Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nima woke with a sore back, a stiff neck, and soft fingers carding through the fur on the top of his head, making all the discomfort worth it.
After arriving at Mari’s late last night from the clinic, settling her into bed, and doing a quick check for earthquake damage around her house, he’d fallen asleep in a stiff wooden kitchen chair he’d dragged to her bedside.
Eventually he’d leaned forward, resting the side of his head on her bed as he dozed.
If she knew he was awake now, would she stop touching him? Nima wouldn’t risk it. He’d pretend to be asleep for as long as possible.
As Mari continued, he fought a satisfied growl under the rhythmic motion of her hand, savoring the moment—a moment that lasted about five more seconds when the room jolted with another earthquake. Nima bolted upright in the chair, blue knuckles nearly white as he gripped its armrests.
He glanced at the still-dark bedroom window where the panes of glass rattled in the sill.
No doubt it was morning. But on December twenty-third, the sun didn’t rise until most restaurants in Wildwood stopped serving breakfast. The only light came from the bathroom down the hall.
He’d left it on as a nightlight. It flickered, but didn’t go out.
“Aftershock,” Mari said, stating the obvious. To ease the pain from her bruised ribs, she lay upright against a nest of pillows at the head of the bed. She’d tucked both arms under the covers, as if she hadn’t just had her fingers in his fur. Sneaky.
Nima couldn’t stop staring at her. Twenty-four hours ago, he couldn’t have imagined waking up with Mari ever again.
Last night, after being stuck in the closet with her at the Blackwoods, he’d come here to have a much-needed discussion about their breakup.
But the earthquake, her injuries and their time at the clinic, and exhaustion once they’d made it back to her cabin, had derailed it.
No more excuses. His chair creaked in protest, the sound cutting through the tense silence, as he shifted his weight and took a deep breath. “We need to talk, Mari.”
He pulled her rings—their rings?—out from under his T-shirt.
He’d secured her necklace around his neck while she underwent X-rays.
It fit, but barely. She’d eyed them afterward but hadn’t asked him to return them.
“Let’s start with these.” He held the rings between his fingers.
“And your request for a divorce. The envelope you had last night fell in the snow. I set it on your kitchen table after we returned from the clinic.”
“Thank you,” she said, glancing from the rings to his face, then back. “You seemed surprised. Not surprised that I would ask for a divorce, but surprised we were even married. Did you . . . not realize we’ve been married all this time?”
Nima’s heart pounded, and his mouth went dry, but he clearly replied, “No. I didn’t know. We’re actually—legally—married? Are these our wedding rings?”
Mari’s lips trembled, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
She swiped it with a finger. “Yes, we’re legally married.
And those were supposed to be our wedding rings, but yours didn’t quite fit.
We were going to get it resized.” She huffed a humorless laugh as another fat tear trailed down her cheek.
“How do you not know that we’re married?
It’s the reason you left me. You said so in your text.
And then you told your mom you’d made poor decisions and regretted them.
” Tears suddenly streamed down her cheek. “You regretted me.”
“No, Mari, I—”
Her sob cut him off, wrenching his already broken heart in two. “What did I do? Why did you leave me—on our wedding night?”
His throat went dry. She had it all wrong. And seeing Mari like this—tears streaking her face, her bottom lip quivering with sorrow—tortured Nima.
His voice cracked with emotion. “Mari, I never regretted you.” How could she have come to such a conclusion?
“Then why did you leave Burning Man? I didn’t think you’d ever abandon me.” Her face crumpled, and another sob wracked her body. Nima’s heart wrenched in two. “You were my world, and you left me. What did I do to make you go?” She pressed her palms to her eyes, her body trembling with grief.
All this time, Mari had assumed he’d abandoned her?
She couldn’t be more wrong. The need to hold her, comfort her, was greater than his fear that she would reject him.
He tentatively wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close.
As she sobbed against him, he tightened his embrace—staying mindful of her injured ribs—and gently rocked her.
“I never regretted you—ever. I did not mean to abandon you, Mari,” he said, his voice strained by his tightening throat as he ran a hand over her hair.
“You did nothing wrong. I wanted to marry you. To be with you always. I was so in love with you.” He was still in love with her.
Nima ached for her, for himself, for what they’d lost.
She hiccupped and drew back, looking up at him through red-rimmed eyes as she took several deep breaths. “Then why did you leave?”
He had to explain what he could of that night.
“I remember little from Burning Man.” He closed his eyes, searching his mind.
“I recall the scorching heat, waiting until darkness and cooler temperatures to pitch our tent. It was all so overwhelming, but exciting. My first human event—not counting the ones here, like the Halloween parties in Denali.”
Maybe those parties had lulled him into a false sense of security.
Halloween was the one time of the year when yeti could mingle with regular people—who weren’t in the know about his kind—and pass for a tall human playing dress up.
He and Mari had counted on Burning Man being the same, with its renowned eccentricities and culture of inclusion.
Aside from their foray into Reno, it was the only time on their trip they’d strayed from the mountains and back roads.
“People kept complimenting my costume, handing me drinks and food.” It had been exciting—its own kind of intoxication—feeling like part of the crowd, accepted.
He shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d had too much to drink, but I wasn’t worrying about what I drank.
Beer, hard liquor, wheatgrass shots with .
. . I don’t know what. At some point, I had a cup of tea.
Then another. I realized much later it had been mushroom tea, as in magic mushroom.
That was my regret. Those were my bad decisions.
In that heat, surrounded by all those strangers, I should have only guzzled water. ”
He hurried on. “I have flashes of memories I thought were a dream. You in a short, white, sleeveless dress and a crown of flowers and ribbons in your hair.” He glanced at her again.
He’d replayed these images so many times, wishing they were real.
Had they been? “You were beautiful, and in my dream, I’d felt so lucky to be walking hand in hand with you. ”
Mari gingerly lay back on her pillows then curled in on herself, as if protecting her ribs—and possibly her heart.
“That wasn’t a dream, Nima. That was what I wore that night.
We’d both been drinking, but you’d seemed fine.
You don’t remember exchanging vows?” The hurt in her voice stung like salt in a wound.
He swallowed a painful lump in his throat.
“No,” he admitted. “I’m truly sorry. It’s a memory I wish I had.
” He meant that from the bottom of his yeti heart as his blurry memories came to mind.
“I remember being disoriented, then feeling anxious and scared. I couldn’t get the playa dust out of my fur.
I ran. I couldn’t see a thing. The desert was inky black, but a million stars spanned the horizon, fuzzy from the sweat in my eyes and who knows what in my veins.
By the time I’d made it to the safe house in Gerlach—our backup plan—I must have lost my phone. ”
Mari nibbled at her lip. “I searched Burning Man for you all night. And when the sun rose, I drove to Gerlach. I finally got cell phone service as I was pulling into town and saw your text. You’d written, ‘I can’t do this.
Going to Gerlach.’ I wasn’t sure what you meant.
You couldn’t do Burning Man? Or you couldn’t do us?
I thought you’d be waiting for me at the safe house, and we could talk it through.
” She frowned. “But you weren’t there. The woman said a yeti had come and gone overnight and left with a Sasquatch in a truck. ”
“I-I honestly don’t know when I sent that text. And I only know about the truck ride because I was told about it when I woke up the next morning—shocked to be in Oregon with no phone, fuzzy memories, a horrible hangover, and no idea how to get ahold of you. I was scared and desperate.”
Tears welled in Mari’s eyes, and she dashed them away.
“I returned to Burning Man. I stuck around until that night, hoping you might show up. Since there was no cell service there, I couldn’t make calls or get texts.
I became increasingly anxious and worried about you.
When you didn’t return by early evening, I packed the tent.
I needed to make calls to our friends and family.
I had to find you. I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing.
As soon as I had cell reception, I heard from your mom.
She confirmed you were okay, but that you had regrets, just like you’d mentioned in your text message.
By that time, you were already on your way to Bellingham to board a yeti-friendly boat to Alaska. ”