She gave me a warm smile. “Take care.” She gave me a quick hug and glanced quickly at her watch. “I should get going; I’m running late for my eleven o’clock. Don’t be a stranger now, okay?”
Sam hurried off, blowing me a kiss. I stood there for a few moments, taking in the buildings that I knew like the back of my hand. I realized how happy I’d been here, and with a small pang of regret, I wondered whether I was making the right decision. In the distance I could hear the familiar sound of rock music coming from the Stairway to Heaven Church a few buildings down. The music came to a stop, and a small crowd of people filed out of the large, heavy doors and made their way down the street.
“Audrey?”
To my surprise, I turned around and saw Duck standing there.
“Hi!” he said, with a smile.
“Duck, you look great!” I thought back to how he was at the Christmas lunch, quiet and withdrawn. Now he looked like his regular old self again.
“I feel great,” he said, his head motioning toward the church. “I think I’ve found what I’ve been looking for.”
A pretty brunette wandered up to us and linked her arm through Duck’s. “Audrey, this is my girlfriend, Angela.”
She smiled brightly at me. “Hi, Audrey. Lovely to meet you.”
“Lovely to meet you too,” I said.
Duck beamed at me. “I told you, didn’t I? Everything happens for a reason.”
Duck’s words rang in my ears as I sat in the cab heading toward the airport. I felt like a bird, feathers shed and poised to take flight.
Everything happens for a reason.
I dug into my handbag and took out the brown envelope, running my fingers across the ink where Rad had dragged his pen in the shape of my name. Whatever happened next, I knew it would never compare to what was. I would have to live my whole life knowing I would never find someone else like him, but I already knew I wouldn’t. Taking a deep breath, I ripped open the envelope and reached inside, my stomach wound tightly in knots. It was a copy of Inside UFO 54-40. I flipped through the pages until I saw Rad’s writing, scribbled on the page where Ultima shone like a beautiful mirage, an impossible dream.
We never made it, did we?
PART TWO
Whirlpools
I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.
Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea—
We two will pass through death and ages lengthen
Before you hear that sound again with me.
—Sara Teasdale, Sea Sand
One
Rosie’s Diner was at the end of a small trek down a hilly road and up the main street of Delta. For the past few weeks, it had been my ritual to trudge along the same path, rain or shine or (as I’ve grown accustomed to) snow. I’d make my way on many cold, dismal days, like a moth to flame, into the warmth of those four walls.
I arrived in Colorado at the start of winter without a plan or destination in mind. After a short and uneventful stint in Denver, I flew to Montrose before boarding the first bus that struck my fancy. It took me to Delta, where I spent the last few weeks in a dingy motel with a dodgy radiator, pouring through the local classifieds for a place to stay. I walked a lot during those first days—all over the main part of town past quaint shops with brightly colored awnings and festive murals painted on the sides of buildings. I hiked across parklands and rushing rivers with no direction in mind. I returned at the end of each day and slipped back into my room like a ghost, wondering what the hell I was doing out here all on my own. During those cold, sleepless nights, I felt desolate and unsure, discouraged and homesick.
The turning point came when by chance I wandered into Rosie’s Diner, which was staffed by Rosie herself, a cheerful middle-aged woman with strands of silver hair threaded through her dark, wiry locks. On my first visit, I tried a slice of her gooseberry pie, and it warmed me in a way that nothing else had in a long time. After that, I kept going back day after day, and we struck up a friendship.
“Morning, sweetheart,” said Rosie as I pushed through the heavy glass door.
“Morning, Rosie,” I answered, sliding into my regular booth. She came over with a slice of lemon tart and a pot of coffee.
“You’re still looking for a place to stay, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I’m not having much luck. I can’t seem to find anything in my price range, and I’m burning through my savings quicker than I thought.”
“Well, I’ve got some great news for you.”
“Really?” I unzipped my brown satchel and pulled out my laptop.
“Some friends of mine, Graham and Dale, are going away for the winter. They’re looking for a house sitter, and I told them you’d be perfect. They live right on the edge of town, so it will be easy for you to get around.”
“That sounds promising,” I said, a spark of hope flaring up in my chest.
“There’s not much to do in the garden this time of year, but they have a little Yorkie who needs taking care of.”
“Oh, I love Yorkies. They are adorable.”
“What are you doing later today, around three?”
“Nothing.”
“Great! Why don’t you meet me back here, and I’ll drive you over to the house.”
“Okay, thanks, Rosie.”
“Still working away on your book?” she asked. She set the tart down on the table and poured coffee into my mug. I wrapped my gloved hands around it, watching the steam rise up in wispy white coils.
“Yeah, I think it’s going to be a collection of short stories.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” She flashed me a warm smile. “Oh, by the way. I read that book you gave me, A Snowflake in a Snowfield.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What did you think?”
“It was beautiful. Read the whole thing in one sitting. That kid sure is talented.”
“I thought you might like it.” I couldn’t help feeling a flush of pride.
She shot me a cautious look. “Have you spoken to him at all?”
“No.”
“You still miss him, though.” I nodded, and she gave me a sympathetic smile. “You know, missing someone can sometimes be the best thing for a writer.”
Later that afternoon, I met Rosie outside the diner, and we walked around back to her old pickup truck. A short drive later, we arrived at the house, and Rosie pulled into the driveway. It was a charming chalet made entirely from timber, and it reminded me of a gingerbread house, especially with its quaint sloping roof that was heavily caked with snow.
“It’s pretty,” I said.
“The lake is about a five-minute walk from here. It will be frozen over in a month or two. The locals even skate on the outer edges.”
“Skating’s not really for me, but I bet the view will be stunning.”
We walked up the drive and knocked on the wood-paneled door.
A few moments later, it swung open, and we were greeted by a burly man with a heavy beard wearing a red-and-white checkered shirt.