Caleb + Kate (19 page)

The jeep rumbles to life. Caleb turns on some grunge music and drives for the highway. As he accelerates onto the main road, the wind is too loud for us to hear one another.

I am happy
, I realize. It fills me up and overflows, this happiness.

The morning air is crisp on my face, the heater warms my feet, the music vibrates through my back.

A sense of utter freedom fills me, as my hair flies around and we come over a rise and see the ocean ahead. I have a sudden urge to unbuckle my seat belt, hang out the door, and scream with joy. I start laughing at the image of this, and Caleb does a double take, the wind in our faces, shaking his head and laughing with me.

“It feels so good!” I yell and start moving to the music.

“It does!” he yells back, the widest smile I've ever seen across his face.

The music rises, pounding my back. I love the song. I turn up the volume and sing out loud. He drives with his hands tight on the wheel, taking looks at me with that same smile and moving his head. He bangs the steering wheel with his hands as the song rises to a crescendo.

“Let's just drive forever,” I shout.

He's laughing at most everything I say now.

“I was bored!” I yell as life pulses through my veins and into every cell of my body. It's crazy how these moments of joy fill me at times, rare times for sure. Less and less it seems. But now, right here and now, the joy is immense.

The jeep slows behind an RV.

“I told you.” He reaches a hand almost unconsciously and touches my chin, then brushes away a strand of hair that caught against the edge of my mouth.

I freeze, staring at him, but his eyes return quickly to the road, gripping the steering wheel again. He wanted to kiss me. “I'm going to drive for the moment.” He chews his bottom lip, that perfect bottom lip of his.

I think I'm drunk on happiness.

The music changes to a rock ballad, and I close my eyes a moment, taking it all in. There is a comforting strength about him beside me, his arms on the steering wheel, eyes on the road. He slides on his sunglasses. He makes a quick glance at me and catches me studying him.

“Are you cold?” he asks, turning down the music slightly.

“I'm okay.”

“You look cold. I have that jacket . . .” He reaches back and hands me the same worn leather jacket I used on the Sunday we went to church together. I hope it's his and not his cousin's; the smell of cologne and softness of the leather remind me of him. I think someday I'll steal this coat from him.

We drive along Highway 101 going south along the beaches and rocky Oregon coastline.

“Are you kidnapping me? Is that the trust experiment?”

“Maybe. How far from home would it take for you to get worried?”

I don't answer for a moment, thinking that I could ride like this all over the United States. “Alaska maybe, though we'd have to turn north for that. I didn't bring my passport so we can't go to Canada. Maybe California instead?”

The fog gets heavy over the sky and out to sea. The beaches and inlet are clothed with gray, feathery fingers.

Finally he pulls off the highway at a gravel turnout. Half hidden along the side I see an opening in the trees. He drives down a faint path that might have been a road a long time ago. He jumps out and walks to each of the front tires, bending down and adjusting something on them before hopping back in.

“Had to turn the hubs for four-wheel drive to work. The old jeeps are all manual like that.”

“Cool,” I say, biting my lip. Was it my imagination that he wanted to kiss me? We drive down the steep path. My Lexus would've never survived the bumps and deep channels where it looks like someone drove during the rain. Caleb drives on the edge of the road to avoid driving inside of the ruts.

He stops in a small green meadow, turning off the engine. “Here we are.”

“Are we?”

“Not really. But are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Great, I'm starving.” He lifts an ice chest from the back and a Stanley thermos. “I grabbed snacks at Trader Joe's.”

“Perfect. You should have told me, I could've brought some food.”

Hot chocolate steams from the thermos as he opens the top. Crackers, cheese, olives, two kinds of chips, salami, hum-mus— it's a mini-feast.

“There's some water in the ice chest.”

He sets out two camping chairs with the food spread out on a tiny folding table.

“This is amazing,” I say, eating an olive.

He shrugs but looks pleased that I like everything.

“Our experiment begins with a question. How much do you trust me?”

He digs into the back of the jeep and pulls out a pad of paper and pen. Then he waits for my response.

“Like on a scale of one to ten?”

“Sure.”

“I don't really know you, but then I did see you save Katherine's life . . . so maybe a six?”

“A six? Okay.” He brings his lips together and nods as he writes that down.

“Was that wrong? How much do you trust me?”

“There's no wrong. And this experiment isn't about my trust of you, only yours of me.”

“Maybe I'll take a turn, so that I can ask.”

“You do that.” He smiles.

After we eat and put the food away, Caleb packs his notepad and two water bottles into his backpack. He slings a rope over his shoulder opposite the one with his backpack.

“Rope—ominous,” I say, following after him.

“Did your trust level decrease?” He stops and uses a fake scientific-sounding voice.

“I'll tell you if it does.”

CALEB

After fifteen minutes of walking, we reach the rocky edge above the sea that churns wild and dark after last night's rain. I tie off the rope to a sturdy tree a few yards beyond the rocks. I hand Kate some small gloves and slide on mine while she does more of the lip-biting now with a nervous raise of her eyebrows.

I'm a mess of feelings, like nothing that I've experienced, ever.

This time with Kate, out here alone, it's like perfection.

But it's distracting, too, and I've had more than my share of un-innocent thoughts since we stopped in the meadow. She has no idea how every little thing can make me think thoughts I shouldn't. The way she ate an olive, how she joked about needing to unbutton her pants after we ate, how good her tight-fitting shirt looks . . . I want to put my hands around the curve of her waist, and her “old jeans” could only mess with my head more if they weren't on her at all—which ran through my head as well. It's supposed to be a normal guy thing to have such struggles, but I would've appreciated it if God had made it a little easier. Being noble is a real pain—literally. And I don't think it'd take much to do whatever I want with her. Why can't she be a prude—or find me unattractive?
Kate, help me out here!

Right now, I need to be focused on the next ten minutes of climbing. I could've killed us in the jeep. She mesmerizes me at times, I truly can't get my eyes away from her. Her singing with the music, hair dancing around her sweet small face—I could've gone right off the road.

“Have you been in love before?” she asks me suddenly.

I stare at her. Are we really having this conversation right now? Why now?

“Can I sit down?” I say, and she looks incredibly worried as she sits against a rock. It's hard to keep from smiling. We're close to each other, knees nearly touching.

“So what was your question again?” I enjoy toying with her just a little. It eases some of my own inner turmoil.

“Knock it off. You heard me. We're sort of like friends now, so can't I ask?”

“Sure. Have I ever been in love?” I see her leaning forward just a little as if anxious to hear the answer. “Have
you
?”

She leans back and sighs. “I asked first.”

“Okay, then: no, I haven't.”

“Really? I would have thought . . . I don't know.” The relief in her face intrigues me.

“There have been others . . . girls I dated, I mean.”

“Others? As in, other than me?”

She catches that, and neither of us speaks a moment.

“The thing is, I won't settle for anything but the real thing.” I stare out at the sea and wonder if she'll find what I'm about to say ridiculous. But here I go, about to lay it all out there.

KATE

He won't settle for anything but the real thing
?

It's as if he has an answer to a question I had stopped asking.

“How do you know if it's real? How do you know it exists?”

He considers his thoughts a moment. “Well, there was a girl in Hawaii.”

My heart takes a hit with that line, and I want to take back my question. His face seems to question whether he can trust me with this, and though I want to know everything about him and have him be able to tell me anything, there is a surprising amount of pain at the three words
girl in Hawaii
.

“Your girlfriend?” I ask with a tone of detached interest, which is a feat deserving an Oscar.

He nods, staring far across the horizon.

“What happened?” I ask in my best compassionate tone, but the truth is, I may not breathe until he answers the real questions I'm thinking,
Is it over between you? Did you have sex with
her? Were you in love with her? Was she in love with you
?

“She was everything I'm supposed to love.”

“What do you mean by that?” I say, too quickly.

“There are things . . . expectations, you might say.”

“Your expectations?” This wasn't making sense to me.

“No. Expectations about me. At least there were before I left.”

“Tell me.”

He spews a short, sarcastic laugh and then looks at me. “For one, she was Hawaiian. This is very important to my family back home. They aren't very fond of
hales
—white people.”

“Are you serious?”

He digs into the ground with his foot. “Unfortunately, yes. Everyone said she was right for me. But my parents put this image in me, a romantic streak, that makes me believe in finding a great love.”

“A great love,” I repeat as if hypnotized, which isn't all that far off.

“Throughout history there are countless stories of great loves. I don't think that's ended, even if it's modern time. I saw in with my parents. It's what I want for my life.”

How amazing to believe in something like that now? No one had great love, I thought.

“You mean like Romeo and Juliet?”

“Yes. But there are many more. Like Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl. There are different versions of the story, but it's about a Mexican warrior named Popoca who fell in love with the Princess Izta. The chief told Popoca that if he brought back the head of an enemy chief, he could marry the princess.

“While he was gone fighting in the war, another warrior who hated Popoca sent back a message that Popoca had died in battle. Izta was inconsolable and within a few days, she died of sadness.”

Caleb looks out beyond the massive rocks that are shrouded in fog, then his eyes return to me.

“During her funeral, Popoca arrived with the head of the enemy chief, not knowing what had happened. When he found out, he took Izta's body and walked until he met some mountains. There he ordered his men to build a funeral table covered in flowers. Then he set Izta there, and as he kneeled down to watch over her, he died of sadness as well.

“That's awful. It is a lot like Romeo and Juliet.”

“In Mexico today, there are two volcanoes said to be Itza and Popoca. One is called
La Mujer Dormida
—the Sleeping Woman— because it looks like a woman sleeping on her back. The legend says Popoca became the Popocatépetl—which means
smoking
mountain
. He watches over his Itza, and he rains fire on Earth because of his rage over the loss of his beloved.”

“That's sad.”

Caleb nods. “That's one of many. But it's interesting that these stories are found all over the world and in every culture. Most are tragic, I think, because most people experience such suffering and loss that we're attracted to the tragic.”

“But what about your Izta? Will you know her when you see her?”

He sits quietly a moment. “I've seen her.”

“You have?” An instant jealousy hits me hard. A terrible ache grows angry and strong. I'm sure my face is flushed red and my eyes may emit fire soon . . . except the pain and sudden distance that separates us makes me want to burst into tears.

“Yes.” He stares at his worn hiking boots.

My head is pounding. “Where? When?”

“Recently, and a long time ago.”

“In Hawaii?”

He shakes his head, and a fearful hope attempts to come to life, but I'm afraid to allow hope's existence.

“I'll tell you about it sometime.”

“Was it a dream?”

His face looks thoughtful. “Sort of.”

“Please.”

He stands up and takes a step toward me. I stare up at him, and he reaches for my hands. “Are we ready for this?”

I sigh and nod. “Yes.”

Pulling me up, we stand inches apart, completely alone except for the silent pines towering around us and the churning sea below.

“I want to know.”

“Let me show you something first.”

From inside his backpack, Caleb pulls out a harness. I step into it and he snaps everything into place while I'm mostly conscious of his closeness. I want his hands to move from the harness to my body, and it's surprising the aggravation I feel when he doesn't.

“We could probably do without all this.”

And then I realize we're back to the trust experiment. I look down the cliff and remember the rope and my heart starts pounding.

“I'm not the best about climbing and heights and all that.”

“Remember that for the evaluation. Subject is pushed beyond her comfort level. Will she have faith in her partner when it does not appear safe?”