Page 101 of Under the Weatherman
“Probably a shit load. Perception is reality,” she said, shifting toward me. “Look, I know a trauma response when I see one. I haven’t spent so much time with that one”—she jerked her head toward her friend up front—“not to recognize when someone is acting from hurt and fear and not from rational thought.”
“And you stuck by her all this time?”
“Yeah, well. She’s been a good friend to me, too. But it took time to get here. I had to prove myself, show her my unwavering loyalty, to get beyond her defenses. I think maybe you’re a little bit alike”
I snorted. “You think I’m like Chelsea?” Maybe I was the villain in my own story.
“Not exactly. But I think your experiences have taught you to feel broken and unloved, and I know that’s not something anyone can fix but you. I know it takes effort.”
“I’m trying. I just wish it would hurry up.”
“That’s exactly why Chelsea has that list.” She slipped her phone out. “To challenge us, force us to use new muscles. For me, that means entering the land of the living, talking to human beings.”
That made so much sense, and I could appreciate the benefits of such a list as a therapeutic tool, which made me feel even worse for accusing her of using it for nefarious purposes.
“Let me see it again,” I said and began reading it from the top down. And sure, there were things on there that would lend themselves to meeting guys, but mostly they were just things anyone might do. Run a race, visit a museum, apply for a new job. “Did you get double points for two job applications?”
She took her phone back, smiling. “But of course. The points we collect are a kind of score. Each one widens the radius on our next vacation destination.”
“Oh, you gamified it.”
“Exactly.”
“So what are you getting points for today?”
“Pick berries at a local farm.”
“Berries?”
“We allow for some creative interpretation. The intent is to find nondestructive ways to deal with negative emotions.”
“I could use something like that.” I wished I’d had the emotional bandwidth to have this conversation the night before. “I’m always a little jealous of what you two have.”
“Well, we have our ups and downs, too.” She frowned, and it struck me how rarely I’d seen her like this. She’d always rallied, even in the newsroom, but I’d managed to dampen her spirit. How would I ever recover her trust and make her smile again?
I stared out the window so she wouldn’t see me blinking back tears.
As Bas turned up the steep windy road, the landscape changed dramatically. The colors had already mostly faded to sepia tones, but the occasional bright yellow tree held out. It took me back years—to good times with my family and friends.
I turned back to face Elizabeth. “My parents used to bring me up here every fall when I was a kid to pick apples and go on the hayride. I’ve been wanting to return eventually.”
“I’ve only ever come up for the doughnuts.”
“What if we…” I shouldn’t even ask this.
“Yeah?” She pressed her lips into a line, but her eyes sparkled, giving me hope she cared about me still. The fact she was here should have been evidence enough, but I felt like I was on trial, and the verdict was still out.
“I was just thinking about your list. I mean, Chelsea’s list.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, and I registered her disappointment.
“No, I mean, I was hoping maybe you’d help me start one of my own.”
Her face lit up for a second, but I caught it. “I could help with that. What kinds of things are you thinking of?”
She opened a new document on her phone and then looked up at me, waiting for me to come up with some activity off the cuff. The only thing I could think of was where we were headed. “Would you go on the hayride with me?”
“Sure.” She typed,Go on a hayride.
