Chapter 38
An invitation was stuffed in Varen’s mailbox the next time Andrew drove by to check on things.
And to set off any bombs there, let’s be real.
Nala had suggested that Varen hire a temporary bodyguard, but Ms. I Box For My Workouts shrugged her off.
Yet when Varen brought the invitation to their room Monday evening, Nala turned milk white and excused herself to the bathroom to vomit.
She emerged from the bathroom to find Varen composing a polite response at the table.
“Due to previous work commitments and the sorrow we feel for our fellow indisposed club member, Nightingale and I must regretfully decline this week’s invitation. We shall make sure to put on a grand show the next time we can make it.”
When Nala asked what this commitment was, Varen announced they were heading west.
“Why the coast?” She asked this, yet Nala was already packing for another hotel move. She better get me clothes for the beach. “You’d think we’d want to be as far away as possible.”
“Because it’s a good place to go on short notice. Be ready to go early in the morning. I want out of here. I can’t breathe.”
Nala made sure everything was delicately packed up before going to bed that night. Sure enough, at the crack of dawn, Varen dragged her out of bed and into her car so they could start the long drive to their destination.
When she said the coast, Nala assumed somewhere around Astoria or Cannon Beach, a respectable hour or two away from Portland depending and traffic.
But the moment they were in the car, they were going south on the interstate, Nala’s heavy eyes making her fall asleep again until she woke up in Eugene.
It was only then that Varen finally headed west, into the mountains.
Nala was used to sparse landscapes and solitary living.
She had lived in Nevada for a good amount of years, after all.
Rural Oregon was different. The mountains and hillsides were covered in evergreen trees, trailing to wild rivers and weaving in and out of suspension bridges and tiny hamlets that looked like they never left the 1930s, 1950s if they were lucky.
These blew by as the sun was shining upon them, a riot of oranges and golds spreading across water, asphalt, and the hood of Varen’s black car.
“Where are we going?”
Varen kept her eyes on the road, sunglasses masking them from the harsh angles of the sunrise. “Go back to sleep. It’ll be another couple of hours.”
The radio came back on once they broke free of the mountains and turned onto Highway 101.
Nala kept her eyes out for the ocean, but Varen informed her – to the tune of John Mellencamp coming in and out of the speakers – that they wouldn’t see it for a while.
Still sleepy, Nala leaned her head back and willed herself into another nap.
This was the most sleep she had in days.
She didn’t know the name of the town they stopped in.
Some port, some bay, some Native American word, or some English word nobody knew the meaning of anymore.
Mispronounced French words abounded. Even the Spanish titles were hilariously off.
Down here, the citizens lived in their insular worlds where they welcomed tourists – as long as they had the money.
Varen had plenty of money to spare, as evident when she got them one of the nicest hotel rooms in town and immediately went out to buy some snacks and even more spare clothes for Nala.
Andrew had brought some of her shirts and jeans, but he refused to go near her underwear.
Over the past week, Varen gradually brought her the plainest cotton fare around.
Today, in celebration of them getting out of Dodge, she dropped a pack of colorful underwear on Nala as she continued to snooze in the hotel bed.
By the time she was awake, Varen sat on the patio overlooking the beach.
I didn’t even notice where we were. It was a cloudy, slightly drizzly day on the coast.
Then again, what day wasn’t that time of year?
Nevertheless, Varen looked content sitting at a small bistro table wearing her jeans and hoodie, snacking on a bag of potato chips as if that was what one did when they came to the Oregon coast.
Nala leaned in the doorway, shaking off the chilly breeze by wrapping her sweatshirt closer to her body. “Can I join you? Or are you contemplating the Pacific Ocean by yourself?”
Varen pulled out the other chair without another word. She also pushed the rest of her chips in Nala’s direction after she sat down. She chewed on one, letting the salty, crunchy texture wash over her tongue in tandem with the salty ocean waves crashing on the beach.
“You ever been here before?” Varen asked.
Nala shook her head. “I’ve never been to the beach.” She tried to not look too impressed.
“What? You lived in Oregon before.”
“I lied. I’ve been to the beach when I was a kid, but it was so long ago that I barely remember it.”
Before her father died, they would sometimes take family trips when they could afford it.
A couple of those trips veered toward Cannon Beach or Newport during the height of summer, when it was sweltering in Portland.
Nala’s parents, who were not used to such a hot climate, would go somewhere cooler along with the rest of the Willamette Valley.
“If I had known that, I would’ve brought you here sooner.”
Nala laughed. “Oh, would you? Taking me on romantic getaways, are we?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
“It is.”
Varen smiled back at her but did not say anything.
Does this woman love me? It wasn’t the first time Nala wondered that, but it was the first time she seriously considered it.
Varen was not a woman who shared her emotions.
Not verbally, anyway. She had felt the gamut of them through sex.
Anger, bitterness, grief, guilt, shame… no, not merely negative emotions.
There had been a lot of joy and gratefulness in there too.
Sometimes simple tranquility. Except she had never verbalized any of these emotions.
She slid her hand across the small table and brushed against Varen’s. She did not shrug Nala off. Instead, she looked at her and said, “Let’s go for a walk.”
With only chips in her stomach and the plain clothes on her back, Nala got up and followed Varen to the beach.
The sand was hard and compact here. The tide must have gone out.
Sure enough, kelp and seaweed were strung here and there, with pieces of fresh driftwood beached for the crabs to climb over.
The stench of some dead creature came down on the wind.
In time, they either walked far enough away or Nala’s nose chose to no longer recognize it.
After the week she had, the last thing she wanted to see was some poor dead sea lion decaying on the beach.
Nala pulled her hair back into a ponytail, tucked it into her sweatshirt, and pulled up her hood so her hair would stop whipping in her face.
Sometimes the breeze died down enough that she could stop and admire the loud waves rolling upon one another, tossing boats around and drawing in squawking seagulls.
Other times, the wind was so strong that she felt like she was walking against a hurricane.
The only creatures on the beach not affected by the wind were dogs, running up and down as if in the most blissful hysterics.
It was far from tourist season, so they mostly had the beach to themselves.
Even so, Nala still felt like she was in her own world, where Varen strayed at the edges but never committed to fully crossing her borders.
Sometimes she stopped to contemplate the water.
Other times she stopped to dust off a shell or throw a stick for a dog that ran by.
Most of the time, however, she ambled aimlessly, Nala along for the ride.
Yeah, that about summed up their whole relationship.
“Are you hungry?” Varen eventually asked, facing a steep staircase that went up to a restaurant. “Let’s get lunch.”
Seafood, of course. Seafood and coleslaw for Varen, while Nala loaded her plate with French fries.
Varen stole some of hers occasionally, and Nala was in a good enough mood from the fresh sea air to not chastise her for it.
Their seats, overlooking the beach down below, gave them privacy from other diners, but not from the waitress making the rounds.
“We get a lot of cute couples around here,” she finally said, bringing Varen her bill. “You guys take the cake this week. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you guys are sisters.” She stopped, suddenly horrified. “Oh my God, if you are, I am so sorry.”
Nala turned her lips downward, but Varen laughed, taking out a wad of cash. “That’s not my sister. That’s my girlfriend.”
The waitress sighed in relief before walking away with Varen’s payment. Whatever she did with her generous tip was on her.
“So, I’m still your girlfriend?” Nala asked. Her hood slipped down her head, freeing some of her long hair as they blew around in the breeze.
“Yes.” Varen took her hand on the table and gave it a single squeeze. “I’m sorry I’ve been a terrible girlfriend this past week.”
“Don’t apologize for any of that.” Nala shrugged. “You’ve done the best that you can. We only decided who we really are to one another a moment before…”
“Yes. Before Robin.”
Nala looked away. “I know they picked her because she was my friend. I can’t help but feel guilty.” That was an understatement.
“I know, but trust me, they wouldn’t have ruffled Lucian’s feathers if he weren’t on Xan’s shitlist too. I don’t know what he did to piss Xan off, but I’m sure it was a double-whammy. Freak us out, and scare Lucian shitless. I don’t doubt that Robin was okayed to die.
If they only wanted to hurt her a little to send a message, they wouldn’t have gone to such…”
“Stop it.” Nala kept thinking about that note. “Desirée screamed a lot.”
“I’m sorry. It’s stuff I’ve been thinking about.”
“You think I haven’t been?” Varen didn’t know. She still didn’t know what Nala did.
Their fingers interlocked across the table, a stray French fry flying off the balcony thanks to the wind. “I don’t want to think about it anymore today. I only want to think about you.”
Nala lifted her chin, eyes meeting Varen’s.
Her steely blue visage had softened for the first time in a whole damn week.
This wasn’t the woman who emerged from a shower and took Nala to crazy places.