Tailwinds Past Florence Read online

  Kara’s eyes flashed open as she jerked upright, the blood of her passion now boiling with rejection. His words were a bucket of ice water and the chill stung. “This tent is our home, Ed.”

  “Don’t be mad. I just wanted to give you a little taste of what’s to come later,” he said, squeezing her shoulder and offering a seductive look that came off as trying too hard. “Don’t be long. I’ve got something for you.”

  Kara balled her hands into fists and stared at the ceiling after he left. You’ve got to be kidding me! She went along with his no-sex-in-the-tent rule in the mountains; she knew bears were attracted to the pheromones. But halfway across North Dakota? “We’re not in bear country anymore, ya know,” she yelled through the zippered-shut door.

  Outside the tent, she heard pots rattling, the stove being lit. She sighed and changed into the day’s clothes, pulling on the same pants and jersey she had worn previously, except for a clean chamois. In no mood for breakfast, she stuffed the sleeping bags into their sacks, punching them into submission, causing a downy feather to float an escape.

  She took her irritation out on the sleeping pads next, forcibly squeezing the air out of them and, in so doing, her frustration gradually softened into understanding. Edward was always generous around special occasions. Her family used to think it was his way of showing off; her friends thought it an admission of his guilt, of acknowledging how little he was there for her, but Kara knew him best. He truly loved buying her things. And he gave with such enthusiasm. She’d never forget their first anniversary, when he insisted she open her present a week early because he couldn’t wait to see the look on her face. She knew there’d be no Tiffany earrings this year, but she was curious.

  Nature’s call eventually spurred Kara from the tent, but heeding it would wait.

  Edward called out to her as she unzipped the tent, “Butterflies.”

  “Cover your eyes,” she said, groaning, wishing she never told him about this childhood memory. When Kara was young, her mom would hook her thumbs and flutter her palms like butterfly wings coming in for a landing, alighting on Kara’s face and covering her eyes for whatever surprise laid in store. Kara obliged, begrudgingly, and exited the tent with her eyes shut.

  “Liftoff,” Edward called back, giving her the signal to look.

  Her bike was propped against a tree, a small wicker basket lashed to its handlebars. Inside the basket was a bouquet of daffodils, her favorite. Petals of yellow, orange, and white invited her to begin the day anew. She covered her mouth in surprise. He had a way of leaving her speechless, for better, for worse.

  Edward approached hesitantly with a mug of coffee and kissed her on the cheek.

  “When did you …”

  “I saw them in the market yesterday and thought of you. A dozen flowers for the six years of our two-getherness,” he said, emphasizing the pun. Kara groaned at the awfulness of his joke, as she had done throughout their marriage. “You can toss the basket away tomorrow if you’d like, but I thought you might enjoy having something colorful to look at while you rode. I’ll carry milady’s handlebar bag today,” he said, bowing low and sweeping his arm in the direction of the picnic table, where fresh fruit and oatmeal awaited her.

  She had wanted to stay mad, to let him know how much it hurt to get spurned on their anniversary (not to mention how stupid she thought his rule was), but he made it impossible. So he didn’t want to have sex in the tent, was that so bad? While she was laying there, gritting her teeth, he had arranged breakfast, made coffee, and somehow found a way to surprise her with a basket of flowers. And what did she do for him besides show him her boobs? If anyone had a right to be upset, it was Edward. But he wouldn’t be, and she loved that about him.

  Back on the bike, Kara battled to dislodge the doubts that had wedged in her mind. A task most unsuitable for the contemplative nature of the open road.

  Thoughts concerning their dwindling sex life returned as they pedaled eastward across the rolling hills of central North Dakota. Despite her attempts at justifying it, she struggled to understand how they could spend twenty-four hours a day together, yet have sex so infrequently—only once since Idaho, by her count. Kara knew the fiery passion of a college romance couldn’t last forever, but she expected the flames to burn longer than this. She had a million questions running through her mind, but the one she tried hardest to ignore shouted the loudest: Was he not attracted to her?

  No, that wasn’t it. The lack of sex was something new. It’s the trip. He was mad about the bike tour. He resents me, she thought.

  With her wrists getting sore, she balanced her forearms on the handlebars in an aerodynamic position, her face inches above the flowers. Her handlebar bag, tucked beneath a cargo net on the rear of Edward’s bicycle, was a bike length in front of her, its empty map case reflecting a dancing square of sunshine on his back, spotlighting the leading man in her life as her legs turned the cranks on autopilot, as they had for a thousand miles.

  She recalled the night at the American Legion, as she did every day since learning he’d been fired. She never saw Edward look as angry as he did when telling that story. But amidst all that rage, she saw disappointment and shame. And something else. Longing. But they were a month into a multi-year dream adventure. What else did he want?

  A purpose, she posited, before snickering at the thought. How about saving your marriage? That enough purpose for you?

  The ease at which the sarcastic retort came to mind unsettled her. Worse still, it reminded her of the divorce papers squirreled inside a suitcase at a Seattle storage unit, a short flight away.

  Kara hated these imaginary back-and-forths, not only for stealing her from the moment at hand, but for the insecurity they suggested. Was she really so fragile as to require make-believe arguments, constructed solely to guarantee herself the winning riposte?

  Maybe if he didn’t lie …

  Yes. There was that. Did he not trust her? Was he worried about the money? What kind of person gets fired from their job and doesn’t tell their wife?

  What kind of wife doesn’t ask?

  He said he was only one or two promotions from being set for life. She tried envisioning the humiliation he endured while getting escorted out, the pain he felt when being told he wouldn’t get the promotion. The job was everything to him. And she didn’t demand an explanation? He told her not to worry about it, and she was all too happy to oblige. She could blame it on the excitement of the moment or the endless list of preparations they had to make, but the truth was, she didn’t care about the why and the how. They were spared.

  For now …

  She shook the thought from her mind and focused on the scenery. The landscape looked different from the saddle of a bicycle. It was quieter for one, and bigger. In it, she felt no larger than an ant blazing a path across an empty swimming pool. But the map’s white space wasn’t empty. It was miles of lightly golden wheat fields stretching beyond sight, its shimmering color reminding her of the champagne they drank in celebration of their decision. She sure didn’t see that coming.

  Kara had spent the prior months hoping things would change, to see if his long hours and weekends spent in the office would end. They hadn’t. Enough was enough, she was through with the meals for one and going stag to her friends’ art exhibits. It was like being single, minus the jealousy of her married friends. And spring was coming. And with it the invitations to go camping. They were Edward’s friends, once upon a time. Now they were hers alone. But it wasn’t just mutual friends on those trips, there were always newcomers. Brothers and friends-of-friends whose eyes would eventually settle on hers, outdoor action heroes who either didn’t look for a ring or didn’t care. Campouts were no place for a lonely woman who wasn’t single. She learned that lesson the hard way.

  She dreaded what was sure to be one of the worst moments in her young life, the night she’d ask for a divorce. But while she spent the afternoon psyching herself up to do what she knew had to be done, he was wait
ing for her, eager to make her dream come true.

  And now they were living it, their bodies in a constant state of motion, churning through the miles, making their way across North America.

  Edward swerved to avoid a pothole without warning and Kara, riding close behind, hit it square on. She had no time to react. Her forearms slipped forward off their perch atop the grips and her face dove into the daffodils, narrowly missing the handlebar with her chin. Only the weight of the bike and her momentum kept her upright. Her yelp was muffled by the flowers tickling her nose and lips and the wind, the constant wind. Kara couldn’t remember ever noticing a daffodil’s fragrance before, as it’s so faint, but she never had her face buried in them either. The petals were soft, the scent ever delicate but concentrating with each breath, masking the earthy smell of the harvest land.

  Nobody would have gone through this trouble except him, she thought. It was his way of saying he loved her, that he was sorry for lying. Little did he know, it was she who should be begging forgiveness.

  Chapter 7

  Saturday, April 18 — Fargo, North Dakota, USA

  Edward left Kara to lock the bikes while he went inside the café. His frozen fingers struggled to grip the doorknob, but two hands eventually proved capable of what one wasn’t. Inside, with his back to the other customers, he grimaced as he strained to undo the buckle on his bicycle helmet. Rainwater sluiced from his pants and jacket, and each clumsy effort wrung ever more water from his gloves onto the frayed carpet. He fought to hold back tears as he bit the middle finger of his glove and slowly worked a single grease-stained hand free.

  Unseasonable cold, pouring rain, and three flat tires—all on the rear wheels—turned a hard day masochistic. Three times they had to unload panniers so he could flip a bike upside down. Three times he slipped the wheel and accompanying gears out of the filthy chain to replace the tube. The first flat was an annoyance; the third had him questioning God.

  His pruned, colorless fingers—those that weren’t smeared black—were locked into an open fist, as if still clutching the handlebars. The bell above the door jingled as Kara entered.

  “Oh, you poor thing, let me get that.” Kara, adding to the puddle at their feet, unclasped his helmet and unzipped the front of his jacket. “Turn around.”

  He lowered his head to avoid the inevitable stares as she tugged his rain jacket off from behind. In that moment, he felt as helpless and embarrassed as a schoolboy who needed his mommy to dress him, and he knew he looked every bit as weak. He would never wish to see Kara in pain, but would it kill her to admit she got cold too?

  His teeth chattered as he shivered, while his fingers burned. The controlled climate of the diner was a blast furnace, thawing him from a deep freeze and torturing him with a pin-pricked itchiness.

  He composed himself the best he could as Kara hung their dripping jackets and helmets on a coat rack. He trailed behind as she led the way to the table furthest from the drafty door. The diner was a country time capsule of simplicity. An array of scratched wooden tables and spindle-backed chairs awaited working-class families willing to gather in an undecorated, fluorescent-lit box of a room to chow hearty, home-style food. The sauce and butter smells reminded him of his annual trips to visit Kara’s family in Wisconsin.

  A teenage waitress wearing a hockey jersey and a mask of Midwestern politeness approached. She glanced toward the door. A crack formed in her friendly façade, her brow furrowed. Edward could tell she wanted to ask what everyone in the café was wondering: What kind of idiots go cycling on a day like today? He spent all morning asking himself that very question.

  Kara ordered for the two of them as Edward blew warmth into his reddening hands and wallowed in his misery. There was talk of meat loaf and bottomless bowls of soup. He didn’t care what they had, as long they ate it indoors.

  “Soup and coffee is over there. It’s self-serve,” the waitress said, pointing somewhere.

  Edward waited for her to leave before speaking. “I can’t keep riding today.”

  Kara seemed surprised to hear this. “Sure you can. Let’s get you warmed up, get some feeling back in your hands, and then we’ll leave when you’re ready.” She offered him a comforting look and added, “With any luck the rain will lighten up.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Don’t be so negative—”

  “Don’t tell me how to feel.” He glared at her, aware he was making a scene, and not caring one bit.

  Kara opened her mouth to speak, then stood. “I’ll get the soup.”

  Edward chewed on his resentment until Kara returned alongside the waitress. At once, vessels of steaming coffee and soup sat flanking a pool of congealed ketchup, under which, he assumed, was a slab of meat loaf.

  Kara stared across the table at Edward as he ate. He was miserable, and he could tell that she knew it. Why won’t she acknowledge it? Ever since leaving Seattle, he’s wanted nothing more than for her to admit the trip was a bad idea and that she wanted to head home. Today, he’d settle for her conceding that it was really cold. When she unleashed a lengthy sigh and shifted her gaze to the ceiling, he thought she just might relent.

  “Hang in there, okay? I know you’ve got another twenty miles in you.”

  His head dropped. Edward knew right then that there was no getting out of this, nor was there anything to say. Nothing was going to convince Kara that bicycling around the world was anything but a terrific idea. His only out was to admit they had no savings, only debt—that he had nothing to show for his years at Madsen Ventures. But she couldn’t know that now, if ever. With any luck, he’d figure something out before they got home, pull some strings.

  “I know you’ve dealt with worse weather than this,” she said, alluding to the adventures he used to take with friends back home. Total suffer-fests, he called them, regaling her with tales of his wilderness exploits. If she wasn’t allowing him to give up easily, he had only himself to blame.

  “It’s not just the weather. I miss it.”

  “Miss what? Seattle?” she asked, confused.

  “Work.”

  “We’ve got our whole lives to worry about work. I thought you agreed.”

  “But we don’t,” he said, dropping his spoon into the bowl, splashing ruby red broth onto the table. “I’ll be thirty in a few months. These are the most critical years for career advancement—”

  “Ed—”

  “Don’t ‘Ed’ me. You don’t get it.”

  “What I get is that you worry about money too much. Instead of being mad you lost your job, why can’t you just be happy to spend more time with me?”

  He almost interrupted her to say that one of them had to worry about money. As a freelance artist, she couldn’t even afford his car payment, but he caught himself. She had him. To say anything more, to even attempt explaining that the two weren’t mutually exclusive, that he could enjoy spending time with her but also worry about work, would only shift the argument into a fight. And what good would that do? Instead, he turned his frustration against the smothered meat loaf, chopping it into six massive bites, devouring it.

  Kara watched him, ignoring her food, until the steam ceased rising from her bowl. “People reinvent themselves all the time, Ed. Now it’s your turn. You can go on feeling sorry for yourself about losing your job or you can embrace being on a journey of a lifetime.” She paused then added softly, “With me.”

  Did she really think it was that simple? That he’d be able to find work in Seattle after they returned? And what if he didn’t want to reinvent himself? He didn’t go to business school just to change careers before he was thirty. These thoughts ran through Edward’s mind in the span of a sigh, but he kept quiet. He wanted both, to make her happy and return to the way things were. But until he figured out how to do that, there was no point in saying anything at all.

  Standing outside the café an hour and three bowls of tomato soup later, the rain continued to fall. Edward was warmer, and his gloves, which
were now merely damp, felt surprisingly comfortable as he worked each finger into the clumsy inner linings. No part of him wanted to ride the next twenty miles, but he knew a hotel suite was waiting for him at the end. Not to mention a night on the town in Fargo, the biggest city since leaving Seattle five weeks earlier.

  The rain never let up, but the southerly wind that blew across their path all morning ultimately aided them as the final ten miles stretched in a northeasterly direction. It was all Edward needed to put himself in a better mood.

  They had reservations at a shiny new business hotel on the west edge of town, situated amongst a sprawling mass of recent development. Condos spread out in every direction, presumably a result of all the oil money that flowed into the state’s coffers a few years earlier. Edward couldn’t help but wonder how many stood vacant now that the boom turned to bust.

  Edward sheepishly apologized to the receptionist for how wet their bikes and panniers were as they wheeled them into the lobby, trailing inky smears of filth behind them in figure eights. But that Midwestern friendliness revealed itself once again. Towels were presented in a flash, drips mopped up, and all assurances made that it was really nothing at all.

  He was showered, warm, and relaxing in a plush cotton robe atop an oversized sectional an hour later. It was his first taste of luxury in over a month. “Hey look, we’ve got cable again!” Edward hadn’t seen a proper television since they left. And by that, he meant high definition.

  “Ugh, it’s been so nice without it,” Kara hollered back from the bathroom, where she was washing their jerseys in the sink.

  Edward rolled his eyes, but realized she may have a point after clicking through dozens of channels worth of mindless programming. He left it tuned to a local news station in hopes of catching the next day’s weather forecast.