The Moment of Letting Go

  My face feels like it’s on fire. I swallow nervously, excitedly.

  “It’s a deal,” I say.

  He takes my hand and walks with me out of the building and into the sunshine.

  He won’t say where he’s taking me next. I practically begged him when we first got on the bus, quietly so the people sitting nearby wouldn’t hear how whiny I might’ve sounded, but Luke was impervious to my feminine charms this time. And I have to say, I’m glad for that because I like a guy who puts his foot down every now and then and who isn’t so sweet that he always lets me have my way. What fun is there in that? But I’ve been looking for it. Since the day I met him on that beach, I’ve been waiting for the one thing about him that’s going to turn me off and make me run in the other direction to rear its ugly head. Because it always happens. A guy can be as perfect as a guy can be. I can check the boxes off my little list of requirements from top to bottom and even add a few things I never imagined any guy could have all in one personality, but eventually that hideous sore will pop up out of nowhere and turn a prince into a troll. It’s one of my other flaws, but I’ll never tell Luke that. Paige says it’s because I’m afraid to get serious, because I’m so wrapped up in my career that in the back of my mind I know that getting too serious with someone will threaten it. Paige also says I’m “too fucking young to be worried about stuff like that,” but she and I are different in that way—I think the younger I solidify my life and career, the better. I look at my parents and how much they might’ve had, the things they could’ve done, the time they could’ve spent together, if only they hadn’t had to struggle financially as much as they did. I love them, but I don’t want to end up like them and go through what they went through. What they’re still going through.

  But Luke is someone I can’t easily brush aside and I know it, even if my feelings for him could one day threaten to change my life, veer it off course, turn it in a direction that I’ve never experienced before. It’s frightening to think about the possibilities; my life has, for the most part, stayed on one straight course, never risking unfamiliar roads, rarely contemplating change—but Luke makes me feel like I can, that it’s somehow safe to take a chance on something unknown. It’s frightening, yes, but it’s also exciting, and that’s just not something I think I can ignore.

  Still, that ugly sore could show up right now as I’m sitting close to him on the bus, our thighs touching even though there’s room enough they don’t need to, and I know it would take a lot to scare me away. I’m not afraid of getting closer to him. I don’t feel a nervous ball in my stomach that makes me want to clam up on Luke. I don’t feel the sudden urge to take a step back and slow things down. I’m not afraid of getting serious with him, but instead, I feel like I’m running toward him with open arms and I don’t care how fast my legs are taking me there. No, I’m definitely not afraid of getting closer to him.

  I think I’m afraid of the reverse.

  Paige was wrong—I was never really scared of getting serious with a guy. I’ve just been holding out for the right guy.

  “Wait,” I say, looking out the window when I suddenly realize where we are. “Why are we at the airport?”

  Luke’s smile borderlines mystery and encouragement and I don’t think I like it.

  He pats the top of my thigh covered by the fabric of my dress. “You said you wanted to see where I live.”

  “Yeah, but—” All I see are images of me on a plane, and the same images I always see that take five years off my life.

  He takes my hand and leans toward me; the smell of his freshly washed skin and the heat coming off his body almost … almost, calms me down a little. “I just work on Oahu,” he says. “I live on Kauai. You’ll be OK. It’s only about a thirty-minute flight.”

  My heart sinks like a stone and my mouth feels like a dry riverbed—I don’t even have my earbuds with me to listen to my rain MP3s. I want to protest—well, the fear in me wants to protest—but I can’t get the words to leave my mouth.

  He smiles warmly and tugs on my hand as the bus comes to a stop in front of the terminal.

  OK, I can do this. It’s not like I’ve never been on a plane before. My heart is banging against my rib cage and already I’m feeling sick to my stomach when usually that doesn’t happen until I sit down on the plane and prepare for takeoff. I think what’s different about this time is that I’m afraid of embarrassing myself in front of Luke, of all people. All three times I’ve been on an airplane without at least my MP3s to distract me, I’ve had small anxiety attacks. Once, on a flight from San Diego to Dallas, we flew through a thunderstorm and the turbulence was so frightening that I came unglued and the anxiety attack that I had was more than small.

  “Luke, I don’t know … Isn’t there another way across? I mean, if it’s only a thirty-minute flight, surely there’s a boat that can take us over.”

  “Not anymore,” he says, holding my hand as we enter the tall glass doors of the airport. “There used to be a ferry, but now the only way over is by plane or private boat, and that’d take a while.”

  “Nothing wrong with a while.” I laugh under my breath uncomfortably, finding no real humor in it.

  “Do you have a private boat?” he jokes. “Because I don’t.”

  Luke stops and moves around in front of me, placing both of his hands on my upper arms. He looks into my eyes with a softness that I can’t help but surrender to. People walk past us in all directions. The tapping of shoes on the bright tiled floor, the squeaking wheels of suitcases, and the hum of voices carry throughout the vast space. The sound of the intercom speakers in the high ceiling crackles before a voice comes on to make a general announcement that I can’t pay attention to, not with those hazel eyes gazing in at me, claiming all of my attention.

  “I’ll be right next to you,” he says. “Look at me.”

  I didn’t realize my eyes had begun to stray.

  I swallow hard and look back at him.

  “Now, please just listen to what I have to say,” he begins; an intense look rests on his face, which initially puts me on edge. “I know you’re afraid. I understand that fear because I was there once, but I promise you everything’ll be OK. I’m not going to tell you what everybody else tells you, all that stuff about how being in a car is more dangerous than flying, or give you statistics, or whatever—that’s cookie-cutter bullshit advice that people give because they think it’s what they’re supposed to say.” He shakes his head. His hands are still fitted about my upper arms. I can smell his minty breath and feel my heart beating in my arms underneath his strong fingers. “Most people never let their feet leave the ground,” he goes on. “Whether they’re afraid of heights, or afraid of hospitals, or they stay in the same place all their life because they’re afraid of change—so many people go through life on the ground and die without ever knowing that they can fly.”

  My mind hangs on every one of Luke’s words, as if he were some kind of remarkable mystery; I feel like I want to say something, but my heart wants to just listen.

  “Where did your fear of heights come from anyway?” His hands slide away from my arms as he gazes at me with focus.

  I have to think about it for a moment. I’ve been asked this question a few times, but I’ve never been able to give anyone a solid answer.

  “Was it a bad experience like I had with my brother on that camping trip?”

  I shake my head absently. “No … it’s not because of anything like that …” I stop to ponder, never sure of the only answer I’ve ever been able to come up with. “The second I step on a plane, I’m handing my life over to the pilot, and once I’m in the air I can’t change my mind. I can’t tell him to pull over and let me out.” My mind begins to drift, and my gaze strays from Luke’s.

  “Fear will kill you,” he goes on. “A natural fear is good, but the kind of fear that you have, Sienna”—his hands squeeze my arms gently—“it’s the unhealthy kind, the terminal-disease kind.” Then he raises his chin impo
rtantly; a playful manner swaps with the serious one. “And as of today I’m making it my mission to cure you of it.”

  “Terminal diseases have no cure,” I tell him smartly.

  “Every disease has a cure,” he comes back. “They’re just waiting to be found is all.”

  How does he do that—make me question my own stubborn thoughts?

  Finally I begin to nod slowly. “OK, I’ll go. I mean it’s not that big a deal—I’ve been on a plane several times.”

  “But have you ever been on a plane and not been afraid the whole flight?”

  “No.”

  “And have you ever sat by the window and looked down at the landscape without feeling like you might faint?”

  A nervous knot moves halfway down the center of my throat and it takes me a moment longer to answer him because it wedges there stubbornly.

  “I’ve never sat by the window,” I confess, “or looked out of one while the plane was in the air.”

  Luke’s left brow rises just a little and he looks at me in a searching sidelong glance.

  “Never? Not once?”

  I shake my head slowly and switch my big orange purse onto the opposite shoulder.

  “Then today will be your first time,” he says.

  My heart falls into the pit of my empty stomach, and now I feel more nauseous than ever.

  “No, Luke, I really can’t do that.” I take a step back and sit down on a nearby plastic chair to catch my breath. “I-I can get on the plane and fly over to the other island with you, but”—my head is still shaking, I realize—“but there’s no way I can sit in the window seat or look out … That’s a really bad idea.”

  He sits on the edge of the empty seat beside me, his body turned at an angle so he can face me, our knees touching.

  “Why is it a bad idea?” He looks thoughtful, concerned.

  “Because, seriously … it’s just … Luke, really, I draw the line right there. I’m sorry.”

  He peers in at me, ensnaring my unsteady gaze; his eyes are so sincere and comforting and I want to give in to him, but I know that this time I can’t. I just can’t.

  His hand cups my knee.

  “Sienna, you can do this,” he says in a quiet voice so as not to draw the attention of anyone walking nearby. “Fear is an illusion. A hallucination. And all you have to do is make yourself believe that by defying it once”—he holds up the index finger from the hand on my knee and then lets it drop back down—“just once, and after that first time, you’ll start to see that all along you’ve been lied to, and then you’ll begin to take control of your own life.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” I tell him right away. “The first time I got on an airplane, I was so terrified. But I forced myself on that plane anyway, and I sat in that seat and cried for two hours, my hands gripping the armrests until the bones in my fingers ached. And when that plane landed, I couldn’t get off it fast enough. That was about”—I count in my head briefly—“oh, maybe fifteen flights ago. And since then, I’ve been afraid of every flight I’ve taken.”

  Luke regards me quietly for a moment, his hand smoothing the top of my knee in consolation, and then he says, “That’s because you weren’t telling the fear to piss off.” His hand slides away and he rests his back against the seat, stretching his arm behind me over the top of mine. “You got on that plane that day because you forced yourself. And I bet”—he nods at me once—“you told yourself that you just had to get it over with, didn’t you?”

  I think back on it, but I don’t have to for long because those particular words had run through my head a hundred times in preparation of that first flight and it’s not easy to forget.

  “Yeah, I did say that,” I admit.

  “That’s not fighting the fear,” he tells me. “That’s being submissive to it, accepting it as a part of your life that you can’t control. And I’m sorry, but I just don’t take you for the type.” He shakes his head, a teasing look hidden behind his eyes.

  “What type would that be?”

  He shrugs and leans farther back in his seat, bringing his arms up and interlocking his fingers behind his golden-brown head, his long legs, bent at the knees, fallen open before him. I turn around on my seat, dropping my purse in the space between us, and just look at him, waiting for his answer as I chew on the inside of my mouth.

  “I just think you’re stronger than that,” he says and then turns his head to lock eyes with me. “Everything I know about you so far tells me that although sweet, you’re a no-nonsense kind of girl. You’re set in your ways and you don’t want your life dictated by anything you can’t control—why else would you work so hard at your job?” His eyes smile at me, but the smile only faintly touches his mouth. “You work your ass off because you want to secure your financial life. You don’t want not having money to control any part of it.”

  Is that truly the answer? Control?

  Luke’s comforting smile pulls me back in; I think maybe he knows I’ve taken the first step to understanding a deeper part of myself.

  Suddenly he pushes his body forward and away from the back of the seat, leaning over with his elbows resting on his legs. “But that’s getting off the subject,” he says. “Look, I’m just saying that you’re stronger than you give yourself credit.”

  He stands up and reaches out his hand to me. Hesitantly I take it.

  “Just try it,” he says as he helps me to my feet, “this one time—if you step off that plane on Kauai and don’t feel even the slightest bit liberated, then I’ll leave you alone about it and eat my words.”

  After turning it over and over inside my mind, a long moment that feels like forever, I swallow down the rejection I had prepared and I give in.

  “OK.”

  Luke shakes his head as if I were already making a mistake and he needs to quickly correct it.

  “You can’t do this for me,” he points out. “You have to want to do it for yourself. Just take a deep breath and think about how afraid you’ve always been and set it straight in your mind that you don’t want to be afraid anymore.” He smiles and adds, “To be blunt, Sienna, just tell the fear to fuck off and you take the control. Seriously. Grow a set of balls—I’ll loan you mine if you need them.”

  I guffaw, drawing the brief attention of passersby. Then my laughter falls under a red-hot face.

  Slowly my lips spread into a grin and I look toward his crotch, holding out my hand, palm up. “All right, then loan me your balls.”

  Judging by the stunned look on his face, surrounded by a broad smile, he probably didn’t expect that.

  He sighs dramatically and says, “Oh, all right,” and then moves his hand down in front of him, makes a really big clawlike fist—I chuckle uncontrollably—and pretends to remove his balls, afterward placing them in my open hand. “Be careful with them. I’d like to extend my family name somewhere down the road.”

  Unable to suppress my grin—and just barely my laughter—I pretend to drop his balls inside my purse.

  “I’ll be very careful,” I say, patting the side of my purse deftly.

  He cocks a curious brow, looking to and from my purse and my eyes as if to complain about where I put them.

  I laugh out loud. “Come on,” I tell him with sarcasm, tilting my head to one side, “girls don’t really carry them there—surely you knew that already.”

  Grinning, he shakes his head and takes hold of my hand. “Let’s get our tickets,” he says. “And don’t worry. I’m paying for yours.”

  “No, I can—”

  “I got this,” he says sternly, shutting me up in an instant.

  He smiles and pulls me along beside him as we head to the ticket counter.

  FIFTEEN

  Luke

  She sits down nervously and places her bulky purse on her lap, her back stiff, her eyes looking at the back of the seat in front of her. I feel compelled to tell her to loosen up some, but I don’t want to push her.

  I’ve been here before, wh
ere Sienna is:

  “You can do this, bro!” Landon said as the wind hit the bridge and made his semi-long brown hair whip about his face. “And hey, if you die, you’ll be there on the Other Side waiting for me when it’s my time to go!” The wind was so strong on the bridge, elevated five hundred feet over a river, that he had to shout over it. Laughter followed.

  “You’re an asshole, Landon!” I told him.

  He smiled. “Yeah, I know, but I learned from the best, big brother!” He shook his finger at me, grinning like a devil.

  With the bungee cord secured around my leg, I stepped out onto the perch and looked down at the river snaking its way through the earth, and the hundreds of green-topped trees that looked like little pieces of broccoli set about in clusters. It was so far down that standing where I stood, that close to the edge, would make anyone with an immobilizing fear of heights piss themselves. I wasn’t as afraid of the height as much as I was afraid of the way down, deliberately leaping to what could potentially be my death. But in my mind, it was the only way I could release myself from the fear. And if I died trying, then at least I died trying. I was tired of merely existing in a life that I was supposed to be living.

  I looked back at my brother, just in case it was my last chance to do so, and I did what any brother would do—I flipped him off and leapt off the bridge.

  And I lived.

  No, I was reborn.

  Sienna’s hands are trembling against the armrests. I reach over and cup her right with my left.

  “Look,” I say, “you don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. I won’t try to guilt you into it. But I can guarantee you that once you land, you’ll be glad you did it. You’ll feel more in control. Do you want to switch seats?”

  I can’t force her, I know, but I have to give her the option; otherwise she’ll feel forced and this will all have been for nothing.

  She hesitates and finally shakes her head. “No, I want to do this.”