Chapter 26 Dove #2
I pulled Ellis into my side, and what shocked me was how easily she melted there. She rested her head against my shoulder and slung her arm around Liv’s. To an outsider, it would look like nothing more than a loose gesture, her arm hanging midair. But we would know the truth.
The three of us stood there together, the sign towering above with the ocean and the rest of the world stretching out behind us.
“Now, say ‘End of the Route!’” the woman ordered with a delighted chuckle.
“End of the route!” we cheered, and Liv let out a laugh.
The camera clicked, and for a moment none of us moved. None of us dared to. Ellis’s arm stayed slung across my back, her hand tightening at my waist. Liv tipped her head back, and though I knew she couldn’t cry, her eyes seemed to glisten as she stared up at the sky.
And just like that, it became more than a photo moment. It became a marker in our lives, proof that we had all been here together. Proof that something bigger than us—Liv included—had pulled us across the country and made us a family, even if only for a brief moment.
My chest tightened as life’s realities struck me with full force, but a grim acceptance dulled the edge.
Moments ended.
Memories didn’t.
We ended up getting burgers at Pier Burger, taking them outside to sit on a bench as the salty sea breeze danced around us. Ellis took her pills halfway through her meal, chasing them with a long gulp of water and a satisfied smirk at me before biting back into her oily, meaty patty.
No healthy wraps for her today.
“Should we ride the Ferris wheel?” Liv asked, twirling around a lamppost.
I looked from her to the lit-up wheel in the distance, my brows raised.
“I mean, we kind of have to, right?” I said, rolling my foil into a ball. “We can’t come to the pier and not ride the Ferris wheel.”
“Agreed,” Ellis murmured with a nod, finishing her burger and balling up her foil as well. “I know we need to get to Jedd’s, but this is one stop we can’t skip.”
So it was decided.
We stood and began walking toward the Ferris wheel, following its towering height and eyeing the small shops along the way.
The air was warm, and it wasn’t too windy as we moved through the crowd.
My space buns had held together with only the slightest strands slipping free, an improvement on their usual fall-apart state.
Somewhere along the pier, a busker strummed a guitar and sang into a crackling microphone.
I couldn’t place the song, but it felt familiar, soothing, adding to the joyful atmosphere surrounding us.
Kids shrieked, running past with bags of popcorn and cotton candy.
A pair of gulls argued over a French fry dropped carelessly on the planks.
It all smelled and sounded like life, and my gaze slid to Ellis, who was drinking it all in like a sponge soaking up water. Part of me was struck again by how stark and barren her life had been, and at how extraordinary she must find all of this.
I blinked up at the Ferris wheel as we drew closer. From afar it had looked almost toy-like, a slow-turning halo stitched into the sky, its bulbs flashing bright colors. But up close, it was mammoth, the colorful floating cars popping against the white rails like gems.
We joined the short line, and Ellis bounced on the balls of her feet, her face eager, her eyes alight.
“Imagine getting to the top and scattering Margaret’s ashes,” Liv said with a snort. “Shower everyone below in her dust.”
“Jesus, Liv,” I said, though a laugh escaped me nonetheless. “I didn’t come all this way just to end up in jail.”
“Well, it certainly started out like that,” Ellis said, giving me a shifty look. “Breaking and entering, remember?”
“You loved it,” Liv said with a grin. “That was a rush.”
“I can assure you I didn’t love it,” Ellis said as we shuffled forward in line, the wheel slowing to fill the cars. “I’m just saying there’s still time left on this trip to end up in jail.”
“Don’t give me any ideas,” Liv muttered.
When we reached the cars, the attendant swung the door open and waved us in. I stepped into the cramped space and perched on the bench, breathing in the mingled scent of damp metal, rust, and salty beach air. My chest gave a strange lift-and-drop sensation.
I loved a Ferris wheel.
Ellis slid onto the bench beside me, and when the attendant latched the gate, I realized no one had queued behind us.
“All to ourselves,” Ellis said with a grin.
The car lurched as the wheel began to move, and we both let out small shrieks before breaking into laughter. Liv leaned halfway out the side, as usual. The pier dropped steadily away, the arcade, the restaurants, and the Route 66 sign shrinking beneath us.
The Pacific widened before us, the horizon drawn as if someone had taken a ruler to the world. The higher we climbed, the more endless everything seemed.
Ellis let out a rush of breath beside me as she looked outward, and my gaze slid to her profile—the strong line of her nose, the way her long lashes cast shadows across her cheekbones.
I still remembered this morning, those brief minutes before Liv had disturbed us, her bare legs tangled with mine, the halting, secret hunger in the way she had leaned into me.
Heat swept through my body, and my hand rested lightly over hers on the bench.
She glanced at me quickly, a small smile tugging at her lips, a faint flush coloring her cheeks, before she turned back to the view. I followed her gaze.
“This is awesome,” I murmured, awe spilling over me. I wondered if Margaret had ever ridden the wheel during all her journeys. She had done readings here once, long ago.
The car jerked to a sudden stop, and we shrieked again, Liv snorting.
“People are being let on.” Her eyes narrowed with a cheeky glint. “We’re almost at the top. You know what that means?”
“What?” Ellis asked innocently, and I liked her that little bit more.
“You kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel, dummy,” Liv said, her tone dripping with duh.
“Oh!” Ellis said, blinking before grinning at me. “Okay.”
We jerked forward once more, but not for long—we halted again.
“We’re at the top,” Liv said. “Now kiss.”
“Jesus,” I told her with a snort. “You don’t make it very romantic, Liv.”
“Fine,” Liv said exasperatedly. “I’ll turn around.”
She pivoted on her dangerous heels and folded her arms, staring out at the horizon. I laughed before looking at Ellis—at her perfect face and dancing green eyes, her cheeks flushed from the sun, her skin almost golden from all the time spent with the roof down in the car.
Her hand came up to cup my jaw, her thumb brushing my cheekbone just lightly enough to make my stomach giddy. Then she pressed her lips to mine, soft and warm. She took the lead, which was new, but I liked it. The kiss was short and sweet, but filled with so much I couldn’t even put words to.
When she pulled back, she gave me a small smile. The car jerked again as the wheel began to move once more.
“This trip is complete,” Liv sighed. “A kiss at the top of the wheel.”
“Come on,” I told her with a laugh. “You expect us to believe you’ve never been on this wheel before or kissed someone at the top?”
“I have,” Liv said bluntly as she sat back on the bench. “But Ellis hasn’t. Neither have you.”
I glanced at Ellis, who was smiling softly at Liv. I couldn’t remember when the tension between the two of them had ended, only that this new warmth and understanding had blossomed. And I was glad it had.
We spun all the way back down again when Liv demanded one more go-around, and I wondered if she was now putting off seeing Jedd as long as possible. She’d said she was ready, but she kept finding ways to stall. Ellis seemed happy enough to go again, so I let it be, nodding at the attendant.
“Can you two ladies fit another pair in there?” the attendant asked as he unclipped our door. “The cars are full, and we have two who’d like to get on.”
“Sure,” Ellis said brightly. Liv shot to her feet, even though no one could see her—I guessed she didn’t want her ghost self sat on.
An older couple climbed inside, laughing under their breath. They wedged themselves onto the bench across from us, shoulder to shoulder, their tanned faces creased from years of sun exposure.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” the man said with a grin, clapping his wife’s thigh gently.
“It is,” Ellis said, her voice bright and genuine.
We rose once more, and my stomach swam. The sounds of the amusement park faded again as we climbed higher.
The wheel jerked to a stop halfway, either to let people off or on, and I turned to say something to Ellis.
But I caught her eyes instead—laser-focused on the woman across from us—and I followed her gaze.
My breath caught.
She was wearing a very low-cut top, but I knew that wasn’t what Ellis was gaping at.
The woman was attractive for her age—late fifties, I guessed—but I doubted Ellis had a thing for older women.
No, she was gazing at the unmistakable scar that ran across the woman’s sternum—long, faded to a soft pearl color.
The physical record that your body had once been opened and put back together again.
The woman noticed after a moment. I watched as she squeezed her husband’s hand and cleared her throat. She didn’t tug at her shirt or flush; she simply followed Ellis’s gaze, then met her eyes and smiled.
“Heart transplant,” the woman said, running her finger absentmindedly across the scar. “Thirty years this month. My Bernie and I are on an around-the-country trip to celebrate. Every day is a gift.”
Thirty years.
The words rang in my head as loudly as they must have in Ellis’s.
Liv watched with wide eyes.
“That’s amazing,” I said, because someone had to say something to this woman who had just revealed something so personal. We couldn’t just stare at her.
“I’m a year on from mine,” Ellis whispered, her voice shaking as she ran her finger down her chest, covered by a high halter-neck top.