Page 116 of Beyond Oblivion

Trenton was across from me, his face still shiny and flushed from his morning shower, and the soft clink of silverware against ceramic plates filled the air. Thomas and Liis chatted lightly, their conversation weaving between a recap of last night’s movie and plans for the day. I sipped from my cup, letting the warmth of the dark liquid within it chase away the fatigue still plaguing me.

“What do you think?” Thomas asked.

“It’s a lot,” I said, “and beautiful and yummy. Thank you.”

Thomas cleared his throat, setting his fork down and leaning back in his chair. “About last night,” he began. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous. “I owe all of you an apology. And I’m also sorry for what I’m about to say, but I think it’s time we have the uncomfortable conversation we’ve all been avoiding until now.”

“Thomas,” I interjected, but Trenton put his hand on mine.

“No, you’re right. We should, and we all need to do it with unfiltered honesty,” Trenton said.

Thomas shifted in his seat. “It’s hard to explain how—although my previous relationship with Camille does make all of this seemingly complicated—our history results in feelings deeper than how a brother-in-law would feel about his brother’s wife. But they’re not romantic. And sometimes, when it all comes to the surface, when our loyalties are questioned or jealousy arises, it’s comforting to talk to Camille about it, because she’s the only person who truly understands that, while it’s more than what others in the same family dynamic may feel, it’s not at all what it was before.”

My chest tightened, but Trenton was right. It was time. “I’m going to add that the way I feel is more like the way I’d feel about a much older brother-in-law, someone who’s been with, say, an older sister my entire life, so there is more familiarity. And at the same time, there is always a conflict of guilt because of the reality of our previous relationship, always the second-guessing that I don’t do anything that might signal my feelings go beyond that, because they don’t.”

Liis hesitated, her fork hovering over her plate before she set it aside. “It’s not easy to talk about,” she admitted, glancing at Thomas, then at me. “I’ve been holding on to resentment—not just for your history, but for the way it made me feel. I know it’s irrational, but it’s been hard to shake. I’ve worried if there are still lingering romantic feelings, despite you both proving over the years that there’s not.”

“Not me,” Trenton said. “I knew the day I found out Tommy was her guy in California that it was behind you both. Everyone else not being able to move on was what got to me, and it wasn’t until I questioned the state of my own marriage did it even become a thought.”

Liis’s face softened, her lips pressing together for a moment before she spoke. “For my part, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice genuine. “For the way I’ve treated you. I’ve been unfair.”

Trenton sighed. “I was an ass last night. Jealous and defensive when I didn’t need to be, jumping to conclusions. I’m sorry, too.”

I shook my head and opened my mouth to speak, but Thomas beat me to it. “Liis had just stepped inside. Only an idiot wouldn’t have questioned the situation, Trenton. I think I can speak for everyone when I say no one blames you.”

“I could’ve handled it better,” Trenton muttered. “I scared myself. I immediately fell into a blind rage; I’ve never felt that kind of anger.”

“You’ve been through a lot; emotions have been high. That’s not who you are, and we all know it. You need to tell yourself that, too,” I said.

Liis relaxed. “So, we’re all in agreement? We can move forward with a clean slate? The dynamic here has been confirmed.”

We all nodded, smiling with relief.

Thomas gave a small, wry smile, lifting his coffee mug. “Well, here’s to progress. Better late than never.”

The remaining conversation eased into a lighter tone, with Thomas weaving in his stories about the surrounding area, his voice animated as he recounted old legends of hidden caves, restless spirits, and a local innkeeper who supposedly buried treasure somewhere in a gorge miles outside Chinle. Liis occasionally chimed in, adding tidbits she’d picked up from her own research, and even Trenton cracked a smile when Thomas described an absurd tale of a goat that supposedly led a lost hiker to safety.

After breakfast, Trenton and I set out for a hike on our own that Thomas had recommended.

“It’s not the easiest trail,” he’d warned with a half-smile. “But the views are worth it.”

That should have been my first red flag, but Trenton had seemed excited, and I wasn’t about to back out.

The trail was every bit as difficult as Thomas had suggested. Narrow paths wound along steep cliffs, the ground uneven and rocky beneath our boots. By the time we reached the summit, my legs were burning, and I was covered hair to toe in a thin layer of sand. But Thomas was right—the view was stunning. The desert stretched out endlessly, golden and red, with jagged cliffs and mesas standing like ancient guardians.

“Worth it?” Trenton asked, a playful grin on his face as he held out the water.

I nodded, taking the bottle and gulping it down. “Barely,” I teased, though the truth was, moments like this made the sweat and sore muscles feel insignificant.

As I stood there beside Trenton, the wind tugging at my hair, I felt small. The endless horizon drew attention to the confines of our problems. He hadn’t said much since we started the climb, but I could feel the building tension radiating from him. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost swallowed by the wind.

“We used to be so good at this,” he said, staring straight ahead. “At us. At knowing what the other needed without even saying it.”

I swallowed hard, my hands fidgeting with the hanging straps of my backpack, knowing it was time for another uncomfortable but necessary conversation. “I know. But I also know we can get back there. We ignored it, almost for too long, hoping things would get better on their own. When they didn’t, at least for me, resentment was easier than the pain.”

He turned to me then, his eyes searching mine as if trying to find the woman he married. “I don’t want to lose us, Camille. I can’t lose us. I want to fix it, but it feels like we’re buried under everything—Madison, secrets, the baby…”

His voice broke on the last word, and my heart clenched. I reached for his hand, needing to feel the warmth of him, to remind myself that there was still hope. “We don’t have to fix it all at once,” I said softly. “We can start with one thing at a time. But we have to actively work for it. Both of us.”

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