Page 38 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
With a dismissive grin, Ben shakes his head like my concern is amusing and then kneels (kneels!) on the ledge to get more shots as the fierce winds ripple his black windbreaker.
I cannot watch.
Averting my eyes, I concentrate on the stream of hikers as they spread out over the trails leading into the distance, my anxiety building with each passing second as I can only hope not to hear anyone’s horrified screams about someone (Ben) falling over the edge.
After what feels like forever and then some, Ben’s backpack lands at my feet with a heavythud.
I look up, and he’s standing over me.
Alive.
And smiling.
The audacity.
“You scared me!” I exclaim, my pent-up worry transformed to anger. I’m not even sure why. All I know is that water linesdistort my vision and make everything wavy. “You werewaytoo close to the edge. You could have fallen over!”
Fully perceiving the depth of my fear, any amusement falls from Ben’s face. “Hey, Ems, it’s okay.” Sounding as surprised by my emotion as I feel, he kneels in the dirt directly in front of me. “I was at least six feet from the edge. I’d never be careless, okay?”
A tear spills down my cheek, and I rush to wipe it away but it’s too late. Now my anger mixes with embarrassment, and I…I don’t know what’s taken hold of me. I don’t even know what I’m crying about; if it’s Ben and the resurfacing memories of our past, or the resentment I’ve been feeling toward my family lately, or if it’s the pressure of this trip being my only shot at my dream career and the fear of fucking it all up—because today has definitely been one giant fuckup. Whatever the reasons, it’s only day three and Iceland is kicking my ass physically, mentally, and now emotionally, too.
“Come on.” Ben lays a hand on my wrist, and god, how I wish I could trace the familiar web of veins there, even just once. “Let’s get you some food and get to the hotel.”
I shake my head as another tear betrays me. “We can’t. We’re supposed to explore these trails, and we still have Kvernufoss on the itinerary for today.”
“Hey, Ems.” Ben rises from his crouched position and extends a hand down to me. “Fuck the itinerary.”
I let him pull me up off the rock, then force myself to release the hand I’ve held for comfort countless times before, that I long to hold for comfort now.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”
* * *
It’s well past midnight as I toss and turn in my comfy, king-size bed at the suites we checked into this evening after my mortifying display of emotion atop Skógafoss. Ben hadn’t said anything about my breakdown as we picked up dinner to go from a local café and then checked into these spacious, apartment-like suites situated about ten minutes from the black sand beaches of Vík. Complete with a kitchenette, living room area, and a full wall of glass overlooking the southern coastline, the suites are both incredibly luxurious and easily roomy enough for more than one person. Except the whole one-bed thing. Even if there were two beds, or even two entire bedrooms, there’s no way Calvin would ever open himself or the company up to any kind of liability if something untoward occurred by having two employees share the same suite.
Therefore, I lie in my extra spacious bed, in my extra spacious room, alone and unable to sleep. After we’d checked in, Ben and I went our separate ways. I think he knew how humiliated I was over my behavior for, well, the entire day, if I’m honest. Freaking out on the snowmobile. Coming to tears at the sight of Ben on the edge of that ravine. I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind.
What I need is sleep. That’s what I’d told Ben anyway when we’d parted ways at my door. But now it’s hours later and all I can do is roll from one side to the other and overanalyze this situation a little more. The best I can come up with is that I’ve missed Ben more than I could’ve imagined. I never would’ve thought it possible to miss someone this intensely after fourteenyears of them not being in my life, yet here I am, a personified mess of wistful nostalgia with a Ben-shaped hole in my chest.
I suppose when someone is a part of your everyday life for the entirety of your childhood and adolescence, you never really get over their absence when they’re gone. In a way, Ben was the first person I ever lost. And when someone means as much as he did to me, should I be surprised I’m feeling this emotional at his sudden reappearance?
But it’s also more than Ben. Something about this trip is making me reexamine my entire past, and after today’s text thread with the twins, I find myself thinking about my mom more than ever. I’ve always understood that I’m fundamentally different from my brothers and my father, and that’s okay. But my mom isn’t like them, either. She isn’t loud or thrill-seeking or always determined to be the center of attention. So why weren’t the two of us closer? And why did she seemingly never care to be?
I turn again, the starchy sheets sliding over my mostly barren legs as the triangle of light spilling out from the bathroom flickers twice and then shuts off for good. I freeze in place, plunged into unexpected darkness. The neon green digits on the alarm clock have also disappeared, confirming my worst fear: a power outage. My blood runs ice-cold within an instant. Numbness starts in my toes and spreads up through my legs. Nausea turns my stomach. I’m no longer in a nice hotel in Iceland. I’m nine years old and trapped in an antique trunk in my parents’ bedroom.
My throat swells tighter with each passing second. Something about this hotel comforter is too similar to the old quilts stacked in that chest, and suddenly there’s a fifty-pound weight pressing directly on my sternum. I don’t know what to do. At home I keepa hefty supply of battery backup night-light plug-ins for this very reason. Here, I’m caught completely off guard in an unfamiliar environment. White-hot panic compresses my body like I’m stuck in one of those glacial crevasses Fridrik described.
“Ems?” Ben’s muffled voice outside my door comes at the same time as his heavy knock. “Ems, it’s me. Come open the door.”
A small relief. I want to do what he says. I really do. But I can’t move.
“Listen to me,” Ben says, calm but commanding. “Reach for your phone on the nightstand. Turn on the flashlight. Come open the door.”
It takes me a minute to comprehend his words over the whooshing in my ears, but then I manage to move my quivering hand toward the nightstand, and when it lands on my phone, the screen lights up. It’s not enough light, but it’s something. Moving quicker now, I unplug my phone from the charger and flip on the flashlight feature. Light spills over my immediate surroundings. Fluffy pillows. White down comforter. Espresso-colored nightstand.Notthe inside of that old chest.
I find the courage to push back the covers and sprint toward Ben’s voice like my life depends on it. Throwing the door open, I catapult my shaking body straight into his arms without warning.
Caught unprepared, Ben stumbles backward a few steps before managing to steady us, his arms wrapping around my waist, his voice soft and steady near my ear. “It’s okay, Ems. You’re okay.”
