Clear to Lift (28 page)

“Uh, Will, I think I missed something.”

He tries to stifle the laugh, but it escapes anyway. “These are supposed to cross in the center. Like this.” He talks as he works to undo my mess. “Easy mistake.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, it's how we learn, right?”

“Well, you've done a fine job of scrambling my brain tonight, just so you know.”

“Good,” he says, chuckling.

Will works on the last pole—click, click, click—snapping the final section into place. “This one's for the entry, and then we should be all set.” He slides it through the loops, and the material bends, forming an arched entryway.

He turns back to his duffel and removes a sleeping bag, the one from Basin Mountain. Releasing it from its stuff sack, he rolls it out inside the tent.

“There we go,” he says, wiping his hands.

“Home away from home,” I say.

He turns to me, arms dropping, the oddest expression crossing his face.

“What is it?” I ask.

He approaches me, taking both my hands in his. “This
is
home. I mean, it's home for a lot of the year, depending on where I am in the world.” He shifts his feet. Stalling? Nervous? “But that's not exactly right, either. Truthfully, home is wherever I am at the moment. I don't have—”

“Stop,” I say, squeezing his hands. “I guess I'm home, then.”

 

31

I open my eyes to a tent suffused in light. Naked and blissfully warm in my sleeping bag, I stare at the yellow dome above me. The haze of sleep lifts, and I'm flooded with memories of a singularly transcendent night with Will.

Will …

Smiling, I peek out from my downy enclosure, my nose and ears nipped in greeting by the chill morning air.

I search for my clothes, which lie haphazardly discarded in the corner, and dress within the warm confines of my sleeping bag. I rub my eyes—teeth, too, using my finger as a toothbrush—and swipe the hair away from my face. Unzipping the front flap of the tent, I step out to a most glorious sight.

A tough little fire leaps in yellows and reds, crackling and snapping, emitting a woody, tangy odor, like cedar. Next to it, a healthy blanket of steam hides the hot spring that bubbles beneath, all of this surrounded by the now fully visible lofty pines, layered in white, sixty, seventy, eighty feet high. A thin layer of snow coats the ground, and the clouds hang heavy—another morning without sun, a sun that has been absent for more than a week. And in the middle of it all, one Will Cavanaugh, perched on a log next to the fire, wool hat on his head, stubble on his face, pulling a coffeepot from its stone resting platform and pouring a cup.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“Are you kidding?”

He moves over to give me room, and I take my place next to him. Reaching for the cup, I bring it under my chin, the steam washing over my face.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

I take a cautious first sip, blowing first, not expecting the delicious flavor of … “Mint?” I ask.

He smiles, pleased. “You like it?”

“Very much,” I say, taking another drink. “But how did you—?”

“Added it to the coffee grounds. Great for the flavor, don't you think?”

I nod, sipping. “I've only tried it with tea, but this is great in coffee. I had no idea.”

He watches me, a playful look on his face. “You know, for an indoor girl, you seem to take to the outdoor life pretty easily.”

“Tent skills aside, yeah, I think I could warm to this,” I say, leaning into him. “What can I say? The snow, the trees, the stars. It made what we shared last night…”

I'm unable to finish, because I don't know that I'll ever have the words to describe it. And not just what happened by the spring. We shared the same sleeping bag, so … The lovemaking was slower then, but every bit as intense. I find his eyes, and here they hold, steam from my cup curling softly between us.

“That was … beyond anything I could have ever imagined,” he says.

“And beyond the best birthday present I could have ever imagined,” I say.

“What's this? It's your birthday?”

“Actually, no. It's tomorrow. But close enough.”

He leans in, brushing his lips softly against mine. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” I say, drawing back with a smile.

We sip our coffee, our shoulders pressed together, and soak in the warmth of the fire. I'm so utterly content, I let my eyes shutter closed.

“Do you think you can stay over tomorrow?” he asks. “We could celebrate.”

“I have duty, unfortunately.”

“You're standing duty on your birthday?”

“Gotta love the navy. Isn't the first time. Won't be the last.”

“Well, we're gonna need a makeup day for sure.”

I open my eyes and turn to him. “I'm all for that, especially if it's like … well, what it's been like the last twenty-four hours.”

“I'm sure I can arrange that,” he says, skimming his hand across my cheek.

“So where are we, by the way?” I say, looking up, around.

“I guess we never got to that, did we?”

“Uh, no,” I say, with a small laugh. “So is this another locals-only hot spring?”

“Actually, no. This is private property.”

“Oh. Are we trespassing then?”

“You think
I
would trespass?”

“Well … yeah, for a sweet hot spring like this?”

“True,” he says, with a wink.

Are these words really leaving my mouth? Condoning trespassing? Talking about it in fun? I think I can officially say I've been unmade since coming to Fallon. But the weird part is, I like this new Alison far better. She's not as hard on herself. Doesn't sweat the small stuff. She tries new things. Takes chances. Even ventures on the occasional rogue criminal outing.

“Although, this time, it's legit,” he says.

“Why, did you get permission or something?”

“Well, yeah, I guess you could say that. I own the property, so I gave myself permission.”

“You
own
this?”

“You look shocked! Is that so far-fetched?”

“Well, I just thought, you know,” I say, pointing to his tent. “Your said this was your home … and then, you live with Jack … and it's okay, it's totally okay. I don't care where you live. This tent life is pretty awesome, if you ask me.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I really do. And I meant what I said last night. My home is with you, wherever that might be at the time.” I look down to the half-f coffee mug in my hand, knowing I have spoken the heartfelt truth. I remember the same contentment in the mine tunnel in Basin Mountain. No urge to go or do. I couldn't pinpoint the reason at the time, but now I know. It was him. He was there, and I was with him. And so I was content. I was home.

“Although, I have to admit, I'm glad you weren't trespassing. If we're living in a tent on
your
property, I'll breathe easier.”

He looks at me for some time. “You really don't mind this, do you?”

I shake my head. “I was warm last night. We have food and water and … coffee,” I say, lifting my mug in a small caffeine salute. “I'm not sure what you do long-term about bathroom facilities, but other than that…” I shrug my shoulders, bringing the cup to my lips for another sip.

Rich would be aghast at this conversation. He has all the comforts, and I don't think he could imagine living without them. And for most of my twenty-eight years on this earth,
I
couldn't have imagined living without them. But the more that's stripped from me, the longer I do without, the more liberating it becomes. Like the dull pencil run through the automatic sharpener, I've become honed, tightened, balanced. Everything is clearer. More present. More real. Will is real. What we share is real.

“I'm glad that you say that, but, uh, the tent thing. You don't have to worry about that. The tent is just for trips. I'm staying with Jack, so you won't have to be subjected to this too much.”

“Subjected? Far from it. This is amazing, every bit of it. It's just a bonus that you get to live at Jack's.”

“No,” he says, tipping his coffee cup back, draining it. “I said, I'm
staying
with Jack. I don't live there.”

“Okay, so I'm confused.”

He stands, offering me his hand. “Care to talk a walk? I think I can help with your confusion.”

He steps into the forest, not on any path that I can discern, but a decidedly upward trek. We zig twenty or so steps one way, zag twenty or so steps another, weaving through pines mixed with aspen, back and forth, snow deeper here—crunch, crunch, crunch of the boots—our exhalations floating away in icy puffs as we make our way up.

I glance behind us, Will's tent and my car already out of view. The only indicators of where we just stood are the smoke from the fire and steam from the hot spring. Up and up, the trees begin to thin, and then, as if growing out of the forest itself, sturdy stilts rise solidly in front of us, spaced at ten-foot intervals, supporting a patio made of diagonally running slats of wood. Hiking further, I see the house attached to the patio. The second level is wrapped in glass, like Jack's house. Then a third level. More glass. I look behind us again. The house's location affords sweeping views above the trees to the high mountains and a lake I don't recognize. My hand moves to my mouth, my breath catching in my throat.

“Would you like to see inside?” he asks.

“What is this?”

“My house,” he says, unable to contain his grin.

“This … this is … like Jack's…”

“It should be. I designed both of them.”

I turn, dropping his hand, stunned. “You … designed … Jack's … house?”

“And his guesthouse, where I'm staying now, while this one is finished.”

My mouth opens wide and stays open, but Will playfully reaches for my jaw, and closes it.

“Did you
build
this?” I say, waving my hand at the elegant—yes, another—log mansion. “Like actually build it? Or—”

“I designed it and then headed up the team that built it. That's what I do for a living, besides guiding, that is. Jack and I are part owners of a construction company that designs and builds homes.”

“I had no…” I finish the sentence with a shake of the head, incredulous.

“So do you want to see it?”

“Yes, I want to see it!”

He leads me to the front entry, through the broad double doors, and we enter the foyer. As in Jack's home, my eyes are drawn to the far glass wall and a panoramic alpine view that leaves me speechless.

“What do you think?”

I step down one, two, three, four stairs, one more than in Jack's home, moving forward through a living room empty of furniture to the windows. “I don't even know what to say. This is extraordinary. Just extraordinary.”

“Jack agreed to let me design his house first, so I could try out ideas for this one. Sort of my guinea pig.”

“That was awfully big of him.”

“Yeah, he reminds me all the time how he stepped up, that I owe him, blah, blah, blah.”

“You two have the most amazing relationship.…”

And this time I can honestly say my sentiment comes without wistfulness. Jack is part of Will's life, which means he's now a part of mine. And Jack acts … well, fatherly. Our relationship is already a good one, and now I can look forward to it becoming even closer.

“Yeah, it's pretty special,” he says, opening the door to the balcony.

We step out, which is really like stepping in—into the forest, that is.

“You know,” Will says. “I've told you about my parents, about my relationship with Jack. But how about you? Mother? Father?”

I move to the wooden railing and place my hands there, sliding my fingers along the smooth finish.

“My mom and I are pretty close. We've had to be.” My voice drops along with my head. As I stare at the railing, it dawns on me that Will doesn't know about my father yet. Doesn't realize that the girl he first kissed in an airport baggage claim carries—oh god, are you kidding me?—baggage.

“What is it?”

I look up. A steadying breath. “My father left us, when I was four years old.”

“Oh, boy.”

“So I should warn you, you're dealing with someone who has some serious security issues.”

He pulls me around to face him, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “Consider me warned,” he says, then kisses me gently on the forehead. “So how did you and your mom get along after he left?”

“We did okay. Mom remarried a year and a half later. Nick was nice, he provided for us well. He died five years ago in a car accident.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I'd been out of the house for many years when it happened, and we were never that close. But what I just learned—and we're talking only within the last two weeks here—is that my mom still loves my real father, has loved him all along. I always thought she hated him for leaving us. I know I did … still do.”

Poor Will. He had no idea he was signing up for something like this.

“Has it changed the way you feel about him? The fact that your mother still loves him?”

“I don't know yet. I still can't see under what circumstance you would leave your wife to fend for herself and her four-year-old, not to mention leaving the four-year-old herself. I don't know that I can ever forgive him for that.”

I look beyond Will, to a lake that peeks through the forest, one muted gray by the low clouds. It's some time before I return my gaze to him.

“I have to admit, when you first told me about your relationship with Jack, I felt a little jealous. And then meeting him … I just wish I'd had that.”