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But tomorrow, tomorrow I will get what I want.
What thefuckwas that back there?
If possible, I’m now even more baffled about my past than I was before. And the one person who has all the answers decides to clam up.
Leaving Cynthia a blubbering mess in her daughter’s arms has me realizing I may never get the answers I so desperately seek. If these memories are buried so deeply within, what happens if asking Cynthia to unearth them breaks her? Or worse yet, what happens if she refuses to tell me?
I never took that factor into consideration.
Cynthia owes me nothing. I’m just a ghost of her past, one she no doubt wishes had remained dead and buried. The honorable and decent thing to do would be to tell me the truth. But after today’s performance, I think getting the truth will be a lot harder than I originally anticipated—which is just my luck.
When the truck’s tires crunch over gravel, I register we’ve stopped driving. “Where are we?” I ask Quinn, and after hours of silence, my throat sounds raspy and hoarse.
“Pride Rock,” he replies, and I cock an eyebrow.
“Like out ofThe Lion King?”
Quinn chuckles as he kills the engine. “Something like that.”
I have no idea where we are, so I follow Quinn as he jumps out of the truck. He reaches into the back and pulls out his black sweater. Does he want us to go for a hike? In the dark?
I’m too tired to argue as he wraps his zip-up hoodie around me like a cape. I’m thankful for the extra warmth and snuggle into the fleecy material, sniffing his unique fragrance on the cotton.
“Where are we going?” I ask as Quinn reaches for my hand. He silently leads me into a forest of tall green pine trees.
My boots trudge over mushy dirt, and I latch harder onto Quinn’s hand as I nearly trip over a rock. But this reminds me so very much of the first trek we took back home when Quinn showed me the twinkling lights of South Boston.
So I remain silent and follow.
We walk in silence, but the farther we hike, the harder it is to see, and when I hear a gentle rustling in the bushes, I launch onto Quinn’s back.
“What was that? A Canadian bug?” I ask, my eyes darting from left to right.
Quinn chuckles as he pries my fingers from around his neck. “I think you should be more afraid of bears than bugs,” he replies, reaching for my hand and pulling me alongside him.
Bears?
“This better be good, Berkeley.” I yelp when I hear a loud hooting overhead.
“Trust me,” he replies, and the sliver of moonlight reflects off his beautiful features, illuminating his mischievous smile.
We trek for a few minutes, and when the terrain gets impossibly steep, I lag behind, attempting to gain my footing. But I refuse to stop because I have a feeling that what I’m about to see will be life-changing. And besides, when I slow down, the bitter wind has my teeth chattering.
Thankfully, the landscape becomes a little easier to maneuver, and before I know it, we’re standing at the edge of a cliff looking over an enormous lake. The sight leaves me breathless as I have never seen anything so calm or untouched.
I attempt to take everything in, but the view extends farther than my eye can see. In the distance, however, I can see snow-capped mountains, and with the moon settling low, the sight is pure tranquility.
The overwhelming feelings of today suddenly submerge, and I can finally breathe for the first time in forever.
I now understand why Quinn brought me here.
In the grand scheme of things, my problems seem so small, so trivial when looking out into the vastness of absolute nothingness. I could get lost in this place, so that’s why I’m here. This is my private oasis.
My personal slice of heaven.
“Thank you,” I say, my eyes never leaving the landscape before me.
In response, Quinn wraps his arms around me from behind, resting my back against his warm front. His exhalations tickle my neck, and I sag into him, the tension slowly seeping out from every pore in my beaten body.
