chapter thirteen #2
“It’s as if we’re on top of the world here,” I say, awestruck by the view.
His rests his hands on his head. “We pretty much are. Greenland has the northernmost land point in the world.”
“It does?”
“Yeah.”
I take a seat on a rock and confess my lack of culture. “I’m not very good at geography. This is the first time I’ve left the States.”
“Me too. Well, North America.”
“Really?”
He twists his head to look back at me, the corners of his mouth quirking. “Shocked again, are we?”
“You just seem… worldly.”
“I’m not.” He kicks a small stone, and it tumbles down the hill. “I’ve been to the Bahamas, but that’s it.”
“The Bahamas sound lovely. When did you go there?”
He dips his head. “On my honeymoon.”
“Oh.” Guilt clenches my chest. “Sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Not wanting to dredge up memories he may not want to revisit, I can’t help but pry. “How long were you married?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Fifteen years! How old are you?” I blurt, then raise my hand, realizing how rude I’m being. “Sorry. That was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer.”
He chuckles. “It’s fine. I’m thirty-six.”
“So you got married when you were—” I do the math in my head. “twenty-one?”
“Nineteen. We’ve been separated for two years.”
“Wow! You were just a baby.”
“I was,” he says, taking a seat on the rock beside me. “And so was Krystal. In hindsight, we were na?ve and stupid.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Fifteen years is a long time to be married. Some don’t even make it to five.”
“I suppose.”
“Do you regret getting married so young?”
“I do now.”
Silence settles over us, so I pick at some moss and bury my curiosity.
“How ’bout you?” he asks. “Ever been married or engaged?”
I scoff. “No. All work and no play, remember?”
He scoffs too.
My eyes settle on his, an unspoken sense of mutual sorrow and regret spiraling around us with the breeze. His gaze drops to my lips, and mine to his, my heart thudding as I wonder what he would feel and taste like.
As if magnetized to him, my body inches forward, when the wind seems to intentionally intervene, whipping my hair across my face and snapping me out of the moment.
“W-What time is it?” I ask, lifting my wrist to check my watch. “I… I better head to the helipad.”
He blinks, stands, and offers me his hand. “I’ll walk you there.”
Checking the buckles are secured on my seatbelt as the helicopter engine roars to life, I grip my seat, equally terrified and ecstatic as we elevate off the ground.
The wind from the rotor blades gusts around Riley, and he holds his beanie on his head while waving with his other hand.
I lean closer to the window and wave back, my smile so ridiculously immense that I’m sure he can see my molars.
But as thrilled as I am about adventuring to a glacier, I’m also disappointed he’s not sharing the experience with me.
It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and he’s missing out.
After discovering he’s as untraveled as I am, and that he seems anguished by it, my heart had splintered for him.
Regret is a constantly wedged blade, tearing into the present.
An emotional Excalibur of sorts, embedded until someone comes along and wrenches it free.
And like me, he too needs a King Arthur of sorts to draw it out.
I make a mental note to make sure he books more shore excursions.
“Helicopter Six, climbing to altitude,” the pilot says through my headphones, the nose of the aircraft dipping just slightly as we soar forward over the village, toward the mountains.
I squeal like my nine-year-old self on Christmas morning when I unwrapped my copy of Harry Potter: The Prisoner of Azkaban. And as I did that snowy December day twenty-three years ago, I can’t suppress my childlike glee.
Thank you, Mom. Thank you for championing me to see what I haven’t until now. Thank you for directing my eyes beyond a desk and the pages of a book.
Bouncing in my seat, I turn to the couple huddled together beside me, both of them peering out the window, the woman excitedly pointing to the landscape, her partner gently kissing the side of her head.
My smile falters. I have no one to kiss or to kiss me.
No one to make memories with or huddle against in the event of the helicopter crashing.
Jesus, Riley, why would you think that?
Shaking away the dreaded and foolish thoughts, I gaze out my window again as we approach the ice shelf, nothing but rocky peaks and a sheet of white on the horizon.
“In just a few minutes, we’ll be flying over the ice cap,” the pilot explains. “Over eighty percent of Greenland is constantly covered in ice, with the southern tip only accessible via air or sea. There are no roads beyond the villages, so the only way to travel is by boat or aircraft.”
I eagerly stare at the scenery below, the snow and ice so white and bright it’s almost blinding. “Holy cow!” I murmur, squinting with the glare.
“No, there are no cows. As you can see, they have no vegetation to graze.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean—” I go to explain to the pilot that he heard me wrong but decide to just shut up and listen. “Never mind.”
Lost for words, as no words could justifiably describe the ethereal landscape, at best, I would liken it to heaven. Pure and fresh. Overwhelming. Spiritual.
My chest tightens, and I know my mother is here with me, soaring above the earth, sharing this magical moment. I can feel it to my core, her presence tangible yet angelic, a force so strong I can barely breathe.
I inhale a shuddering breath, my fingers trembling as I wipe happy tears from my eyes with my sleeve and just… be.
Be one with the moment.
One with nature.
One with my momma.
Roughly an hour later, we set down in Qaqortok, a palpable sadness and sense of loss spearing my chest, and yet I’m equally beholden by the experience, to feel so close to my mother again and to have her with me in spirit.
I’m also shocked to see Riley waiting for me at the edge of the helipad.
“How was it?” he shouts over the noise of the engine as it powers down.
“Incredible!” I shout back. “I have no words.”
“A publishing assistant without words?”
“I know! Crazy, huh? Words don’t do what I just experienced justice, so I’m not even going to try.”
“Did you take pictures?”
“Is the Pope a religious fuck?”
Riley bursts into laughter. “No, not you too? You team up with Ben just once, and now you’re talking like him.”
I giggle. “I can assure you I will never, ever, say that again.”
We walk along the road toward the dock, past streaming creeks edged with rocks and wildflowers, the beauty and simplicity too special to take for granted. Curious, I step off the path and squat to feel the temperature of the water.
“Whoa, that’s cold.” Standing back up, I dry my fingers against my pants. “It’s so clear, like glass.”
Riley waggles his eyebrows. “Fancy a dip?”
“Are you insane?”
“Maybe.” He removes his sneakers and socks and rolls his sweatpants to just above his knees.
“You’re not seriously going into the water, are you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Covering my eyes with my hands, I peek through my spread fingers as he steps off the bank and onto a submerged rock.
“How is it?” I squeak.
His jaw tightens. “It’s… not that bad.”
Amusement quirks my lip. “You’re lying.”
“Fuck! Yes. Yes, I am.” He quickly makes his way out and then jogs in a circle, stopping to jump on the spot.
“I told you it was cold. The pilot said this water melted from the glacier.”
“And you didn’t think to share that information before I stepped in?”
I shrug. “Not particularly.”
“Jesus! I can’t feel my toes.”
Snickering while he redresses himself, I bend down and pick a wildflower, removing the petals one by one. “So what did you do while I was gone?”
“I made friends with many dogs.”
I laugh. “What?”
“There are a lot of dogs in Qaqortok. They’re everywhere.”
“That’s strange. Why dogs?” Horrified, my fingers hold still on a petal. “I hope they don’t eat them.”
“They don’t. According to one of the locals in a café, they use them to pull small sleds in the winter so they can get from house to house.”
“Huh,” I say, both relieved and impressed. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“It does.”
“What else did you do, other than befriend canines?”
“I tried raw whale.”
“What?” I nearly topple onto my ass.
“It tastes like tuna fish.”
I poke my tongue out, pretending to gag. “I can’t believe you ate it raw. Yuck!”
“You’re supposed to.”
I shudder.
“I thought you liked sushi?”
Impressed he remembered that, I say, “I do! But raw whale? Nope. Just… nope. Please tell me you didn’t eat seal too.”
He rubs his belly, and my jaw drops.
“Riley,” I gasp.
“I’m kidding.” He chuckles. “I didn’t eat seal. They’re too cute, remember?”
My heart stupidly thumps in my chest again, something it feels the need to do around him, and I have to tell it to settle the hell down.
“You ready to head back to the ship?” he asks, shaking his arms to heat his body temperature.
“I guess so. You?”
“Yeah, I’m done. I saw everything I wanted to see. Plus, there’s some Truth or Dare show in the theatre.” He side-eyes me and smirks. “And there’s prizes.”
My ears prick. “Prizes?”
Riley grins as if he knows what I’m going to say next.
“A gold ship trophy?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
Jumping to my feet, I march past him. “Let’s go!”
We file into the theatre, cocktails in hand, when I spot Ben several rows ahead, waving at us to sit with him.
I wave back, albeit less enthusiastically. “Looks like Ben has saved us some seats.”
Riley gives him a curt nod, and Brittany turns in her seat next to Ben and smiles, the bruise on her eye barely camouflaged by the eyeshadow attempting to disguise it.
My stomach knots.
“We don’t have to sit there if you don’t want to,” Riley says when I don’t take the next step.
“No. It’s fine. I need to apologize to Brittany.”
“You already apologized.”
“I know, but I don’t think she took me seriously.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Riles. It was an accident.”