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But it seems pointless, stupid, useless. Or at least unlikely to get that thoughtful frown off her face.
And then, all at once, we’re back, getting off the boat.
“Thanks,” Wynona says, not looking at me. “I should go.”
I let her go without saying anything. She’s a few steps away on the beach when I jog after her. “Wynona, wait!”
She waits, shoulders hunched, face twisted. “Don’t, Emerson. Please. Just don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“You seem to be saying that a lot lately.”
“Yeah, well, it’s like you said,” I find myself growling. “I don’t know you. Not anymore. So, you can’t expect me to know what will or won’t set you off.”
She considers this.
“I was an idiot before,” I say. “I’m not asking you to give me a second chance. God knows I don’t deserve that. Just—do we have to turn in already tonight?”
My gaze runs down the beach, looking for something, anything. “What about one of those cabanas?”
Her gaze follows mine. “What about it?”
“Want to check it out with me?” I say.
Her shoulders have relaxed and her face has untwisted into a thoughtful expression. “And if I said no?”
“Then I’d ask you why.”
Her lips press together. “Hating you wouldn’t be a good enough reason?”
“If it were true, maybe.”
Her lips compress further. “Emerson.”
That’s it.
I turn on my heel. “Suit yourself.” I storm over to the cabana.
I didn’t really want to go here at all. I just suggested it for something to do.
But I’ll be damned if I’m just going to slink back to my room to sulk. Or grab a drink, as much as I want to.
No sooner have I slung myself into one of the hammocks in the enclosure than I hear footsteps.
Wynona pokes her head in.
“It doesn’t look bad,” she admits.
I don’t say anything.
She sighs. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m not exactly a garden of good vibes lately.” Another sigh. “Jesus, who am I kidding? I’ve been a downer for years now.” Her smile is sad, derisive, hollow. “I’m lucky my friends put up with me.”
She turns away. “I’m sorry, Emerson. But I can’t do this. I can’t be around you and pretend that it doesn’t hurt, that I’ve forgiven you. Because it does, and I haven’t.”
This time, I don’t wait for her to take a few steps away before saying, “Wait.”
She waits but doesn’t turn.
“Please,” she says quietly.
But the words are coming out of me, can’t be stopped: “Just... I did it because I was hurting you.”
She’s shaking her head. “Please. Don’t.”
“Just listen to me, will you? I’m not asking for a second chance. I just want to explain. I always thought it’d be easier if I didn’t, but now... I could see what long-distance was doing to you, Wynona. To us. I thought ending it would be easier and that maybe, with any luck, someday...”
She gapes at me. “But you said—”
“That I didn’t feel it anymore, I know. I knew that if I told you the truth, you’d never accept it. But Jesus, Wyn, you were moping around at home, miserable, working at McDonald’s part-time, and not trying for anything different.”
She’s shaking her head, a glare in her still-wide blue eyes. “Emerson. You said—”
“I know what I said, and I’m sorry.” I grimace. “I know it’s not enough. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But for tonight, please. Can we just sit here and look at the stars and maybe do that thing you talked about back on the boat today, the one where we enjoy the moment while it’s happening, not after?”
Her mouth opens, then closes. Then opens. “I... don’t know.”
“Can we try?”
Slowly, gradually, her head moves into a nod, not looking at me. “Maybe.”
And she sits there beside me, and I lean back, letting the hammock rock me back and forth, back and forth, back and...
Up above, the sky holds the kind of stars that city boys never get to see. They’ve got the brightness and numbers that you’d think were reserved for astronomers... or people on drugs. But they’re here, now, these stars. They always were, these past few nights while we roved around, all busy with the wedding.
“Thank you,” Wynona says softly, gazing up, face enrapt. “You were right.”
“I can be. Sometimes.” My smile is bitter. “Other times, I’m just a fool.”
She doesn’t answer, but she’s probably right. Answering would just draw us back into it, away from what’s here, what’s now.
“Remember Cosmos?” Wynona says suddenly.
“Yeah.”
She’s turned to face me, her face almost hauntingly beautiful in the moonlight. Her eyes reflect the stars.
“Remember what he said, Neil deGrasse Tyson?” she murmurs. “‘You, me, everyone...’”
“‘We are made of star stuff,’” I chorus along with her.
Our eyes meet. Her blues in the dark are black, her pupils huge.
Now isn’t the time, probably.
Yet, there are only two things that make me feel this way, so invigorated, so at home. Like I’ve finally found my place.
