The Edge of Always

And, of course, the French Quarter. There’s even a man playing a saxophone on a street corner, and I feel like we’ve driven directly into a New Orleans postcard.

I look over at Andrew, and he smiles across at me briefly. He flips on his blinker and we turn right onto Royal Street. My heart flutters and pounds at the same time when I see the Holiday Inn. So much happened here ten months ago. This place… a hotel, of all places… it’s so much more than that to me, to both of us.

“I figured you’d want to stay here while we’re in town,” Andrew says, beaming.

Because the memories are still figuratively taking my breath away, I can’t answer him, so I just nod and match his smile.

We grab our stuff from the car and head into the lobby. Everything looks exactly the same, except maybe for the two women behind the front desk when we approach. I don’t remember seeing them before.

Vaguely I hear Andrew ask about the availability of our old rooms while I’m looking around at everything, trying to soak it all in.

God, I missed this place.

“Yes, looks like both of those rooms are vacant,” I hear one of the front desk clerks say. “Would you like both?”

That gets my attention.

Andrew turns to me. I guess he wants to know what I think.

I switch my bag to the opposite shoulder and hesitate for a moment, pondering the question. I never anticipated this, or that it would be such a hard decision.

“Ummm, well…” I look to Andrew and then the clerk, still undecided. “I don’t know. OK, maybe we should just get the one we…” I stop myself, not wanting to make us look like two immature sixteen-year-olds this time, and then I eye Andrew with that knowing look. “The one where the deal was sealed.”

Andrew’s lips struggle to remain straight, but I clearly see the smile in his eyes as he reaches out his hand to the clerk and hands her his credit card.

We leave the lobby shortly after and ride the elevator up to our floor. On the way down the hall I’m still absorbing everything around me, right down to the color of paint on the walls, because it’s all part of a memory no matter how big or small or seemingly insignificant. The feeling of being here again… I almost feel like I’m going to break out in happy tears. But I’m excited, too, and that saves me from becoming a blubbering mess.

Andrew stops in between the two doors of our old rooms, two bags and the electric guitar I bought him hanging over his shoulders. He’s been meaning to buy a case for the guitar, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.

“Strange being here again, huh?” he asks, glancing over at me.

“Strange, but in a good way,” I say.

We stay like this for a minute, looking at each other and then at the two doors, until finally Andrew steps up to the one we paid for and slides the key card through the lock.

It really is like stepping into the past. The door swings open slowly, and it’s as if all the emotions that we experienced in this room were left behind and are now greeting us as we enter. As we step inside, I remember every night we slept here, apart and together, as if it happened yesterday. I look at the spot near the bed where I stood when Andrew broke me down and made me his. I glance toward the window overlooking the busy streets of the French Quarter. I envision the day Andrew sat on that windowsill playing his acoustic, and even when I was the one over there, dancing and singing to “Barton Hollow” when I thought I was alone. I turn to see the bathroom, and as Andrew flips on the light in there my gaze falls to the floor first and I recall the night, although vaguely, when he slept next to me.

I guess sometimes the greatest memories are made in the most unlikely of places, further proof that spontaneity is more rewarding than a meticulously planned life. A meticulously planned anything.

I turn to Andrew. “I don’t know why, but I feel… well, I feel like all these months on the road since December were to get to this place. This city. This hotel.” I can’t believe what I’m saying, and immediately I start questioning my reasons. It could mean so many different things, but the one I think it means most is that we needed to come back here.

Yes, that’s exactly it, or at least it’s what I needed. As this revelation hits me, I find myself standing in this room surrounded by thoughts rather than material objects. I look into Andrew’s eyes, but I don’t really see him. I see him in the past instead. Same magnetic green eyes, different year.

Why am I feeling this way?

“Maybe you’re right,” he says, and then his tone shifts to something more mysterious. “Camryn, what are you thinking right now?”

“That we left too soon the first time.” It was the first thing that came to mind, and only now that I’ve said it do I start to understand just how true it might be.

“Why do you think that is?” he asks, stepping closer to me.

I don’t feel like he’s asking me questions he already knows the answers to this time. It’s like we’re both thinking along the same lines, both trying to make sense of it all and seeking answers from each other.

We sit down on the foot of the bed together, my hands wedged between my thighs, just as his are, and we’re quiet for several long seconds. Finally, I turn my head to see him on my right and say, “I never wanted to leave when we did, Andrew. I knew our next stop after New Orleans would be Galveston. I wasn’t ready to leave this place… but I don’t know why.”

And this truth makes me anxious.

Why? Other than fearing that Texas meant the end of the road for us, or that I later felt like I knew something bad would happen there, why else would I want to stay here? I didn’t necessarily want to stay here forever, just that simply we left too soon.

“I dunno,” he says with a mild shrug. “Maybe it’s just because this is where we finally sealed the deal.” He elbows me playfully.

I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, maybe, but I think it’s more than that, Andrew. I think it’s because we found ourselves here.” I stare off toward the wall in thought. “I just don’t know.”

I feel the bed move as Andrew stands up.

“Well, I say that this time we make the most of it before we leave.” He reaches out his hand to me and I take it. “Maybe we’ll figure it out.”

I stand up and say, “Or… maybe it’s a do-over.”

Honestly, I have no idea what made me say that.

“To do what over exactly?” he asks.

I pause, thinking about it, and then answer, “I don’t know that, either.…”

30

I cup her face in the palms of my hands. “We don’t have to figure that out right now,” I say and kiss her lips. “I smell like cow shit and I need a shower. Hopefully, you’re not so turned off by that and will join me.”

Camryn’s thoughtful expression dissolves into that grin I was shooting for.

I pick her up, cradling her ass in my hands, and she wraps her legs around my waist, hangs her arms over my shoulders. The second I taste her warm tongue in my mouth, I’m carrying her off to the shower with me, both of our shirts falling onto the floor before we make it past the bathroom door.

* * *

The very first place we hit after sundown is Old Point Bar. When we walk through the front door, we’re welcomed by an excited Carla who practically pushes two big guys out of the way to get to me, her arms wide out at her sides. We collapse into a hug.

“It’s so great to see you again!” Carla says over the loud music. “Let me look at you!” She takes a step back and examines me from my shoes to my head. “Still as handsome as ever.”

She turns to Camryn now. Then she glances at me and then back to Camryn again. “Uh-huh, I knew he