17. Cedrick
“This looks like a good spot to start our excursion.” I park just near the beach and bring the car to a stop.
“To be fair, Solvaria’s entire coastline is exquisite enough that any point along it can be the start of most epic adventures,” Ellie says from the passenger seat.
I glance at her and am enamored once more by how dazzling she looks. Not unlike our nation”s coast which is really showing off this evening. The street we”re on is slightly elevated, and we have a bird”s eye view of the water.
“These sunsets will never get old to me,” I say after a moment of watching the sun”s rays sparkle against the horizon.
“Same. This is probably what I miss the most when I”m away from here.”
“Then what are we still doing cooped up in here? Let”s get to the beach and experience it up close.”
She”s out by the time I walk over to open her door. We set off for the water’s edge, and the sand swallows our feet as soon as we hit it.
“I guess this is the part where we kick these off.” I gesture with my hand to her heels, and she’s already beaten me to it. My shoes come off, too. I lean over to pick both pairs up and carry them, one pair in each hand.
She looks over and smiles.
We walk along the beach in silence, admiring the sunset’s pinks, lavenders, and golds. After a long stretch of silence, Ellie stops to turn around.
“I”ve always loved footsteps in the sand.”
I throw a look over my shoulder at the long stretch of our matching footprints behind us. “Why is that?”
She turns forward again, and we continue walking along.
“Reminds me of a 19th century poem I read a long time ago, but it’s stuck with me. I”ll show you when we get home, but I can give you the gist.”
My head jerks toward her. The way she says ‘home’ causes my heart to skip a beat, since she views my home as hers now.
“Why do you love the poem?”
“It talks about leaving your mark on the world. It makes you think about your own place in it and how small we all are. Am I doing it right? Am I even doing what I”m supposed to do?”
“For you, it’s hard to imagine you not doing anything right. I can’t imagine someone being more accomplished.”
“Thank you, but I could always do more. Any time I feel overwhelmed, I think of the poem. And I remember that every trial, every up and down is a part of me leaving my mark on the world.”
She glances at me, golden eyes sparkling.
I smile with a nod of understanding. “I think of my legacy, too, sometimes. Although I’m not as philosophical as you.”
She laughs a little, and I continue. “If I turn old and gray, and all I did was go on medical missions to benefit mankind, that”ll be a life well lived. I think about that when I feel pressure from my father to glorify our nation in some way or another. It’s not as important as actual lives.”
She nods, thinking. “And children, too. That’s a huge part of anyone’s legacy.”
Her tone is soft, and she ducks her head when I turn mine over to look at her.
We reach a secluded spot overlooking the ocean, surrounded by a rocky ledge. I grip her elbow, and her eyes widen at me.
“Why don”t we rest over here? Let me set it up first.” I throw our shoes to the ground and slide the backpack off my shoulders.
“I was wondering why you were carrying that huge thing.”
“If you asked, I could have told you.” I bend over to unbuckle and unzip as I speak. “I know you hate surprises.”
“I’m starting to like them a little better.”
“Good. The bag is huge for a good reason.”
I whip out a blanket from the pack and spread it on the sand near the rock wall. I motion to her. “Sit, sit.”
She joins me on the blanket, and I refuse to let her help as I pull out cartons of various sizes and arrange them. My hands reach deep into the bag and feel for the candles in their glass holders. I bury them in the sand to keep them stable and then fish out some plates, glasses, and a few beverage bottles.
“Cedrick, what”s all this?”
I stand up, offer her my hand, and guide her to sit down.
“Only the best for my wife. Go ahead, open them.”
With a stunned face, she pops each vacuum-sealed carton open. We’re engulfed by the smells of grilled fish, savory and sweet pies, salads, and more.
“Everything smells amazing. But I can barely see it.”
“That’s why I brought these.”
I hold up a set of candlesticks and steady them in the sand surrounding us. The sun is yet to dip beyond the horizon, but our secluded space has only a little light.
As I light each candle, the warmth illuminates the delicacies spread before us.
I catch her stealing glances at me during silences. She catches me doing the same. When we catch each other’s eyes, we smile.
She looks up at me. Even though the sun has set completely, I can see her sweet smile.
“This is very sweet, Cedrick. Thank you. It reminds me of my mom. She’d cook up a storm on her days off, and she”d do little things for us like this.”
My thoughts fly back to my own mother. I remember one more surprise. but I hold off on showing her.
“I rarely saw mine cook, although she did make pies. On holidays, especially. In the country, she loved to take us into the orchard. But the best part was when we were picking the fruit, she turned it into a game. For a really long time, I thought fruit could actually fly away if we weren”t fast enough.”
“Somehow I can”t imagine you being that gullible,” she says with a laugh.
“Oh, you must have a selective memory of your childhood then. I believed a lot of embarrassing things. I recall you telling me of some of them.” I stretch forward and pull an old photo album from the backpack. “Here. This might jog your memory.”
Her fingers stretch out to receive it, and she uses the candle light to leaf through it. At first, she doesn’t say anything, but her mouth is wide open and she looks stunned.
I move closer to her until my chin is right above her shoulder. There’s a picture of us galloping toward the camera on identical stick horses.
“Remember when you tried to convince me that they would turn into real horses if I wished hard enough?”
Her whole body shakes from how hard she’s laughing. “I completely forgot about that.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “This is amazing.”
She fingers a photo of the two of us gap-toothed and smiling next to a giant pumpkin.
“Do you remember most of it? I remembered we were close, but I had no idea how many photos were taken of us.”
“Of course. Those are some of my happiest memories. There was the tree house, and that time you wouldn”t let me in till I brought in snacks from the kitchen.” She laughs and elbows my side. “Such a bully.”
“I gave as good as I got, though. Remember when you convinced me to take the lances from the suits of armor so we could sword fight? The household staff was going mad trying to figure out where they went.”
“God, we were something.” She leafs through the rest, and she stops at a picture of a much younger me seated on my mother”s lap.
“She was so regally beautiful,” Ellie whispers. “A picture perfect queen.”
“I miss her,” I confess.
Ellie has a gentle energy about her that puts my guard down a little lower than usual. It reminds me of my mother, actually.
She turns to me. “I know the feeling. Sometimes I feel so lost without my mom.”
I nod, fully understanding. “You know, she was the only other person who called me Ricky. I never told anyone to call me that. But you just always gravitated to it.”
I reach out my hand, and she holds it.
“Cedrick is just so formal for a five-year-old,” she says, looking at me so closely I can barely focus. “Like Eleanora.”
The sun has completely disappeared, and her face and our blanket are illuminated by the moon. From afar, I can hear the waves lap against the shore, the rhythmic ambience drowning out the sound of everything else.
“I love that you shared this part of you with me, Ricky. I mean…”
“No. Ricky is good.”
“Thank you, Cedrick. Ricky.” We both laugh.
Maybe it”s the candlelight in her eyes or the cloak of darkness around us. Maybe it”s the moonlight awash on her face, or maybe it’s the memories and images of our long connection with each other surrounding us.
But my only response is to swoop down low and kiss her, my lips connecting deeply with hers as I hold her close to me.
The kiss takes on a life of its own. I’m lost in her as we feel the warmth of each other’s bodies and the contours of our mouths, gentle and rolling, yet tense and desperate.
I swat away a thought that hovers around me like a fly. This is a contract marriage, and we’re playing a part. I know this might end soon.
But it’s not ending now. This moment is all that exists, no matter what happens.