Page 82 of Forever is the Sweetest Con
There’s also something weird about the light. Every day since we’ve arrived, the morning sun has flooded the Bunkhouse, but today the light is cold and gray. I climb out of bed, careful not to wake Kei, and go to the window. It’s streaked with rain. The wind is howling, and the oak tree outside the window is bending and swaying against the low, dark sky.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sue-Ellen’s whisper startles me. I spin around to find her peering out the window, a disgusted look on her face. I gesture for her to follow me to the bathroom, where we can talk without waking anyone.
When we get there, she leans against the sink. “So,” she says, with a wry smile. “Conditions are not ideal.”
“Not exactly,” I sigh. “Maybe we should wait. It might clear up later.”
“Maybe,” she says, wandering over to the bathroom window. “But maybe not. I don’t know if we can take the chance.”
Kei appears, shaking his head. “No, you can’t do this today. I’ll ration out the rice. I can make it last a little longer.”
Sue-Ellen looks at me. “But if we run out of food, then we might not physically be able to do it any other time,” she says.
“She’s right,” I say to Kei. “I mean, about waiting. We have to do it today.”
Kei goes to the window. “How can this be happeningtoday?” he says to no one in particular.
“We should eat something,” Sue-Ellen says to me.
The cooking fire has gone out in the rain, so we share a can of cold baked beans and a canister of cold, sweet tea. It’s not enough, but I’m too nervous to eat. On the way down to the beach, we are whipped by the wind and rain. The lake, normally a placid deep blue, is churning and angry, the colour of steel.
“This is going to be fun,” Sue-Ellen groans.
I feel the cold hands of doubt gripping me. “Do you think we can actually do this?” I pull my hood tightly around my face, a futile attempt to protect myself against the sheets of rain that are hammering the shore.
Sue-Ellen’s shoulders rise. “I don’t know. But what other chance do we have? Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.”
I mull over her words. “So, four hours?”
“At least. Probably longer in this weather. We’ll go slow and steady.”
I look at Kei. His face is pale. This is for him, I remind myself. I have to do this for him.
By the time we get back to the Bunkhouse to get ready, everyone else is up. The normal morning chatter has been replaced by a subdued silence. When Harmony sees me, she wraps me in a tight hug.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says into my shoulder. “No one will blame you if you change your mind.”
“I know,” I say, squeezing her back as hard as she is squeezing me. I’m filled with love for my friend. She chose me on the first day and has stood by me ever since. I’m doing this for her, too, I remind myself.
Valeria is behind her. She wraps her arms around the two of us. “Thank you, Cleo,” she says. “Good luck.”
I feel someone’s eyes on me. I look up, and it’s Sue-Ellen. I can’t quite place the look on her face. “It’s not just me. If anyone saves us, it’s probably going to be Sue-Ellen.”
Valeria turns to Sue-Ellen, arms wide open. “Thank you, Sue-Ellen. The light in me acknowledges the light—”
“I’m good,” Sue-Ellen says, holding up her hand to block Valeria’s impending embrace. “Are you ready, Cleo?”
“Almost,” I say. I try not to get emotional as I change into my bikini. I take one last look at the Bunkhouse—the sagging floorboards, the rafters wrapped in cobwebs, the microphones abandoned at everyone’s bedside…Wait, why am I wistful about leaving this shithole?
Let’s fucking go.
I wrap a towel around my body, and nod to Sue-Ellen and Kei. The three of us lead the group down to the beach, Kei gripping my hand the whole way. The wind howls through the trees on the path, blowing the rain directly into our faces. My teeth chatter like a jackhammer.
This is a journey to salvation, I tell myself, and not a death march. Somewhere along the way, my fear turns to nervous energy. I just want to do this thing,now.
Sue-Ellen approaches the water first. She dips a toe in, then turns around, making a face like she smells something foul. “Fuck. My. Life,” she moans.
Everyone starts to crowd around us, circling us in a solemn group hug. My instinct is to squirm away from it—the earnestness is a bit much—but I force myself to stay. I try to internalize what they’re saying to me, to let their words of love and encouragement become a part of me, so I can draw on them for strength when I need it.
