Authors: Cole Gibsen
My memories of Aunt Margie were faded—like a newspaper left out in the sun. I remembered her warm smile, and I remembered her sweetness. But what if she picked me up and things weren’t the same between us as they’d been when I was little? What if Sir’s accusations had preceded my arrival and Aunt Margie thought I was some out of control party girl who she had to keep locked in a cel ar? I clutched my suitcase tighter to my body.
Stop imaging the worst, Edith,
I mental y scolded myself. Coming here was a good thing. Anywhere was better than military school. And if I couldn’t be with Bastin, at least I could be with someone who loved me and let me know it.
And then I saw her. I recognized her immediately, not from any mental recol ection, but by her eyes. They held the same bright fire that burned in Mom’s eyes when she told Sir I wasn’t going to military school. Her hair was pul ed back into a braid, but that didn’t stop the wiry strands from escaping and haloing around her head, making her look like the patron saint of static electricity.
“Edith!” She shouted, waving her arms wildly, and apparently, not caring who she swatted in the process. Despite the annoyed glances of passersby and despite the fact I was looking right at her, she didn’t stop shouting. “It’s me, your Aunt Margie!”
She wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves rol ed up to her elbows and a pair of rubber muck boots coated in mud. I hadn’t known what to expect—but this certainly wasn’t it.
I approached her slowly, afraid of what would happen if I made any sudden movements.
“Oh, sweetie. I’m so happy you’re here,” she said, causing me to gasp when she pul ed me into a rib-cracking embrace. She held me tight for a few moments, then released me and held me at arm’s length, warmth and love suffusing her face.
My heart clenched—she was looking at me the way Bastin had looked at me the last moment we were together, but without the sadness he’d held in his eyes.
She gave me a friendly shake, then said, “Wel , let’s get on with it, shal we?”
I al owed her to guide me into a ful parking lot, where we stopped in front of a rusted-out pickup truck. She pointed to the bed. “Just throw your bag back there.”
I did what I was told. After several good yanks on the handle, the passenger door final y opened with a squeal. Despite the obvious cosmetic issues, the truck’s engine roared to life on the first turn of the key.
The drive up the mountain was beautiful and I didn’t want to be distracted from the view. It was just like Bastin had said—magical. Having left the ocean for the mountains, it’d felt like I’d been transported to a different planet. Especial y since I knew this was a world Bastin could never be a part of. It made his absence more real. Tonight would be the first night since I’d met Bastin that I wouldn’t hear the familiar tapping on my door.
And that was when it hit me. There would be no more talking by the dock, no more kisses in the ocean, and no more nights spent in his arms. My heart ached and a heaviness inside my chest threatened to sink me down into the ripped cushion on which I sat.
It was then I was glad Aunt Margie had the radio so loud. With her music blaring and her attention on the road, she couldn’t hear me cry.
We drove away from the tourist areas with their outdoor mal s, kettle corn stands, crowds, and indoor skydiving. We sped up the highway until the cars became fewer and tunnels made of evergreen and oak tree branches towered over the road, making the day go dark. Again, I was struck by the difference between here and Valparaiso. Next to the ocean, the world from the sky to the water is bathed in blue. But here, where the trees blocked out the sky and moss covered the ground, green covered everything.
We continued to climb as the road became steeper and narrower. When the concrete gave way to gravel, I noticed a painful pressure building inside of my ears.
Right on cue, Aunt Margie pul ed a stick of gum from her jeans pocket. “Here ya go. We’re headed up the mountain. Elevation change wil get you. If you chew on this, it wil pop your ears and you’l feel loads better.”
When I only stared at the gum, ripped in some places and covered with pocket lint in others, she thrust it in my face. “It won’t kil you.”
I swal owed past the wedge of sorrow that rose in my throat. No, it wouldn’t kil me—thanks to Bastin—there wasn’t anything that could. I took the fuzzy blue gum, stuck it in my mouth, and chewed. Almost immediately, both of my ears popped and the tension in my head eased.
We climbed higher and at a steeper angle until the truck groaned and trembled. Margie shifted the four-wheel-drive lever and the truck stopped shaking, but grunted unhappily. I was half wondering if we’d make it before the truck fel to pieces, but luckily, a cabin came into view.
“There she is,” Aunt Margie said.
It was like a picture on a bottle of maple syrup. A smal log cabin waited for us, complete with a wisp of smoke swirling from the chimney. I half-expected a witch to open the door to try and convince us the logs were actual y rol ed gingerbread.
There wasn’t much outside; a smal charcoal gril , an ax wedged into a tree stump, and a bird house on the porch made from a hol owed out gourd. Dangling from the tree branches were over two dozen wind chimes made from everything from aluminum cans to ceramic glass, al clanging and chiming together in a welcoming chorus.
“Welcome to your new home, Edith.” Margie jerked the gear into park and shut the truck off, which in turn gave one final grunt of protest. She hopped out of the cab and went to the bed to pul out my bag.
I took my time getting out. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Aunt Margie or her gingerbread cabin, but I knew that the moment the gravel crunched under my feet, it would make everything real. It would prove that I real y was thousands of miles away from the ocean—away from Bastin.
But it wasn’t like I could stay in the truck forever. I let out the breath I’d been holding, in a giant whoosh, and heaved open the door.
The mountain air enveloped me. Lighter and more crisp than heavy ocean air. I felt dizzy. Could you get high on fresh air? I took one cautious step to make sure I wouldn’t fal on my face, when I heard a whimper.
Margie, who was in front of me on the path, froze. “What in the name of Tom Sawyer do you suppose that is?” She took another step forward then stopped. “Oh, dear!”
I rushed down the walk as she kneeled down to look at something. “What is it, Aunt Margie?”
She stood. “Apparently, we have another roommate. This is going to be one ful cabin—but the more the merrier, I always say.”
I peered around her and what I found took my breath away. A smal brown puppy whined at us; a leash tied him from his col ar to the cabin’s doorknob. I rushed to him. When I unclasped his leash and picked him up, the little guy stopped his crying and yipped in excitement. His long tail spun like a boat propel er as he licked my face. He was the most beautiful shade of brown with a reddish hue, the same color one would find under a piece of bark freshly torn from a tree. His coat was short, yet wavy, and felt waxy when I ran my fingers through it.
I giggled as he tried chewing on my nose. At long last, I had a dog of my very own. The most perfect dog there was. It almost seemed too good to be true.
Aunt Margie came up beside me and put her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe someone would dump a poor innocent puppy way out here in the mountains. There are bears out here for cripe’s sake. It real y does take al kinds.”
I nodded. And while I had no idea how this puppy got here, I knew this was no random dump.
Aunt Margie leaned in close and squinted her eyes. “What a strange looking dog—like a Labrador, but with curly hair. Do you suppose he’s a mix?”
I shook my head. Even though I’d never seen one in real life before, I knew exactly what kind of dog he was by the description Bastin had given me so many nights ago on the beach. “He’s a Chesapeake Bay Retriever.”
Aunt Margie looked surprised, but then nodded her head in understanding. “I forgot your Mom said you knew a lot about dogs. Wel , it looks like you final y got one. Do you have any ideas on what you want to name him?”
“Tide,” I answered, hugging the little guy to my chest. It seemed fitting because of al the changes I’d undergone. I snuggled Tide, nuzzling my nose into the soft fur behind his ear—that’s when I noticed it. At first I thought it was my imagination, so I took another deep breath to be sure. And then there was no denying it. Emanating from Tide’s coat was the faintest scent of sea salt. Something inside me stirred.
Like how pressure had build up behind my ears on the way up the mountain, pressure now built up under my skin. “Aunt Margie, can I borrow your truck?” I handed her the squirming puppy who happily licked her cheek. “I need to, uh, go buy some puppy chow for Tide.” Which was true, but I also needed to find the nearest body of water. The nicite made my bones ache with need.
“Not at al .” She laughed as she shook her head from side-to-side, trying and failing to avoid the puppy’s enthusiastic kisses. “The keys are in the ignition.”
“Thanks.” I turned away from the cabin I had yet to step foot in, and concentrated on keeping my feet from bolting into a sprint.
“Oh, and Edith?”
I froze, worried that she’d either changed her mind or she’d decided to come with me.
“Pick up a gal on of milk while you’re out, would you?”
I released the breath I’d hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Sure thing.” I forced myself to walk the rest of the way to the truck, despite the fact my heart bounced inside of my chest like a hornet trapped in a jar.
Inside the truck, I adjusted the bench seat forward so I could reach the pedals, and started the ignition. Even though I’d had my driver’s license since I was sixteen, I felt a little out of my league with the thought of maneuvering down the winding mountain roads in a truck as big as a tank. But despite its size and age, it responded to me as if it was just as eager as I was to get where we were going.
The only problem was, I didn’t know where that was.
But I had an idea.
I found a crank on the side of the door and manual y rol ed the window down. Now that there was no glass between me and the forest, I could feel the cal to water like the strings on a marionette dol pul ing me forward. Apparently, even though it flowed in my blood, the nicite stil longed to be near water. I knew exactly where to go.
I drove about a quarter mile until the pul became so strong that I wondered if my bones might break free from my body. I found a smal clearing with a patch of gravel that was large enough to park several cars. I pul ed the truck in, turned off the ignition, and climbed out. It only took me a moment, but I located a path too wide and trodden to have been created by animals. As I walked along the trail, my suspicions that this was a human-made path were confirmed by the multitude of empty beer and liquor bottles discarded in the brush. It hurt my heart to see them there.
I sighed and pushed further until I could hear the faint rumble of thunder. But that didn’t make sense. Tendrils of waning sunlight pushed through the overhead canopy of leaves in whatever cracks they could find. How could there be thunder if the sun was out? The nicite in my blood didn’t wait for a response. Instead, it urged me forward until I stumbled out of the brush and into a clearing, where I discovered the source of the noise.
A ten-foot-wide creek cut through the forest floor in front of me, its water white and churning where it parted for a scattering of large boulders. I took another step and faltered. What the hel was I doing? Something inside of me continued to press me forward, and I wondered if it wasn’t the water I was drawn to . . .
“Bastin?” My voice left my throat only to be swal owed by the sound of rushing water. I pressed my palms against my chest to keep my heart from beating through my ribs.
No one answered. Disappointment burned my heart like fire-hot branding iron, fol owed by anger that I’d wished he were here in the first place.
Bastin had lied to me, after al . But another part of me couldn’t help but remember al the nights we’d spent alone on the dock pouring our hearts out to each other, and the moment he told me he loved me. And that part of me knew, deep down to the marrow of my bones, that Bastin hadn’t lied about that.
My body craved water.
My heart craved Bastin.
The shadows on the forest floor grew longer, saturating the ground like spil ed ink. I should leave now if I wanted to get back to the truck before night fel . I hugged my arms to my body and crouched down so I could peer one last time into the crystal blue water. The creek flowed too quickly for me to make out anything beyond the lines of color from the overhead trees reflected on the water’s surface.
“I’m stil angry at you, you know,” I said, hoping against hope that my words would somehow be carried through the water to him. “You lied to me .
. . but I guess I understand why you had to do it. You were only trying to do what was right for your people.” I sighed. “And while you’ve basical y cursed me, I have to wonder if I wouldn’t have done the same thing to you if our situations were reversed. I don’t know how I could have let you die, either.”
I stood and dusted my hands off on my jeans, feeling a little sil y that I was having an intense conversation with a creek. “Anyway, I have to go now . . . I just wanted you to know how much I miss you.” I turned to leave the opening to trail that would lead me back to the truck, then threw over my shoulder, “And that I do love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I froze, too scared to move out of fear that I’d imagined the voice. Surely my mind was only playing tricks on me. Without turning around I asked, “Bastin?”
His voice answered. “Edith.”
I gasped and swiveled on my feet. He was in the middle of the creek, exposed from the waist up. Without thinking about what I was doing, I ran forward. Bastin pushed against the creek’s current until we met at the edge of the bank, an arm’s length away from each other.