31

After picking up the rental car the next day, he went to the grocery and bought potato chips, Diet Coke, blueberries, strawberries, cider, and beer. At the cannabis store across the street, he bought three joints. It would take nearly two hours to get to Whistler. Then he would see her. She would open the door and he’d be standing there, surprise! His stomach wrenched, he wondered if this was wise. Should he not call? It was too late for that now. Being told not to come felt worse than seeing her and dealing with whatever happened after that. Go big or go home. When he reached the Squamish highway, he was struck by its beauty, winding northward along the cliffs. With its many blind curves and narrow lanes, it was notorious for accidents. How could something so beautiful and serene be so dangerous?

He stopped in Britannia Beach for coffee. It was a local place with autographed movie-star pics on the wall and cupcakes with festive icing in the bright display case. He bought two of them. They were expensive and reminded him that Whistler was the upper set, especially if you owned a place up there. Again he considered turning back, that was the other option, just turn back and go home, Eva would never know he’d been so impulsive and perhaps stupid. The closer he got, the more unhinged he felt. It really wasn’t a good idea. Fuck it. Go. He wanted to see what would happen, and it reminded him of attending Rupert’s party, the feeling that something would crack and this was perhaps what he and Eva needed, a shot of surprise and spontaneity. Or some dumb ass thing he’d regret.

He got back in the rental car, a green Toyota RAV. He didn’t care much what it was, and hopefully no one would ask him about it. Who fucking cares? He put his coffee in the holder and paused. Another car pulled up, and a thirty-something couple got out. They giggled and touched each other playfully as they entered the coffee shop. Then a man in his forties exited briskly and let the door close behind him, he was quickly followed by a woman about the same age, trying to keep up. They got into the nearby BMW and drove off, cracking the gravel before she even had her door closed.

An hour later he was rolling up Eva’s street. She was at the end of a cul-de-sac. In a few minutes he would knock on her door and field her reaction. Had he known he’d feel this agitated, he never would have come. But he was pushing something into the light, that’s what he decided this was. We are always happy to be surprised by the ones we love and frustrated and annoyed by those we don’t. Soon he would know.

He counted only four properties on the way in, well-spaced apart. Rupert and Jasmine’s had to be the one closest to Eva’s. There was a silver Mercedes parked in the wrap-around driveway, which made him wince. He rolled down Eva’s steep drive quietly, tall cedar and fir on either side like sentries. He slipped in next to her car at the side of the house, the lake on his right. A narrow dock stretched sixty feet into the shimmering emerald lake. An ornately carved red cedar door with a huge brass knocker beckoned. He froze, giving her the opportunity to come out if she had heard him pull up, but nothing stirred. He opened his door and stood. It was as if he were inside a still life painting. He slammed his door to announce himself, but nothing roused.

He approached the muscled door and opted to rap lightly instead of heaving the overwrought brass, which was surely intended for others, but the hardwood was unmoved by his feeble tapping. Nonetheless, he waited before reaching for the brass, the sound of which he already felt sorry for. Suddenly he heard the bolt unlock. He stepped back. In one fluid expression, Eva’s jaw dropped, then transformed into the most joyous smile he’d ever seen on her. “Oh! Oh!” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, shifted her head and kissed deeper still. “What are you? What? Oh, my God.” She pulled him inside, he giggled. “How did you get here?” she asked as if he’d done something impossible.

“Car. Rented a car.” They kissed again after she closed the door. Their hands ran over each other. She led him over to a daybed by the window. She pushed aside her notebook and laptop and lay him down. The light from the window lit her properly. She was pale with puffy eyes, and she seemed to feel his noticing, and she lay on top of him energetically, pressing her lips against his, then his neck and slid her hand under his shirt, lightly scratching his chest, which made everything more real. Clothes were thrown off and she ripped the cover off the bed. Still underneath her, he tickled the insides of her thighs, then schooched down and caught her scent, inviting, but laced with something that felt uncertain. He kissed and licked her lovingly. She moaned, and moaned again, falling into an audible rhythm with her hips that began to hitch with small bucks punctuated with high gasping cries. She ran her fingers into his hair and pulled hard at times, needing him closer, then letting go, then wrapping one hand around the back of his head, pressing him to her, the other hand planted on the bed, bracing. “Yes, yes…yes! Aigh! Aigh! I fucking love you, I love you, I fucking, oh! Oh, I fucking love you!” Her cries filled his heart with joy to bursting.

Moments later she worked his prick with a hungry mouth. “Jesus, Eva. Jesus fucking Christ! Deep inside, his forces gathered for the rush. He didn’t want to cum in her mouth. “Stop, stop!” he whispered, desperate and compromised.

He guided her to lie down and staddled her torso. Together they gripped his shaft, and soon he came on her hard-nippled breasts as she cheered him on, “Oh, you’re a good man, a good man, that’s good, very good. Amazing man, amazing.”

They flopped beside each other, every cell spent, and lay still, save for heaving chests. Their view out the window was a lazy, hypnotizing gaze into the blue sky and draping cedar limbs providing shade. “I love you too,” he whispered. He sounded drunk.

She sat up on the edge of the bed and reached for her underwear. There was a rash on her back, the largest he’d seen. “I’m glad you made it up here.” She turned her head halfway and smiled at him. He caressed her just below the rash. “How does this one feel?”

“Itchy as fuck. Especially at night.”

She lay down again and snuggled, pulling the cover over them. “Swimming here is good. The water’s cold so the itch goes away for a while.”

“Good, you’re in the right place. Hey, I read the ending you sent.”

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered. “I hate it.”

He chuckled, “Really? Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m working on it.” Her tone was that she didn’t want to talk about it, but he wished she would. Any scenario in which Sandy and Miranda apologized seemed grafted on. And something felt missing.
She went to the bathroom and peed with the door ajar. “Hey, come here.” He went to her. “Look,” she indicated the toilet. As before, her pee was very dark.

“Do you know what this is now?”

“No! I’ve been waiting, fuck. They still haven’t given me any results.” Her brow was tightly knit above sad and tired eyes.

“Isn’t no news, good news?”

“The doctor always emails me or calls me.”

“Did you call him, her, whoever?”

“Him, yes, they said the results are there, but the doctor is still looking at them and that he’d be in touch soon.”

“When was that?”

“Three fucking days ago.”

“It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

She exited the bathroom. The comforting words were of no use to her. He flushed the toilet, then did his own pee and knew she’d think it strange that he’d flushed hers first. He did it without thinking and wanted to tell her so, but he knew it would sound odd.

When he exited, she had shorts on and a fresh blue T-shirt he’d never seen. She was pulling out food from the fridge and setting it on the kitchen island, where they sat down to eat: hummus, a last bit of baba ghanoush, a mixed cabbage salad, pieces of roast chicken, and pita. Suddenly he had an appetite and, with her, ate everything. “I looked over the Airbnbs you sent. Thanks for finding those. I like numbers one and three.” She discarded a bare chicken leg and licked her fingers. “The weekend of the eighteenth works for me.”

He smiled at her. “Perfect.”

“We should go get some groceries. I’ve an idea. We don’t have to go back tomorrow, we can stay another night.”

“Oh, yeah – that would be great.” He smiled at her and nodded.

“Well, you did come all this way.”

“I would have come for five minutes. I want to say I’m sorry for not getting it together before to come. I really don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I…” He wasn’t sure what he was going to say next.

“What?”

“I don’t know, I really did think you might just want the time to yourself.”

“I did, but I wanted you to come after.”

“Here I am,” he said, resigned to happiness.