Page 2 of Distant Shores
“The creek,” I whispered before breaking out into a full-on sprint.
As the tall pine trees swallowed me, I tried my best not to berate myself for not thinking of it. I slipped more than once but managed to stay upright as I slowed just enough to pick my way more efficiently through the woods the way Pops taught me.
By the time I’d worked up a sweat and burned two weeks’ worth of calories, the pine trees spit me out into a ravine, and the sight before me nearly had me falling to my knees in relief.
Pops was there.Rightthere, standing above the ravine that sheltered a partially frozen creek, his back turned to me.
Exhaustion and elation were the all-consuming distractions I would later blame for what went down next.
The “what”in that equation beingme.
“Pops?” I rasped more quietly than intended as I approached him. “What are yo?—?”
Lost eyes of a color I knew butdidn’tknow met mine over his shoulder just before his entire body sagged in relief, mirroring my own. My heart, already bruised from hours of panic, squeezed in pained thankfulness to see that he seemed to be physically unharmed.
But still, my training kicked in, and I started my visual assessment.
His white hair was hidden beneath his old beanie, his prominent mustache was flaked with snow, and his rigid stance didn’t signal an obvious injury.
But his eyes….
There was something about his eyes that had sympathetic panic and grief welling inside me before I could even name the feelings. It was the same look he had when he confessed to me all those years ago that Grams was sick.
His hands shook as he pointed an arthritic finger down toward the water. “I…,” Pops started, but his voice cracked, and he faltered. Cold and a disused voice had him coughing for several moments before he tried again. “I wanted to see if I remembered how to get to her place. Nell’s spot by the creek. It’s been years since I’d visited it, and I….” He laughed, but it was a sad sound. “I hated that.”
I took several careful steps toward him, only then realizing how close to the edge he was standing, and forced a smile onto my face.
“You found it,” I said hoarsely, hours of yelling and exposure catching up to me.
He was still for a long moment before he dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “Yeah. I did.” Then, with a gesture that was very much unlike him, he tugged angrily at his orange beanie, faded from years of wear. He lowered his gaze to the ground, his hand noticeably shaking by his side as he bit out, “I couldn’t remember if I needed to cross the damn—” He kicked at the ground, emphasizing the uncharacteristic curse, sending snow and loose rocks down into the creek bed. “—the damn creek to get home.” He stared off beyond the creek as if still trying to remember and then whispered, “I couldn’tremember.”
“Pops,” I said quietly as I reached toward him, intending to squeeze his shoulder in comfort. But then, in a surge of strength that was unexpected though not exactly surprising—he was still a strong man even in his seventies—he startled. Violently.
It took only seconds but somehow also a century.
A misplaced step, loose rocks beneath my feet shifting to reveal a layer of ice beneath them, then a sharp turn of my ankle.
All I registered besides the blinding pain was Pops’swide, panicked eyes, flashes of snow and sky reversed… and then there was nothing.
Nothing at all.
1
IRELAND
Iknew the nude body of Mrs. Lenora C. Apworth better than my own.
Probably because it’d welcomed me three times per day over the past week.
This afternoon, the smell of gardenias and mild pet dander served as a soft prelude to her naked form as I crossed the zero-step threshold into her home, a hallmark of all residences here at Live Oak Independent Living.
Even the chorus of yips, barks, and whines from her menagerie of pets couldn’t muffle the brazen greeting from the full-frontal, true-to-scale, and—presumably—accurate full-body nude portrait that hung proudly in the foyer.
As I propped my longboard against the foyer wall, my phone beeped from my back pocket, telling me that I was on schedule. I had exactly thirty minutes to get this crew taken care of before I had to be back at the Locc—The Live Oak Community Center—to teach this afternoon’s adult tap class.
That wasn’t a tall order, thankfully. The Locc was nestled in the center of Live Oak’s campus, making it ashort trip on my longboard. Since I’d sold my car earlier this winter, the only other mode of transportation available to me was Dad’s Vespa, so I was shit out of luck if it rained.
Which… it did often here on the Alabama Gulf Coast.
