A Cosmic Kind of Love(20)

I grinned. “Yeah, he’s good at that. But I remember you told Miguel and me stories about your travels when we were kids, and even then, I wanted to follow in your footsteps. You made it sound like something everyone needed to do.”

“I think it is. I wish everyone had the money to, but I got lucky with my art. I know Mom and Dad worried sick about me the entire year I was gone, but it changed who I was. For the better.”

“But you were young. It’s kind of expected that that’s the time you do it.”

“Who cares? When you’re old and unable to do anything more rigorous than lift your butt off a seat to fart, you’ll wish you had done whatever the hell you wanted. Not what’s expected.”

I chuckled. “You have such a pretty way of putting things, Aunt Richelle.”

She snorted. “But you know I’m right.”

I did know she was right. Longing filled me. “When I was up there on the station”—I pointed upward—“I spent so many hours looking down on the world, in awe of it . . . and I realized being up there was one of the few times in my life I had seen it at its best. I’d traveled, but to places torn apart by war and pain.” I swallowed hard against the memories, the images that flickered across my vision, which I knew would haunt me for the rest of my life. “I saw the worst in humanity, and, thankfully, there were moments when I saw the best. But for once I just want to experience all of it without constantly watching my back for the enemy.”

My aunt grabbed hold of my hand, drawing my gaze to her. Her expression fierce. “Then go traveling. Go backpacking.”

I gave her hand a squeeze but released it as I stood, aggravation tightening my shoulders. “It isn’t a productive use of my time.”

“That’s your father talking.”

Scowling, I shook my head. “Not just my father. I have skills that should be put toward something useful, something that aids toward progress, that helps people.”

Aunt Richelle mirrored my scowl. “You’ve done that. And you will do it again. But you’re allowed to take a break. Sometimes we just need to refill the well, you know.”

I shook my head. “It would just be running away.”

“That’s your father talking again.” She stood to face me, fire in her eyes that I’d never seen in my mom’s until the end. Mom appeased everyone for the sake of harmony. Perfect for my father, since he didn’t want anyone to challenge him. But when she was dying, I remember seeing that fire in her eyes when she begged me to be happy no matter what it was in life that would make me happy. The memory got to me as Richelle continued insistently, “Traveling will help. Experiencing other cultures, you know that changes you, shapes you. I think it would give you the clarity you need to take the next step in your career.”

Or drive an even deeper wedge between me and my father.

Because as much as traveling might make me happy, I couldn’t deny that, as much as I didn’t understand him, as angry as he made me, I didn’t want to lose him too.

“I’ll think about it,” I lied.

Disappointment clouded Aunt Richelle’s face. “No, you won’t.”

“It’s not just about him,” I told her softly.

Her expression told me she didn’t believe me.

“Aunt Richelle . . .”

She gave a heavy sigh, squeezed my shoulder, and said, “Whatever you decide, I’m here.”

I watched her disappear into the house before I turned to stare out at the rainstorm. Despite her best intentions, the indecision that rode my shoulders before our talk now felt crushing.

Sitting down on the porch swing, I ignored the chill in the air as the sky darkened. Richelle popped her head out again to let me know dinner was ready, but I told her I wasn’t hungry. She said the food was there when I wanted it, and then she left me alone.

Guilt clung to me.

A while later, it was so dark—the moon hidden behind clouds—I could no longer see the ocean; I could only hear it rushing against the shore. There was something particularly soothing about it tonight.

I’d switched my phone on silent because I’d been getting a few calls from unknown numbers, but it meant I’d probably missed another call from my father. Filled with dread but needing to know, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Sure enough, there were several missed calls and one of them was from him. There were also a couple of new voice mails. However, my gaze snagged on the notification banner from my email. I had another message from Kate.

Ignoring everything else, I tapped on that notification.

    Chris,

She sent another. What do you want me to do going forward?

Kate



Something like anticipation filled me as I tapped open the video. Hallie Goodman’s face filled the screen, and a smile prodded my lips. This time she looked more put together. Her hair was styled and longer than I realized. It fell over her shoulders and out of shot of the camera. She wore a black silk shirt. Makeup perfect.

“Fuck. My. Life.”

Her opening line made me chuckle. “Yeah, I hear you,” I muttered.

Hallie blew out air between her lips and slumped forward in her seat, elbows on her desk. That silky pink hair fell into her face as she bemoaned a lunch meeting with her dad.

“Let me just preface this by saying, I love my dad and he deserves happiness after what my mom put him through—”