Page 124 of Happy After All

“Those are some pretty damn good reasons,” he says.

There’s a desperation there. I recognize him for what he is. A man who hit a blank page in his life. A man who doesn’t know what happens next. I can feel him almost reach out to me. I can tell what he’s thinking. Thealmostis good enough.

“We deserve a little treat,” I say.

He laughs at that. “Yeah. If anyone does.”

I savor this victory, small though it may be. I give thanks for these two empty days. Because apparently Nathan and I needed empty days more than I realized.

We’re both so good at filling time. With books and writing and, for me, the busyness of the motel.

Slowing down always felt too scary. Now I realize I was running from exactly what I needed.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

We take my Jeep to my favorite camping spot nestled in the rocks and the Joshua trees, off the beaten path of the usual campsites. It’s public land, and you’re able to pitch a tent there, and there’s a lot more solitude than in the official campgrounds near the park.

“It’s beautiful out here at night,” I say.

It’s already getting late, and the sun will be setting soon. It’s too dry out here to light a fire, and cooking in those conditions seemed too great a task, so we stopped at the supermarket on our way out and picked up a roast chicken, bread, fruit, meat, and cheese. Frankly, I am more than okay with the spread.

We pitch my small dome tent, and I don’t really need his help, but he offers it, and I think it’s relatively chivalrous, so I allow it.

“No campfire, I assume.”

“Indeed not,” I say.

“Fair.”

We have our camp chairs and are seated in front of a large rock that serves as an altar upon which I would like to cast my hopes and dreams, rather than a fire.

The sky is pink, that rose glow on the mountains, the cacti, the Joshua trees an enchantment.

He is silent and looks around.

I hope he feels what I do.

I hope he recognizes the magic here.

Or maybe I just want there to be magic. But wanting it has to mean something.

I wonder, not for the first time, if the right thing to do would be to build a monument for my grief. Except ... I want the monument to be my life. I want my daughter’s life to matter. In that it made me do wild things, it made me embrace more of who I am.

I want that to be my tribute to her.

So maybe the rock sitting in front of him is magical after all. It must be, since I am suddenly filled with that certainty.

And the desire to be brave.

I don’t want to be trite about finding purpose in tragedy, but my God, if you don’t, everything just seems pointless.

I can’t live in the pointlessness.

Like my life is a blank page that I keep on staring at, no words coming to rescue me.

I keep my eyes on the sunset, the glow there. I’m reminded of when I sat with him that night, and the glow in the distance was a fire.

“How is the fundraising looking?” he asks, stretching his legs out in front of him.

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