Chapter 28

The thirty-two-hour drive proved more cathartic than Kurt would’ve imagined. He settled into a routine, driving as long as he could keep awake and Frankie could stay content, which tended to be eight or so hours. At that point, he found somewhere to park and took a long walk, ate, and slept until something woke him up.

His favorite stop was in Sweetwater County, Wyoming, pretty much smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. At nearly seven thousand feet, the rise in altitude was palpable. The air was thin and crisp, and the temperature was hovering about ten degrees above freezing as the sun set. There wasn’t a tree in sight, just rolling hills, tall grasses, and scrubby brush, and a stubby mountain chain in the distance.

A herd of horses grazed near the road. They watched Kurt and Frankie walking by as though they’d never seen anything but cars and trucks.

The way Frankie came to life at seeing them—wagging his tail and barking and dropping into a play bow, enticing the nearest horse to run and buck—made Kurt laugh. After watching the horses a bit, they headed down a dirt road. When they’d made it a safe distance from the herd, Kurt unleashed Frankie and let him run until he was panting heavily and content, his crooked smile wide and drooly.

“Thank God you’re getting a second chance, buddy. Kind of makes you want to believe again, doesn’t it?”

Kurt blinked away the unexpected tears stinging his eyes. He’d let Frankie in, let them all in, even though he hadn’t planned on it. It had started with Kelsey, then the house, then everything else came tumbling along after.

By the time they made it back to the Mustang, it was almost fully dark. The passenger-side door wasn’t closed completely, which made Kurt start. He’d gotten Frankie out the driver’s-side door. The road was deserted but someone had been here, checking out his car. Nothing seemed harmed, and he’d had the keys and anything of value on him. The glove box was open, and he spotted Nana’s rosary inside, lying on top of a few napkins. Lifting it out, he held it in the dim light. The wooden beads were faded and worn from her many prayers. He’d carried the rosary around in his pocket the first few days after getting it but had no recollection of putting it in the glove box. Yet, here it was.

Beside him, Frankie whined as he looked around in the darkness. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you, buddy. We’ll head into town before we catch some z’s.”

Kurt slipped the rosary into his pocket, loaded Frankie up, and continued on until he reached a brightly lit truck stop. He was so fatigued by then that he fell into a doze within seconds of turning off the ignition. He woke a few hours later. Frankie had wedged the front half of his body between the bucket seats and was licking his face.

After grabbing a meal for each of them, refueling, and letting Frankie stretch his legs, Kurt continued west, dipping into Utah, then driving through Idaho. Passing the Oregon state line renewed his energy, as did the second sunrise of the trip. The green hills of Oregon seemed to stretch on forever. He napped again midway through the day and suspected that tonight, no matter what happened when he reached the beach, he’d need to find a room to stretch out in before heading back tomorrow.

By the time he finally made it to the coast, the sun wasn’t far above the horizon, and the western sky visible in gaps in the forest promised a spectacular sunset. He caught glimpses of the ocean as he drove the last few meandering miles to a beach town. A pleasant calm trickled over him, and he couldn’t help but feel as if Nana was beside him in the passenger seat.

He should’ve come home for her funeral. He suspected that’s what had been bothering him most of all. He’d extended his service three times. He could’ve taken leave, but he didn’t even try. Instead, he pushed her smiling brown eyes, slim frame, and wrinkled-smooth skin from his mind and immersed himself in duty.

If she’d been here, she would probably have told him there was some pain you couldn’t work through. Some pain was so real that there was nothing to do but let it in. Somehow, though, he’d made it through mourning her with his head bent down in duty, first in the service and later at the Sabrina Raven estate.

And even before seeing the beach—the reason he’d driven all this way—he felt deep in his core that somehow, now he was okay. He was ready to let it all go. Ready to move on. Ready to really live. That letter of his mother’s could wait. For months, maybe for years. Someday, he’d open it. Or maybe he wouldn’t.

Having finally reached the western edge of the continent, he parked in a public access lot. He stepped out, stretched his stiff back and neck, and sucked in a breath of cool ocean air before raising the seat to let Frankie hop out.

Frankie raised his head as he jumped down, sniffing the sea-salt moisture on the wind. Storm-gnarled evergreens decorated the edges of the parking lot and nearby two-story hotel. Cedar-planked coastal houses dotted the hillside, nestled in a wash of green firs, spruces, hemlocks, and cedars.

Kurt spotted a pedestrian sign for the beach and urged Frankie along. They wound through a dense grove of waxy brush that opened to an expanse of light-gray sand, blue-gray ocean brushed with foamy white caps, rolling dunes, haystack rock formations jutting out of the water, and rocky cliffs surrounded by a forest of emerald green.

A smile tugged at the corners of Kurt’s mouth. He chuckled and brushed tears from the corners of his eyes. He’d been a lot of places, but he’d never seen anything so starkly beautiful. He suspected Nana would’ve agreed with him. He could swear he caught the scent of her lavender lotion in the salty air. His hand slipped into his pocket and closed over the wooden bead rosary.

He led Frankie north on the beach, away from a small group of people wading around a massive rock haystack that rose several stories skyward at the edge of the ocean. A half-dozen beachgoers had dogs with them. Some on leashes, others off. Frankie eyed them warily until they were far enough away, then he turned his attention to the lapping waves.

The sun sank low, sending a yellow, gold, and purple glow across the sky. Kurt unclipped the leash and let Frankie run across the deserted sand. If he could do anything over, it would be to bring Nana here.

A memory rushed in of the day in fifth grade when he beat up Jimmy Varges for spitting on a third grader and got expelled for two days. The worst part was coming home to face the sternness of William Crawford. After a lecture that wounded his pride more than any spanking ever had, Kurt had locked himself in his room.

He let Nana in sometime later. She sank to the bed beside him after having pulled that book out of God knows where. She hadn’t read it to him in a couple of years. He was too old to be read to. But he let her read it and still knew every upcoming picture before she turned the page. A boy and his grandma and a cold, windy beach and nobody else in the world.

He held the rosary in an open, calloused palm. A wave crashed over his feet. The water was shockingly cold. A seagull circled curiously before landing a few feet in front of him, eyeing the draping rosary and all but ignoring the dog who was running in and out of the water, barking and kicking up sand.

Kurt walked for a long time, letting the waves numb his feet through his boots, watching the sun disappear below the horizon. Once it was gone, a silver light hung in the air and stars began to dot the darkening sky. The beach was nearly empty aside from a few people huddled around campfires far back from the waves.

When it was so dark he could barely make out the edge of the ocean on the horizon, he pitched the rosary far out into the water.

“I miss you, Nana.” Beside him, Frankie looked up and whined as he gave a hopeful wag of his tail. “Yeah, I know, buddy. It’s time to go home.”