Chance. Fate. These are things I know nothing about. In my experience, all choices, no matter how seemingly simple, have significance. Choose wrong, pay the price.
In a world where I live in black-and-white and absolutes, my sister lives in tie-dye and liberation. All answers are right answers and even negative consequences serve a bigger purpose. It’s insane. Anarchy. Chaos. Everything that makes my pulse race and my palms sweat.
“Life is beautiful and terrifying,” she whispers. “And you deserve to feel that down to your bones.”
“Okay, Cece.” I look her in the eyes and find them glossy with emotion. “I’ll do it. For you.”
“Thank you.” She nuzzles back into my shoulder. “Ya know, my only regret in this life was not taking you with me when I left. I’ve seen the world, Sawyer. You should’ve been there too.”
“I would’ve hated it, you know that.”
“Maybe, but . . . if you were with me you wouldn’t have locked yourself up like you did. Life’s too short to let fear keep you from living.”
“Now you sound like my therapist.”
“You should listen to her. If I would’ve known how it was all going to end, how soon it was all going to end, I’d have wanted less time traveling and more time with you.”
Her words manage to coil around my lungs and they constrict so I’m unable to take a full breath. “Don’t talk like that. We have time, a lot more time.”
“Hmm.” She smiles sadly and drops to her pillow, pulling the down comforter over her body. “Stay with me?”
“Yeah.”
She yawns. “Okay, but go put on some pajamas. I’m not sleeping in the same bed as those pantyhose.”
Her eyes drift closed and a look of peace softens her face. I wonder if it’s my agreeing to tie up her loose ends in San Diego that’s put it there.
I roll the quarter between my fingers.
This should be easy enough. I’ll keep to myself as much as possible, bring Celia’s stuff back, and she’ll be able to live on in the eyes of her friends.
TWO
SAWYER
“What time will you land in San Carlos?” My mom hands me my toiletry bag.
Between what was left in my old bathroom and after raiding Celia’s closet, I was able to scratch up enough for a few days out of town. That plus whatever is already there should be plenty to get me through what I hope will be a short trip. Cutoff shorts and baggy tank tops aren’t what I’m most comfortable in, but nothing about this trip will be enjoyable, let alone healthy.
My hands shake as I shove a pair of Celia’s sandals into my suitcase and zip it up. “Five-thirty, and it’s San Diego, Mom.”
She rubs her temples. “Oh, that’s right.” We never could keep up with my sister’s living situations. At one point her address was a semi-truck working its way across the country driven by a guy named Panda.
“You sure you’re okay with this? I know how much you hate flying. Your dad can go.”
“It’s fine. I want to go.” It’ll do my mom no good to tell her the truth, that I really am scared shitless. There’s a good chance my plane will go down in some remote area and no one will know where we are so we’ll all have to start eating our dead to survive. Or if I’m lucky I’ll get stuck in that germ tube next to a guy who was bitten by a monkey and I’ll die in a hazmat suit three days later. If it would happen to anyone, it would happen to me. Too late now. I made a promise to my sister and shit-scared or not, I intend to keep it.
“Are you sure? It’s not too late to change your mind.” My mom stills my hands that aren’t yet satisfied with the arrangement of clothes.
Turn off disturbing thoughts. Take a breath. Get a handle on my emotions.
The open door across the hallway where Celia is sleeping catches my eye. I have to do this for her. “I’m sure. Besides, I won’t be gone long.” I zip up my suitcase and pull it off the bed to the floor. “A couple weeks at the most. I’ll pack up, tie up any loose ends, and I’ll be back.”
She worries her lip. “What about work?”
“I’m using my vacation time and sick days. Dana will call me if something needs my attention.” I pat my shoulder bag. “I’ve got my computer.”
“And Mark? What about your things?”
“Dana said she’d throw all my stuff in boxes. It’s mainly clothes and small pieces of furniture. Movers are going to pick it all up and put it in storage until I get back.”
She hands me my neck pillow. “Do you have a sweater? It gets cold on the coast at night.”
“Yeah, Mom.” I hug her. “I better get to the airport or I’m going to miss my flight. I’m going to go say bye to Celia.”
She nods and grabs my bag to take down to my dad who is most likely waiting by the door with his keys in hand.
I tiptoe into Celia’s room and sit on the bed next to her. It seems she’s sleeping more and more. Mom said it’s the medication she takes for the headaches, and I want to cry every time I see my usually energetic sister sapped of all her strength.
I run my fingers through the mass of strawberry-blond hair that’s fanned out around her face. “Celia, I’m leaving.”
She whines and her eyes pinch together as if my voice is sending shockwaves of pain through her temple. I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I’ll call you when I get there.” Her face relaxes and she hums. “I love you.”
I take a couple more seconds to watch her sleep and then head downstairs to find my dad exactly where I expected him.
“All set?”
“Yeah.” I turn to get my bags and end up in another hug from my mom. “It’s okay, Mom.” No one’s saying what we’re all thinking, that Celia’s giving up. She’s been our strength and if she loses hope in getting better . . . well, I can’t even go there, not even hypothetically.
She squeezes me tight. “Don’t throw anything out, okay? You know Celia’s going to want to sort through her things once they’re here.”
“I won’t.”
She pulls away and kisses my cheek.
“I’ll be in touch.” And with that, I leave to sort through my sister’s life.
With the coin nestled safely in my pocket.
The coastal city of Ocean Beach is nothing like I imaged it would be.
I’ve seen the movies filmed on southern California beaches, the rail-thin women in string bikinis, tattooed hard-body guys walking around with a surfboard under their arm. So I knew exactly what to expect when I deplaned and hailed a cab to take me to Celia’s house. But with my face pressed to the window as we drive through town I wonder if this green Prius is the modern-day version of a Delorean and I’ve been blasted back to 1972.
This is nothing like The O.C.
The main street that runs through town is lined with palm trees and old storefronts on both sides. Antiques stores, bead shops, tattoo parlors, and those shops that always smell like patchouli and sell pipes for smoking marijuana. There’s even a movie theater that has an old-timey marquee sign boasting the three movies currently playing, none of them new releases.
It’s quirky. Colorful. Perfect for Celia.
I’m so busy staring out the window I hardly notice when the driver throws the cab into park.