Dreamland: A Novel (30 page)

“If you’re wondering why she painted, I have no idea. She just painted these walls maybe a month ago. She loves Hermès orange and swore the kitchen would look fabulous. Same thing with the wall here.”

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” Morgan said, which was the nicest possible thing she could have said.

Upstairs, we refolded and put away the items from the linen closet, cleaned my bathroom, and I scooped up the children’s clothes and my pillowcase, leaving the pile at the top of the stairs for the time being. In Paige’s bedroom, I hesitated, somehow reluctant to intrude in my sister’s personal space. Morgan had no compunction, however; she immediately started sorting through piles of clothing and folding them. “I’ll fold and you put away,” she instructed. “And maybe hang whatever’s on a hanger back in the closet, okay?”

I wasn’t sure where all of it belonged, but I did my best. In the bathroom, I scooped up the bloody shirt, knowing that it would end up in the garbage, and carefully inspected the wig, trying to imagine why Paige would have felt the need to wear one.

“She dressed as a flapper for Halloween a couple of years ago,” I mused, spinning the wig around on my hand. “This was part of her costume.”

“Hey, I dressed as a flapper last year!” Morgan chirped, spraying the bathroom sink and countertops with cleanser. “Great minds think alike.”

I had to admit that it was a lot easier to clean with her help. Alone, I would have scrutinized every item, trying to figure out
how it fit into the delusion, but Morgan simply kept moving forward until each task was completed. By the end I felt, if not quite whole, reassured that everything would eventually return to normal.

“Is there a decent-sized supermarket nearby?” Morgan said, washing her hands at the kitchen sink.

“There’s the Piggly Wiggly.” I shrugged. “But, really, we can go out if you’d rather rest after all this work….”

“You cooked for me in Florida, so it’s my turn,” she said.

At the Piggly Wiggly, Morgan miraculously managed to find a package of rice noodles in the Asian food section, along with a small bottle of soy sauce. Adding garlic, frozen shrimp, chicken breasts, cabbage, and a few vegetables to the cart, along with a dozen eggs, she triumphantly pulled up to the beverage aisle and threw a six-pack of beer into the bottom of the cart.

Back at the house, she got busy in the kitchen, washing and chopping vegetables and starting a pot of water to boil on the stove. Pulling out a large skillet, she made a shooing motion in my direction. “Leave me alone in here. Go sit on the porch with a beer and relax,” she instructed, in a voice that brooked no disagreement.

Pulling a beer from the six-pack, I grabbed my guitar from the truck and settled into one of the rockers out front. I fiddled around with whatever chords came to me as my mind wandered over the last few days. Every now and then I’d stop to take a sip of beer, feeling the beginnings of a melancholy ballad take shape.

“That’s pretty,” I heard Morgan say from behind me. I turned to see her standing at the screen door, her hair tied back in a ponytail with a rubber band. “Is it new?”

I nodded. “Yeah…but I’m not sure what it is yet. And I’m sure I’ll need help with the lyrics, since you’re so good at those all-important hooks.”

Morgan brightened. “After dinner,” she promised. “Food in fifteen minutes,” she called over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen.

The smells wafting through the screen door were making my mouth water, and the crackling sound of frying garlic and onions eventually made me lay down my guitar and wander back into the house. Morgan was stir-frying the shrimp, chicken, and vegetable mixture in a heavenly mix of soy sauce, black pepper, and other spices, all the while keeping an eye on the quick-cooking rice noodles.

“You can set the table,” she said, swiping absently at a tendril of hair that had escaped her ponytail.

I set two places, cracked open two cold bottles of beer, and put them next to the plates just as Morgan set down a huge platter of fried noodles garnished with limes and hard-boiled eggs.

“Wow,” I said. “Kinda puts my chicken dinner to shame.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, taking a seat across from me. “This is the easiest dish in the world, although it really hits the spot.” She raised her own bottle of beer. “To family,” she said.

We clinked bottles and took sips before digging into our fragrant plates of food. I think Morgan knew I needed a distraction from thinking about my aunt or Paige, so she regaled me with stories of her family trips to Manila and her grandma’s attempts to teach her how to cook. “I wasn’t a very good student,” she said, laughing. “Once I caused a small fire while I was trying to use the wok, but I did learn one or two things.” She popped a shrimp into her mouth and washed it down with another sip of beer. “My grandma finally told my dad that it was a good thing I was smart, because no one would marry me for my cooking.”

I leaned across the table and kissed her. “I love your cooking,” I said. “And everything else about you.”

Morgan went on to tell me about her last day with her friends
at the Don CeSar. While she admitted that my sudden departure put a bit of a damper on their last afternoon, what made it worse was a group of guys who monopolized the chaise longues next to theirs at the pool and spent the entire time badgering them to meet up later.

“It was irritating. All we wanted was a peaceful last afternoon together in the sun.”

“Did you end up going out on your last night?”

“We did, and thank God we didn’t run into those guys. But we weren’t out late. Everyone was kinda tired. It was a big week for all of us.”

“Fun though, right?”

“I can’t speak for them, but I was living in dreamland.”

I smiled. “How did your parents react to you leaving again as soon as you got home?”

She made a face. “I didn’t tell them until after I booked the flights, and while they weren’t thrilled, they didn’t try to stop me. I should mention, though, that as soon as I got home, my mom sat me down and tried again to convince me to take that music-teaching job in Chicago instead of going to Nashville.”

I made sympathetic noises as I stood and cleared the table. Together, we did the dishes, by now in practiced rhythm. As I put the last of them away, she nodded in the direction of the porch. “Let’s sit outside for a while. I want to help you keep tinkering with that song you started.”

We settled ourselves in the rockers then, absorbing the smells and budding scenery of the late-spring evening. The air was balmy, and the stars were scattered in the sky like handfuls of loose crystal. From the small creek beyond the barn, I heard the night chorus of frogs and crickets. The moon lent the landscape a silver sheen.

“It’s beautiful here,” Morgan breathed, taking it all in. “And”—
she interrupted herself with a laugh—“I was going to say it’s quiet, but it’s not. The sounds are just different than back home. Or even in Florida, for that matter.”

“It’s called living in the boondocks.”

“It’s not that bad. I was able to get an Uber in Greenville, after all, and it was a real car and everything.” She leaned her head back against the rocker. “Earlier, when I was listening to you working on the song, my thoughts kept returning to our week together. I know you’re channeling a lot of stress and worry right now about your sister and your aunt, but when you’re writing a ballad, the song needs to come from a memory of happiness or it’s not going to work. Sadness is powerful, but it has to be earned, you know? So I was thinking the first line of the song could be something like this….” She drew a deep breath, then sang the opening few bars: “There’s a place that I know, where only you and I can go…”

I instantly knew she was right. “Anything else?”

“It’s your song, not mine. But since you asked…” She grinned, arching an eyebrow. “I think the opening should be more complex, instrumentally speaking. Like orchestral, even. A big romantic sound.”

I reached for my guitar. “Since you think this should be a song about us, right?”

“Why not?” she asked. “And we should probably get going on it, since I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“I can’t stay. I have to spend a little time with my family before I leave for Nashville next week. And there’s so much to do in Nashville. I’ve got to furnish my apartment, set up a bank account, get utilities turned on, things like that. Anyway, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, and I’d just be a distraction.”

Though she was right, I felt a ripple of sadness at her words; I
didn’t want to think about that yet. Instead, I strummed the opening chords to the song. Then, in a flash, I knew what it needed. I started over, and Morgan’s gaze leapt to mine in recognition. As soon as she sang the opening line, the following line came almost automatically. Wanting to be sure, I played the first stanza a second and third time, already feeling the song take flight.

We worked as we had in Florida, seamlessly, with an unspoken give-and-take. As I tweaked and adjusted the melody, Morgan kept adding to the lyrics, turning the ballad into one of hope and love and inevitable loss. It was she who came up with the chorus, which struck me as undeniably right:

Hold on to Dreamland

Forever, not just today

Someday Dreamland will be ours

Hold fast, don’t fall away

By the time we finished the first draft, the moon had traversed the sky and a hush had fallen over the fields. I put away my guitar and led her upstairs to the bedroom. When we made love in the darkness, I felt as though our every touch and movement were choreographed. She seemed to anticipate each breath I drew, and the sounds of her voice merged with mine in the stillness of the room. Afterward, we lay together without speaking, Morgan pressed up against me, her breaths slowing until she fell asleep.

But for me, sleep wouldn’t come. Restless, I rose from the bed and threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, then crept downstairs, where I sat at the small kitchen table, still trying to make sense of all that had happened in the last ten days. When my thoughts turned to Morgan, my life felt complete; when I thought of Paige, the life I truly wanted felt as if it would always be out of
reach. I sat with those contradictory feelings, alternately at peace and in turmoil, until the light of dawn seeped through the windows. When it was bright enough, I found some paper and a pen, and I scribbled out the lyrics that we’d written the night before.

In the truck were the bags I had yet to unpack from my trip to Florida, and I walked barefoot through grass damp with morning dew. I fished out my pair of Vans and made a trip to the grocery store for coffee, along with eggs, bread, milk, and a few other items, remembering at the last minute to grab a box of green tea. I was sipping coffee at the kitchen table when Morgan finally wandered down the stairs. When she saw me at the table, she covered her mouth.

“I’d kiss you, but I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

“I haven’t, either.”

“Then you can’t kiss me yet, either.”

I smiled. “Would you like coffee or tea?”

“Tea would be great if you have some.”

I added water to a teapot; when it whistled, I poured the hot water into the cup and added a bag, bringing it to her at the table.

“You were up early,” she said. “Almost like you’re a farmer.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

She reached over, taking my hand. “I hate that you’re having to deal with all this.”

“Me, too.”

“Is your aunt going to be released today?”

“Probably tomorrow or the day after that.”

“How about Paige?”

“That’ll be longer. It might take a few days until she’s stabilized. What time are you leaving today?”

“Two? Which means I should probably be at the airport by one.”

With travel time, I realized, we had only a few hours left
together, and more than anything, I didn’t want to spoil them. “Do you want breakfast?” I asked. “I can make eggs and toast.”

“The tea is fine for now. I’m not all that hungry yet. But you know what I’d like to do after I shower and brush my teeth?”

“Kiss me?”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “But I’d also like to see the farm, so I can put actual images to your descriptions of things.”

“Sounds good.”

“And maybe get a photo of you on a tractor. Or maybe even a video of you driving one so I can text it to my friends.”

I had to laugh. “Whatever you’d like.”

After showering, I waited
for her on the front porch. In the distance, I saw Toby’s truck parked near the office and caught sight of the sprinklers irrigating the fields. Some workers were already working in the tobacco fields while another group was carefully bringing baskets of eggs into the processing facility for inspection and packaging. The activity reminded me of how much time it was going to take me to catch up—especially with my aunt out of commission. I pushed my worries to the side and wandered to the barn instead.

At Paige’s work desk, I sifted through the piles of paperwork, searching for the order she was working on. I’d need to call the customer to explain that there’d been an emergency and that the order might be delayed, but, unable to figure it out, I left the barn, wondering when Paige would be coherent enough to tell me.

By the time I got back, Morgan was in the kitchen, heating more water for her tea. Soaking up the sight of her, I remembered how she’d felt in my arms last night, and moving her hair aside, I kissed her on the back of her neck.

After she finished her second cup, we set out on our tour. I let her walk through one of the prairie schooners, past the clucking chickens, then showed her the facility where we checked and packaged the eggs. I guided her through the greenhouse, then showed her the facilities where we readied the tomatoes for shipping and the warehouse where we dried the tobacco leaves. We stopped by the main office—I called it
paperwork central
—and strolled through the tomato and tobacco fields, before I finally allowed her to shoot video of me driving a tractor. Aside from Toby, the workers went about their business, offering nothing more than a good morning or wave from afar, but I nonetheless felt their curious glances. It took me a little while to realize it was probably the first time any of them had seen me walk around the farm with a woman other than my aunt or my sister. Michelle had never been interested in the specifics of my daily life.

We had an early lunch at a place called Down on Main Street, in the heart of the waterfront district. Though the food was appetizing, I was too tense to eat, and I’m pretty sure Morgan felt the same way, since she mainly picked at her salad. Afterward, we strolled hand in hand toward the waterfront, with its gorgeous views of the Pamlico River, the water glittering beneath a cloudless sky. In the middle of the river, a sailboat rode the gentle breeze, moving slowly, as though in no rush to go anywhere at all.

“Have you given any more thought to coming to Nashville with me?” she asked, stopping to face me. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t even be talking about this right now, and I understand that it might be a while before you could get there, but you never really answered me.”

In the glinting sunlight, I could see tiny flecks of hazel in her eyes, something I’d never noticed. “I don’t think I can. I don’t see how I can leave my aunt and my sister when they need me most.
I left for three weeks and look what happened.” They were some of the most painful words I’d ever said in my life.

“Yeah,” she said. Her eyes looked wet. “That’s what I thought. But you’ll come visit me, right? After I settle in?”

I hesitated, wishing we could talk about anything else, wishing that so many things in my life were different.

“I’m not so sure that would be a good idea….” I offered, trailing off.

“Why wouldn’t it be a good idea? Don’t you love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then we’ll do the long-distance thing. In this day and age, it’s easy. We can FaceTime, we can visit each other, we can call and text….”

She reached up to turn my face to hers, and I responded by tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re right. We can do those things. I just don’t know if we should.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

I brought my lips together, wishing more than anything that I didn’t have to say the words that I knew would be coming next. “When I was at the hospital, I had a lot of quiet time to think about you and me and the future, but no matter how I tried to imagine it, my thoughts kept circling back to the idea that, from now on, we’re going to be living in two very separate worlds.”

“So what?”

“Those worlds won’t ever come together, Morgan, which means that it would
always
be long distance for us. You’re going to Nashville, and as for me, I can’t leave my aunt. I can’t leave Paige, and as far as the farm, it’s the one thing I know I’m good at. It’s what I do.”

“But you have gifts as a singer and songwriter that you can’t ignore. You saw the crowds at your shows in Florida. You saw
how people reacted to what you were doing….” Morgan’s voice was edged with irritation.

“Even if that’s true, it doesn’t matter. Who would take care of my family? You and I are different, and what does that mean for us in the long run? Do we stay together with the knowledge that we’ll lead mostly separate lives, where we can only see each other every now and then? And if so, for how long? A year? Five years? Forever? Long-distance relationships work when they’re temporary, but with us, it would never change. I’m stuck here, maybe permanently, but you have your whole life in front of you, and the world is waiting for you. And, most importantly, is that the kind of relationship that you want? One where we barely see each other? You’re only twenty-one….”

“So you’re breaking up with me? You just want to end it?” As she asked, I could hear the crack in her voice, could see the tears beginning to form in her eyes.

“It was never meant to be,” I said, hating myself and hating the truth and feeling as though I was letting the best part of me die. “Your life is going to change, but mine can’t. And that’s inevitably going to change things between us—even though I do love you, even though I know I’ll never forget the week we had together.”

For the first time since I’d known her, Morgan seemed at a loss.

“You’re wrong,” she finally bit out, swiping angrily at a tear that had spilled onto her cheek. “And you don’t even want to try.”

But I could tell that she was thinking about my aunt and Paige and the farm and understood what I’d said. She crossed her arms and stared out over the water, unseeing. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the piece of paper I’d scribbled on that morning.

“I know I have no right to ask anything of you,” I said. “But please take our song and make it famous, okay?”

She reluctantly took the paper and glanced at it, while blinking back the tears that kept threatening to overflow.

There’s a place that I know

Where only you and I can go

Far from the darkness of the past

Where love can bloom at last

Hold on to Dreamland

Forever, not just today

Someday Dreamland will be ours

Hold fast, don’t fall away

In my mind we’re living there

In that place we’re meant to share

No more talk of what we owe

Just what our hearts already know

In Dreamland, down in Dreamland

Hold fast, don’t fall away…

She didn’t finish but slipped the page into her purse, and for a long moment we simply stood together in the small town I knew I’d never escape, a place too small for Morgan’s future. I put my arm around her, watching as an osprey took flight over the lapping waves. Its simple grace reminded me of Morgan paddling through waterways in a place that already seemed far, far away.

After a while, we made our way back to the truck and drove to the Greenville airport. A handful of cars idled in front of the small terminal, unloading passengers, their hazard lights flashing. I pulled the truck in behind them and reached for her bag.
Morgan slipped the tote over her shoulder as I rolled her luggage to the entrance.

My stomach was in knots as I buried my face in her hair. I reminded myself that I had spoken the truth. No matter what plans we made or how hard we both wanted things to work between us, Morgan would leave me behind someday. She was destined for great things, and she’d eventually find someone with a life more in sync with hers, something I knew I could never offer her.

Still, I understood that I’d hurt her deeply. I could feel it in the way she clung to me, in the finality with which she pressed her body against my own. I knew that I would never love another woman in the same way I loved her. But love, I realized, wasn’t always enough.

When we separated, Morgan met my eyes.

“I’m still going to call you,” she said with a catch in her voice. “Even though I’m furious at you.”

“All right,” I said, my voice hoarse.

She reached for her bag and adjusted the tote strap on her shoulder, then forced a brave smile before heading into the terminal. I watched the electronic doors open and shut as she passed through them and, shoving my hands into my pockets, I started back toward the truck, aching for her, and for me. As I slid behind the wheel, I recalled what Paige had once said about love and pain being two sides of the same coin and finally understood exactly what she meant.

Turning in to traffic, I tried to picture Paige and my aunt as I’d last seen them, feeling a heaviness settle in my chest. As much as I loved them, I knew that somehow they’d also become my prison.