Wander and Roam (Wander #1) (17 page)

“Is that when you signed up as a WWOOFing host?” I refocus the conversation on her, not ready even to think about what I want my destiny to look like.

“With a few helpers on the farm, I knew I could make it work.” Susan rinses her empty dish in the sink, but her words radiate around me still.

I chose my own destiny.

I never even imagined I had a choice in the matter. My grief was just something that happened to me after Robbie died. The idea that I can take ownership over what happens next is powerful.

I
will
choose my own destiny. And it will not be a lifetime of sadness and crying but of possibilities, opportunities, and one day, maybe even new love.

A
S THE
sun begins to lower, I leave the comfy warmth of Susan’s kitchen. She served coffee with her fruit crumble. For me, the best dessert was extra conversation.

The change within me is not a gradual subtlety. Instead, it looms and presses to be noticed. I’m finished with my self-isolation. I’m done wallowing in old grief. All because of Sage.

I carefully step down the gravel path to the dock. With each step, my resolve builds. First, I need to thank Sage for freeing me. He unwrapped the binds of loneliness and sorrow, and I will be forever grateful. But after my words of gratitude, I need to ask what happened to us.
That’s
going to require a significant amount of bravery.

Sage sits on the weathered wood, running one finger back and forth over something in front of him.

“Hi,” I say, quietly. Too quietly. After all of our embraces last weekend, the shyness has crept back so quickly.

Sage jumps up and joins me where the trail opens up to the water. “You came.”

“Did you think I would stand you up?”

He shrugs. “I wasn’t sure. I… I haven’t been the nicest guy lately.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Regret flashes across his face.

“What happen—”

“Come and see what I’ve been working on.” Sage takes my hand and leads me to the dock. When I’m sitting at the edge, he places a light object in my lap.

Thin strips of the lightest wood form a rectangular frame. A thin, transparent paper covers three sides, but the fourth features a familiar color and texture. I run my finger along the last purple envelope. “What is it?”

“The Japanese light these floating lanterns as a way to say goodbye to loved ones. They’re supposed to guide spirits to their final resting spot.” His fingers graze the purple envelope, careful not to touch mine. “You can even write a message.”

Tears well in my eyes before trickling down my cheeks. Sage’s thoughtfulness never ceases to surprise me. “You spent your entire evening building a lantern so I could say goodbye?”

He blushes then turns toward the water. The sun pauses along the waterline, causing the bay to glow with the oranges and pinks of sunset. “I would want somebody to do the same for me.”

“Most guys would just be jealous of an ex.”

He gazes toward the sunset. The colors illuminate his hair, and a glowing pink outline surrounds his body. He lifts his shoulders into a shrug. “Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the world. Nobody practices compassion anymore.”

“Compassion?”

“As human beings, we should want to ease one another’s suffering. We should put the needs of others before our own petty jealousies.”

The golden light of the sinking sun shines around him, but I barely notice. Sage’s heart is even more golden. “Is compassion what you meditate about every day?”

“One of the things.” He finally faces me.

This is the moment. I’ve never initiated anything with a boy before, but the timing is
so
right. “I know how you can ease my suffering.” I lean forward until my lips hover near his. He stares at me, not even blinking. When he begins to move back, I grab his hand. “Please,” I whisper.

He takes a deep breath before glancing at me pensively. I brush my lips against his then meet his gaze once more. Sage softly presses his lips against mine. He traces the path to my ear with gentle kisses then whispers, “It wouldn’t be right.”

I cannot stop the tears that come with his rejection. “Wh—?” Before I can get a word out, he presses his finger to my lips.

He kisses each of the tears on my cheeks. “You’ve been through too much already.”

His actions aren’t matching up with his words. He’s rejecting me, but he’s also kissing me. I’m so confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I would be a burden.” He finally returns to my lips. “And you’ve dealt with too many burdens already.”

“Um, hello?” I glare at him. “Shouldn’t I be able to decide my…?” The unspoken word—destiny—lingers, too personal to speak aloud.

“It’s hard to make a decision if you don’t know all the facts.” Sage rubs one hand through his curls.

I’ve missed that familiar gesture. How have I become used to his quirks and mannerisms so quickly? I’m not ready to give him up. “What facts? What are you talking about?”

“I just meant that Robbie tricked you. He allowed you to fall for him before he shared all the stuff about his disease.” Sage’s voice breaks. “If you knew about his kidneys from the beginning, if you knew you would spend years of your life caring for him and then even longer missing him, would you have ever agreed to go out with him?”

He’s blaming Robbie for not telling me. “Wh-what are you saying?”

“Was he worth it?” Sage whispers. “If you could go back and erase all your heartache, if you could be a normal college freshman, without all the sickness and death stuff, would you do it?”

No one has ever asked me this question. I think for a moment. The idea of wiping away all of the bad stuff with one sweep of a wand is tempting, but it would wipe away all of the good memories too: cozying up under a warm blanket at Friday football games, dancing at Homecoming together, and hours of late-night phone calls. “He
was
worth it. I would never give up my memories to save myself pain.
Never
.”

Sage faces the water and raises his hand. His silhouette, dark against the setting sun, almost looks as though it’s wiping away a tear.

How did this conversation get so heavy?
I turn back to the lantern. “So I write a message on it?”

“You can if you want.” He hands me a black permanent marker.

I think about what’s left to say, but I said my goodbye in the cemetery. After months of pouring out my heart in never-to-be-read letters, I have nothing left to share. Slowly, I write out my final word to Robbie. Five last letters:
ADIEU
. Farewell.

“French?” Sage lifts one eyebrow.

“We took French class in high school. I used to tease Robbie about his terrible accent. He would come up with the most awful ways to say this one, until Madame Pompidou reminded him it sounded like ‘achoo.’” I laugh at the memory. “That led to class-wide sneezing whenever we left her room.”

Sage traces my upturned lips. “You don’t seem as sad as when I first met you.”

“Thanks to you,” I whisper. “You helped me make peace with my memories.”

He moves back abruptly then searches through his backpack until he finds a lighter. “Are you ready?”

When I indicate my readiness, he lights a small candle and places it on the bottom of the lantern. The candle’s flickering glow illuminates the lantern in the now-dark sky.

“You should do the honors.” He hands me the lantern.

“What do I do?” Soft lavender light pours through the last envelope.

“Place it in the water. Be gentle, though, so the candle doesn’t go out.”

I lie on my stomach then carefully place the lantern atop the water. Small waves lap at it, and when I release my grasp, the lantern floats away on the current. Sage takes my hand and helps me up. We watch in silence as the lantern floats away, a tiny dot of light against the indigo water.

The last envelope is finally gone. I’m free to move on now.

A
SMALL
sliver of moonlight shines through the skylight, illuminating Sage’s bed. I wanted to share so much during our silent hike back to the yurt, but I couldn’t summon the courage. Instead of sleeping, I stare across the room at Sage’s prone figure. While he lies in bed, his restlessness indicates he isn’t sleeping any better than I am.

If Robbie taught me anything, it was that you can’t risk wasting any time. Each moment is important. You need to make every one count.

I’m done wasting time. I’m finished with my inhibitions and cautiousness, both driven by fear.

I’m ready to live again.

I pull back my covers and climb out of bed. If I were to let myself think this through, I would slide right back into my cozy futon; instead, I step toward Sage’s futon. With each step, the smooth wooden planks of the yurt floor remind me this isn’t a dream.

As I approach, he turns over. His eyes widen when I step into the beam of moonlight, but he says nothing as I lay one finger across his lips then crawl in next to him.

“Abby? Wh—?” He begins to speak as soon as I move my hand, so I quickly replace my finger with my lips.

“Shh, no words.” I kiss him again.

“But—”

“No memories of the past. No worries about the future. For tonight, let’s just be in the moment.” I gaze into Sage’s eyes, trying to communicate how badly I need this. “Please.”

For a long, silent moment, he stares back at me. Then he brushes his mouth along my neck, caressing each inch with tiny kisses. “In the moment?” he whispers against my ear.

I shiver as his warm breath caresses my skin then begin my own exploration. We lose ourselves in one another, until the moon lowers in the sky and the soft nighttime glow fades away.

I wake up in Sage’s arms. Exactly where I want to be. He holds me tight, even in his sleep, and the skin-to-skin connection grounds me.
This
is living. Humans need this sort of togetherness.

I kiss the stubbly growth on his chin, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite parts of him. It’s a reminder that I’m not a young teen, mooning over a smooth-cheeked boy. Instead, this is my first romance after the tentative steps into adulthood.

I need to approach things differently. Better communication is the first thing on my list.