Chapter 17 - Heather

Chapter 17

Heather

Cusco, Peru

There was a message from Owen.

Heather's phone lit up, and she saw its blue glow immediately because she'd been unable to sleep. She'd been awake most of the night, fitfully dreaming that she'd been lost in the markets, chasing someone who was always just out of sight, and out of grasp.

Mom had been tossing and turning too. They were both going to be tired on this trek.

Just before dawn, Owen's message arrived, spilling blue light into the murky early morning. Heather's breath caught when she saw his name pop up. Or rather, the name Romeo pop up. She punched it open.

Heading off to Ollantaytambo now on the bus. Not sure when you leave but wanted to wish you luck. Ready to set foot on a road that's more than five hundred years old?

Heather missed him on a cellular level. Every deep inch of her ached for him. She'd never felt anything like it before. She pictured him climbing onto the tour bus, bright with expectation, his mind flickering with all the facts he'd learned about the Inca Trail.

And he was thinking about her too.

Heather felt an urge to throw on her shoes and run to him.

Tell me something about this five-hundred-year-old road, she typed back, willing the conversation to continue. His messages felt like febrile magic.

We'll both be on it at the same time.

Heather felt like she was floating and sinking all at once.

Did you know Ollantaytambo has buildings that have been occupied continuously since the fifteenth century?

Why was he messaging? He'd said his goodbyes until they got back . . . hadn't he?

Heather was going over her memories of their last interaction when she got a shock as another unexpected message appeared on her cell.

Hey darling. It's Dad. Give me a call when you can?

He was the last person she expected to hear from. How had he got her number?

Our bus is heading for your hotel, Owen messaged.

I have news. And I can't reach your mother, Dad wrote.

Hell. She couldn't process both sets of messages at the same time.

Owen: If you're around, I'll give you a wave.

What was he asking? Did he want her to come out?

Dad: I'm worried about your mom. Is she ok?

And what did he want from her?

Heather slid out of bed as quietly as she could. She grabbed her jacket and room card and crept out into the corridor. Shit. She'd forgotten her shoes. But she couldn't go back, or she'd wake Mom up. The tile floor was cold on her bare feet as she scuttled down the corridor and out onto the open balcony, which overlooked the front of the hotel and the quiet early-morning street.

It was icy cold, and she shrugged into her jacket as quick as she could, zipping it up to her chin and pulling the hood over her head. Her breath puffed like a dragon's in the pearly morning.

She messaged her brother. Did you give Dad my Peruvian number? He didn't answer. But of course he had, because Mom sure as hell hadn't.

Why hadn't she grabbed some socks? The cold was killing her toes. Heather dragged a wicker chair up to the wrought iron balcony rail and tucked herself up into a ball, stretching her pajama top down over her frozen toes.

There was a subterranean part of her that was always afraid of rebuffing her father, in case he never returned to her. So, she dialed the number.

"Hello?" The sound of his voice made her heart pinch.

"Hi, Dad, it's me." Heather retreated deeper into her jacket, feeling like a tortoise retreating into its shell. She missed him.

"Chris told me you're in Peru," he said, by way of greeting. He sounded nonplussed.

"I am."

"Peru?"

"That's right."

"But . . . why?"

"For a vacation," she sighed, although it was turning out to be a pretty stressful trip. "What else did Chris tell you?" Did he know Mom was along for the ride?

"Not much." Dad cleared his throat. "But he said you found out about the engagement . . ."

"Yeah." Heather closed her eyes, not prepared for this conversation but knowing it had to happen.

"Who told you?" He sounded nervous.

Jesus. She wasn't doing this. She didn't want to get into the whole Mom seeing it on Facebook thing. "Does it matter?" Her first instinct was to do the polite thing and congratulate him on his engagement, but she bit it back, because she didn't want to be polite about it.

Dad made an ambivalent noise. "I suppose your mom knows too?"

Heather saw a bus turn into the street. Owen. Excitement to see him tangled with the unease she felt talking to Dad, making her feel a bit nauseous. It was only as the bus sighed to a stop in front of the casa that Heather remembered Shawn. Oh God, it was at the hotel to pick up Shawn and Kyle.

Her life had become a farce.

"Heaths?" Dad prodded.

"I don't know, Dad. You'll have to talk to Mom." Her head was buzzing. Too much was happening at once.

"She's not answering my calls, that's why I'm calling you. I'm worried about her."

"That's why you're calling me?" Heather couldn't keep the edge out of her voice. "You weren't calling to see how I was taking the news?"

"Chris said you were a bit upset." Now he sounded guarded.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." Heather kept her gaze fixed on the bus, drawing comfort from Owen's presence, even if she couldn't see him through the bus's tinted windows. "I don't know why you didn't tell me yourself," she said, terse.

Her father sighed, and it was an exhausted sound. "I guess I thought if I told you, you'd tell your mother."

"You're right, that would have been way worse than her finding out on Facebook." So much for not telling him. It popped out of her like a cork from a bottle.

Dad swore. "I guess that explains why she's not taking my calls."

"No, Dad." Heather was proud of how frigid she sounded. "Mom's not taking your calls because she's here with me, in Peru."

"Peru?"He said it like they were on Mars. "What the hell is she doing in Peru?"

"At the moment? Sleeping. It's only dawn here."

The door to the bus slid open and Heather heard the muffled sound of voices. She leaned forward to get a better view.

"Can you ask her to call me?" Dad said.

"No," Heather told him, amazed at her firmness. "I don't think so. I don't want to be caught in the middle anymore."

There was a wounded silence. "You're still mad at me, then. About Meg?"

Yes, she was, but that wasn't what was happening here. This was about her and Dad, not about Dad and his marriages. Heather had learned a lot in the last few days, she thought numbly. About how messy life could be, and about how hard relationships were. She thought about Bon and Jimmy Keays, and Grandpa, and Junior, and Mom and Dad. About Shawn. And about Owen. People were complicated, and nothing was ever simple. Happy endings weren't real because endings were never happy. Endings were always about grief and pain.

As though she'd conjured him by wishing, Owen stepped down off the bus, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket, and a navy-blue beanie pulled down tight over his dark curls. The misty gray of the morning was just light enough to show his face as he took in the hotel, and she saw the moment he spotted her on the balcony. His whole body seemed to exhale, draining of tension, and he smiled.

Heather lifted her hand in a silent wave.

Owen took his own hand out of his pocket and pressed his fingertips to his lips. He blew her a kiss. Then he gave her a salute and mimed shivering.

"Love and sex are two different things, Heaths," Dad was saying defensively in her ear. "Your mother never understood that."

Heather returned to the conversation with a sick thud. "They're two different things to you," she told him sharply, "and, trust me, Mom understands. Why else do you think she stayed as long as she did? She was being understanding. But the thing is, Dad, love and sex aren't two different things to her."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Heather kept her gaze fixed on Owen, who had cocked his head and was watching her. His expression had turned serious.

"Dad," Heather said abruptly, "have you ever thought about not getting married?" She took strength from Owen standing there, looking up at her balcony with nothing but concern.

"Jesus, Heather." Dad sounded wounded.

"Why not try being single? You could fuck who you want, when you want."

"Heather!"

"I'm just saying that you don't have to make Meg the new Mom."

She could feel the tension building on the other end of the line.

"Meg understands me," he told her, striving for patience.

"Mom understood you." Heather felt sadness like a cloud lowering. "It doesn't help anything. They still get hurt."

"You don't know the first thing about my relationship with Meg." He was getting angry now.

"No, I don't. Because you don't talk to me." She felt tears coming on now, as the surge of power at speaking her mind ebbed, revealing the pain underneath. Hell. She was going tocry.

Dad sighed. "I know this is hard for you."

Heather's breath caught as she felt the warmth of him acknowledging her feelings.

"It's just that I'm in Peru," she said, the tears tumbling down now. "And I'm supposed to go trek up Machu Picchu. And . . . there's just a lot, Dad. And I don't know what you want from me right now."

"Want from you . . . ?"

"Well, you didn't call to just say hi, did you?" Oh, it hurt to say. Because it was true. "You never call to just say hi." She scrubbed the tears away. "I wish you would, though. Because I love you." Her voice cracked. Shit, she was going to lose it and she didn't want to ugly cry on the phone. "I love you, Dad. I'll talk to you when I get home."

"Heather—"

"Bye." She hung up, unable to be in the conversation for a minute longer.

Her phone vibrated.

It was Owen. You ok? He was busy typing with his thumbs, glancing up at her. That looked like a hard phone call. There was a beat. Not that I was spying on you. I was just worried. Another beat. Ok, I was spying a bit.

Heather took a shuddery breath. It was my dad.

Ah.

Yeah.

You want to know something else about Ollantaytambo to take your mind off it?

Heather laughed through her tears. Yes, she typed. Tell me everything.

There was an eruption of noise in front of the hotel, as Shawn and Kyle and a couple of other people emerged into the bluing morning. Heather pulled back from the edge of the balcony, not wanting to be seen.

Not sure I can fit hundreds of years of history into a text message.Owen backed up until he was standing all the way back by the curb, so he could still catch a glimpse of her.

You underestimate yourself, she texted him.

Shawn and Kyle were loading their packs in the luggage compartment under the bus and chatting to the tour guide. Heather pulled right back, against the wall, out of sight.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, and she looked down to see Owen had sent her a photo of steep terraces cut into a mountain, sunshine cascading over the brilliant green steps.

Where we're running to today, he wrote.

Heather felt her breath loosen in her chest. Yes. That looked like somewhere worth running to.

Juliet?

Yes, Romeo?

I wasn't expecting to miss you as much as I do.

Warmth hit her, right where her heart was. I miss you too.

Good.

Good?

I'd rather miss you together than miss you alone.

Heather inched forward as she heard Shawn and Kyle disappear into the bus. Owen was about to get back on too. He gave her a wave.

She touched her lips and blew him a kiss.

He grinned. Catch you on the flipside, weirdo.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Bon demanded. She was sitting on Heather's empty bed when she slunk in, trying to be quiet.

There was no point in being quiet, as the overhead lights were on and Mom was sitting up in bed, looking wide awake and annoyed already.

"I couldn't sleep," Heather said defensively. "So I went to get some air." She had no plans to tell either of them about Dad or Owen. "What are you doing here, Bon?"

"Waking us up," Mom said grumpily.

"I wanted to give you something."

Heather noticed Bon had circles under her eyes. She looked drawn. "You couldn't sleep either?" Heather asked.

"I need to talk to you. Come and sit down." Bon pointed to Mom's bed.

Too tired to argue, Heather sat on the edge of Mom's bed. Mom wriggled over and pulled the covers back. "You might as well get in," Mom sighed. "It's cold."

Heather did as she was told.

"I got you a gift at the markets." Bon held out a small paper bag.

"Thanks." Surprised, Heather took the bag.

"Are you okay, Mom? You're being weird." Heather's mother peered around Heather, suspicious of Bon's behavior.

"I'm fine. Just let me do this."

"You bought us bracelets," Heather exclaimed, as she pulled out a pair of black and red beaded bracelets.

"I got one for me too," Bon said, holding her arm up so they could see the slender bracelet knotted at her wrist.

Heather passed one to Mom. "Thanks, Bon." She was puzzled. Couldn't the gifts have waited until breakfast?

Mom was clearly thinking the same thing because she shot Heather a troubled look. "You sure you're okay, Mom? You're not having a blinding headache, or shooting pains down your right arm or something?"

Bon rolled her eyes. "I give you a gift and you think I'm having a heart attack."

"Or possibly a stroke?"

Bon swore at her, but it didn't have any heat to it. "Put the damn thing on, Sandra, and say thank you."

"This is how she gets me talking to her when I'm mad at her," Mom said to Heather. "She acts like she's having a stroke and gives me gifts. Bingo. Argument over." But she held her hand out, so Heather could tie the beads around her wrist. "Happy now?" Mom asked, once they were knotted tight and she was busy tying Heather's on.

"Thanks, Bon," Heather said, wondering if Mom was right, and eyeing Bon for signs of a stroke. But Bon looked fine, just tense.

"It's a huayruro bracelet," Bon told them softly. "They're seeds. It's a protection amulet. I thought it might be a good idea, considering . . ."

"Considering what? That we're about to go hiking up thirteen and a half thousand feet of mountain after some cursory training on a StairMaster?" Mom said dryly.

"The woman at the markets said it will bring you luck."

"You don't believe in luck." Mom was sharp.

"No, but you do."

"It's really thoughtful of you, Bon," Heather said sincerely, elbowing Mom. "We love them, don't we?"

"We do. We also wonder why you felt you had to give them to us now."

Bon sighed and rubbed her face. The seeds on her wrist were glossy in the overly bright overhead light. "You both seem pretty set on knowing about Jimmy Keays," she said wanly.

Heather and Mom stiffened and exchanged glances.

"Oh," Mom exhaled. "Well, yeah. Given that he's my father."

"It's hard to start talking about things you never wanted to talk about." Bon pulled one of Heather's pillows to her chest and wrapped her arms around it. She looked haunted. "But I guess we've been opening a lot of cans of worms on this trip, haven't we?" She met Mom's gaze. "Your dad—I mean, Dale—could never let it go. What happened to Jimmy, where he was, if I saw him. It bugged him. Because I wouldn't talk about it. It didn't matter how many times I told him there was nothing to be jealous about, he stewed on it." Deep lines bracketed Bon's mouth as she spoke. "For the record, I never once cheated on Dale with Jimmy Keays, or with anyone else. But also, for the record, Jimmy was the reason Dale cheated on me."

Mom seemed to have stopped breathing. "I knew it."

There was a long, charged silence. Then Mom spoke.

"You know where Jimmy is, don't you?" Mom prodded Bon. Her hands were clenched, and she was trembling. Heather thought she looked like all the blood had pooled in two bright spots in her cheeks, leaving the rest of her the thin white of skimmed milk.

Bon nodded, looking defeated. "I couldn't tell Dale, because I couldn't tell you. And I couldn't tell Junior, because I couldn't tell you." Bon met Mom's stare. "It was always for you, honey. I didn't . . ." Bon's eyes were wet, but no tears ran. It was like she was a vessel of tears, with nowhere for them to go.

"You know where Jimmy is," Mom said, sounding like someone had told her she owned the moon, and she had no idea what to do with it. "Where is he, Mom?" She stressed the present tense.

"Minnesota," Bon said flatly.

The hair rose on Heather's arms.

"Jimmy's in Minnesota, honey. He's been in Minnesota this whole time." Bon was breathing funny, shallow, like an animal in distress.

"He ran off to Minnesota?" Mom was outraged. "Did he know about me? Did you tell him about me?"

Bon glanced at Heather, spooked, looking like she was on the edge of panic.

"Hey," Heather soothed, leaving Mom's bed and joining Bon. She had some idea of the weight Jimmy Keays carried for her grandmother, after the stories she'd heard this past week. "It's okay. It's in the past. It can't hurt you."

Mom and Bon both gave brittle laughs at that.

"You're young, honey," Bon said sadly. "You don't know how much the past can hurt you."

"Mom," Heather's mother said firmly. "Tell me. I want to know. He knew about me, didn't he? He knew and he still didn't want me." Her blue eyes were stark and clear, with a bleakness Heather had only glimpsed in her before. "I can handle it."

Bon swallowed and gave an odd smile. "You can. But can I?"