Page 110 of Beyond Oblivion

I glanced at Camille, who was smiling at Dad with tears in her eyes.

“I know it’s been hard,” Dad continued. “Hell, harder than anyone should have to deal with. What you’ve lost, it’s more than most people could fathom. But pain’s funny, you see. It has a way of turning into distance if you’re not careful. You think keeping it inside protects the other person, but the walls you build always have a way of keeping the people you love on the outside.”

Camille put her hand on my thigh. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes gave her away. His words were taking root, planting hope where I thought there was nothing but rubble.

“Your mom and I went through our share of rough patches,” Dad went on, his hand gripping the gear shift. “There were times we thought about calling it quits. Too much hurt, too many words we couldn’t take back. But you know what saved us?”

Camille swallowed hard, her voice barely audible when she answered. “What?”

“We stopped trying to win,” Dad said simply. “When you’re hurting, you can forget whose side you’re on. Not yours, not theirs, but the marriage. You don’t do what’s good for you, you do what’s good for your future together. Who’s right, who’s wrong, who’s hurting worse. When that’s what you start fighting for, that’s when you lose. You both do.”

Camille leaned into me slightly, her shoulder brushing mine, and I instinctively reached for her hand. She let me take it, and I clung to the small gesture like a lifeline.

Dad must’ve noticed because he smiled faintly. “Good. That’s a start. You keep holding on, even when it feels impossible. Especially then.”

I couldn’t say anything past the lump in my throat, so I just nodded. Camille’s grip on my hand tightened, and I knew she felt it, too—the magnitude of what Dad was saying, the hope he was offering.

Eventually, Dad seemed to decide he’d said his piece, and the old truck groaned as it rolled away from the curb. The rest of the drive was quiet, but not in an awkward way. It was the kind of silence that felt complete, like every word that mattered had already found its place.

My mind wandered to Taylor and Falyn, hoping Dad had shared some of his wisdom with them when they were in town on their own marriage-savecation. He had a knack for cutting through the noise, untangling the knots we’d spent days—or even weeks—tightening ourselves. Ten minutes with him, and it was like the chaos settled, the clouds broke, and suddenly, the way through didn’t seem so impossible.

When we got to the airport, Dad climbed out of the truck and helped me pull the bags from the back with the same thoughtful care he’d shown when sharing his advice. He handed one to Camille and then turned to me, his hand gripping my shoulder before pulling me into a quick hug. It wasn’t one of those tight, emotional embraces, but the kind that said everything he didn’t need to put into words. A pat on the back, a slight squeeze, and then he stepped back, his eyes scanning mine for just a moment longer than usual, as if to make sure I was holding it together.

Then he turned to Camille, his face softening as he opened his arms. She didn’t hesitate to lean in, eager for him to wrap her in one of his famous hugs: warm, strong, and entirely Dad.

“Take care of each other,” he said.

Camille nodded against his shoulder, holding on tight until he let her go. “Thank you,” she whispered.

As we walked into the terminal, I glanced over at Camille. Her face was still soft, still vulnerable, but for the first time in what felt like forever, a spark of hope glimmered in her eyes. The tightness that had been lingering in the lines around them seemed to ease, replaced by a quiet confidence that reminded me of the girl I fell in love with. It probably wasn’t noticeable to anyone but me, but it was enough to make me believe our trip might actually change something.

The chaos of the airport swirled around us like a living thing—bright fluorescent lights reflecting off polished floors, the hum of announcements garbled over the PA system, and the smell of stale coffee mixed with something fried from a stand nearby. A toddler wailed as his parents wrestled with a car seat at security, and a group of college kids laughed loudly while in line for overpriced bagels. Camille’s hand brushed against mine, her touch centering me amidst the strange symphony of airport idiosyncrasies: the distant rumble of rolling suitcases, the tiny beeping of golf carts zipping by with passengers too frail or too injured to make the walk on their own. For a moment, her lips quirked in the faintest smile, and I wondered if she found it comforting or absurd—or maybe a little bit of both.

She tilted her head toward the gate signs and murmured, “It’s always so strange how everyone here is in the middle of something. Leaving, arriving, waiting. No one belongs to this place, but here we all are, occupying the same space, just a pitstop on our way to never see each other again.”

Her words lingered with me as we walked on, surrounded by people but somehow wrapped in our own bubble, navigating through the circus of tired, grumpy travelers and absurdly expensive pretzels.

Our flight to Albuquerque, New Mexico, was just the first leg, but once we reached our seats, it felt like a tiny speck of calm in a hurricane of uncertainty. As we buckled in, Camille leaned her head against my shoulder.

“I’m excited… and a little nervous. What about you?” she asked softly, her voice barely audible over the sound of engines revving.

“Yes. Both,” I said, fumbling for the right words. “It’s like… I dunno, kind of like the first time we kissed. Kind of. It’s hard to explain.”

The plane surged forward, then lifted off, carrying us above a patchwork of fields and scattered towns. When the time came to deplane in Albuquerque, we’d still have to meet Thomas and Liis at the car rental place to road trip it the rest of the way to Chinle, Arizona. From the quick Googling I’d done, Chinle wasn’t exactly a hotspot for nightlife or fine dining. It was more of ablink-and-you’ll-miss-itkind of place—and that was exactly the point. Quiet desert landscapes, towering cliffs to scream our frustrations into, and maybe just enough wildlife and nature to remind me that life wasn’t just a series of crushing disappointments and traumatic home invasions.

“What do you think it’s gonna be like?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Camille tilted her head, her dark hair catching the sunlight streaming through the window. “I don’t know. Peaceful, I hope. A chance to breathe.”

“I hope it’s got a good diner. Like, the kind that Falyn used to work at, the ones that don’t skimp on the bacon.”

She smiled, and for a second, the knot in my chest loosened. “We’ll find one,” she promised.

Nearly three hours and seven attempts at a nap later, the plane touched down in Albuquerque, its tires screeching against the runway before easing into a slower roll. Out the window, the desert spread out forever, with the Sandia Mountains—thanks, Google—sitting tall in the distance. It wasn’t Chinle, yet, but Albuquerque had its own rough kind of charm, with its dry grit and bursts of bright southwestern colors.

Camille leaned into me as we taxied to the gate. I could feel the sudden tension in her body, like she was holding her breath, waiting for something—anything—to go wrong. But for once, everything was going according to plan, even if that plan started with a pit stop in the Land of Enchantment.

Once we’d snagged our bags from the carousel—Camille’s neon green luggage making it impossible to miss and mildly embarrassing to carry—we hoofed it over to the shuttles headed for the rental car lot. As soon as we stepped off the transport, Thomas smiled and waved, looking surprisingly relaxed in a linen button-up, aviators, and cargo shorts, like he’d just taken a break from filming a travel vlog titledTactical Meets Tropical. Liis was still leaning against a dark SUV, dressed down in tailored khaki shorts and a light blue, short-sleeved blouse flowing over her very pregnant belly, her hair pulled back into a slick ponytail, about as casual as it got for her.

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