Chapter 22 - Heather

Chapter 22

Heather

Aguas Calientes, Peru

Heather had two things she had to do before the vacation wrapped. The first was unpleasant, the second was nerve-wracking, and they both took some working up to.

"I have these Post-it notes stuck behind my computer at home," she told Mom and Bon, when they met for dinner after they'd cleaned themselves up. "And there's a purple one that says, Don't look back, you're not going that way."

Mom and Bon gave her their undivided attention. It was unsettling. She was used to them talking over her.

"I'm going to take it down when I get back," Heather said. "I think it's wrong."

"Right." Mom pursed her lips. "And . . . ?"

That was more like it. She could feel Mom's attention slipping. "I think you're always going in the direction of your past. Even if you're trying not to."

"God, I hope not." Mom passed her the wine list. "Pick something good. I'll buy this one."

"I mean, I think you have to look back," Heather corrected herself. She wasn't expressing this very well. It was a big thought. "I think you can't go forward without looking back."

"You're writing that on a Post-it, are you?" Bon said approvingly.

"I'm trying to say that I've learned a lot these past couple of weeks." Heather felt a spurt of the usual frustration with them. "About both of you, but also about me."

"That's nice." Mom tapped the wine list. "Order something, would you. I'm thirsty."

"May I suggest a Post-it that says, Bon changed my life," Bon offered.

"Mom changed my life more," Mom said dryly.

"Thank God, I survived them," Heather sighed, opening the wine list. She gathered her courage to ask what she wanted to ask. "Do you think I'd be making the right decision, if I . . ." She trailed off, not sure how to say it.

"Is this about Owen?" Bon guessed, shrewd as ever. "Because if it's about Owen, the answer is yes."

"Do you think it's insane to pursue a relationship with someone you've only known for a couple of weeks? Can you love someone when you barely know them?"

"God, yes," Bon exhaled. "To both."

"Agreed," Mom said. "Yes, it's insane. Yes, you can."

"That doesn't help," Heather wailed.

"Heather." Mom leaned forward and put her hand over Heather's. "Look who you're asking. You think either of us are good at relationships?"

Heather blinked. "Yes," she said, stunned. "I do."

Mom seemed shocked. "Have you listened to what we've said?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." Bon was approving. "I always knew you were a better listener than your mother."

"I married a man who cheated on me constantly," Mom protested. "I fought to keep him when I should have kicked him to the curb."

"But that's life," Heather said. "That's what I learned. Life is hard and messy and painful, and everything ends. Sure, you should have kicked him to the curb. And you did. You have."

"Thirty years too late."

"Or right on time. Because I have an orange Post-it too, and it says, Good things are coming. Because you ended it, because you loved Dad, because you got hurt and learned, because you valued yourself enough to move on, good things are coming."

"Sandra," Bon said patiently, "what the kid is saying, with all her random talk of Post-its, is that your life lessons are her life lessons." Bon patted Mom's arm. "She'll make the Owen choice because you taught her how to."

Heather smiled at Bon. Yes. That was what she'd wanted to hear. That yes was the answer. Because she didn't think she could have said no to the possibility of Owen, even if she'd tried.

"Has he said yes?" Bon asked.

"I haven't asked him yet."

"Well, Heather, let me tell you his theory that he's like a mammoth in a tar pit," Bon said, "that might help you. And order your mother some wine; she looks like she needs it. Then we can explain to her what yes means."

"I know what yes means."

"You do? Good. Then you can start saying it more often. Like when I ask you to come with me to this amazing hotel I found right in the Amazon Rainforest, instead of going home. You'll love it. They have villas right in the canopy, and you'll have all the animals to gawk at while I go to the day spa." Bon fished in her bag and pulled out a brochure, tossing it to Mom. "Go on, open it. Look at all the monkeys: capuchins and tamarins, howler monkeys and squirrel monkeys. You'll be in heaven. Not to mention the macaws. Imagine having a macaw perched next to you at breakfast. You can play David Attenborough to your heart's content while I get a facial and a pedicure."

"What about Heather?"

"Heather's got her own adventures to have."

"Go on, Mom, say yes," Heather ordered.

"Fine. Yes." Mom looked at the brochure. "Oh, there are otters in the river!"

"There you go. It's fate." Bon winked at Heather.

And for the first time she could remember, Heather didn't feel guilty for leaving her mom to live her own life.

* * *

"Good luck." Mom kissed Heather on the forehead and gave her a push out the front door of the hotel. She and Bon were going off to the hot springs to soak their sore muscles. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Or me," Bon added. "And here, tell S-H-A-W-N he can probably use this more than I can." She held out her unread copy of Eat Pray Love.

"I'm not giving him that." Heather refused to take it.

"I'll read it." Mom took it. "I saw the movie." She tucked it under her arm. "If it's good enough for Julia Roberts, it's good enough for me."

Heather smiled as she watched them head off up the street, their towels slung over their shoulders. They looked like a couple of schoolgirls skipping school, loose and easy and free.

Heather grabbed a takeaway coffee and sat down on a low stone wall by the rushing river. She inhaled the zesty scent of rainforest and water, enjoying the sight of the mountains cradling the town. She'd never had a better vacation, she decided.

"Hey." Shawn approached, looking sheepish. He stood there, rocking on his heels, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking like the hero in a romantic movie. It just wasn't her movie, or her hero.

"I guess this is about me crashing your vacation, isn't it?" he said cautiously.

"Yep." Heather invited him to sit next to her on the wall. "How was your trek?" she asked, striving for distant courtesy.

"Amazing," he admitted. "I mean, I had no idea what I was getting into when I came . . ."

Heather pulled a face and he flushed.

"I'm glad I did, though," he said huskily.

"Shawn," she interrupted, "I know everything was messy before I left. So, I thought I should say things plain and get this sorted once and for all." She cleared her throat. "If there's one thing I've learned on this trip, it's that a little plain speaking can save a lot of pain."

"Okay," Shawn looked apprehensive.

"I don't want to be with you, Shawn. Maybe I confused things and sent you mixed signals, so I just want to be as clear as possible. I don't want to be in a relationship with you." She didn't qualify it. She didn't tell him he was a nice guy or tell him he'd make some woman very lucky. "I don't want to lie to you. Or to me. This isn't ever going to be a thing."

Shawn blinked, and she could see that he was struggling with tears. She felt sorry for him but didn't comfort him. He had the capacity to comfort himself; it wasn't her job.

"You have to stop knocking at my door. And sending me flowers and buying me gifts. And you absolutely have to stop hanging around waiting for me at coffee shops and following me on vacation. It's not okay."

"But—"

"No, no buts. This isn't up for negotiation. You can't convince me. I don't want this."

"Right." Shawn's voice wobbled. "Well, I guess you've made yourself clear."

"Good." She stood up, taking her coffee with her. "All the best, Shawn." And she left, not once turning around to see if hewas staring after her with a longing look. It didn't matter. She was moving on.

* * *

Owen's hotel was over the river, in the forest. She had to cross a long wooden bridge from the street to reach the complex, which consisted of crushed gravel paths winding through the thickly wooded slopes. She checked his message. He'd said he was in villa 4.

There were signs along the way, and she followed a winding path through the shady green until she reached a quaint Spanish-style villa, with terra-cotta tiles on the roof, and a chimney puffing out woodsmoke. Heart hammering in her ears, Heather knocked on the door.

Her body was going into overload standing on the doorstep waiting for him. She was hot and cold, frozen and buzzing, all at once.

But then the door opened, and there he was. Everything fell away.

"Hi," he said softly.

It was just Owen, in his soft old blue T-shirt, with his dark curls tumbling, and his lips twitching. Heather felt the click of invisible marbles softly colliding.

"Hi," she said, smiling.

He pulled the door wider, to let her in, and she laughed. The room was staged, with lights and a camera set up on a tripod. "You're working!"

"I am."

"I thought it was odd that you were staying at a five-star resort . . ." She walked in, marveling at the beauty of the little villa, with its hardwood floors, sloping ceiling and open fireplace.

"You don't think I'm a five-star guy?" he asked, closing the door.

The room was toasty from the fire. Heather shrugged off her jacket. "I think you're a Casa Suerte kind of guy." She gave him a sideways look. "A farmhouse kind of guy . . ."

"I'm the kind of guy who likes everything," he said huskily. He turned off the bright lights above their silver reflective umbrellas. The villa went from being a spotlit stage to an intimate haven. "But this is courtesy of Condé Nast, who are doing a feature on this place and need some photos."

"I thought you were on vacation."

"I was. Now I'm earning a buck." Owen was staring at her like she was an exotic animal that had wandered in from the cold. He watched as she prowled the room.

Heather bit her lip. She didn't know where to begin. "Did you find Machu Picchu worth running to?"

"Yes." His voice was rough, uneven. His hands were resting on his hips, and his dark eyes were sultry. "How about you?"

Heather swallowed and approached him. "It's not bad, for a wonder of the world."

His lips twitched. "Not bad, huh?"

"Owen?"

"Yeah?"

She put her hands on his chest. She could feel his heart skidding beneath her palm. "?Oye hermoso, vienes aqui a menudo?"

He laughed. "Does that line ever work?"

She stretched up and brushed the lightest of kisses against his twitchy lips. "Every time," she whispered.

"Heather," he sighed, holding her by the arms and pulling her away. "I can't promise anything beyond Peru. If that's what you're hoping for . . ."

She wasn't hoping. She knew. She didn't know how she knew, but she did. Lightning didn't happen for no reason.

"Owen? You're not a mammoth and I'm not a tar pit."

"What?" He flinched.

"Bon told me about your mammoth thing."

"I never told her about that." He swore. "I'm going to kill my grandmother the next time I see her."

"I'm not a tar pit. If anything, I'm just another mammoth."

"Heather . . ."

"Look, Owen, life is a total mess. There's no logic to it, but sometimes there are . . . I don't know . . . signs . . ."

"Signs?" He sounded wary.

"Like finding a stranger, who is sharing a bathroom with you, and who knows your grandmother, and who somehow was the reason you came all the way to Machu Picchu, even though you didn't know him . . ."

"I don't believe in fate," he reminded her.

"You don't have to. I do." For the first time she could see the worry in him, the fear. She didn't know anything about his past, or his parents, or his grandparents. She didn't know why he was scared of tar pits, but she wanted to know . . . And that's all that mattered for now.

"Owen, I know you travel a lot."

"No." He shook his head. "You don't. Hooking up with someone on vacation is just a form of tourism—living with someone is something else. I love my job. And when I go, you'll be lonely. And you'll hate me for it. You'll look for comfort elsewhere."

"Maybe I won't. Maybe I love my job and my life, and I'll just be fine while you're gone. And maybe you can send me photos and we can message, and we can talk every day. And maybe I love who you are, and don't want you to change."

Owen swallowed hard at the word love. "We just met."

Heather nodded.

"Don't you think it's weird? That we feel like this, when we only just met?"

Heather felt weak. He felt it too. She knew it.

"Are you calling me weird again?"

"Unusual," he amended.

"Isn't unusual what you're looking for when you go traveling the world with your camera?"

Owen pulled her closer and pressed his forehead to hers. "What if . . ." His voice was low and vulnerable. "What if I end up not wanting to leave you . . . What if I lose my life . . . ?"

"What if you don't? What if it all works out?"

His heart was stumbling and surging under her hand.

"Owen. Maybe we could try being less alone? Together." Heather lifted on tiptoe and kissed him again, so lightly she could feel his breath sighing.

Owen's eyes slid closed, and he kissed her back. "Yes," he sighed against her lips.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

Yes.Because, Good things were coming.