Page 5 of The Day Before


  Reporters have asked me

  how I feel about it.

  Like it matters.

  It doesn’t matter.

  The decision’s been made.

  I’m going.

  End of case.

  End of story.

  Except it’s not.

  Not for me anyway.

  For me, it’s just the beginning.

  where’d that come from?

  Cade doesn’t say any more.

  He doesn’t ask any more.

  We made a deal, after all.

  It’s a funny thing, though.

  Part of me wishes he would.

  lucky me

  My bag

  is still open.

  I reach for my camera.

  “Can I take your picture?” I ask him.

  “Next to the castle?”

  He gets up,

  offers me his hand,

  and I take it.

  I stand.

  I start to pull my hand away,

  but he

  doesn’t

  let

  go.

  Oh my God,

  is this really happening?

  It feels like a stingray

  is swimming around

  in my stomach.

  With his other hand

  he reaches into his pocket

  and takes out the

  lucky penny.

  “Heads, you can take it.

  Tails, you can’t.”

  He flips it

  high in the air

  and lets it land

  on the sand.

  We bend down

  to see what Chance

  has to say.

  Heads.

  Hallelujah, it’s heads.

  Except,

  he has to let go

  of my hand

  so I can take the picture.

  Still, I want it.

  I want to remember

  the amazing castle

  I made with the boy

  who seems to get

  more amazing

  by the minute.

  more than just pictures

  Mom gave me

  a camera

  for my birthday.

  I take pictures,

  print them,

  and put them in scrapbooks,

  where I write notes

  and draw art

  on the pages.

  For each page,

  I cut and paste

  pieces of my heart.

  In the coming months,

  I will hold on to

  those pieces,

  even when it feels like

  there’s no part

  of my heart

  left.

  spooked

  After I take Cade’s picture,

  he stares at our beautiful

  sand creation

  for the longest time.

  Like he sees ghosts

  hiding there.

  I leave him alone

  and go to work

  covering my feet

  and legs with sand.

  Soon he marches across the castle.

  No more towers.

  No more walls.

  No more staircase.

  I get it.

  Sometimes

  you want to remember.

  And sometimes

  you need to forget.

  tell me your story

  Many times

  when I read a book,

  I want to savor

  each word,

  each phrase,

  each page,

  loving the prose

  so much,

  I don’t want it

  to end.

  Other times

  the story pulls me in,

  and I can hardly

  read fast enough,

  the details flying by,

  some of them lost

  because all that matters

  is making sure

  the character

  is all right

  when it’s over.

  This day

  is like the best

  of both kinds

  of books.

  I want to cherish

  each moment and yet,

  I’ve got to know

  that this character

  named Cade

  will be okay

  when this story

  ends.

  sinking

  “Cade?”

  He glances my way,

  then walks toward

  the ocean.

  Did I see the start of tears?

  I run after him.

  “Hey.” I grab his arm.

  “Are you okay?”

  I pull on him

  so he’ll stop.

  “You can talk to me,” I tell him.

  “Please?”

  He’s quiet for a minute.

  His eyes are on the water

  before they turn toward me.

  “You should go,” he says.

  “Go and have your fun day.

  I’ll just ruin it.”

  It’s like he’s tied an anchor

  to my heart and I can feel it

  dropping

  down,

  down,

  down

  to the bottom of my stomach.

  “No. Hey, come on.

  You aren’t ruining anything.

  I’m sorry.

  You don’t have to tell me anything.

  Come on. Let’s go make more fun.”

  Cade’s eyes seek out the ocean again,

  like he’ll find the answer there.

  So I stand there and wait,

  hoping the crashing waves

  and the crying gulls

  will drown out the voices

  in his head.

  Except for mine, of course.

  whatever it takes

  Finally

  I get my answer.

  He takes my hand,

  and we head back

  toward our piece

  of driftwood.

  We go slowly,

  and I wait—

  for whatever

  he might want to tell me.

  “No more pictures, okay?”

  His voice is soft.

  Sad.

  I want to wrap my arms

  around him and tell him

  everything will be all right,

  even though I don’t

  know

  anything.

  I simply nod.

  At least I have one.

  One picture will have to be enough.

  Just like

  one day

  will have to be

  enough.

  yes, it’s really me

  When I put my camera away,

  he sees my drumsticks.

  He takes them out.

  Looks them over.

  Looks me over.

  “You?” he asks.

  “Really?”

  I shrug.

  He gives me

  the biggest smile yet.

  “Man, tonight, we have to—”

  He stops.

  “Never mind.

  I don’t want to tell you.

  I’ll show you.

  Later.”

  And when he says, “Later”

  I want to do cartwheels

  across the beach

  because that means

  he’s not getting rid of me

  anytime soon.

  our next destination

  I ask

  for the penny.

  “Heads, Otter Crest.

  Tails, Yaquina Bay Lighthouse.”

  Chance tells us

  we’ll be going

  to see the lighthouse.

  I’m not sure

  if the actual lighthouse

  is open to the public.

  But we can look at it.

  Admire its beauty.

 
Appreciate its grandness.

  There is something

  comforting

  about a lighthouse.

  In the dark of the night,

  hold on to the light,

  and you’ll get

  back home safely.

  I need a personal lighthouse.

  One year ago

  Dear Amber,

  I keep wishing you’d write to us. I would love to hear from you—to know what you’re thinking. I hope you’re not too upset with us for continuing to pursue a relationship with you.

  I know it may seem odd that I keep writing to you when I haven’t heard anything back. What can I say other than I’m not ready to give up quite yet. We have a lot of love in our hearts and want to be able to share it with you.

  I thought in this letter, I might tell you a little about Texas. You won’t find a nicer bunch of people than those in our town of Sweetwater, that’s for sure.

  The weather’s warm in the summer, warmer than Oregon. For fun, Allen enjoys golfing as there are some beautiful golf courses here, and I’m involved ina couple of clubs—a book club and a bridge club.

  Sweetwater’s our home, and we look forward to sharing it with you, and making it your home, too. You may be wondering how we ended up here after living in Oregon, so I’ll tell you the story.

  Allen and I met at Western Oregon State College, where we were both pursuing degrees in education. We stayed in Oregon after we got married, because we both found work easily, and we liked the climate. However, after Charlotte was born, I felt a strong desire to move back to Texas, where I’m originally from. I wanted to be closer to my family and for Charlotte to know her grandparents, her aunts and uncles, and her cousins. Mostly, I wanted her to grow up knowing she was surrounded by people who love her. So after Charlotte turned two years old, we moved to Texas. And we’ve been here ever since. What a blessing it was to be here, with loved ones close by, when she became ill.

  If we’re granted shared custody, you’ll get to see for yourself what a wonderful place Sweetwater is.

  I pray for that every day.

  Love,

  Jeanie and Allen

  not all that sweet

  Sweetwater, Texas?

  Where football is king

  and country music is queen?

  They might as well

  be sending me to Mars.

  through death you appreciate life

  In Cade’s car

  I flip through

  his CD case

  filled with

  life and love

  and everything in between,

  looking for something

  to listen to on the ride

  to the lighthouse.

  Plans, by Death Cab for Cutie,

  catches my eye, since it’s sticking out

  a little farther than the others.

  Cade glances at the CD.

  “Oh, no,” he says.

  “Not that one.

  Not right now.”

  “Oh, yes.

  Yes, yes, yes!

  I Will Follow You into the Dark is amazing. Brilliant.

  I want to hear it.”

  When he stops

  at a red light,

  he turns and looks at me.

  “Do you know what it’s about?

  The CD? Do you know what every

  single song on there is about?”

  I admit, I don’t.

  I’ve never listened

  to the whole thing,

  just the few tracks

  I’ve downloaded.

  “It’s about death.

  Death and dying.

  Mortality and how to cope with loss.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “All of it?”

  “All of it.”

  I put it in.

  Because now

  I’m curious.

  don’t think the worst

  I ask if Cade’s

  ever written a song

  about death.

  “A few,” he replies.

  “Okay, more than a few.”

  “So you get it,” I say.

  “It’s mysterious.

  We have lots of questions, and we

  want to understand.

  Music helps with that.”

  “Music helps with everything,” he says.

  “True.”

  And as Ben Gibbard’s

  vocals reach

  into our souls,

  grabbing and

  shaking the

  shit out of them,

  Cade says,

  “It’s sad.

  And for one day,

  one damn day,

  I don’t want to feel that.”

  His jaw is tight.

  He grips the steering wheel

  as he stares at the road ahead.

  I study him.

  Something about what

  I see in his eyes,

  his face,

  his body language,

  scares me.

  It makes me wonder

  if death or the thought of death

  or even the wish of death

  has been chasing him.

  Is he running

  from something?

  I remember what he said.

  I love the ocean so much,

  I would live and die at sea if I could.

  Or

  running to

  something?

  No.

  I have to believe

  this day is about living,

  not dying.

  For both of us.

  I tuck the scary

  thoughts away,

  just like the CD—

  back where they belong.

  relax

  I peel

  his tense fingers

  on his right hand

  away from

  the steering wheel,

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five.

  With each finger,

  the scowl

  disappears

  a little more.

  When I place

  his hand on

  my leg

  and gently

  caress it,

  he smiles.

  That’s better.

  I heart ghosts

  A hundred years ago

  a teenager named Muriel explored

  the abandoned lighthouse

  with her friends.

  As they were leaving,

  she ran back inside

  to retrieve her scarf.

  And never came out.

  When her friends searched

  the lighthouse,

  all they found was

  a pool of blood

  at the bottom of the stairs

  leading up to the tower.

  Some say

  they’ve seen

  and heard

  strange things inside

  the Yaquina Bay Lighthouse.

  They think it’s haunted.

  I hope we see Muriel.

  Or hear her.

  There’s nothing like a ghost

  to help you forget

  your own problems

  for a while.

  haunted indeed

  It’s like a postcard.

  I take picture

  after picture

  of the white lighthouse,

  almost glowing against

  the baby blue backdrop

  of the sky.

  I don’t ask Cade

  to get in any of them.

  But in my mind,

  he’s there,

  in every one,

  like a ghost

  haunting the place.

  Haunting my heart is more like it.

  hold on

  The lighthouse is open

  for us to explore,

  so we go inside.

  Up the narrow

  spiral stairs
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  we climb,

  higher and higher.

  We are alone,

  and I think of Muriel.

  Is she hiding?

  Watching us?

  I stop occasionally

  to look down.

  I take a picture,

  trying to capture

  the way the stairs

  appear to move

  in a circular manner

  through the air.

  Above us,

  at the very top,

  is the dome of glass

  and the light

  that shines

  out to the sea.

  “Dang,” I say.

  “No ghost.”

  I turn to take another picture,

  and when I’m least expecting it,

  Cade grabs me and says,

  “Boo!”

  It knocks me off balance

  and I have to grab him

  so I don’t fall.

  “I’ve got you,” he says.

  My whole body tingles.

  And in that moment,

  even if we’re both

  lost at sea,

  it feels like maybe,

  just maybe,

  if we keep hanging on,

  we’ll be able

  to find our way.

  sorrow in the air

  Back outside,

  we stand

  at the edge

  of a cliff

  and look out

  at the endless supply

  of blue.

  It takes my breath away.

  Him

  and me

  and the sky

  and the sea.

  It’s like a dream.

  The kind of dream

  you wish for again and again,

  night after night,