Chapter 19
Caleb is almost to the trail before he notices I’m not following. He casts a glance over his shoulder. “It’s just a walk, Eden. There’s no rain or earthquakes in the forecast.”
This jolts me out of it. “Earthquakes can’t be forecasted. And that last rain wasn’t expected either,” I say. “Can we take this trail instead?” I nod toward a path tumbling out of the sequoias on the south side of the house. It’s short and flat, so I have a plausible argument for my choice.
Caleb peers at me with a curious expression, tilting his head, but finally he says, “Sure,” and doesn’t ask any questions. As he jogs toward me, he whistles to Houdini, who sprints to us, veering just shy of knocking me to the ground as he passes.
The temperature drops by nearly ten degrees when we step under the canopy of trees. The imposing giants insulate the space, blocking out sunlight, sound, and stress. Our feet compress the soft bed of redwood leaves as we enter the forest. But the silence doesn’t last long.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Caleb asks, glancing at me askance as we walk side by side.
I need him to be more specific, because so much has happened in the past few weeks, and I think I’m reeling from all of it.
“With your mom,” he clarifies when I don’t respond.
“I told her she should move to San Francisco with me.”
Caleb stops. “This is her home.”
“It hasn’t always been.” I match his stance, but as soon as I do, he carries on up the trail.
Houdini sprints ahead and circles back, covering miles for every few feet we travel.
“I was looking up resources for her illness. And San Francisco has some of the best care—exercise, therapy, dance classes specifically for people with Parkinson’s.
” I leave out the fact that it’s at the same school where I trained, how it seems like an omen of some kind—a full-circle opportunity for us both.
I fill him in on what I learned and how our conversation imploded.
We approach a bend in the trail. This path is flat, sheltered, and benign, and probably no more than a mile.
It branches out to other trails in various directions, but Caleb keeps us on the beginner route.
“Okay.”
“What does that mean?” I watch Houdini take off after a bird he has no chance of catching.
“Well . . .” He pauses, biting his lip. “I’m working on being more careful with my words.”
“Screw it. Give me honesty.”
His smile splits apart. He likes that answer, and I like his smile. I love his smile. I want to taste it and feel it pressed against the pulse point in my neck. “How would you react if your mom demanded you move here?”
I like him less now. “That’s different.” I stare at a sequoia in the distance whose trunk is marred by a fire scar, a satiny black hole at its base. And yet, it’s still standing tall, undeterred by its injury.
“How is it different?” Caleb sounds like a teacher posing a trick question.
“I have a life there.”
Caleb stops, but to my surprise, his face is compassionate when he sighs and whispers my name. That simple reproach is enough.
“Okay, maybe you have a point.” I sigh, because he does, but still, I feel the sting of frustration—or maybe it’s rejection.
“And maybe you do, too. But she’s not going to hear it if it feels like you’re threatening her independence.”
“But you agree she should move?”
His smile is mollifying. “No. She has her friends, routine, and community who would do anything for her. And she has Sonny’s memory.”
I look away, suddenly interested in the hole Houdini’s digging on the edge of the trail. I admire the dog’s ability to attack the world without fear of consequences.
“You don’t like that.” He ducks into my line of sight.
“I don’t like that she’s more concerned with holding on to a memory than living the best life she can.”
“Hmm.” He starts walking again, and I have to jog to keep up.
“What’s with the vague reactions? I told you to be honest.” I’m out of breath when I catch up, finally stepping into stride with his longer legs.
His gaze skates over me. “I think most people hold on too tightly to memories.” My forearm brushes his, and the contact is like flint and stone—our flesh charged and arcing toward each other. I take a half step away. “It’s harder to live in the moment.”
This feels like a dig, even if it’s not intentional, because it rings true.
Too true. I always have one eye on the past. “Houdini, on the other hand, is always living for the moment.” I nod to where the dog is on his hind legs, front paws pressed to a tree trunk, staring at some animal well out of his reach.
I catch sight of a fork ahead; the trail marker says Dry Creek Loop.
It’s just a path, like any other.
I don’t want to live—or not live—for a memory anymore either.
Perhaps I need to lay it to rest so it stops haunting me.
When we reach the marker, I veer us onto the route, shoving my hands in my pockets so Caleb can’t see them shake.
I breathe slowly to steady my pulse and keep my focus on the trail ahead, counting each footfall as it lands on the bed of needles.
It’s quiet, and I feel powerful, like I’m sneaking up on my past, ready to pounce on my demons.
The detour will drop us off at the back of Sonny’s house, right where Houdini tried to start our walk. It’s only a few more paces, a few more breaths, a few more heartbeats until we’re there, and I halt and take a cleansing inhale.
“Eden?” The softness lingers in Caleb’s raspy voice. “You okay?”
I refuse to let the ghosts in these forests haunt me anymore.
I close my eyes. “My accident happened right here.” When I open them, Caleb is studying me so intently that I have to catch my breath from the sheer impact of his attention.
“It was dark, and I got turned around. Instead of taking the trail back to camp, I hooked a right and fell into that ravine. I was stuck until they found me, and I remember thinking I’d die down there.
” But when the shock wore off and the pain intensified, I hoped for it.
Afterward, I was told I must have been trapped for a few hours, but it felt like days.
“Eden.” It’s just an exhale, and I feel more than hear it, because he’s suddenly so close. “You should have said something. I never would have brought you here.”
“I wanted to come.”
“Okay,” he says, but it sounds like a question.
He stays close, as if he can protect me from my own memories.
I turn to face the ravine, and Caleb stays at my back, his warmth giving me the courage to stare out over the site of my loss.
It’s a steep slope to the creek bed, which was dry that summer.
Gnarled tree roots and sharp boulders cover the short hillside, with logs and river rock at the bottom.
I always wondered how Mom could fall asleep each night overlooking the scene of my nightmare.
And yet, it’s different than I remember.
The shadows, the sounds, the stillness of that night may always haunt me, but the scene before me is serene.
There’s a steady trickle of water flowing through the bed, wiping the slate clean, and fooling me into thinking nothing bad could have happened here.
Everything changes, I realize. Even landscapes. Even memories.
“I avoided this place for so long,” I say. “I probably gave it too much power.”
“I get it. I’ve never been back to Texas.”
I don’t know who extends their hand first, whether I reach back or he reaches forward, but his fingertips tease mine, and our bodies barely brush as we wind our hands together until he’s holding on to me so securely that even here, I feel safe.
“I shouldn’t have given you such a hard time when you showed up. It was brave of you to come.”
I release a humorless laugh. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.” He squeezes my hand, and an electrical pulse fires up the length of my arm, lands in my chest, and simmers there. “And I tried to chase you away.”
“Like a dog barking at the mail carrier.”
He chuckles behind me, ruffling my hair. On instinct, I step back and settle so my back connects with his chest, the barest graze. His breath catches, and I exhale, feeling something akin to relief. I’ve been aching for contact since we drew apart in the cabin.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?” His voice is shallow, a little shaky. I think he’s confused that I’ve touched him on purpose, no longer under the cover of survival.
I’m confused too, but I think I like it.
“For helping me make a new memory here. A better memory.” The beauty of the landscape comes into focus—the stately trees, the burbling creek, the silhouette of Sonny’s tree house, and the mountain covered with wildflowers.
The last glimmer of the sun’s rays bleeds through the leaden skies, coating us in copper.
“Being here with me is a better memory?”
“Better than being at the bottom of a ditch with my bone sticking out of my leg? Surprisingly, yes.”
The sound of Caleb’s laugh pierces me right in the solar plexus.
I turn to face him with a flare of recognition, of nostalgia.
I may have been waiting for the sound of his laugh my whole life.
It’s an audible joy that seeps into my blood like the first notes of the orchestra before the stage lights rise.
I want to feel that laugh against my neck, taste the sound on my tongue, and cover myself in its fiber.
I want to give this beautiful, horrible place an even happier memory.
When I slide my hands around his neck, his laughter dies immediately.
He bites his bottom lip, but his smile is stubborn.
He leans down and rests his forehead on mine.
“You’re funny, Eden Hawthorne.” His voice is like fine-grit sandpaper, stripping away my defenses, making my nerves raw and tuned for sensation.
“No one thinks I’m funny.”
“I do,” he says, but it’s only breath, and I feel it against my lips, a moment before his mouth skates across mine, featherlight.
My skin erupts in goose bumps, and I fight a shiver as he takes a second pass, even softer, as if asking me for permission, as if I have a choice. Every cell in my body is screaming yes.
I tighten my hands on his nape and angle my chin so we can slip together.
When his full mouth catches mine, it’s like sinking into quicksand.
I nip at his upper lip, which is unbearably soft except for where his scar cuts through his Cupid’s bow.
He brings his hands to my waist, stabilizing me and restraining himself, before I coax his mouth open with a soft sigh.
The moment his tongue meets mine, the caution is gone.
He slides a hand to the small of my back and threads the other in my hair, cradling the back of my head, before he kisses me like he means it.
And this, this is what it feels like for every nerve, every fiber to sing.
Each touch feels like yes, there. His soft lips belong there.
His rough hands are yes. We’re performing choreography we’ve already learned, perhaps in another life.
We’re a duet with perfect musicality and timing.
And the intimacy, the rightness, is so shocking I have to settle my breathing, turn down the chorus in my head that screams yes, now, more.
I want to savor this kiss and take all of him now. I want to toss aside our clothes and strip him slowly to relish each new patch of exposed skin.
He nudges my thighs apart with one of his.
He’s hard and urgent against my stomach, but there isn’t enough friction.
I slip my hand under his sweatshirt to find an undershirt and release a frustrated little gasp before tugging it free to reach the silken skin of his waist. He’s so warm, and I’m dying to absorb every inch of his heat.
He drags his mouth to my jaw, my neck, whispering something I can’t hear as he tilts my chin for access. And this, too, is yes. God, yes.
I forget to breathe when he scrapes his teeth across my collarbone and splays his hand on my rib cage.
He tugs me closer, and I squirm against him, pressing to my toes and arching to find the shape of him through our jeans.
And this, too, is yes. He’s a yes. I groan when he grips my thigh with firm fingertips and hitches my leg over his hip, giving me just enough of him to know I won’t be satisfied until I have all of him.
Through my lust haze, I’m vaguely aware of the sound of Houdini’s footsteps before he unleashes a howl, but the sound is traveling farther and farther away. When I pull back, startled, Caleb coaxes my mouth to his again, swallowing my concern with a kiss.
There’s another sound in the distance, but before I can register it, Caleb releases me, eyes wide, and I blink several times, trying to come back into my body.
He’s a mess. His hair is all over the place, his lips bee stung, and there’s a satisfying flush blooming on his neck. My gaze catches on the impressive display in his pants before I hear, “Dad? Are you out here?”
Oh shit. And I realize I’m at the stage of life where it’s more troubling to be caught by your children than your parents.
Caleb wipes his hand over his mouth and adjusts himself before he tucks in his shirt.
I do a physical tally of my own appearance, smoothing my hair and straightening my sweatshirt, and we make eye contact as I take a deep breath.
I don’t see Abby, so hopefully she didn’t see us.
“Dad?” she calls again, and her voice is closer now. “I’m hungry. When’s dinner?”
Caleb presses a quick kiss to my forehead before he clears his throat and walks toward the trail outlet. “Right here, Abs.” He sounds almost normal.
I wait a moment for the sensation to return to my legs and brush a fingertip to my forehead, feeling that lingering intimacy long after he disappears around the bend.