturbing.
What are you missing, Charley? Finding a gate was one thing; catching a gate was another thing altogether.
“We’re doing everything right, aren’t we?” I whispered. Silence answered me, punctuated by waves beating against the rocks, crashing like fear.
Aren’t we?