Chapter 18

Don was almost all of the way to Sacramento before he even knew what he was doing. He had woken up, early on a Saturday morning, reached for his cell to call Charlie and ask if he wanted to go to the batting cages later. The realization that there was no Charlie anymore catapulted him into the SUV and onto Interstate-5. This was ridiculous. He saw a road sign for Sacramento, finally focused on one, and it hit him what he was doing. He took the next exit — didn't even know where this was — sat in a grocery store parking lot for a while.

He didn't even know where in Oregon Charlie was, right now. The postcards were coming from everywhere. He was on a freakin' vacation, or something.

Don pounded a hand on the steering wheel. Dammit, he knew that Charlie was an adult. He'd been there for most of the birthdays.

Charlie talked to Dad about every 10 days, from what he could figure. Postcards arrived every few days, addressed to both of them, saying nothing. Just an address, a stamp, a picture, a large scribbled "Charlie" in the space he was supposed to say, "Wish You Were Here." But he didn't. Charlie didn't wish he was there. Charlie was there to get away from him.

At least he had withdrawn that sabbatical, he'd told Dad he would be home in time for fall semester.

Don hated this. He had let go of Charlie before, when he'd gone off to play baseball, later to join the FBI. He had stayed away for years, only coming back when Mom got sick. Things were pretty distant between them by then, and most of his efforts were devoted to work, and Mom, so they didn't get closer very fast. Yeah, he had let go of Charlie before, but it was his choice, then. Now Charlie was letting go of him, and Don hated it.

He pulled out of the parking lot, cruised until he found a gas station to fill up. Waiting, he looked through the CD collection. Many of them were Charlie's, since he rode with Don in the SUV so much. Don usually made him use his headphones. Classical. Charlie said classical compositions were like an equation set to music. So Don turned around, headed back the way he had come, and listened to Vivaldi so loud that the SUV vibrated.

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Once the frantic first long weekend of camping season was over, things settled into more of a routine. Jenna spent her mornings before work with her new sketch pad and pencils, brought them with her when they all went somewhere on a rare day off. Once, they drove back down to Rogue Elk and Charlie was shocked to see how different it looked, how full of activity it was.

When Bill had been returned home and the Carvers moved into the RV, Charlie kept their tent and site across the way. He didn't really like being in the RV for extended periods of time, it felt too closed in. Still, he joined them often for meals, played poker with Sam while they waited for Jenna get off from work. When he would go back to his tent, he could often see soft light coming from the RV late into the night. Sam said he couldn't get Jenna to put her sketch book down, but she would never show either of them what she was working on.

Early in the morning on the day before Bill picked him up for the trip to the coast, he wandered down to the shore with his cell phone. He called his father. While he waited for an answer, he checked the minutes. "Only 12 minutes left, Dad," he said, when he heard someone pick up. After an odd pause, he heard Don's voice. "I can get him. He's making breakfast. I stayed here last night." Charlie gripped the phone tighter. "Is everyone all right?"

His brother's voice was strained, uncomfortable. "We're okay. "You?" The phone began to cut out. Reception was never good up here, sometimes didn't come in at all. "Say Hi To Dad!" Charlie yelled just before the lost the connection. He looked at the phone again. Still 10 minutes left. Still the same prepaid phone that had brought him this far. Still his old friend. Why did he feel like throwing it away, now? Like it had betrayed him, somehow?

Charlie jammed the phone in his back pocket anyway, ran a hand through his hair, and decided to go the marina for breakfast.

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The second time he stumbled into the tiny bathroom on the bus and heaved his guts out, Charlie began to think of ways to get even with Jenna. When he was done, friendly hands reached out to help him back to his seat. The elderly passed him along like a wounded puppy. He collapsed beside Bill.

"You all right there, young fella?", the older man asked. "I probably should have warned you about this road. Been driving over it so long myself I forget what it's like for a first-timer."

Charlie closed his eyes. "Road? This is not a road. This is an alternate universe."

Bill chuckled, gave him a pat on the arm.

"If you measure the length of this bus," Charlie continued, "and the distance between curves, it would seem that a piece of solid machinery is somehow turning one corner while part of it is still coming around the one behind it."

"Funny how that works, huh?"

Charlie opened his eyes, was startled again by how closely the wall of rock to their right was to the bus. "If the windows were open, rocks would fall in," he said, and to his dismay Bill agreed.

"Yep. Gotta keep a lookout for rock slides, too. Sometimes part of the mountain just slides off, blocks the road for awhile."

Charlie didn't want to think about what happened if the mountain decided to do that while they were…under it? In it? On the left side of the narrow road was a gorge hundreds of feet deep, with another river running through it. Charlie felt as if he were on some sort of carnival roller coaster, a ride he had always avoided. He groaned.

"When we come back in a few days," Bill advised, "We'll sit up front. That's supposed to be easier." As an afterthought, he added, "and don't eat breakfast first."

The mention of food brought Charlie to his feet, again. "Maybe we should sit in the back," he muttered as the elderly began the wounded puppy pass again. "Next to the bathroom."