Page 100 of Tracing Holland

“Sorry, dude.You’re cute and all, but I’m practically engaged.”

11

Toronto, Ontario

September 29 - October 4

Despite our late start, we make good time to the border at that time of the morning.Our driver has to rouse us for a quick inspection of our bus and review of our passports, but nothing like the stop two years ago when the border guard seemed to take pleasure in her power to make our lives miserable.Three hours we waited as they did whatever it is they do with our paperwork and forced us to crowd into the uncomfortable waiting room of the border offices.I was certain we’d be spending the rest of the tour coordinating Kenneth’s bail, but by some miracle we managed to keep our tour manager out of prison, even if it required miles of frenetic pacing through the maze of ugly chairs.We never did learn the reason for the hold up.They just handed our passports back and told us to enjoy our stay.

Our delayed start also means we hit Toronto later than planned.Thankfully, it’s a Sunday so the legendary Toronto traffic is only a mild nuisance, not a complete 20-kilometer parking lot.You only need to sit through a Toronto rush hour once to learn it’s a vicious torture the likes of which we haven’t seen since medieval inquisitions.Kenneth probably would have kicked me off the tour himself for sending us into downtown mid-morning, but it turns out to be a pleasant drive on a Sunday.Callie is glued to the windows staring up in awe at the passing landmarks.

“There it is.The ACC,” Casey announces, motioning straight ahead.“That’s where we’re playing Friday and Saturday.”

“I can’t believe all the Canadian flags everywhere!”

“It’s Canada, babe,” he points out with a grin.

“I know, but…”

“Wait until we get her some Timbits,” I joke.“You can’t get tea though, Cal.You’ve got to go with a mocha or cappuccino or something.”

“Huh?”

I point out the window.

“Tim Horton’s?Oh, is that a coffee shop?”

“No, it’s a way of life here,” Casey explains.“Kind of a religion, really.”

“I’ve been known to accept a cappuccino in a crisis,” she teases.“We’ll make this work.”Then, turns to me.“Holland’s from this area, isn’t she?”

“North York, I think.”

“Are you going to meet her family while we’re here?We have plenty of time.”

I quiet, not sure how to answer a question like that.I woke up dark today so I’m not convinced it’s safe to even try.I can’t imagine she’d want to bring me home.My own family wanted nothing to do with me.I know hers is close, sweetly dysfunctionally functional, and pretty much the opposite of what should be exposed to my divisive presence.Holland and I never discussed her plan to introduce me into her personal sphere, and to be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it since I don’t have one.I don’t know what I would do if my sweet, intelligent, accomplished, driven, beautiful little girl brought home Luke Craven, but two hundred years ago it probably would have involved a shotgun.Forget about the awkwardness of facing the shadow of Wes, the son-in-law they almost had and probably still mourn.How many frames does he occupy in the upstairs hall gallery?My picture is in the pile of bathroom reads by the toilet.

“I’m guessing that hasn’t come up,” Callie observes, drawing me back, and I shake my head.

“Not exactly, no.”

Her sympathetic look isn’t helping right now, and I force my gaze back to the window.I’d been so wrapped up in Holland, in the magic she’s inserted into my life, I hadn’t given a lot of thought to what I’d do to hers.I hate that the old insecurities are suddenly creeping back, threatening the little shelter we’d begun to build, and I do my best to control the rising chills of panic.

Holland and I were just a story until this moment, until the realization that the story will have to become reality to last beyond the neat little bubble of this tour.Holland threw herself into my baggage; I will have to confront whatever comes with her, even if it’s the one thing I will never understand, the one thing that will never understand me.

Family.

I pull out my phone and stare at her name.Everything in me wants to send her a message.That I miss her, that I’m thinking about her, that I can’t wait until we park in ten minutes and can steal a touch or two.But my fingers won’t move, frozen by sudden images of smiling parents and adoring siblings.Laughter around a Christmas tree, birthday parties, graduations, church choirs, and cheesy beach photos in matching t-shirts.Suddenly, all there is is the world where I don’t belong, the world that couldn’t accept me even if it wanted to.I see Holland’s empty seat at the table because she chose me over them.Because she always chooses me.Because suddenly, it occurs to me that I might love her too much to let her make that choice.

I close my eyes, my chest heavy, aching as the darkness starts to seep from the sewers of my head.The slow mist quickly builds into a suffocating fog, clouding out the light, disguising the recognizable markers I’d planted to maintain my bearings over the last few weeks.I draw in air, but it does nothing to soothe my lungs.Triggers.Triggers.Triggers.I clench my fists.Great, I can label them now.Big fucking deal.

“Luke, hey, you ok?”

Startled, I cast a quick glance at Callie.“Fine, yeah, why?”

I don’t like the way she’s looking at me.Casey too.

“Just tired.I’m gonna grab something from my bunk.We’re pulling in.”

---