Impulse Control (ON HOLD)

Chapter 13

Sierra's p.o.v.

After we've all gotten over the shock of our campsite being clean, I race over to Cleo's camper. I'm going to ask her to go for a boat ride with me while it's still light out. It's the least I can do for her, after she cleaned up our campsite. I know it must have been Cleo who did it because no one else would've taken such consideration to David's towel.

"Cleo!" I rap on her camper door. "Cleo!" She throws the door open, and it hits the side of the camper hard. I back away from the sight before me.

Cleo's hair is all over the place, some clinging to her mouth, some clinging to her cheeks. Her eyes are bloodshot and tears trickle down her face.

I want to ask what's wrong, but I don't. Cleo hasn't told me about herself yet, and I, likewise, haven't told her about David. I know she'll tell me when she's ready, so I don't push her. Instead, I say, "Do you want to go on a boat ride with me for a while?" "Just the two of us?" Cleo croaks out, her voice sounding like sandpaper. I nod. She takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. "Yeah. Give me a few minutes, okay?" "Take however long you need," I say carefully. Cleo backs in the door and closes it. I sit down in a lounge chair to wait.

Eight minutes later, Cleo comes out, looking refreshed and happy. The tear tracks are gone from her face, her hair has been brushed neatly, and she's changed into a fresh tank top and shorts. The only evidence of anything being wrong is her red-rimmed eyes.

"Ready?" I ask, giving her a bright smile. She returns it and says, "Ready." We gather our towels and sunscreen and such, then begin walking down the hill towards where my boat is anchored.

During the long walk downhill, Cleo is silent. Her eyes have that faraway look in them, the way mine do sometimes. Like she's not really here. Like she's off drifting far, far away in another universe.

I stumble on a rock that juts out of the trail, and Cleo darts her hand out to catch me. I accept the hand, righting myself and continuing on down to the boat.

To my surprise, she doesn't move her hand; Instead, she lets it rest comfortably on my wrist. I find solace in her touch, and I feel calm. Calm and peaceful, like I'm floating down a lazy, current-less river. The sun beats down, warming every inch of my body. A soft, safe glow seems to fill me from the inside. Staring out at the lake, it reminds me of a song from one of my favorite movies, Flicka.

An idea begins to form in my brain, and I tug Cleo's hand to make her move faster.

***

Thirty minutes later, I pull the boat to a stop in a little cove, letting it perpetually dock itself. "We;re going to play a game," I tell Cleo. "We're each going to sing a song that has a deep personal meaning to the other."

If you haven't already figured this out, I'm hoping that by doing this and showing Cleo my vulnerability, it'll get her to open up to me. The song I'm going to sing is by Tim McGraw and it's called "My Little Girl". It has a deep personal meaning and makes me cry whenever I listen to it or sing it. Hopefully by letting Cleo in a little bit, she'll let me in, too.

"Okay," Cleo says, although her tone of voice is wary. "You go first." Mentally, I prepare myself. Then I open my mouth and begin to sing the lyrics I know painfully by heart.

"Gotta hold on easy as I let you go, gonna tell you how much I love you, though you think you already know." Memories begin to flash through my head, and tears gather behind my lashes, but I push my thoughts back, focusing on singing as clearly as I can.

"I remember I thought you looked like an angel, wrapped in pink so soft and warm, you've had me wrapped around your finger since the day you were born."

I can't help it. A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. I bite my lip hard, drawing blood. Shutting my eyes against the pain of the memories, I begin to sing again, softer this time.

"Your beautiful baby from the outside in, chase your dreams but always know the road that'll lead you home again."

More tears slide down my face, and I can't stop them. They're just silent tears, not big, messy, heaving sobs like usual. I hear noises and Cleo comes to sit beside me. She picks up my hand and holds it softly, cradling it in her own. She slips an arm around my back, stroking my hair. Her silent comfort gives me strength to continue.

"Go on, take on this whole world, but to me you know you'll always be my little girl."

"When you were in trouble that crooked little smile could melt my heart of stone, now look at you, I've turned around and you've almost grown."

Pain flashes through my body like a jagged bolt of lightning, and Cleo tightens her arm around me as though she felt it, too. And maybe she did. There's so much I don't know about Cleo.

"Sometimes you're asleep I whisper "I love you!" in the moonlight at your door, as I walk away I hear you say, "Daddy love you more!""

 I open my tear-filled eyes and turn to Cleo. "Your turn," I say quietly. She releases my hand and unwinds her arm from around my back. Then she begins to sing.

"It's perfect outside like God let me dial up the weather, got the whole crew here, I ain't seen some of them in forever! It's one of those never-forget, lemme stop and take it in kinda scene, everything's just right, except for one thing."

She looks at me and tears run down her face. Her voice cracks as she sings, "You should be here. Standing with your arms around me here, cutting up crack in a cold beer, saying cheers, hey y'all it's sure been a good year, it's one of those moments, that's got your name written all over it, and you know that if I had just one wish, it'd be that you didn't have to miss this, you should be here."

I fold my arms around Cleo and we sit in silence, arms wrapped around each other, swaying with the breeze, tears running down our faces.