I kept thinking about my house in Monterey, leaning on the kitchen counter in the early morning, just waiting for Corsica to come bounding through the door, energized from her run. My mind drifted downstairs to where she had sung like an angel while my father played my sadly neglected baby grand piano. She had shone, actually shone under the recessed ceiling lights, her hair lit up like a halo.
"How can you not be frowning about the weather? I can actually feel all the moisture being sucked right out of me. I'm going to need a facial," my assistant sighed. He reluctantly shut the car door and joined me at the trunk.
"Who says I'm not frowning about the weather?"
Jason cocked an eyebrow. "You're about to tell me it's the perfect forecast for your equipment test: dry and hot. But that's not what you're frowning about."
"I swear to God, if you ask about how I've been sleeping one more time-"
"I don't need to ask. You haven't been and, I'm sorry, but it's showing. And you really should be sitting in on the sales meeting tomorrow. Your new VP starts tomorrow."
I thought about it, long enough for Jason to give me a hopeful smile. Then I shook my head. "How can I announce that our new angle is 'every camper for himself-self-sufficiency in every climate?' It'll mean a lot more if I say it fresh off this trek."
"You won't be so fresh on the other end," Jason said with a wrinkled up nose.
I rolled my eyes and slammed the trunk shut. "Luckily, there won't be anyone around for me to offend. You scheduled for a car to be left for me at the other trailhead. I'll check in morning and night by text, otherwise, you won't see me until I'm showered and ready for a day at the office."
"There's nothing wrong with the office," Jason said. "You designed it. And, you helped build it. I don't think a single person in your company would think twice if you started delegating all this macho-man, tough testing to other people. We get dozens of calls a day from world-renowned adventurers that would love to help out. Plus the thousands of unsolicited reviews that come pouring in to the website. How about we just get back in the car and go get an iced tea?"
I laughed. "That sounds awful. I'll take my chances with puddle water, thank you very much. See you on the flip side."
Jason watched as I marched down the trail and into the first stretch of arid land. The air was thick with heat, but the desert stretched out and the sound of the car door slamming reverberated over the ground I had crossed. My assistant drove away, but instead of the normal rush of adrenaline, I felt hollow. It seemed like I echoed as I kept my pace steady along the trail.
Then, the song reached me. A faint breeze carried it from some far off campsite, but it hit me like a sharp upper cut. Corsica had sung that song. I remembered holding onto the railing, not believing that the same, snobbish woman I had run into on the dance floor stairs was now singing as if she was born with a jazz trio at her back.
I shook it off and kept going, but the desert winds liked to carry sound. The song slipped back and forth across the trail. For the first time ever, I worried that the solo trip wouldn't give me peace–it was only giving me too much time to think.
Three days later, I was still whistling that song as I got out of the shower. I had given in to one gnawing desire and gone straight from Joshua Tree home to my beach house in Monterey. It was irritating how Jason had predicted my change and already sent my clothes along. I yanked a clean T-shirt out of the top drawer and flung it over my shoulder as I walked to the kitchen.
My gut clenched as I hoped to see Corsica there. My mind kept throwing out images of her everywhere I looked, and I wondered if it was like some toxin that I somehow had to flush. I chugged two tall glasses of water before turning away from the sink.
"You're kidding me," I snarled as I looked up in time to see my father sauntering in the front door.
"God, you do wear sunscreen, right?" Xavier asked.
I looked down at the deeply delineated tan my hiking gear had left. "I don't worry too much about tan lines," I said and tugged the shirt over my head.
"You could at least worry about fading all those tattoos. They'll look even worse once they’re washed out."
I ground my teeth. "Is there something you want, Xavier?"
My father smiled wolfishly. "Don't let your mother know you forgot our plans."
"Shit." I had completely forgotten she wanted to meet at the beach house. It was lucky my own sappy thoughts had dragged me there.
"There you are!" Alice swept in the door in a long kaftan of bright turquoise. She had gained back the color in her face and some of the weight she had lost during chemotherapy. Her hair was thinning, but a wide band of bright, white silk covered it up.
I came around the kitchen island to fold her in a hug. "You look great," I said, careful not to squeeze her too hard.
"And you look pale, Penn," she said.
I snorted. "He says I'm sunburned, you say I'm pale. Can't you two ever agree on anything?"
Alice grinned. "Yes, we can. We've set a date for our wedding."
"He agreed to the drum circle and jumping the broom?" I asked, jabbing a thumb at my father.
Xavier tugged down his tailored suit coat. "I'm only going to say this once, Penn; you're going to respect your mother's choices, and you're going to be nice about it."
"Or what?" I snapped.
We squared off, but my mother stepped between us with an impatient sigh. "You two are so alike, so stubborn and quick to mouth off. It's a wonder we ever have any decent conversations."
My mouth went dry, and I turned away to get another glass of water. Ending up like my father was exactly what I was afraid of. I knew I had the same quick temper, the same tendency to work too hard and play too hard.
It was probably lucky that Corsica had taken off when she did, or I probably would have ended up hurting her. I wouldn't have meant to, but I could imagine it happening.
Like the mornings after when my father was so sorry, so crushed with contrition that he could hardly speak.
Then I remembered that I had already hurt Corsica and, because of that, I would probably never see her again. What did it matter, then, who I ended up being like? I was going to end up being alone and I needed to get used to it.
"Speaking of conversations, have you talked to Corsica yet?"
I jumped, still not fond of my mother's near magic perceptions. "Why would I talk to Corsica? She ran off all wounded and probably wouldn't even answer the phone if I called."
The strange wrong number I had gotten the afternoon before sprung to mind again. Like an idiot, I had assumed it was her and had even called her name. The person hung up after only a few seconds, but the embarrassment had lasted. First her song haunted my entire three-day trek and now I was hoping strange phone calls were her?
Alice crossed her billowing sleeves with an irritated look. "Wounded? Corsica has survived far worse wounds than you being a jerk at a society ball. She's a lot stronger than you think she is."
That's one of the things I love most about her, I thought. It was a good thing I bit my tongue, but I was afraid my mother had read that thought, too. Alice smiled and loosened her hands.
"The person you should worry about is you," she said, taking my fingers and squeezing them. "You're too tough on yourself. It's your father's stubborn pride. Ask him because Xavier knows the only person who suffered because of it was him."