Page 86 of Anywhere with You
Cara looked calmer than the last time I’d seen her, sobbing on the couch at our shared vacation house. She wore a dress I hadn’t seen before, black with tiny embroidered vines at the waist. Her eyes weren’t red and swollen, and she didn’t seem to be angry. She was lovely. I wanted to keep staring at her, to take in every detail and remember them all, but I was still sitting on the floor in a busy store.
I stood and dusted myself off, even though I’d vacuumed the carpet myself that morning, and used the moment to take a second look at her expression.
I confess, even after watching her Mesmio reels, that I’d expected her to be pissed off. I would be, if she’d abandoned me in the middle of a road trip to fly home.
Maybe not if she’d had a sick dog. I’m not a monster.
Still, I met her eyes and winced. “I am so sorry.”
Cara looked around. We had a lot of eyes on us. “Can we talk somewhere…else?”
I led her back to my office, which had always seemed fine to me, but with Cara in it, there was something lacking. Coziness, maybe? I wanted to offer her something other than a plastic chair that looked like it had come straight out of a middle school classroom, but it was all I had. My own desk chair wasn’t much better.
“I’m sorry,” we both said instantly, then laughed.
“A good start,” Cara said.
I agreed. “How was the rest of your trip?”
Cara spent a few minutes telling me about Muir Woods, Death Valley, Cloudcroft, and stopping to see real dinosaur footprints. But I could tell that wasn’t why she was here.
When she’d finished, she handed me a book. Mary Oliver,New and Selected Poems, Volume One. Winner of the National Book Award was printed across the top of the cover.
“This is yours. Thank you for…forgetting it.” She gave me a half smile.
I opened it and looked at the writing inside, at the almost perfectly circularOof Mary Oliver’s signature. Then I closed it and pushed it back across the desk to her. “I want you to have it,” I told her. It was an impulse decision, but one that I already knew I wouldn’t regret. What would Mary Oliver do in this situation, but share something precious with someone she…she cared about very much?
Cara took the book back gently, holding it in her hands.
“I met her once,” I said, “when I got the book signed. She was just a normal person.”
“I can see that.” Cara was nodding slowly. “She said that our work in life is to pay attention, and I…” She paused, shaking her head. “I didn’t know how to do that before you.” She raised her head and met my eyes. “I could buy things here and there to make my life more comfortable, but I didn’t want to look more closely than that. I was afraid of what I’d see. I was afraid of being alone. I was afraid of everything, Honey. Absolutely everything.”
She laughed a little at herself, eyes moist. I didn’t interrupt. I was grateful for my quiet office. Doug must have passed the word to Florence not to bother us, and the discordant racket of aspiring guitar players barely reached us.
Cara went on, “Then there we were, driving across the country, and so many bad things happened.” She shook her head again, then seemed to feel that wasn’t enough and shook the book, too. “So many! Nothing catastrophic, but nothing that I could’ve brushed aside, either. I kept wanting to let it all build up, and you kept letting it all wash over you like it was part of the adventure. Broken elevators, animal attacks, a rainstorm breakdown, a motel that the health department should really shut down, terrible coffee—you could laugh at it and then keep enjoying everything else.”
“I’m very good at denial,” I tried to joke.
“I think what you’re good at is living. Like her.”
I was speechless. I was very nearly breathless. No one had ever given me a compliment that mattered more.
“And did you know,” Cara went on, “that I didn’t get tired of you?”
“What?”
“That whole trip, all the days in the car, I still wanted to be with you at the end of every day. I missed you so much when you left, but I understand why you felt like you had to get away from me. Honestly, I wanted to get away from me at that point, too. And I know I said it, and will probably say it again. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about Bridget and Lorenzo the moment I found out. I was selfish, and I’ve spent ages hating myself for it.”
“I don’t know that I wouldn’t have done the same,” I said. “And I’m sorry for just leaving. I should’ve stayed and communicated like an adult.”
Cara grinned. “Adulthood is so overrated.”
“Cara, you might not have gotten tired of me, but…”
“But you’re tired of me?” Her expression turned sad, but sympathetic.
“No! No, I’m sorry.” I laughed a little. “That was a bad place to pause. I was trying to say that when I’m with you, I don’t feel lonely. It’s a strange feeling. I’d been lonely so long without thinking about it that it took me by surprise to feel connected.”
