The Hard Truth About Sunshine

  I don't want a repeat of the rejection I'd faced from Maria. I've lost enough in this life.

  Shaking my head, I dispel those thoughts as I smile down at Jillian.

  She may be many things, but she's not a people user. I'm pretty confident about that, but it doesn't make me any less skeptical about where this may all head.

  "Come on," I say as I jerk my head toward the stream.

  Eyes alight with mischief, Jillian shakes her head. "I'm not coming down there with you. I only wanted to get a kiss from you."

  The corners of my mouth pull upward, my scar pinches, and I grin back at her. She sought me out for a kiss. My man card is starting to get some redemption.

  "We'll probably be about an hour," I tell her. "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to call my parents first and talk to them," she says as her brows line with worry. "I want to make sure they're okay."

  "Don't let them talk you into flying back," I tell her gruffly, leaning my face down to hers to level a pointed stare at her. "Make sure they know you're safe and we all have your back."

  Jillian nods, her eyes shining with gratitude. "I'll tell them. I'm not going to let them guilt me into going back, but I feel bad about hanging up on them yesterday. I just want to reach out."

  "That's cool," I assure her.

  "Alright," she says with a firm nod of her head. "After I talk to them, I'm probably just going to sit in the Suburban and read for a bit. It's too hard at night by the fire, so I'm going to take advantage of the light."

  "Your art book?" I ask.

  "Yeah," she says with a bright smile. There's no doubt that art is a passion for her. I wonder if we should go to a museum or something when we get back to Raleigh. I think that's something she'd like, and fuck... I think I'd like it too. Hell, I'd probably enjoy watching mold grow if Jillian was beside me.

  "Okay, have fun," I tell her as I head toward the stream. Another thought strikes me and I turn back to her. "You still have a lot of damn eyesight left in you. You got those fucking thick-ass glasses that totally make you look like a professorial-type nerd. Why can't you get a job using your art history degree? Or any job for that matter?"

  Jillian tilts her head, her eyes narrowing for just a second as if she were about to deny the possibility of my suggestion, but then her face immediately smooths out as she processes and accepts my suggestion. The blue in her eyes lightens when her entire face breaks into a wondrous smile. "You know... I think you're right. I've broken my hold on my parents... or so it seems... so why not?"

  "You can do whatever you want," I assure her.

  Her eyes get even larger with awe and a bit of disbelief. "Christopher!" Jillian exclaims with excitement as if she's just learned something very important.

  "What?" I ask, almost jerking backward from her enthusiasm.

  "You just gave me hope," she says, and my heart constricts tightly over the pride and elation in her voice. "You just told me I could do something I've been told I couldn't. You gave me the recipe for lemonade. You."

  She's over the moon that I would encourage her that way. It embarrasses the fuck out of me, so I say, "Shut the hell up."

  But I say it with a great deal of affection, and she just laughs at me. Nodding toward the stream, she says, "Go catch your fish with Connor."

  My steps are light and buoyant, even with the slight gait lurch I have over the uneven ground. The stream sparkles bluish green in the sunlight, there's not a cloud in the sky, and for the first time in ages, I feel almost free. I have no clue what's happened to me in the last three days, but without a doubt, it's all Jillian's fault.

  When I reach Connor, I take a few minutes to give him some basic instructions. I teach him how to cast, making sure he locks his wrist as he moves the rod back and forth from the ten o'clock to the two o'clock position over his shoulder, and that he's able to pull line out at the same time to extend the cast.

  "We're using dry flies today," I tell him. "That means once you cast, it will float on top of the water. The trout will have to come to the surface to take it."

  I take another few minutes to show him false casting--which is the whipping of the line back and forth--so he can dry off the fly to help it float better on the water. When I show him a few sample casts, I make sure he notes how I cast to my left against the current before letting the fly float downstream until I need to reel it back in after it can't go any further.

  When I turn the rod over to Connor, I give him one last piece of advice. "Keep your eyes on the fly. You see a trout come out of the water for it, you snap the tip of your rod up so it will get hooked, and then you keep it straight up while you reel. If you don't, the line will go slack and it will be able to jump off."

  "Got it," Connor says, stepping up to the edge of the stream with excitement in his eyes. I wish I'd brought waders so he could actually get in the water, but they weren't essential so I left them behind to make room for the camping equipment.

  I have to say--the kid is a natural. He'd listened to my instruction well and his technique is damn good for a beginner. He casts out into a riffle, letting his body turn slowly as the current takes the fly downstream. When it reaches the end, he reels it in and false casts to dry the fly before letting it zoom out over the stream again.

  "This is so peaceful and relaxing," Connor murmurs as he follows the current with the tip of his rod.

  "Until you catch one," I say as I watch. "Then it's all adrenaline."

  "Thanks for doing this with me," Connor says as he reels line in. "My dad's a business guy, you know. All suits and ties. He loves me and takes me to all kinds of events, but camping and fishing just aren't his thing."

  "Not a problem, kid," I tell him, my face heating a bit under his praise. All my brothers are older than me, and I never had anyone who looked up to me. This is weird, but nice.

  "So I'd like to ask you something man to man if that's okay," Connor says, turning to look back at the Suburban to ensure we're alone.

  And the minute he says "man to man," I realize I need to stop calling him "kid." He's a man already--almost by age but definitely by circumstance. The mere fact he's had to deal with the inevitable fact he's dying would turn anyone into an adult before their time.

  "What's up?" I ask him lightly, having no clue what he's going to lay on me. Whatever it is, I want him to be comfortable because the one thing I've taken to heart in all the chastising I've received from Jillian over my asshole tendencies is that Connor should never bear the brunt of my ire. He's the one who should get a pass on everything.

  "So... last night, Barb asked if I'd had sex..." he begins, but then his voice drifts off. His ears turn bright red and he focuses on casting his rod again, perhaps hoping I'll know where he's going.

  "You want to knock that off your bucket list?" I venture.

  Connor nods quickly, refusing to meet my eyes and keeping his full concentration on his fishing rod. But he adds, "Maybe there's someone you know back home... or, um... I don't know... a prostitute or something."

  My stomach rolls, because yeah... I've had my dick sucked for money a time or two since my injury. I could get him what he wants.

  But I don't know if that's the right thing. It could be a terrible experience for him, and wouldn't it be better for him to never achieve that goal than to die believing sex is awful? I mean, not that it would be awful, awful. Pretty much any sex is good for a guy, but still... he's a good guy and deserves better than just okay. He deserves more than anonymous sex with a prostitute.

  "Connor," I say hesitantly. "Don't you have any close female friends or anything?"

  He shakes his head. "Not really. Once I became the dying kid, I think it was awkward for my friends to be around me. They started gradually pulling away, and I totally get it. Who wants to watch someone you care for die? So really there's just Jillian. She's my best friend, which is gross because she's like my sister. I just thought you might have some connections."

  I have no clue if
I can find someone who will be good to him and make the experience bucket-list worthy, but that doesn't stop me from promising. "You got it. I'll help you find someone."

  He finally turns to look at me. Even though his face is still a bit red, his smile is contagiously big. "Thanks, dude. It means a lot."

  "Whatever, dude," I say back gruffly, but he knows by my return grin that this was a good bonding moment between us.

  Connor turns and continues to cast. I let him go for a few more rounds before saying, "Let's walk a little bit further upstream and try again."

  After we get to our new place, I point out a large rock in the middle and tell him to aim just below it. He does and immediately gets a strike, but either the trout didn't take the fly completely or Connor pulled up too quickly. So he tries again.

  I watch him try over and over again, determination etched on his face. No frustration, no giving up, just pure persistence in trying to catch a damn fish.

  "Are you afraid of dying?" I ask him.

  Connor's body jolts slightly, and he turns to look at me with eyebrows raised high. I've never pursued such an intimate discussion with him about his ultimate end and how he feels about it.

  He reels the line in and doesn't bother recasting it. Instead, he turns to face me completely. "I'm terrified."

  "Of what?"

  "A lot of things," he says in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'm afraid of being in pain, of dying slowly, of how sad my parents will be after. I'm afraid I won't let go when I should--that I'll linger causing me and my parents to suffer more."

  The thought of that punches me in the gut, and I have to hold myself up not to double over. But still, he hasn't really addressed what I want to know. I've thought about dying, and it doesn't make me feel fear. It would be painless if done right, quick, with no one left to really grieve me.

  But there's been one doubt that I haven't been able to shake, and I would really love to get Connor's take on it.

  "What about after?" I say in a low, hesitant voice.

  "After?"

  "Yeah... what happens to you after you die?" I clarify. "Are you afraid of that?"

  "God no," Connor says swiftly. "I believe I'll go to Heaven. That doesn't concern me at all."

  "But how do you know you'll go to Heaven?" I press him.

  Connor chuckles and looks at me with amusement. "Clearly, you're not a man of faith."

  "My family weren't big churchgoers," I tell him.

  "Don't you know anything about Jesus and why he died for us?" Connor asks with his head tilted.

  I shake my head. I know nothing of the sort.

  Taking a step toward me, Connor gives me a sad look. "You have to have faith. You have to believe in Heaven. You have to know in your soul it's a place where regrets don't matter because Jesus died for our sins and eternal happiness is yours for the taking. With faith, you should have no fear of what happens after."

  Well, that fucking sucks. I look out at the river, foaming and frothing around rocks and releasing a bubbling melody to combine with the sound of birds chirping and the slight wind blowing through the trees.

  A thing of beauty.

  It gives me no solace.

  It's not like I have faith just sitting around that I can tap into. And I have to admit to myself, the big thing that's held me back whenever I've considered ending things on my terms is the fact that I don't know what happens after. I'm afraid that whatever it is, it's not good. That it will be worse than what I have right now.

  "It's not too late," Connor says softly.

  My eyes fly back to his. "For what?"

  "To become a believer," he says. "If you want... when we get back to Raleigh, you can come to church with me. I'll help you learn."

  I'm not sure how I feel about church and learning stuff, but I do know that Connor offering it to me is the most comforting thing anyone has done for me since I was injured. I'm sure he thinks the offer is nothing, but to me... a doubter and a fearfully driven man at this point, it's more than I've been given in a long, long time.

  "I'll think about it," I tell him evasively, not wanting to commit to anything. I've not been a commitment type of guy in forever.

  "Cool," Connor says with a smile.

  "Okay," I tell him as I nod back at the stream. "Let's try a few more casts here."

  Turning to the water, Connor executes three beautiful false casts before he lets the line fly to the water. The nymph lands just at the base of the rock. A millisecond later, I see a trout rise with an open mouth to take it.

  "Pull," I yell at Connor. By the time he jerks the tip of his rod up, the trout has its mouth closed around the fly. I can tell he successfully hooked it because his rod immediately arcs from the weight of the fish and the strength of its flight to get away.

  "You did it," I yell out in pride.

  Connor is triumphant when he shouts back, "I fucking did it."

  Another item off his bucket list complete.

  Another step closer to his death.

  Chapter 21

  While the pinnacle of what we want to see is Old Faithful, we spend most of the day driving around and checking out the varied scenery. We quickly learn how to find the wildlife in Yellowstone, which is filled with miles and miles of fields, forests, riverbanks, mountains, cliffs, and plains, all home to an amazing and abundant variety of animals. As we drive along, we realize if we see an area of roadway where several cars have pulled off to the side, it means there's an animal somewhere nearby.

  The first thing we see is an elk with a rack on its head that seems to stretch out three feet on each side. He's lying in the shade of a tree, just calmly watching us gawk at him from about fifty yards away. Cameras snap and click, and I zoom in with my iPhone and grab a shot for myself. If it were hunting season and I had a rifle in my hand, it'd be a different story right now.

  We see a few more elk and lots of deer before we get to the Upper Falls attraction. After we ooh and ahh over the massive waterfall--even Barb joining in--we walk back to the Suburban. I see a park ranger with a group of about thirty people standing around him near the edge of the parking lot where part of the forest starts. I veer off and head his way, hearing Connor, Jillian, and Barb following me.

  When we reach the edge of the group, we hear the park ranger say, "Now... if everyone will just stand very still, we should see it soon."

  Jillian, who has never met a stranger, asks a woman standing near her. "What are they doing?"

  The lady looks at Jillian with excitement. "There's another park ranger in the woods over there, flushing a brown bear this way so we can take pictures."

  That is fucking cool.

  Jillian apparently doesn't think so as she immediately starts backing up. I reach out, snag her hand, and pull her to my side. "Oh no you don't. You're going to stay here and see a bear."

  She shakes her head. "My eyesight isn't that great, so I'll just go back to the--"

  "Scaredy cat," I tease her, gripping her hand tighter.

  "Christopher," she whispers almost hysterically. "They're flushing a bear this way. Bears eat people."

  "It's a brown bear," I tell her with confidence. "They eat berries, not people."

  She looks skeptical. I'm pretty sure bears are omnivorous and a hungry one could eat a person, but I don't tell her that. Instead, I add, "And there's no way in hell the rangers would be flushing it our way if it were dangerous."

  That seems to calm her down. After about a fifteen-minute wait, a brown bear comes meandering through the edge of the woods, walking parallel to the parking lot. It doesn't seem to care there are dozens of people gawking. Doesn't even look our way. He just ambles past, cuts back inward, and eventually disappears.

  "I think that was a trained circus bear," Barb mutters, and I laugh so hard I almost piss my pants.

  Getting back in the Suburban, we travel through Hayden Valley on the way to see Old Faithful, stopping again when we see several buffalo grazing in a herd. We walk up a slight hill to get a be
tter look downward into the valley, and as we crest the hill, I come to a dead stop. On the other side of it, just twenty feet away, is a massive bull. Those things are as big as cars. When we entered the park, we were given a yellow flyer stating the bison are extremely dangerous and should not be approached. It even had statistics on it with the number of people killed by buffalo the prior year. They are no fucking joke.

  I immediately grab Jillian's hand by pure luck and start backing away. Connor does the same, but Barb doesn't. She halts right there on top of the hill and just stares at the buffalo as it grazes. It seems docile and bored, not bent out of shape by her presence. It even raises its head, mouth chewing grass, and looks at her with indifference. Then it starts to walk toward her, its gait slow and without any seeming purpose.

  "Barb," I whisper as I back away, still holding Jillian's hand, my eyes pinned to Barb. I can hear Connor behind me, also moving back down the hill.

  Within just a few steps, I lose sight of the buffalo as we make our way down the small incline, but Barb just stands there at the top, not moving.

  And then I see something brown come over the top of the hill's horizon and the buffalo comes into view. It is now ten feet from Barb, towering over her as it still slowly chews the grass in its mouth.

  "Barb," I whisper again, more harshly so she knows I mean business. "Get the fuck away from that thing. Back slowly down the hill."

  But she doesn't. She just stands there and stares at the buffalo. It doesn't come closer to her, just stares right back. I realize in that moment that Barb still very much wants to die. Apparently, she holds no fears about it whatsoever, not the way I do.

  Eventually, the buffalo moves on, slowly moving away as it grazes. Barb turns with an almost disappointed look on her face as she comes down the hill. By then, Connor and Jillian are already safe in the Suburban. I stand on the outside, having been ready to call 911 if the buffalo charged and gored Barb like a shish-kabob.

  When she reaches me, her eyes are filled with challenge. I ignore it and growl at her. "That was really stupid."

  She just shrugs. "Why do you care?"

  I take stock of that question and evaluate it very carefully. Do I care if she dies? I'm not absolutely sure how I'd feel about it because while I've developed a fond tolerance of the dour goth chick, I don't know if I actually care about her.