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Atlanta is earthy and green. It feels more solid, more grounded than the sandy beach and endless ocean surrounding La Jarra. This place holds on to both its past and its present. It can’t simply wash it away with the waves.
“How about we start with a picnic?” I ask.
“Perfect!” She turns us around to head a different direction. “There’s a great sandwich shop near the park. We can bring it back here.”
And just like that, the biggest moment of my life is behind me.
Chapter 33
TILLIE
Gabe spends a week in Atlanta. We see all the sights during the day before I go to work. Some nights he spends the whole shift with me, helping out behind the bar when Badger’s not around.
Other nights he checks in with his mom and the friends running the bar.
They’re struggling to keep things afloat. He’s regretting not shuttering it or hiring a real bartender, if he could have found one. With more time, he might have trained Morrie and Anya how to make proper cocktails, but even the condo complex manager has called to ask about what’s happening to his beach hut.
He’s needed in La Jarra.
We shove all that aside as we take drives through Atlanta and spend languid hours in the hotel bed. We also avoid talking about what will happen after he leaves. Dwelling on the future will ruin the magic, so we keep our sense of island time even while taking in the city.
I manage to get off early for Gabe’s last night in Georgia. We walk through Olympic Park to see the fountain light show. I’ve never gone since moving here, and it seems fitting to take in a tourist attraction with him at my side.
The night is warm and the foot traffic light as we wander the grounds of the old Olympic Village from the 1996 games. The fountains serve as a splash pad for kids during the day, although Lila has never driven Rosie this far to play in it.
We approach the area right as a new cycle of the light show begins. Water shoots into the air from hundreds of spouts, lit in different colors. “Chariots of Fire” plays from hidden speakers, and the water arcs in time to the beat.
People around us hold up cell phones to capture the spectacle, but I settle my back against Gabe’s chest. I already know from my beach trip that no video can capture what this moment feels like, and I want to sink into the experience with my full attention.
The music winds through the trees and fills the open space. The breeze lifts my hair off my shoulders, and Gabe’s arms tighten around me. I feel cocooned by him, safe and happy.
We watch, our gazes lifted, as the show goes on. I suspend all thoughts of tomorrow, and Gabe getting on a plane back to La Jarra, and what can possibly happen after that. I might not ever see him again. I certainly can’t afford to fly there. And how often can he realistically come here?
I refocus on the lights and music. It’s a perfect night, and I won’t ruin it with imperfect thoughts. He’s mine in this moment, and that has to be enough. Our two weeks together turned into three. How many people get 50 percent more happiness than they thought they would?
When the fountains stop flowing and the music ends, we walk hand in hand down the sidewalks, past the Coca-Cola Center, the concert venues, and along the side streets.
“It would never be possible to hold the Olympics somewhere like La Jarra,” Gabe says, staring up at the towering shells of the two closest arenas.
“Too small an island?”
“I guess we might have enough hotel rooms, but there simply isn’t enough open land to put huge buildings like this. It’s like a city unto itself.”
When we make it to a street, we stop to eat at a greasy-spoon diner a block off the main plaza. It’s hard to force myself to swallow. This goodbye feels a thousand times harder than the one on the island.
We take our time heading back to the car, although once we reach it, I race across town to get us to his hotel. We won’t make the same mistake as before and not savor every moment before he leaves for the airport.
We curl together on the bed, his body fitted around mine, his finger trailing down my shoulder. This is when he finally brings up our future. “You know, visitors can stay up to six months on the island. You couldn’t work, but you could be there.”
I instantly think of Lila and Rosie. “I can’t just leave.”
“Because of your sister?”
“I watch Rosie while Lila’s at work. Her job at the pizza parlor isn’t near enough to pay for day care. We’ve looked and looked. She can’t do it without me.”
He nods, his chin bumping against my head. “I can look into giving up the bar. Maybe I can sublease it. I definitely can’t leave Morrie and Anya in charge.”
I sit up at that. “You can’t give up your bar! I won’t let you! And why would you leave an island paradise for Atlanta?”
