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

Robert grinned and, in that moment, looked like he had won the lottery. ‘A year or two with Audrey is better for me than a lifetime with any other woman. I hope you find your Clair.’

Chapter 29

Clair

The cluster of women stood outside the café, where they had gathered for coffee and pastries. It was cold, a light rain falling. All were wearing their ponchos, their packs underneath making them look like human camels. They had taken Clair shopping, helping her purchase boots, a waterproof hat and poncho, and other necessities for walking the long coastal Camino from Porto to Santiago.

‘Come with us, Clair,’ Sandy implored, reaching out to give Clair a final goodbye hug. ‘We won’t talk the entire walk, promise. And we’re just going to spend one day here exploring Porto, then we’ll begin our walk. A river cruise, wineries, museums. How can you refuse?’

‘You all go on, I’ll be fine. I need to walk alone, Sandy. For now. Maybe we’ll meet up along the way.’

‘All right, but if you get sick or need anything, you can text me via the WhatsApp I installed on your phone, remember?’

‘Yes Mom, I remember,’ Clair chided.

Sandy pulled a long face, then a smile. ‘Buen Camino, Clair,’ she said, her eyes filling softly with tears. ‘We all walk the long road alone, after all.’

Clair watched as Sandy joined her group, and they began their morning walk, their singsong chatter filling the spaces between them. This is a time of beginnings and endings, Clair thought. First times and last times. She wiggled her toes, now encased in a pair of toe socks, feeling oddly comforted by the tightness, like having her feet massaged. Shoes, backpack, walking stick, she was ready. ‘Let the rumpus begin,’ she said to herself, smiling at the memory of Devon’s favorite story about the Wild Things. One foot, one breath, she chanted to herself, stepping onto the path, locating a yellow scallop shell and arrow on the side of a stone wall pointing the way.

Porto was a busy city, hustling and bustling. The rain had stopped, and a cool golden sepia light shone over the city. Clair pulled off the poncho, reveling in the feeling of the cool air against her scalp. She adjusted her pack, shifting the weight so that it rode higher on her narrow hips. The one strap on her right side pulled across the infusion port site. Stopping at a traffic circle, at the edge of a large municipal park, she offloaded the pack onto a nearby bench.

An older woman, dressed all in black, walked across the roundabout, cars racing to gain leader of the pack status at the turns. Once by Clair’s side, she sat down on the bench still damp from the morning rain. She perched her cane between her knees, her long dress reaching her ankles enclosed in thick rubber boots. The only color adorning her small, corpulent body was a richly flowered scarf, which she draped around her head and neck. Her deep blue eyes had a slight film over them, as though she was looking through glass.

‘Peregrina,’ she said, looking Clair up and down. Not a question. A fact.

Clair wasn’t sure how to respond. She knew a little Spanish but also knew Portuguese was not the same thing. She tried a universal head nod along with a smile. She wanted to get on her way, not stop and struggle to communicate with this woman.

‘Sit,’ she said, surprising Clair with the clarity of her word. And Clair did sit, first laying her poncho down as a barrier to the cold wet bench. The woman reached across Clair’s body, taking the backpack, adjusting straps, burrowing into the depths of the pack, moving her few belongings around. Then bouncing the pack on her knees, feeling its weight and balance.

‘Now, you try.’ Holding the pack to Clair, the woman nodded her head, shaking the pack a bit.

Clair stood, amused at both the woman and her own compliance with these orders. She slipped the pack on her shoulders, astounded at the different feeling, of lightness, and fit. It was as though the pack now was a part of her body, not a thing apart.

‘Good, yes?’ the woman asked.

‘Thank you,’ Clair said, sitting down, leaving the pack on her back. ‘How did you know?’

‘Many Caminos,’ she said, pointing at her heart. ‘I have walked many kilometers to Santiago de Compostela. These feet won’t walk that far today so I sit here, in the park, enjoying seeing peregrinas and peregrinos begin their journeys. None the same. Each different. And you will be different each day.’

‘I do feel different just being here now, with you,’ Clair said. ‘Like I’m waking up.’

She gestured with her hands, trying to communicate a coming alive, brightening feeling. The old woman smiled, nodding her head.

‘Yes, yes, I remember. Feeling affinity for all, everything together. But you are troubled. You must leave the trouble here on this bench, not take it with you.’

‘How can you tell?’ Clair asked, her brow creasing in wonder and concern. ‘Does it show?’

‘I see it in your eyes, the saudade.’

‘My family. I do need to talk with them. Let them know I’m here and OK.’

‘You must ease your spirit, let go of the phantoms that haunt your journey. Here,’ she said, reaching up and removing her scarf, ‘take this, cover your head and enter the chapel on the other side of this park. Light a candle for each of your ghosts, that their pain and yours will release in the flame and smoke.’

‘But, how will I find you to return the scarf?’ Clair asked, wrapping the scarf around her neck.

‘The scarf is yours to keep. Pass it on if you find a reason or need. It was given to me over fifty years ago by a pilgrim. I have been waiting for you.’

The woman stood.

‘I, thank you, and what is your name?’ Clair called to her retreating back.

‘I am called Raphael,’