Unbroken Connection (27 page)
“Does that matter?”
“No.”
“Search your heart. Is she fine?”
The haunting dread morphs to terror. “No.”
“Then find her, son. Save her.”
“Me? I can’t save anyone.”
“You might not believe it—or even like it—but the Lord’s chosen you to help her. You won’t have peace until you act on these feelings.” He squeezes my hand and escorts me to the gate.
“Thank you.”
He smiles at me, and his old eyes fill with water. “Bring her back here when everything’s all worked out.”
The bustle of Hong Kong at dusk engulfs me. I flag down a taxi, get to the airport, and weasel my way onto a direct flight to LA that leaves within the hour.
NIGHTMARE
LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 04/22 10:00 PM
| Kimbo69 says: | | So—let me get this straight…he’s madly in love with you…thinks you’re his eternal whatever…but you’re spending the summer apart? |
| Leesie327 says: | | He’s going to Spring and Summer terms. He didn’t do any college premish. He’s eager to get started. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | You never told me mission boy was also BYU boy. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Who do you think gave me the idea to come down here? But all of that was before Michael. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | And now this is after Michael. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Right. After Michael. Can I do after Michael? |
| Kimbo69 says: | | You should stay down there for the summer and find out. |
| Leesie327 says: | | That’s what Jaron wants, but I’m broke. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Sell a kidney. |
| Leesie327 says: | | I thought about selling my laptop, but that feels so wrong. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Way wrong to go back to that dinosaur desktop. |
| Leesie327 says: | | It’s not mine. It’s his. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | I doubt Michael wants it back. |
| Leesie327 says: | | But it’s his. I need to keep it. It’s his. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Get a grip…it’s not like it’s his kid…you have to face that he’s not a part of your life anymore…sell the laptop and let all your dreams come true. |
| Leesie327 says: | | The pickup is all loaded. Phil and I head out at 7 AM. |
| Kimbo69 says: | | Some other girl will nab Jaron in a month. |
| Leesie327 says: | | Maybe some other girl should. |
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #66, NEW HOPE?
Jaron stands at the door of the pickup
when I go out to meet Phil—
tall, straight, meant to be—
the pathway with him has no curves,
bumps surely, but with a rod of
iron in our hands we’ll sail over.
If anything was ever intended,
by everyone we know,
it’s him and me.
He holds me, kisses me.
“I’ll be up over the 4th.”
I nod and kiss him back.
Phil arrives mid-kiss.
“Way to go guys!”
He tosses his duffle
in the back and climbs
into the passenger’s seat.
I can’t let go,
cling frantic to Jaron, keep kissing him.
He pulls back, takes my hands from
around his neck and kisses them.
“It’s okay, Leese. I’m real.” He smiles,
straight white teeth, clear
blue eyes, short brown missionary
cut hair. “If you want to tell
people we’re engaged—that’s okay
with me.”
Yes? It would be so easy, so right.
But all I know—is no.
I touch his cheek.
“Let’s take it slow.”
His lips slide back to mine.
“Are you sure you can’t stay?”
I think of the laptop inside
the backpack I set down
to kiss him good-bye.
“Yeah. I’m broke.” And Michael
might just be home in three weeks.
We had a date.
But no. Not now.
He’ll bring her if he comes
home at all.
Jaron frowns and plays with my hair.
“Can’t your parents—”
“Nope.” I put my head on his shoulder.
He kisses my cheek, whispers,
“I love you,” in my ear.
Three words. So easy.
But I can’t.
His eyes tense hurt.
My throat aches—
I have to blink.
“I’m trying. Give me
a chance to catch up.”
I substitute lips for words—
then push him away,
heft my backpack onto the seat,
slam the door, pump the gas,
hold the pedal down halfway,
wiggle my foot, and the pickup roars to life.
Phil grabs my pack as I drive out of Provo,
pulls out my laptop, boots it up. Pulls a face.
“You don’t have anything on here.”
Just a lot of free podcasts and Playlist.
I can’t afford to buy downloads,
and I’m not going to steal stuff.
Michael was disgusted, too.
Phil puts the laptop on the floor,
falls asleep—snores and drools.
Got to love the kid.
I sit back and put the pedal to the metal.
Utah and Idaho eat my dust.
Phil rouses at Idaho Falls, demands lunch,
like the grumpy grizzly on the “Bear World”
billboard we passed, and a turn
at the wheel. Clear sunny day.
I-15 to I-90. What can it hurt?
An hour north, Montana welcomes
us to no speed limit heaven.
Phil grins and pushes the pickup
to top speed. Eating up big sky
faster than I can take it in.
We hit Butte by 2 PM.
He pulls off, treats me to BK.
I take the wheel.
No way does he get all the fun.
He eats two Whoppers
and all the fries, babbling
about Krystal. “She’s going to wait.
We’ve got it all planned.” He’s mission
bound next spring.
I glance over at him, so happy, can’t help
splashing a drop of ice water in the glow.
“Two whole years? She might break
your heart.”
Phil laughs. “Impossible. I never
thought I could find someone
who fits me so perfectly.”
I mumble, “Me, too.”
He thinks I’m talking about Jaron,
reaches over and squeezes my shoulder
with his greasy fingers.
“Good for you, Leese.
You deserve the guy.”
I don’t correct him. What’s the point?
I shake my head, blink away the
liquid that suddenly makes my eyes swim,
concentrate on accelerating out of a broad
freeway curve, eating up the miles
between us and home.
Phil sleeps again—full, content.
His face slackens to boyish sweet.
I wish I could be him.
Everything simple. Eternal
life laid out clear, straight.
No troubling phantoms on his path.
Bald foothills turning green
and deep blue skies decorated
with white tufted clouds
tune my soul to
the joy of God’s creations.
I drink like a child who’s
played outside too long in the wind
and finally come home for supper.
Past Missoula the hills become
mountains, the grass yields trees:
pines.
I-90 twists and bends following
the curves of Clark’s Fork—wild and white—
overloaded with spring run-off.
I wonder if Clark really loved Sacajawea
despite his wife and kids back home?
How could he do that? Sure he felt sorry
for her. I do, too.
We all do. But he had a wife.
Don’t let Charbonneau hurt her, Clark.
But, geeze, go back home.
The freeway climbs away from the river
into fresh mountain air and Lolo National Forest.
Dusk descends as we climb up through the forest
into misty gray clouds.
