I nod again.
“And maybe that person suffers a loss. Maybe someone close to them dies, and that death poses a question they have no answer to, and so they make it their mission to answer that question and refuse to quit until they have irrefutable proof of where their loved one went. So, they live, eat, breathe every minute of every day of their life for the answer to that one question. And one day it happens. They succeed, and in doing so, they transform their theory to fact, and if they share that proof, they know they could change life as we all know it. And say this person could not only prove there was a hereafter, but could prove the very existence of God, no more faith necessary. He’s real. So they have their proof, their life isn’t meaningless, the death they’ve grieved isn’t pointless, they have the answer, and they want to give it to others.” He takes another drag of his cigarette and exhales a steady stream before lifting hazel eyes to mine. “They post it on social media so the world will finally have the answer to a question that’s plagued people for endless centuries. What would happen?”
“We wouldn’t believe them.”
He slowly nods. “Worse. Betty Lou would debunk it in ten minutes, whether she was right or wrong because she’s got millions of followers, and her opinion is God. Then this other person, the person with proof, facts, video, is nothing but another quack on the internet because Betty said so. So, millions of people didn’t listen, and neither did their friends because Betty is always right. And still that quack who is so certain about their truth, who has bulletproof evidence, begs all the other quacks to listen but no one does because everybody is quacking because of all the microphones. And now, none of us will ever know God exists, and many will still live daily with the crippling fear of dying.”
“That’s so sad and…” I draw my brows, “so true.”
With another exhale, he flicks the cherry off his cigarette and grinds it out. “The sadder truth is that the only way to conquer the fear of dying is by dying.”
“Jesus.”
Sean grins. “You sure? Is He listening?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re killing me.”
“Why the turn of phrase? Does death scare you?”
“Stop playing on my words,” I swat at his chest.
He chuckles, then shrugs while unscrewing his water bottle. “You asked. Just relaying a message.”
“That whole spiel wasn’t yours?”
He takes a healthy swig and then recaps it, darting his eyes away. “No. Not mine. Just another quack.”
“But this is what you believe?”
His eyes meet mine, his gaze intent. “It’s the one that makes sense to me. Rang true for me. It’s how I live.” He leans in. He’s close, so close. “Or maybe,” he pushes the sweat-matted hair away from my forehead and widens his eyes before giving me a blinding smile, “I’m just another quack.”
“Probably,” I say softly. “And you do obey the clock because you have to be on time for work,” I point out.
“Got me there. But my free time is mine. I’m not a slave to time. And if I’m honest, my work time is mine, too.”
“How so?”
He nudges me forward with his hand on my back. “Almost there.”
“You aren’t going to answer me?”
“No.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I grumble. This man is absolutely nothing like I expected, and yet I can’t get over what comes out of his mouth or the fact that I know he means and believes what he says. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so confident in their skin, so sure of their place. My eyes glide over the perfection that is Alfred Sean Roberts as he walks in contemplative silence beside me.
“So, what’s your superpower?” I ask, a little breathlessly while keeping his pace.
“I’m good at reading people. Anticipating what they want. Yours?”
I spend a few seconds thinking about it. “I don’t know if it’s necessarily a superpower, but most mornings, I can remember my dreams…vividly. And sometimes, if I wake abruptly, I can resume them. Other times I will myself back into them.”
“Pick up where you left off?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s cool, I sleep so hard, I never really remember mine.”
“Sometimes they hurt,” I admit, “so much so that it can ruin a day of my life just from the feelings they evoke. So, it’s not always good.”
He nods, his eyes scouring the trees before looking over at me. “Every superpower has a price, I guess.”
We’ve been off the beaten path of the specified trails at the mouth of the mountain for what seems like forever. Once we clear the next set of rocks, I marvel at our surroundings and my new back yard. I’ve spent weeks driving around the narrow roads and steep inclines of the mountains and not once thought about breaching the trees to see what’s inside. Fully submerged, I never expected to be so enamored by the tranquility, the cool air, the organic smell, or the sweat covering my skin. I look over to Sean with fresh eyes.
“You’ll make a mountain hippie out of me yet.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Somewhere between the time I saw him standing at his car this morning and the few hours we’ve spent on our hike, I’ve let a part of me I’ve kept locked away for years, my romantic heart, begin to hope. Sean’s made it far too easy to give it a reason to peek around the corner of the bitterness I’ve buried it behind. With every look, every touch, every easy exchange of words I feel that beckoning, letting me know it might be safe to come out and take a look around.
But we haven’t been in this long, whatever this is blooming between us. Even if Sean declared time our enemy, I’m all too aware that trust is fragile and can shatter in an instant. Time has told me it only takes seconds to be made a fool. In my short experience with men, I’ve been cheated on, lied to, and humiliated, and I have no intention of letting that happen again if I can help it. I don’t at all have a good track record with trusting my instincts when it comes to men. And after my last disaster, I promised myself I would be more cautious. The next man who wins my heart, my affection, will have to do a lot more to deserve it than offering pretty words and petty promises. Yet that promise I made to myself and my new determination for a temporary jailbreak don’t mesh well. Sean is one tempting apple in my celibate new garden. Physically, I want him. And it’s clear the feeling’s mutual. Maybe I shouldn’t think past that.
“What are you thinking?”
“Just glad I’m here.”
He gives me a side-eye. “I’m calling bullshit.”
“I haven’t…dated in a while.” I’m not sure it’s the right word to use.
He glances over at me. “And?”
“And it’s been a while, that’s all.”
“What happened with the last one?”
“You first,” I say as he steps over a fallen tree limb and easily lifts me to clear it.
“My last girl was Bianca. She was manipulative, so it didn’t last long.”
“Manipulative how?”
“She wanted to control me. I don’t do well with that. She wanted to manipulate my now, but I found myself trying to escape her more than I wanted to tolerate her. I ended it. Your turn.”