Across Carina (16 page)

“Do you not like people or things?”

He was smiling. I started thinking of clever replies—of a comeback he wouldn’t forget. But before I could settle on one, I realized that we were sinking. I looked down, and I was up to my ankles in mud. The rain had turned the meadow into swirls of it.

I grimaced. Sal lifted me so that I was standing on his feet, and then continued dancing. He stepped lightly so that we wouldn’t sink into any one spot. I felt like a little girl on the dance floor at someone’s wedding.

“It’s okay,” I said. “This is probably uncomfortable for you.”

“It’s not,” he said.

Subtly, he pulled me closer. Lightning cracked and thunder bellowed. Sheets of rain whipped us sideways. The sky and earth blended into one color, one body. In the distance, the fruit trees swayed in their grove. The world was in absolute chaos, yet my mind was quiet. All I could focus on was Sal.

Maybe I had missed people so much that I was eager to interact with anyone. Or, maybe Sal actually appealed to me beyond his bronze skin and ability to dance. It would take me more than a few days to figure out. All I knew in that moment was that I wanted to kiss him.

This time, it was I who moved closer. I released my hand from Sal’s and wrapped my arms around his neck. I leaned against him; our chests pressed together, my head at rest beneath his chin.

“No more dancing,” I murmured. “I’m tired.”

The rain lightened, then, freeing us from its pressure. I lifted my head to read Sal’s face, but he looked away like he’d been caught watching me.

“Sal?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“Are you really going to help me get home?”

“I will certainly try.”

His face was hovering inches from mine. The last of the rain drizzled down our cheeks, and my heart beat a little faster. I tried to keep my expression neutral, inhaling deeply through my nose and exhaling through my lips, which formed a small O. Sal’s chest rose and sank repeatedly. His calm demeanor was gone. His eyes searched my face, looking away every few seconds and then returning.

I was ready. Increasingly so by the second. So when Sal set me back on the ground, I had to hide my disappointment.

The clouds mocked me, rolling away to reveal a single ray of sunshine. I sighed quietly and started to turn.

And that’s when Sal grabbed me. He lifted me up and then kissed me on my descent. I was caught so off guard that my vision blurred and the universe spun inside me.

My toes had barely touched the ground when Sal kissed me again, and I threw my arms around him to keep from staggering. I was floating, but this time it felt different. It felt pleasant.

I was about to return Sal’s kiss when he backed away. Our entwined arms slid into grasping fingertips, and then I felt nothing but air.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s too soon.”

He started to gather up our fruit, once again juggling the apples and bananas in his arms.

I had my hand on my chest. My heart was still racing. I couldn’t believe it was over before it had really begun.

Sal turned and started for the edge of the meadow. I followed. Slowly.

“Let’s go back to camp,” he said. “We need to map out our escape plan.”

I clenched my fists as we trudged through the grass. My new sandals were ruined. They were no longer sparkling, but brown and slimy.

“Are you kidding me?” I shouted behind Sal. “Yes, let’s go map out our escape plan so that I can get the hell out of here!”

Even as I shouted, I knew exactly why he had pulled away. Dion. I couldn’t blame him for not being ready, but then he shouldn’t have kissed me. Vulnerability was stupid like that.

“I’m sorry, Jade,” he said over his shoulder. “Again, I shouldn’t have done it. I was caught up in the moment. I need time.”

“I need time,” I mocked him quietly.

Sal whipped his head around, having clearly heard me. I expected him to be red in the face, but he was as calm as ever.

“I really am sorry,” he said. “Next time we kiss I’ll be ready.”

Next time.

The thought was enough to carry me back to camp.

By the time Sal and I reached camp, our entire day was gone. But I didn’t mind. I had been given plenty to mull over.

We ate some of our fruit and then gathered sticks to make a fire. Sal helped me strike rocks against each other—an act I knew in theory but had never tried. He left me to tend the fire so that he could catch and kill something for dinner. I hoped he didn’t bring back a squirrel, though I knew I wasn’t in a position to be picky.

I tried to replace my memories of fire with new ones. As I watched the flames shape-shift, I considered the new adventures that I was having. Whenever an image of Garrett, Dion, or the brunette boy popped into my mind, I closed my eyes and imagined a dark wall slowly covering their faces until they were gone. Then I opened my eyes and thought of Sal and Getheos.

Sal returned with a rabbit. Although I didn’t leap for joy at the sight of it, I knew that it surpassed a squirrel.

The night brought cold air, and after dinner we huddled in our blankets under Sal’s weeping willow—the one where he had made me breakfast. We exchanged all of our favorites—colors, movies, books, days of the week—until we fell asleep.

When I opened my eyes again, it was morning. Sunlight was streaming through the branches to warm me. I wondered which day it was, and when I realized that I had no clue, I began to worry. I didn’t even know how long I had been away from home. It was time to brainstorm.

I explained to Sal that it was easy to summon a chariot driver if one knew of their existence—which we did. But I reminded him of the drivers’ gruff nature and said that we would need to barter with them in order to get anywhere. Sal suggested that we offer them a gold bracelet Dion had given him. I was surprised that he was ready to relinquish such a gift, but he said that he needed to move on, especially if we were to leave Getheos.

He said that most of his grief was caused by a wonder of what could have been. He had only known Dion a brief time, but had been enchanted by her beauty, kindness, and charm. He said he wasn’t sure if he had felt true love for her, but that it didn’t matter at this point.

“The bracelet must go,” he insisted. But even as he said it, his forehead was creased.

I felt sorry for him. I decided to keep my distance for the rest of the morning. I didn’t want him to feel any undue pressure from me.

We rolled up our blankets, packed our two tiny bags, and focused our dialogue on the days ahead.

“So we just have to find our creator?” Sal asked.

I knew he wasn’t convinced of the plan’s simplicity. And I knew why, too. He didn’t want to abandon his realism. Apparently his mother had always told him to hope for the best, but plan for the worst. I found that very dismal.

“Yes,” I said. “Charlotte and Eden were very clear about the fact that he can’t hear us if we’re outside his channel. We have to find someone who knows him.”

“But how?” Sal asked.

“Maybe one of the gods here knows him,” I said. “I get the sense they’re all connected somehow.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged, twisting his lips in thought. “We could ask Artemis. She’s the only one of the gods that I know, but even she and I aren’t that close. Although, I think our actions in the forest the other night will help our case.”

I shoved the last of our fruit and bread into my bag and slung the bag over my shoulder. It was a good thing that Sal had had an extra. The bags were small, and anything that we wanted to take we had to carry.

“Where do we find Artemis?” I asked. “I thought the gods lived on Olympus or something. Have you been there?”

“I haven’t,” Sal said. “They do live there, but Artemis told me that she spends a great deal of time in some forest . . . several miles from here. It will take us a day to reach, maybe longer.”

We had no other plan—no other options—and so we set out on the journey.

About a mile in, Sal said that he had never been to this particular forest and that we should stop at a nearby cottage to obtain a map.

The cottage belonged to the widow whom he had spoken of, as he had often exchanged his labor for her bread and utensils. Apparently she was a quiet woman who lived alone. Her husband had been killed in a battle years before, and she had never remarried. She kept to herself and lived off her land, sewing her own clothes and maintaining a garden.

When she opened her door, I was shocked by her frailty. She stood less than five feet, with thin fingers and a sunken chest. Her hair was gray and weathered, full of split ends. Her dress had been worn and washed so many times that its pattern had almost faded completely. I couldn’t imagine her performing any type of physical labor, and I wondered how she would manage without Sal.

He told her that he was leaving, and she frowned severely. I could see that her lips had no control over themselves, like a clown’s. Her voice was low and weak. She could only manage to whisper.

“Where will you go?” she asked Sal.

“To meet up with my parents,” he lied. “I finally found them.”

She nodded slowly, hunched over in the doorway.

Sal took her little hands. “I’m sorry, Maia. There is a man who lives a mile east of here. That’s the direction we’re headed in. We’ll stop on our way and let him know to check in on you from time to time. I won’t forget you, I promise. You have been so kind to me.”

She only nodded again.

They embraced quietly, like a grandmother and grandson; and then, with trembling hands, Maia handed Sal a map.

“Good luck,” she said.

She tried to smile, but that only made her cheeks start to twitch. She had unraveled. Right before she closed the door, I saw a single tear slip out of her eye and hit the floor.

Sal and I turned and slowly walked away, entering the morning ahead. I couldn’t shake Maia’s expression.

“Don’t you feel awful leaving her?” I asked.

Sal shook his head.

“Don’t think about it,” he scolded himself.

Then he wiped his eyes and looked at me, his face hard.

“We have to get home, Jade.”

“But what will she do?” I asked.

“I helped her for as long as I could,” he said. “I don’t want her to suffer, but we must do this for ourselves.”

“But—”

“If you put others before yourself too often and for too long, and if you worry about their problems as if they are your own, then eventually you will resent them, and all of your empathy will have been in vain.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

I said nothing as we walked to Maia’s neighbor’s house. Sal told the man about Maia, and then we trekked on in more silence.

After an hour I asked Sal if he was ready to talk about Dion.

“No.”

“It can’t be healthy to go on in denial like this,” I said. “At some point you need to express how you feel.”

“Should I try being unhappy?” he asked. “Should I turn into a recluse and tape off the world like you did when Garrett died?”

“It’s called grieving,” I snapped. “I wanted to be with his memory awhile.”

“Well either way you look at it, your obsession and my hopeful front are both forms of denial. You know I’m right.”

I considered this. It was true that I hadn’t wanted to let Garrett go, but day by day I
was
getting better. I could feel myself growing stronger, braver.

“You know what, Sal? Maybe you’re right. But so am I. You could use a good, public cry—that you’re not ashamed of. One day you’ll have repressed so much that you’ll explode. And then what’ll have been the point in going back to Earth?”

Sal didn’t say anything, and I thought to myself that I liked wise me.

We walked for seven miles of insignificance. I kept hoping for us to pass through a city. A city meant more people, and more people meant a better chance of finding answers. Unfortunately, we appeared to be moving into rural land. Sal confirmed this after consulting the map. The trees were thinning, and the fields bore desolation. There was less fruit to be seen and fewer flowers in bloom. The rocks were growing larger, and the soil had turned from brown earth to red clay.

“This is a desert,” I said, wiping my forehead.

It was hot. I tossed my head back and drank from my canteen. I drank until the water was gone. Then I looked around. There was no other water in sight, and I had just drained my supply. I wasn’t used to having to ration.

“Where could this mysterious forest even be?” I whined.

Sal glanced at the map.

“To get there, we have to travel through the desert,” he said. “The forest is just after, right before The Edge.”

I stopped in my tracks.

“The Edge?” I repeated. “We’re going to The Edge?”

“Yes, just about,” Sal said. “What’s wrong?”

“When were you going to tell me?” I asked. “Isn’t it dangerous there?”

I sat down on a boulder, rhythmically pounding my head with my fist.

“This is not happening,” I muttered.

Remembering the flat planet that I had seen from space, I could only surmise that walking to The Edge of Getheos would result in our deaths.

“Let’s just take a break,” I said. “Here, have a seat.”

Sal remained where he was.

“Jade, we’re not actually going to The Edge itself. We’re just going to the forest right before it.”

“Have you ever been to The Edge?” I asked him.

“No,” he said.

“What does it even look like? Do you just fall off the planet?”

“I don’t know. What did it look like when you landed?”

“My eyes were closed,” I confessed.

“Mine were too,” he said. “Listen—all we need is for Artemis to point us in the right direction, and then we can summon a chariot, right?”

“I think so,” I said. “I only tried the one time, but it worked. Honestly, we should just summon a chariot now. What if Artemis isn’t even at the forest?”

My shoulders slumped, and my bag slid off, hitting the ground.

“Do you not want to go anymore?” Sal asked. “If Artemis isn’t there, then we’ll wait until she is. We’ve invested hours in this. We packed up camp. I told Maia I was leaving. You convinced me that my hope was sound. Don’t do this. We don’t want to end up someplace worse than here, all because we made a rash decision.”