I guess sometimes the greatest memories are made in the most unlikely of places, further proof that spontaneity is more rewarding than a meticulously planned life. A meticulously planned anything.
I turn to Andrew. “I don’t know why, but I feel… well, I feel like all these months on the road since December were to get to this place. This city. This hotel.” I can’t believe what I’m saying, and immediately I start questioning my reasons. It could mean so many different things, but the one I think it means most is that we needed to come back here.
Yes, that’s exactly it, or at least it’s what I needed. As this revelation hits me, I find myself standing in this room surrounded by thoughts rather than material objects. I look into Andrew’s eyes, but I don’t really see him. I see him in the past instead. Same magnetic green eyes, different year.
Why am I feeling this way?
“Maybe you’re right,” he says, and then his tone shifts to something more mysterious. “Camryn, what are you thinking right now?”
“That we left too soon the first time.” It was the first thing that came to mind, and only now that I’ve said it do I start to understand just how true it might be.
“Why do you think that is?” he asks, stepping closer to me.
I don’t feel like he’s asking me questions he already knows the answers to this time. It’s like we’re both thinking along the same lines, both trying to make sense of it all and seeking answers from each other.
We sit down on the foot of the bed together, my hands wedged between my thighs, just as his are, and we’re quiet for several long seconds. Finally, I turn my head to see him on my right and say, “I never wanted to leave when we did, Andrew. I knew our next stop after New Orleans would be Galveston. I wasn’t ready to leave this place… but I don’t know why.”
And this truth makes me anxious.
Why? Other than fearing that Texas meant the end of the road for us, or that I later felt like I knew something bad would happen there, why else would I want to stay here? I didn’t necessarily want to stay here forever, just that simply we left too soon.
“I dunno,” he says with a mild shrug. “Maybe it’s just because this is where we finally sealed the deal.” He elbows me playfully.
I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, maybe, but I think it’s more than that, Andrew. I think it’s because we found ourselves here.” I stare off toward the wall in thought. “I just don’t know.”
I feel the bed move as Andrew stands up.
“Well, I say that this time we make the most of it before we leave.” He reaches out his hand to me and I take it. “Maybe we’ll figure it out.”
I stand up and say, “Or… maybe it’s a do-over.”
Honestly, I have no idea what made me say that.
“To do what over exactly?” he asks.
I pause, thinking about it, and then answer, “I don’t know that, either.…”
Andrew
30
I cup her face in the palms of my hands. “We don’t have to figure that out right now,” I say and kiss her lips. “I smell like cow shit and I need a shower. Hopefully, you’re not so turned off by that and will join me.”
Camryn’s thoughtful expression dissolves into that grin I was shooting for.
I pick her up, cradling her ass in my hands, and she wraps her legs around my waist, hangs her arms over my shoulders. The second I taste her warm tongue in my mouth, I’m carrying her off to the shower with me, both of our shirts falling onto the floor before we make it past the bathroom door.
* * *
The very first place we hit after sundown is Old Point Bar. When we walk through the front door, we’re welcomed by an excited Carla who practically pushes two big guys out of the way to get to me, her arms wide out at her sides. We collapse into a hug.
“It’s so great to see you again!” Carla says over the loud music. “Let me look at you!” She takes a step back and examines me from my shoes to my head. “Still as handsome as ever.”
She turns to Camryn now. Then she glances at me and then back to Camryn again. “Uh-huh, I knew he wouldn’t let you go.” She pulls Camryn into a hug and squeezes her tight.
“I told Eddie after you two left,” she goes on, looking back and forth between us, “that she was a keeper. Eddie agreed, of course. He said the next time you came around here that Camryn would be with you. He tried to bet me money on it.” She points at me and winks. “You know how Eddie was.”
In two seconds I feel my heart sink into the soles of my feet. “ ‘Was’?” I ask warily, afraid of her answer.
Carla doesn’t lose her smile, maybe just a little, but for the most part she doesn’t lose it. “I’m sorry, Andrew, but Eddie died in March. A stroke, they say.”
My breath hitches, and I take a seat on a bar stool next to me. I sense Camryn step up beside me. All I can see is the floor.
“Oh don’t you do that now, you hear me?” Carla says. “You knew Eddie better than just about anyone. He didn’t even cry when his own son died. You remember? He played his guitar all night long in Robert’s honor.”
Camryn’s hand interlocks with one of mine. I don’t look up until Carla walks around the bar and grabs two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey from the glass shelf behind her. She sets the glasses down in front of me and starts pouring.
“He always said,” Carla continues, “that if he died before any of us did that he’d rather be woken up on the Other Side to people dancin’ on his grave than cryin’ on it. Now drink up. His favorite whiskey. He wouldn’t have it any other way.”