Swear on This Life

  “This was your idea, Trevor!” I yelled, out of breath.

  Sharon and Cyndi had made it past the break easily before a new set of waves came in, but we weren’t as lucky. They were waving to us, yelling, “Come on, hurry!” I almost started to laugh at how ridiculous I must have looked trying to paddle past the waves as Trevor sat back, taking in the sunshine.

  “I’m so mad at you, Trevor! I can’t paddle your two-hundred-and-twenty-pound ass all the way out there.”

  “You can do it, Emi. Put a little muscle into it.”

  I growled and then began paddling fast, left then right, but we were too heavy and it was slow progress. The swells were getting bigger and bigger. The first wave came and I barely made it over before it broke. The kayak smacked down over the swell of the wave, causing water to fly up and splash me full in the face. “Oh god, it’s freezing!”

  “Push, push, Emi! Hurry!”

  “Oh, fuck you, Trevor, I don’t need a coach right now. I need you to paddle!”

  “I can’t. Come on, you can do it.” He squeezed my shoulder and I almost hauled off and hit him with the oar.

  “Paddle!” I heard Cyndi yell.

  “Oh no!” I screamed. A huge wave was coming.

  “Straighten out!” Trevor yelled. Our kayak was turning parallel with the wave, and I couldn’t stop it.

  “Oh shit!” I was paddling as hard as I could but getting nowhere.

  “Oh fuck!” Trevor said behind me.

  The wave lifted the kayak and flipped it over like a hot dog on a rotisserie, except that it didn’t flip back the right way. It just dumped me straight into the freezing water. The heavy plastic kayak was on top of me. I swam out from underneath to where I could stand and found Trevor standing perfectly upright in waist-high water with his arms crossed. He didn’t look the least bit disheveled. I, on the other hand, had wet, frizzy hair sticking to my face and burning eyes from the salt water, my sunglasses floating somewhere among the waves.

  Peering at him through my one unobscured eye, I tried to catch my breath. “Oh my god, we almost drowned.”

  He shook his head. “We weren’t even out very far.”

  “How did you get over here so fast?”

  “I jumped out before the wave hit us. I could tell you weren’t gonna make it.” Trevor was completely impatient with people who were not as coordinated as him.

  “Were you just gonna leave me trapped underneath that thing?” I yelled.

  “What was I supposed to do? You know how to swim.”

  Unbeknownst to me, the kayak was coming toward me on the white water of a small wave. It smacked me right in the back, forcing me into Trevor’s huge body. “Ouch!”

  “Jesus, Emi.” He hitched one arm around my waist and stopped the kayak with his right arm. “Fuck!”

  He spun me around so that I was in shallower water and set me down. I was shivering, so I ran up onto the beach and found our towels. I watched Trevor pull the kayak onto the shore, using his left arm and holding his right to his body like it was broken.

  I waved to Cyndi and Sharon. “Just go!” I yelled. They turned and went paddling toward the caves.

  Trevor approached me, looking disappointed. I threw a towel at him. He caught it and began drying off. We didn’t speak. There was only the sound of the waves hitting the shore and my chattering teeth.

  I plopped down onto the sand, wrapped in my towel, and tried to soak up some sun to warm my freezing body.

  “Are you a good guy?” I asked, finally.

  “What do you mean?” He turned and scowled.

  “Why are you so hard on me?”

  He threw his hands up defensively. “I’m not, I just thought you could do it.”

  “Well, I can’t . . . You should know me better by now. By the way, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m shaking, freezing, and stunned, but you’re sitting five feet away from me?”

  He scooted toward me and reluctantly draped his arm over my shoulder. “After I left you last night, I went to the Spot to watch the end of the USC game. I stayed and had a couple of beers.”

  My stomach dropped. I knew where he was going with this. “Okay . . .”

  “I saw you walk by with him.”

  I felt crushed that it appeared to Trevor that I was sneaking around. Had I told him I went to meet Jase last night, it wouldn’t have come to this. I’d made something innocent seem deplorable by keeping it from him. “Yeah, I met him for a drink. Nothing happened. We just talked a little bit about the book. He’s leaving on a twelve-city book tour. I don’t even know how long he’s gonna be gone.” I was rambling nervously, feeling a twinge of guilt for not being up-front with Trevor. I had gone to meet another man just after he had asked me to marry him. “I’m sorry, but we’re just friends. What are you worried about, Trevor?”

  “Nothing. As long as I know you’re not gonna throw a seven-year relationship away because your childhood crush came back into town.”

  I wasn’t even going to address how he was reducing what Jase and I had had. “Trevor, I feel like the only reason you’re trying so hard now is because you feel challenged. I mean, you’ve never cared to hang out with Cyndi or Sharon. You’ve never shown up at my house on a Sunday morning to go out and do something when there are a thousand football games on.”

  He didn’t respond. We just sat in silence until Cyndi and Sharon came back. I thought about how Trevor basically treated me like a dude. We’d had sex on the first date, and he had been respectful and charming. He couldn’t keep his hands off me . . . in the beginning. Now we were just buddies, but I didn’t even know if I could call us that. Yes, we still slept together, but it was purely physical—nothing transcendent about it. Most of the time it was over in five minutes, and usually I did all the work because of Trevor’s damn throwing arm. With Jase, it had been the exact opposite. We’d started with friendship and then added layer after layer on top of that.

  I hated comparing Trevor to Jase because they were different. I had to keep reminding myself that Jase had sent me away all those years ago, and Trevor was here with me now.

  Once we returned to the apartment, Trevor didn’t stick around, and Cyndi and Sharon headed back up to the Bay Area. Cara was out with friends, so I was alone when the book started calling to me . . .

  From All the Roads Between

  The year I turned fifty, my husband, David, died in a car wreck. Suddenly, my unremarkable, ordinary marriage was over, and I was left alone in my unremarkable, ordinary life. I had spent my adult life taking care of a man I wasn’t sure I had ever really loved.

  Ever since David and I had graduated from high school in the Bay Area, we had moved around from city to city, following David’s long career in the military. He was gone a lot, and since we never had children, I was alone a lot. I would think of Jax often—his sweet face and the hope he had in his eyes as he pleaded with me to leave it all behind that night in Ohio. I walked through life with that guilt, wondering if he had ever forgiven me. I prayed he had moved on and that he had found peace out there on the long dirt road.

  I couldn’t bring myself to call or write to him because I was afraid that he hated me. If I knew he hated me, I wouldn’t be able to go on. All I could do was hope he understood that I did what I did for him . . . so that he could rise to his potential without me weighing him down.

  Later that same year, my father died in jail. The bill I received for his cremation costs was my only notification that the whiskey monster had been laid to rest. I didn’t even know what he had died from, and I didn’t attempt to find out. I sent a check and breathed a sigh of relief. It’s easy to let yourself become the burden of your own life, especially when you were given the label of being a burden by your parents before you could even reject it. I was technically free—of the husband I had settled for, of the father who had sent me down this life path. But I didn’t feel free. My adult life wasn’t tragic, but I could never allow it to be extraordinary either. My self-imposed penanc
e kept me from the bliss that Jax and I dreamed about finding together as we lay in the fields near the creek all those summers ago.

  I regretted not looking for my mother, Diana, and making peace with her, but more than anything, I regretted a life without Jax. I would have taken the hardships on the dirt road just to be with him.

  Three years after David passed away, I moved back to Ohio, to New Clayton. I didn’t have much to retire on, so I had to get a job at a diner in town, waiting tables. I was at the Salvation Army looking for a pair of comfortable shoes to work in when I passed the used books section. There, front and center, almost placed purposefully for me, was a book with a couple embracing on the cover. The title was First Love Never Dies. But what really caught my attention was the author’s name. Jackson Fisher.

  Suddenly, I was fifteen again. It had been thirty-eight years since I’d said his name out loud. “Jackson Fisher,” I whispered. My hand shook violently as I reached for the book. It had an old picture of Jackson on the back, maybe in his twenties. It had been published more than twenty-five years ago. I felt gutted—

  12. You Might Find the Truth

  I slammed the book shut in the middle of the sentence. I was crying hysterically and couldn’t bear to read further. Why was there so much regret for Emerson when she had made these choices herself? Hugging the book to my chest, I sobbed and sobbed.

  Jase had been saying that he had written it for me, but because the details were different, I hadn’t believed him until now. Yet I wasn’t totally naïve; I could see the parallels in my and Emerson’s circumstances. But there was a scared little girl inside of me who couldn’t accept the fact that someone actually loved her enough to write an entire book to help her heal.

  Dawn would arrive in a few hours, but instead of going to sleep, I began to put a plan together.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I marched through the parking lot at UCSD, full of resolve. I found Professor James in his office, sitting in his high-back leather chair near the window, looking out at the campus. Since he was the department head, I had to come to him first.

  “Professor?”

  He looked up. “Emiline. Come in.”

  I walked in and stood across from his desk as he peered up at me over his bifocals. “Can I talk to you?” I asked.

  “Sure. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across from him.

  I sat down, clasped my hands together, and stared into my lap. “I want to write something real, I just don’t know what it is yet. I need to take a sabbatical.”

  He chuckled. “You’re not a full professor, and you can’t take a sabbatical in the middle of the term.”

  “Honestly, I need to do some soul-searching.”

  “Famous last words,” he said sternly.

  “Professor, I don’t even know if I’m a writer. I think I might just be a really good reader.” I searched his eyes, looking for affirmation.

  He held my gaze for a long time. “Emiline, you’re absolutely a writer, but you need to know what the hell you’re writing about, and who your audience is.”

  I nodded. “I get it.”

  “Why don’t you start by writing for yourself and see what happens? Just remember, you have to be good before you can be great. And you’re not quite there yet.” He stroked his beard. “How long would you be away for?”

  “Two weeks. Tops.”

  He chuckled again. “That’s hardly a sabbatical, Emiline.” Then he looked at me over his bifocals again. “I assume this soul-searching can’t be delayed to the summer?”

  I shook my head vigorously. “It’s very time-sensitive. I would miss four lectures total, and I could ask Cara to cover for me.”

  He nodded. “I wouldn’t normally approve such a request, but if you can indeed get Cara to cover your class, then I can grant you a two-week personal leave of absence. You’ll see to the necessary paperwork?”

  “Absolutely, Professor.”

  “And you’ll bring me ten thousand good words?”

  I should’ve known there’d be a catch. “You want me to work on a short story while I’m away?” I said.

  He shrugged. “That hardly seems like an unreasonable request. I am granting you a leave of absence in the middle of the term, after all.”

  “Ten thousand good words?”

  “You have to start somewhere,” he said.

  “Okay.” I stood and shook his hand. “Thank you.”

  I raced off to find Cara.

  Once I was back at my apartment, I packed a small suitcase and then called Cyndi. After a few moments of small talk, I cut to the chase.

  “I want to get in touch with my father.”

  She let out a long breath. “Is this about the book Jase wrote?”

  “No, this is about me,” I said, and I meant it. “Will you tell me where he is?”

  “I’ve never kept information from you. You know that, right?”

  “I know. I just never wanted to know the details, but now I do. Have you heard from him or my mother?”

  She sighed. “I only know where your dad is. He’s living in Dayton and working as a mechanic. Do you want us to take you out there? We could go in the spring after finals.”

  “No, I just want his address. I need to do this on my own.” There were ten seconds of uncomfortable silence. “Aunt Cyndi, don’t take this the wrong way. I love you and I appreciate everything you and Sharon have done for me. You gave me a life I never thought I would have. But I haven’t worked through all of this crap, and I won’t be able to move on if I don’t. I need to do this for myself.”

  “I’m not entirely sure what you’re going to get from your dad, Emiline. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I know, but I need to see him.”

  “Are you taking Trevor?”

  “Are you worried about my safety?” I asked.

  “No. Your dad is sober.”

  I was completely surprised. Why hadn’t she told me? “I’m going alone,” I said firmly.

  Cyndi finally agreed and gave me the address to my father’s apartment and the mechanic’s shop where he worked.

  I booked the red-eye for that night and found a cheap hotel, texted the details to Cara, and spent the rest of the day packing. By the time Cara got home from class, I was sitting on the couch, waiting with my backpack and suitcase. I had packed only my laptop, Jase’s book, and a few outfits.

  She looked at my stuff, her brow furrowed in concern. “That’s all you’re taking for a two-week trip?”

  “Yep.”

  “How are you getting to the airport?”

  “I’m gonna call a cab in a minute.”

  She dropped her stuff on the floor and shook her head. “Nope. You’re not a calling a cab. C’mon, I’ll take you now.”

  “You sure?” I asked nervously, though I had been secretly hoping she’d take me.

  She laughed. “You think I’m gonna let you have your quarter-life crisis alone? Let’s go.”

  I gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Care Bear.”

  Once we were headed to the airport in Cara’s Jeep, I turned to her. “Please don’t tell Trevor anything. I have a lot to think about. I told him I was going to Ohio because I needed a break.”

  “I think he would understand, Emi.”

  “I really need some time alone,” I stressed.

  “I get it.” She squeezed my hand. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Once we got to the airport, Cara hugged me hard. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she whispered. I just nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything.

  After we said our good-byes, I walked into the terminal and turned to see Cara waving at me. I waved back until I couldn’t see her anymore, like a little kid, then I got my boarding pass and zipped through security in record time—the one benefit of late-night travel.

  When I arrived at my gate, I texted Jase.

  Me: Did you watch my aunt’s lecture before you came to get me from the foster home?

  J
ase: Yes. When you told me you were going to live with her, I looked her up and watched her lecture on resolving conflict in fiction.

  Me: Ironic.

  Jase: I knew you would be better off with her in California, but I wasn’t ready to let you go.

  Me: So you knew you’d eventually turn me in?

  Jase: I didn’t look at it that way.

  I stared at his text, unsure how to respond. I wasn’t angry, but I wasn’t at peace with the news either. Everything about that fateful night with Jase had been out of my hands from the very beginning.

  Twenty minutes went by and then he texted me again.

  Jase: Did you finish the book?

  Me: No. Quit being such an egomaniac. Don’t worry, I’ll finish it . . . and I’ll tell you exactly what I think of your sloppy prose.

  Jase: I’m shaking in my proverbial boots.

  Me: You should be.

  Jase: Ooh, feisty, Em. I like it. What are you wearing?

  Me: Good night, Jase.

  Jase: Do you want me to send you a pic of what I’m wearing? ;) ;)

  Me: Good night, Jase.

  Jase: Not into sexting?

  Me: GOOD NIGHT!

  Jase: Night, Em. Kisses.

  The word “kisses” made me blush. I looked around at the other travelers, but everyone’s eyes were trained on their own smartphones.

  I searched for Jase’s author website to see which states he would be traveling through. He was hitting major cities on the East and West Coasts, along with Nashville and New Orleans. I looked at past dates and saw that he had already been to Ohio. I didn’t know why it mattered. I guess I was just wondering if we were on the same journey.

  When my plane touched down at eight in the morning in Dayton, I was wide-awake and full of adrenaline. I’d only gotten a couple of hours of sleep. My mind had been full of Jase, my father, random memories from the past, Trevor, and those ten thousand words I would owe the professor at the end of this trip.

  I rented a Hyundai Accent, labeled as a subcompact car, from Avis. It was tiny but got me zipping out of the airport and along the interstate in no time.