When the automatic pump clicks off, I pull the nozzle out of the gas tank and return it to its holder. Fishing my wallet out of the back of my shorts, I open the driver's door to the Suburban and ask Jillian, "You want anything from inside?"
She's got her thick glasses on and her head bent over her art book, but she doesn't even bother looking at me. Just a slight shake of her head and a soft, "No thanks."
With a sigh, I shut the door and head in to grab me a coffee. I'm tired as fuck, but Jillian and I are anxious to get home. We know Connor's there and we don't want him to feel abandoned, so we're racing to get there. The first day we left Portland, I drove almost eleven hours to Salt Lake City. Jillian and I had collapsed into bed, utterly exhausted from the weight of our emotions.
The next day, I went even further, spending fifteen hours on the road and making it to the eastern side of Kansas City. We were still over fifteen hours from home, but one more day of hard driving isn't going to kill me.
Besides, I want to get Jillian back in her environment. She's been so fucking quiet since Barb died that it's wigging me out. I've tried to engage her, and she'll talk in short sentences. She's sleeping a lot in the car and not eating very much.
Last night, I tried to snap her out of it when we got into the hotel room. I realized tiptoeing around her wasn't going to work, so I told her point blank, "I need you to talk to me and tell me what's wrong."
It pissed her off. With flashing eyes and red cheeks, she said, "Well, I'm fucking sorry I'm being so quiet, Christopher. A friend of mine just committed suicide."
That pissed me off, and I-admittedly wrongly-told her, "Barb was no friend of yours. You two barely tolerated each other."
That was the wrong thing to fucking say for sure. Jillian's blue eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip quivered. "You're an asshole," she said quietly.
God, I was a total asshole. But I rectified it immediately by pulling her into my arms and laying down on the bed with her. I told her how sorry I was and whispered words of comfort, assuring her Barb was indeed our friend and that I was as confused and lost as she was. These words were all the truth, and she accepted them.
And then she admitted something to me that set me on my heels. "Seeing Barb there … dead and knowing she felt so alone that it was her only option … that was the darkest day of my life, Christopher. Even worse than when Kelly died, and way worse than when I got my diagnosis."
"How's that?" I asked in a raspy voice as my hands rubbed up and down her spine to soothe her. That was a pretty strong statement to make.
"Kelly dying was awful. She was my sister. My other half. But she was happy and had a fulfilled life. I think her calling was greater than what she served here on earth, and I know she's in a happier place. But Barb … she was so lonely, so afraid, and I was just starting to see her open up to us. I let my own goddamn optimism convince me that she'd be okay. That she would look at the bright side the way I always stupidly tell everyone to do. I spouted crazy shit to you about the hard truth about sunshine … that it's always there, you just have to see it in other ways, and I realize now that I couldn't have been more naive. I've learned that I really don't know anything at all about life, and I feel like such an idiot."
"You are not an idiot," I scolded her. Pulling back my face, I made sure she could look me in the eye. "It's your hopefulness … your belief that a good life is what we're handed but a great life is what we make of it … that made me open myself up to the possibility that I deserved more."
She shook her head, so mired in her own pity that she refused to accept acknowledgment of the gift she'd given me. "No … you had that within you already."
"Exactly," I tell her. "But I couldn't pull it out without you. Barb didn't have it in her. There are some people who can't be helped, baby."
Jillian didn't respond to me, but she did snuggle in closer. I continued to hold her and stroke her back until she fell asleep. I had hoped that maybe my words would penetrate, but she's as closed off as ever this morning. Now I'm getting worried. I'm not sure I can handle it if the woman who made me believe loses belief in herself.
Inside the gas station, I quickly grab a large cup of coffee and take it to the counter. I consider buying a pack of smokes, but I resist. I never did go out and get another pack after our talk with Connor in Portland, but I sure as hell wanted one. To say the last few days have been stressful is an understatement.
As the cashier rings me up and I hand over a five-dollar bill, I notice some colored tri-fold brochures. I pick one up out of the holder and examine it.
"Those tours are a lot of fun," the cashier says. "And the history is cool too … you know, if you're into that sort of thing."
I look up to him. "Oh yeah? Is it far away?"
"Nah … about half an hour northeast of here," he says, unknowingly giving me my chance.
I shove the brochure in my back pocket. "Maybe we'll give it a try. Thanks."
♦
"I don't understand why we're stopping here," Jillian practically whines.
"Because I've always wanted to do a cave tour," I lie. "It was too close to pass up."
Truth is, touring caves would probably be the last thing on my agenda. I'm slightly claustrophobic, and I sure as fuck don't like bats. But we need a break. A change of scenery. The long miles on the road coupled with grieving have left us in a very weird place. There's hardly any conversation, and I can't tell if we're running toward something or away from something, but whichever direction we're going, I'm feeling alone in my travels right now. We need to reconnect.
So we're going to take a little break on this hellacious drive home, and we're going to do something different. It might not be on either of our bucket lists, but we can have bragging rights after that we toured the historically significant Mark Twain Caves.
Jillian is either sulking or just doesn't have it in her to talk to me because she's completely quiet the entire time I sign us up for a tour. We congregate to watch an informational video first, then our tour guide brings us into the cave.
Interestingly enough, I actually kind of dig the tour. The passages are wider than I'd imagined and the place is well lit, so I don't even have a moment where I felt claustrophobic. I'll admit, I'm a little wigged out to learn that a mad doctor in the 1840s used the cave as a mausoleum for his deceased daughter, but past that, it was interesting to learn how Mark Twain wrote about the cave in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, one of the few books I liked reading when I was in school.
Jillian listens to the guide intently and because the cave is dank and chilly, she presses up against me often. Our hands remain clasped the entire time. This I like very much, and I'm glad I decided to take this detour. We needed a bit of a stress reliever.
As the tour winds down, the guide-a young female, probably a college student working for the summer-stops and says, "Now, before I open this up for questions and answers, we have something a little fun we like to do."
With dramatic flourish, she points out that the cave has been outfitted with electricity to make walking through safe, but she asks us to imagine the days when Mark Twain would run through here as a little boy with only a fire torch to light the way.
"And imagine … being deep in the caves and your light goes out," she says ominously. And, with perfect timing, the overhead lights go out and we are plunged into absolute and complete darkness.
Several people gasp as it's disorienting, but Jillian actually lets out a pained cry that sounds like it ripped her chest open. As the tour guide drones on about finding the way out of a cave in the dark, Jillian's hand squeezes mine so hard I'm positive she's breaking bones. Her voice is nothing but pure panic when she whispers, "Christopher … I can't … I need out of here. Where's your lighter? I need light."
I can hear the tears in her voice, the hysteria vibrating off her. Jesus fucking Christ, Jillian is experiencing total blindness and for someone who will one day be blind, I bet it's completely freaking her the fuck out.
I slap at my pocket and realize I don't have my lighter because I'm not smoking anymore. Instead, I reach out and blindly wrap my arms around her, somehow managing to put my lips near her ears. I keep my voice low and reassuring, "Jillian … you're fine. This is just temporary. I'm right here, and I'm not going to let you go. Just close your eyes, take a deep breath in, and-"
The lights pop back on. I know we couldn't have been in the darkness any more than ten seconds, but it was about nine seconds longer than what Jillian could tolerate. My eyes squint against the sudden light, but they immediately adjust since we weren't in the dark that long. I can't stand the look of terror in Jillian's eyes when I look at her.
Taking her by the hand, I push my way through the group of tourists and walk out a door on the left side of the cave that's marked with a lit exit sign. We practically burst out into the Missouri summer sunshine, and I immediately turn to Jillian and place my hands on her shoulders.