Chapter 20 Memory Fishing #2
“That’s awfully convenient.” I go to climb, but stop, my hands wrapped tightly around the scratchy rope.
I speak over my shoulder at Harley. “What if someone is missing an arm or a leg. Would they not be able to climb? Or would their prosthetic count? Or would they be able to have two points of contact?”
Harley pauses, but not because my question caught him off guard, but because he’s actually giving the answer real thought. “I can’t say I’ve been here with an amputee to know the answer to that question.”
“Fair enough,” I say, and start to climb in earnest.
The ladder sways when Harley hops on behind me and starts climbing, but my hands and feet stay secured to the rope and rungs with ease. There’s a tingle on my palms, a faint brush of static, and I wonder if it’s magic that I’m feeling.
When we crest the top of the trees, my eyes go wide at the view: miles of foliage stretch out, cast in splotches of cloudy shadows and midday sunlight.
“Just wait until we get to the top!” Harley calls out.
“Where’s the top, again?” I toss down to him, a feeble second attempt to wring an answer from him.
His boisterous laugh careens on the wind, brushing my cheek with a cool kiss. “Impatience will get you nowhere, Alice.”
My grumble is muted by my smile as I continue to climb. We reach ridiculous heights, the once towering trees shrinking. Clouds circle us, and I pause to wave one hand through the airy wisps.
Soon enough, we break through the fog, and again, my eyes go wide.
“What the hell?” I whisper as I crawl through a hatch in a wooden landing.
Harley follows, promptly covering the hole we emerged from with a hinged metal door.
“Yeah, it’s pretty right?” he says, perching his hands on his hips and gazing out.
It’s more than pretty. It’s impossibly wondrous.
The clouds are a dense, opaque white that flattens out like a plain, stretching for miles in every direction. Wooden planks create walkways around the expanse, leading towards a stone tower. Impossible, for such a heavy thing to stand atop nothing but vapor.
Boulders surround its base, imbedded in the clouds.
It’s reminiscent of a castle on a cliff, the clouds mimicking foamy white waves, an occasional wisp curling around the stones.
Roots of oversized air plants wrap around the rocks too.
Their fanned leaves form shaded areas mimicking palm trees on a beach.
The whole things is beach-like, especially with the body of water ahead of us.
Again, impossible.
The light blue water, the same color as the sky surrounding us, laps against the cloudy shore. Water meets the horizon, the lake extending far beyond my line of sight.
“You had the same look of awe the first time you came here,” Harley says. It’s so soft, almost wistful, that I don’t think I was meant to hear him.
“I was here before?”
Harley nods. “We came here a lot. We don’t have any oceans in Arcadia, the land stretches on and on… This is the closest you’re able to get to a beach.”
To that, I have no words. “A lake in the clouds.”
“Technically we call it the Lake in the Sky.”
“Same difference,” I mutter. I go to step off the wooden landing but pause. “Is it safe to walk on this? Won’t I fall right through?”
“Nope,” Harley says, pushing past me and walking right off the ledge.
A worried breath fills my throat in the second it takes for his foot to touch the clouds, but I’m immediately relieved when he finds solid purchase. Harley jumps up and down, and while the substance underneath his sneakers makes no sound, it kicks up around him, sticking to the bottom of his soles.
“See? Completely solid. The paths are only there to keep from dragging cloud dust inside,” he says, offering me a hand. “C’mon. I have more to show you.”
I gently rest my hand in his, and he lets my favorite pink-cheeked smile of his loose before pulling me across the cloud.
I’m walking on a fucking cloud.
I wish Ryan could see this.
The sudden thought doesn’t sour my mood so much as sobers it. If I were to make a list of all the parts of life I wish he could see, it would go on forever.
“The water is also safe to swim in. That’s why I had you bring your bathing suit,” Harley says, gifting me the option to focus on his voice rather than my grief. “There’s a small shower area around this corner that you can change in.”
We stop next to one of the shaded rocks, where a pink and white striped sheet spreads out. On it are two neatly rolled towels and a wicker picnic basket.
I raise a brow at Harley, and he scratches the back of his neck.
“I figured I’d come early rather than having us both lug a million things up the ladder at once. I got us bagels and snacks and some lemonade… nothing too fancy,” he says.
I suck my bottom lip between my teeth. “You turned this into a picnic date?”
“What? No. I mean, yes?” Harley rambles nervously. “Is that okay?”
I nod. “It’s sweet. And thoughtful. I just wasn’t expecting it, though I wasn’t expecting all that either.” I swipe my hand out at the water.
“But is it okay?” Harley repeats.
It’s obvious what he’s worried about—overstepping, going too far, going too fast. But I’m acutely aware that there’s no right or wrong here, only the strange middle ground of my mind that we have to navigate.
Though, I might not be communicating that middle ground clearly enough for him. The overwhelming urge to calm and reassure fills me, so I do that the best way I know how. I give him a hug.
My cheek smushes against his chest, his heartbeat thumping in my ear, and my hands fist the back of his soft T-shirt. He tenses in my embrace but quickly melts into it, arms wrapping over my shoulders and smushing me closer.
“It’s more than okay,” I say. Then add, on a whisper, “You know I like you, right?”
“It’s nice to hear you say it out loud,” he admits.
I pull my head back; my chin finds his chest as I meet his pretty eyes. The rusty shade is darker than usual, swirling with something I can’t place.
“You need things to be stated explicitly?” I ask.
“I definitely enjoy that, yes,” Harley says. His gaze darts away as if he’s recalling a memory, and his cheeks pinken. “Do you?”
I nod. “It removes any guess work when someone says what they mean versus me trying to figure it out in body language.”
Harley’s glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose, and I squeeze one arm between us to adjust them. My finger trails down the freckles dotting the straight slope, then boops the tip.
“I’m going to go change now,” I whisper.
He visibly gulps. “Okay.”
“You going to let go of me so I can?”
“Oh.” His arms release me quickly and he steps back. His hand finds his neck again, the skin there likely to become raw if he keeps rubbing at it—or if I keep making him nervous.
I should stop doing that. But I like making him nervous. I like teasing and flirting. I like pulling that blush to his cheeks and making his nostalgic eyes darken.
I’ve become obsessed with all his colors.
When I come out of the little beach shower stall, shoes off and bathing suit tied tightly around my hips and neck, I squirm at the first touch of my toes to the clouds.
“Oh, I hate this,” I call out, feet wriggling in the unfamiliar texture as I approach our set up and toss my clothes into my bag.
Harley laughs from where he’s lounging out, shirt off. “You’ll get used to it.” He stands, tosses his glasses onto the sheet, and grabs my hand. “C’mon, the water will make you feel better.”
We splash through the shallows, and the cool water shocks my nerves. I yelp and jump onto his back, my body latching onto the only other source of warmth here.
“Fuck, that’s freezing! Why’s it so cold? It’s closer to the sun than the ocean!” I screech.
“I don’t know, I never asked that question before.” Harley’s rumble of amusement joins in as he drags me deeper into the blue. “You’re full of curiosities, aren’t you?”
The waves lap lazily around us; it’s the calmest body of water I’ve ever swam in outside a pool.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter as my body slowly adjusts to the temperature.
Harley lets go of my hand. “Why are you apologizing?”
I shrug, dipping my body below the surface until the water hits my lips.
Not everyone I’ve met has tolerated my random questions—many find them annoying, and others find them confusing.
Only a few people have found enjoyment in questioning the world as I do.
I quickly learned to stifle the urge or apologize for it when the wonderings slip through my filter.
But Harley—and Jessa too—don’t seem bothered by it.
I blow bubbles as I tread, gazing around the deserted lake. The water is salty, like the ocean, which is backwards to what it should be.
Harley floats on his back, basking in the sun with his eyes closed. He sighs, and it’s as content a sound as any I’ve heard.
“How does it feel?” he asks.
My mouth pops above the water’s surface. “How does what feel?”
“The water. I read somewhere that being immersed in it can help stimulate your brain. Figured being in Arcadian water might help spur your memory.”
“Um…” I hum as I join him, floating on my back and staring up at the cloudless sky. The blue blends in with the water, and it’s like we’re floating in a vast nothingness. “Not feeling any particular way yet.”
Harley’s face turns to me, water cutting a line through his cheek, and cracks one eye open. It glows red in the direct sun. “Maybe if you relax.”
“Not a terrible idea.”
I close my eyes and let myself slip deeper in the water. My ears dip under, and the unique and garbled whooshing of the lake yells over any thoughts chattering in my head. At some point, Harley’s fingers skim the surface of the water, brushing mine, and I link our pinkies so we don’t drift apart.
And then I relax.
Hours later, after we swim and snack, Harley doses off in the shade, and I open my sketchbook.
I doodle little scenes, scratchy black lines filling the moleskin pages like a patchwork tattoo. The lake. The tower behind us, floating on a cloud. Imaginary fish swimming in the vapor and air-plants reaching towards the sun.
And of course, I draw Harley.
The trail of white hair below his navel. The bright red swim shorts that he favors. The lazy drape of his arm over his eyes. The peek of his front teeth that his parted lips gift me, peaceful sighs rolling off his tongue as he sleeps.
I’m lost in trying to replicate the reflection in his glasses that sit on the sheet when Harley wakes. There’s a rustling, and his shadow falls over my sketchbook. His bare chest hovers an inch away from my back—the magnetism between our skin spreading gooseflesh up my arms.
“Have I told you how much it means to me that you draw me?” he whispers in an awed, sleep-rumpled rasp. The puff of his breath spreads deliciously over my neck.
“I think you’ve mentioned it a few times,” I say, turning my head. Our noses nearly bump as our eyes meet.
Time slows, inches forward, as Harley licks his lips. My gaze falls, locking onto them. He’s so close. All he has to do is lean in and—
“Have you had any luck remembering?” Harley asks.
My lashes flutter, and I refocus on the hopeful pinch of his brows. It’s such a genuine expression, his entire focus set on the reason why we came here in the first place. Meanwhile I’m lusting after him.
“No,” I whisper. I honestly haven’t thought about the past at all since we floated in the water. I’ve been inextricably focused on him.
I need to get my head out of the gutter.
“That’s okay,” Harley reassures me. “We can try again another day.”