The Wave by Kristen Crusoe (smallest ebook reader txt) 📕

off the top of a rock cliff in the City of Rocks, near Santa Fe. We had been camping there for a month, eating little, holding our ceremonies, a few others joining us from time to time. One morning, Suzanne woke early, before me or any others. She took a button, climbed the rock, and just as I opened the flap on my tent, welcoming the new day’s dazzling sunlight, I caught her shadow lengthening along the dry earth before me. I looked up in time to see her face as she fell to land, and heard a sound that still echoes in my ears, and I feel it again and again. The impact of the sound. The sheer terror on her face.’

He hadn’t moved once through this telling. Neither had Clair. Based on his age at the time, she now knew he was in his late sixties. She could see it in the furrows along his broad forehead, and his hands, weathered from time outdoors. But his voice, his carriage, his presence were those of a much younger or ageless person. She thought again about being and becoming. How when we tell our stories, we become new, through each telling. Seeing ourselves through the eyes of another, recreates us.

Michael sipped from his coffee. Clair sat still, not wanting to disrupt his memory or influence how the rest of the story unfolded.

‘My family hid me away in a private rehabilitation facility in upper New York state, as far away from New Mexico and peyote as possible. Lawyers settled. Newspapers were paid off. Promises for generous donations to worthy causes stilled rumors and scandals. You see, the Kraft family was old money. Very old, and very rich. There were appearances to keep. Funds were distributed and I was enrolled in an ivy league college. But instead, as soon as I was released from the facility, I began walking. And have been walking ever since. I would stop and work, earn enough for the next few months, and carry on. The sound of Suzanne’s landfall always in my head. Like a siren sound, warning me off any sort of relationship with another, or any happiness in life. I donated most of the money my parents sent me. And I still do. I keep just enough of my inheritance to stay in motion and contribute where I find need. I was not found to be legally culpable but in every other way, I am guilty. I do penance with each step.’

Clair looked down where her hands entwined in her lap. His story, his feelings of guilt, remorse, and the need to pay, someone for something, resonated with her. He was treading close to her own heart’s intent.

‘Where have you walked?’ Clair asked, wanting to keep the conversation away from the pain. For now.

‘This is my fifth Camino. I have also walked others, the Muslim and Jewish pilgrimages. Hadrian’s Way in England, the Missions Trail in California. Across Germany, through Scandinavia. So many. The only formal long-distance hike I haven’t and won’t do is the Pacific Crest Trail because I have a near phobic fear of bears, and I know my fear will bring one to me.’

She saw his face break into a grin at this confession and laughed with him.

‘I would be too,’ she said. ‘So, the Camino, why do you keep coming back?’

‘That question you will answer for yourself. It is different for everyone. Walking helps me keep my head in place. Spain is a beautiful country; the people are kind and generous. The food, wine, ah. That is enough for me, now. And you? What brings you to the Camino?’

Clair felt her breath catch in her chest. What to say? How to frame her story so that it made sense to another when it hadn’t, it didn’t, make sense to her. When did her journey start? When Devon went missing? When she tried to kill Adam and herself? Earlier today, after learning she was imminently dying? Or now, just now, as she shifted from becoming a person unfinished, to being here, in this moment, as she told her story, making it real. She could tell any story, she realized. And so, she did.

‘I’m meeting my family here for a reunion of sorts. My brother and sister-in-law are both physicians for Doctors Without Borders, and we have rented a house on the coast of Galicia, A Coruña. My husband and son will be joining us next week. After they visit with his family in…’ Clair hesitated here, blocking on a place or reason that made sense. ‘Um, they’re meeting his family in San Francisco first. So, they flew south. I flew north.’ Realizing she was rambling she stopped, removed the lid from her coffee, blew gently across the top. Taking a tentative sip and then another, she began to live her story.

‘My son is just five, you see, and the long flight is very hard for him. Adam, that’s my husband, will break it up for him. they’ll stop in New York, and also, stay a few days in Amsterdam, cycling and exploring the waterways. Devon, my son, loves water and boats. They might take a boat ride. They’ll meet us in A Coruña.’

‘Ah, sounds wonderful, for all of you,’ Michael said, looking up at the flight monitor on the wall opposite.

‘Our flight is on time, and we should begin boarding soon. I think I’ll stretch my legs.’

Clair could sense a disappointment in him. She felt that he knew she was making it all up. He had shared his truth with her, a complete stranger, and she had not.

‘Wait,’ she called to him, as he began walking away. ‘I lied. That isn’t my story. May I walk with you?’

He smiled at her, adjusting the straps on his pack.

‘I thought so,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure you have your reasons. I don’t mind, really. It was a good story. If that is what you need to get through this day, then it’s yours