Dream Me(56)

“You’ll never fail if you never try. But you’ll never be happy either.”

Someone else had said those words to me.

Earl had once said those words to me.

I scramble from bed and throw on a halter top and shorts. I slide into my flip flops and tie my uncombed hair into a bun on the back of my neck. I practically fly into the kitchen where my parents are sitting at the table, sipping coffee and buttering toast. Mom’s still in her bathrobe. Her hair is mussed and her eyes are sleepy.

“Dad!” They both turn, surprised to see me barge in like this. “Where did you get the picture on my wall?”

He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, his mind trying to make sense of my sudden crazy appearance and my interest in a photo he’s probably long forgotten about. Then he realizes what picture.

“Oh, that one . . . I got it from Earl.”

“He took that picture?”

“Yes. Photography’s—”

“I know, a hobby of his. Do you know where he took it?”

“Sure. Lily’s. Lily’s Café over in Sand Harbor. I’ve been meaning to take you and your mother there one of these days. Earl says it’s a real nice place for lunch and—”

“Dad,” I interrupt him. “Could I have the keys to the truck?”

“Baby,” Mom finally finds her voice. She’s wondering what’s come over me. “You know your father and I have been planning this day for a long time. We have a lot of things to do. We need the truck.”

“Please! I’ll be back in an hour. An hour and a half max.” I know Sand Harbor’s a thirty minute drive from us.

My dad looks at his watch. “You be back here by 11:30, no later.” He’s giving me two hours. He tosses the keys.

“Thanks, Dad.” I throw my arms around his neck and kiss his rough, unshaven cheek.

“Promise?”

“I promise!”

Mom rolls her eyes, but I grab my purse and run out the door before they change their minds.

Earl is wise and charming in that aw-shucks country kind of a way. I always thought of him as a nice guy, a guy you could count on if you needed to get a repairman out to your house.

Now I suspect Earl is something else. The camera which may not be a camera, after all. The photo above my bed that’s appeared multiple times in my dreams. Is it a message? Is there something special about the café? A jumping off point maybe? And Earl showing up in my dream. Was it random or was he there to show Zat the way?

With all the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, I can’t help but wonder if Earl is really Pioneer One.

__________

I’ve never been to Sand Harbor before. It’s smaller, more picturesque and touristy than Sugar Dunes. But as I’m driving through the town my energy and excitement evaporate.

When I find Lily’s Café, I’m ready to turn around and go home. It’s a real place. Real cars in the parking lot that faces the street. Real people coming and going. This couldn’t be the place of my dreams, the place where I first saw Zat and felt the electricity of his presence. It’s so ordinary—quaint, but ordinary. And Zat was anything but ordinary.

I don’t even pull into the parking lot. I swing the truck around in a U-Turn and point myself back in the direction of home.

Despondent.

What was I thinking?

But then I remember what Zat said, “If you never try you’ll never fail . . .” I keep driving until I see an area where I can pull off the road. I lock the truck and walk down to the beach.

It’s a day like every other, but also like no other. Aquamarine waves spin lacy, white caps. The sky is a field of blue, the beach, a carpet of pearls.

I slip off my sandals and hold them in one hand. The talcum-like sand beneath my feet hasn’t achieved the level of scorching it will reach later in the day. Already the early birds are here, unfolding beach chairs, laying down blankets, preparing surfside nests where the wave song will lull them into oblivion by the day’s end.

The end of land. The beginning of sea. Which one will it be for me?

I could race down the beach to the place where I’m going but time can’t change what will be, so I’ll take my time. I’ll walk slowly. I’ll hold on to what might be the last moments when Zat is more than an impossible dream.

A young man and his wife stand knee deep in the water. Her belly is round like a ball, filled with their unborn child. He takes her hand and turns until they’re facing each other. They smile at each other with promise and love.

I’ve intruded into their magic, which is so strong I can feel it even at this distance. It throws off sparks that rain down on me and make my eyes shine and burn with tears.

I’m almost there.

I know how far I’ve walked, so I know just when to look up toward the dunes. I see the umbrellas—colorfully striped, like zany mushrooms in a snow-covered pasture. This is where Earl must have stood when he framed his picture. I’ll enter from here, from the place I remember.

Even the space between the two dunes is steep, steeper than I could tell from the picture.

I start to climb and the sand slips away beneath my feet. It’s like scaling ice. Like walking up a downward escalator. With nothing to hang onto, I lose my footing and fall to my hands and knees.

A trickle of sand from above turns into a stream and I look up to locate its source.