He was cutting me off. This was the end of our story. Four whirlwind days. That was all I got. And I shouldn't care. Because these feelings weren't real. In the cold, relentless mountains, Jude had helped me stay alive. I was confusing my gratitude to him for something else. The unsteady beat of my heart when I thought of losing him stemmed from an irrational fear that I still needed him.
"I don't want to mess this up,” Jude said, searching my eyes. He wanted to make sure I was okay. That he wasn't hurting me. I couldn't let him know that my heart felt like it was being severed in two. How could I be hurting so badly when the connection between us was imaginary?
"Here's my number,” he said, handing it to me. "If you need to talk, call anytime, day or night. I mean it, Britt. I can tell you think this is a brush-off, but I'm doing what I think is right. Maybe I'm wrong. I'm probably going to regret this. But I have to do what I think is best, even if it isn't easy."
Of course it was a brush-off. And why not? The nightmare that had brought us together was over. Jude was right. It was time to go our separate ways. "No, it's fine. You're right. I'm glad you came to say good-bye,” I said quietly. "And I'm sorry about Lauren. I wish her story had ended differently."
"Me too."
Not knowing what else to say, I reinserted my earbuds. "I should probably finish my run. It was nice knowing you, Jude." He looked sad, distressed, and helpless to do anything about it. "Good luck in life, Britt."
I ran away from him, biting my lip and holding in the sob quivering in my chest. The minute I rounded the next bend and was out of sight, I sank to my knees and stopped fighting.
I cried myself empty.
One year later
EPILOGUE
"Road trip!" Caz, my college roommate, squealed. She pumped her arms in the air, the hot May breeze flapping her bouncy red hair around her face. Caz was from Brisbane, Australia, and reminded me of Nicole Kidman in that old movie BMX Bandits. Same poodle hair, same adorable accent.
We had just finished our freshman year at Pierce College in Woodland Hills, California, and we were experiencing the meaning of freedom firsthand. I'd sold back my textbooks, passed my apartment's cleaning check, and skipped my way out the door of my last final. Good riddance, honors chemistry.
My current list of worldly cares had been whittled down to one thing: having fun, fun, fun in the hot California sun.
"Neither of you have ever driven PCH?" Juanita, our other roommate, asked from the backseat of my Wrangler. She had her nose in her iPhone, furiously texting her brand-new boyfriend, Adolph. I think he was her first. Caz and I had barely convinced Juanita to come with us. She was afraid after two weeks apart, Adolph would change his mind and dump her. I could talk all I wanted about insecurities and female independence, but I knew what it felt like to find love and lose it. "Just tell me where you want to stop along the way, and I'll dispense information of historical or social importance for each landmark or destination. There's Hearst Castle, Zuma Beach, Wayfarers Chapel-"
"We don't want to stop!" Caz exclaimed. "That's the point. We want to get as far away from here as possible. We want to drive forever!" She let out a holler that sounded like wheee-hooo!
"We've rented an obscenely expensive shack near Van Damme State Beach for two weeks, and the deposit is nonrefundable, so you can't drive forever,” Juanita pointed out practically. "Whose idea was this again?"
"Britt's,” Caz said. "She's from Idaho and the beach is a big deal. Cut her some slack. She usually spends her summers competing in potato-throwing contests on the farm."
"And don't people from Brisbane spend their vacations hooning in utes?" I quipped.
"Bogans have way more street cred than rednecks,” said Caz, grinning.
"There's a great aquarium in Monterey,” Juanita said. "We could stop there for lunch. You might appreciate it, Britt. Though it's likely too academic for certain individuals' tastes. Heaven forbid we actually learn something."
"School's out! No learning!"Caz protested, drumming her fists enthusiastically on the dash.
"I've heard you can harvest abalone at Van Damme State Beach,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. I was such a faker. I knew about harvesting abalone at Van Damme. I'd saved up my pennies working as a campus janitor the past semester, and now I was going to blow them on a two-week beach rental. All because I wanted to eat my first abalone roasted over a campfire, the authentic way.
Of course, what I really wanted was to see Jude.
"Yes, harvesting abalone is very popular at Van Damme State Beach,” Juanita said. "But it can be very dangerous, especially if you don't know what you're doing. I wouldn't recommend it."
"I think we should try it,” Caz announced.
"Go ahead,” Juanita said, eyes glued to her phone. "I'll sit on the beach and watch you drown from the safety of my towel."
"You know, that would be a good motto for your life,” Caz said, brushing her hand through the air like she was affixing an imaginary banner there. "Sit back and watch."
"And your motto would be 'Fall headlong into disaster'!" Juanita exclaimed.
"Especially if disaster is tall, dark, and gorgeous,” Caz said, holding her hand up to me for a high-five.
"Guys,” I said. "This is supposed to be fun. No more arguing.
Close your eyes. Breath in the air. Think happy thoughts. And give me your phones-I'm locking them in the glove box. No complaints. Caz, round them up. Here's mine."
After the phones were stowed, Caz and Juanita relaxed into their seats and I drove the breathtaking stretch of coastal highway, with its twisty, cliff-hugging turns and sharp drop-offs that plunged into foamy white waves. The road's narrow shoulders reminded me of the switchback-riddled mountains of Wyoming, but the similarities ended there. I squinted through my sunglasses at glittering turquoise waves rolling as far as the eye could see. A high, blazing sun beat down on my worshiping freckles-be-damned skin. And the smell of the air. Blooming trees, baked pavement, and the cool, clean tang of sea mist. Nope, this definitely wasn’t Wyoming.
I tried to take it all in, but I could not ignore the inevitability of where this road led. With every passing mile, I was being swept closer to him. If I wanted to see him, this was my chance. My heart leaped with excitement, then plunged with dread. What if he had a girlfriend? What if she was beautiful and smart and perfect?
I could call him. I had his number. I'd dialed it so many times during the last year, but something had always stopped me on the last digit. What would I say? We didn't exactly have a normal friendship or relationship, so "What's up?" had never seemed right. And "I miss you" felt uncomfortably revealing. Or clingy and strange, like I was making a bigger deal out of our time together than four days warranted.