Page 4 of Quintessentially

“How about a drink?”

There are only a few drinking establishments in Riverbend—Bob’s and Decoy Ducks. “Unless you want to get out of town, you’re going to get the same condolences there as here.”

“How about a walk?” he says.

Without a word, we climb the back steps of the church like salmon swimming upstream. Dax nods as each person offers condolences. Once at the top of the concrete stairs, we open the door to the parking lot. The late summer sky is filled with shades of gray. The trees sway in the strong breeze as if even nature is mourning John’s passing. Dax lifts his chin to the sky and closes his eyes.

I can’t take it any longer. I reach for his arm. “I want to help.”

He takes my hand and begins to walk. His grip is strong and tight, filled with determination. I’m not certain where we’re going as my heeled shoes click on the concrete in time with Dax’s steps, and the dress I wore to the funeral blows in the breeze. For the first few minutes, we walk without talking. It’s as if our connection is Dax’s lifeline. His hold of my hand is stopping him from flying away.

We pass few people as we walk past the bank and post office and head north of town.

The sidewalk ends as we continue along the gravel edge of the street. At our sides, the corn stalks are taller than Dax, and the mature ears are large with white hair, indicating that harvest will be soon. As Dax leads me down a path we’ve taken many times, I know our destination.

The fact that I am walking in heels and a dress through a forest doesn’t register as much as the man at my side. He’s grown more handsome every year. His chiseled jaw is tight and his eyes, the golden color of winter wheat, stare straight ahead as we continue walking. Soon the trees open to a grassy bank at the edge of a pond.

When we were kids, we swam in the murky water to an island in the center. Due to its size, the pond would warm early in the swimming season. As we approach it, I recall the mucky bottom. The island is now overgrown with grass, bushes, and trees.

Letting go of my hand, Dax looks up at the clouds. “Do you want to know what I told my grandpa the last time we spoke?”

The pain in his deep voice made my chest hurt. “Dax, John knew you loved him.”

“I told him I couldn’t come here this summer.”

He hadn’t.

It is the first summer without Dax here…until now.

“You have your internship,” I say. “He understood.”

Dax shakes his head and stuffs his hands deep into his pant pockets. “I said I’d come later and now, there’s no later.”

“He told everyone that you had a summer job at a big brewery in Indianapolis.” I grin. “He said you’d be bringing him craft beer.”

Dax exhales and sits on the grass in his suit. When his golden eyes meet mine, they are moist with unshed tears. “I can never talk to him again.”

Sitting beside him, I tuck my dress around my knees and lay my hand on his arm. “Ruth is still here.”

“My dad sucks as a son.”

I snicker. “I guess as long as he’s a good dad...”

“Yeah, he missed that boat too. I used to hate leaving home every summer.” He turns and cups my cheek. “And then I hated leaving here, leaving you.”

As I feel the warmth of his touch, the lump returns to my throat.

“I also thought,” he goes on, “that by visiting my grandparents, I was stepping in where dad didn’t.” He lets go of my face and turns his attention toward the pond.

“My mom told me something.” I hug my knees and look out at the waves on the water. “She said that if I decide to leave Riverbend, she’ll never stop loving me. She said that parents need to give their kids two things—roots and wings.” I turn to Dax. “John and Ruth gave that to your dad. He chose wings.”

“They gave that to me too, I guess—the roots part anyway.” He turns to me. “Why don’t you date?”

“I date,” I say with a shrug.

“Oh, you never mention it.”

There isn’t anything to mention. No one else who matters.

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