Cant't help falling in love (CAMREN)

CHAPTER 13

They slept late the next day, rolling out of the hotel room at a little past two. They ate cheap Mexican at a small cantina along the way to the beach, heads bent over the little picnic table out back, smiling shyly at one another, legs brushing across the benches.

They parked in the exact same spot, wary when there was another truck on the gravel, but the beach was deserted nonetheless.

"Probably fishermen," Lauren explained, sitting on the sand, fiddling with the camera. Camila leaned into her leg, trying to decide if the sun had warmed the sand enough for her to shed her boots. She decided against it and watched the water roll in and out, chin resting on her folded arms. They had picked along the tide pools earlier, Camila crouching at the little shallow places, dipping her fingers tentatively into the water and smiling at all the little crabs and sea plants, Lauren leaning over her to point out things.

Now she shaded her hand from the sun glaring under the clouds, the birds still crying over their heads. The leftovers of their lunch were in a small paper bag, the last of the flour tortillas.

"How's the film?" Camila asked after a moment, not looking at Lauren. She felt Lauren's shoulder snag her as she shrugged.

"We've got plenty."

Camila nodded, sighing, fixated on the swells.

"What're you thinking about?" Lauren smiled, scratching at her sleeve. Camila tilted her head, adjusting herself over her arms. She didn't know how to put it. She only knew that she had never, in her whole life, in their whole relationship loved Lauren more. There was a bitterness to it - she would never reclaim the moment, she knew. It was like reading a book for the first time, or the moment right after a movie is over and you're just realizing what it meant.

The certainty came and went and Camila took a deep breath and began to stand. Lauren watched her straighten and Camila smiled at the water. Every time it touched the shore it was new - it was falling in love all over again, and the previous one was forgotten, and that wave was the most precious wave for just a second and then it withdrew. It cycled, over and over, steady as the sun was rising. The salty air was cool and damp as she inhaled, warm and wet as she exhaled.

"Where are you going?" Lauren asked, and when Camila turned over her shoulder, Lauren was holding the camera up at her.

Camila waved.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"I love you!" she said, and Lauren laughed; Camila had apparently not heard her. Or maybe she had. Either way, she seemed alright.

"I know!" she called back and Camila shook her head. No, you don't, she thought, but it didn't matter. She would understand someday. She continued down the beach, knowing Lauren was still watching her, and picked up a shell, tossing it to the sea, where it sunk to the bottom. She picked up another, rubbing her hands over the ridges. It was pale with faint stripes, and the interior was worn smooth by the surf and the sand. She tossed it.

"Let me see you!" Lauren called, and Camila obliged, turning and waving once more. She cupped her hands, and shouted.

Lauren smiled, the wind carrying her voice to her.

Camila dropped her arms, and Lauren sensed that something was different. The air had changed.

After she had yelled, it had shifted. Camila was framed in that tiny window, that tiny moment, and when she turned, something in Lauren reached out, wanting to see her face again. Camila walked to the water, tossing another shell instead.

Lauren lowered the camera from her eye.

The sound of Camila's voice on the wind seemed too faint to her memory. She wanted to hear her again, to try and recapture the second that had already gone, as sudden and sharp as the birds winging overhead. She opened her mouth with the intention of saying something, but nothing came. The waves rolled in, and the wind roared over her ears and through her knit shirt. She had shed her jacket, and Camila had only her windbreaker, fluttering around her narrow waist like a war-torn flag. Camila paused, watching the flock of birds go rushing over her head and out to sea. She slipped her hands into her pockets, watching their silhouettes blend into the clouds, wings muddying together until they couldn't be distinguished.

The sun slid out, glaring off Camila's back and then shadowing again.

Something upset Lauren about it; the way Camila stood, so far off, her hands held so simply against her body. Lauren wanted to ask her to come back, to walk toward her, but she was so fixated on the ocean that Lauren nearly regretted bringing her.

Turn around, she wanted to say. Let me see you. Yell again. But she couldn't.

As if she had sensed Lauren's discomfort, Camila turned one more time and waved at the camera. Lauren waved back, and a wave crashed, water biting at the edges of Camila's boots, pulling back into the sea bed, the shells left behind glinting as tiny shining reminders, their insides silky and iridescent, glimmering with blue and indigo and streaks of green. They rolled back with the water, tumbling in the undertow, the sun glancing off them. They were like little jewels being pulled in, something strange and glorious, and Lauren knew if she went closer she'd see them half-shelled, missing their pieces, the smudged insides exposed. Those shining insides, like God had pressed His thumb in, leaving His shimmering fingerprint.

She wondered if Camila was like that - if God had left His thumbprint in her. Lauren didn't want to know; it meant you'd have to crack her open to find out, but in the end, Camila would be beautiful on the inside, she knew. The kind of lovely that when you tilted it in your hands you could see the smoky soft violet and bits of sunlight still caught in her.

Lauren lowered the camera from her eye and laid it gently on the blanket, Camila still watching the water, dark hair blowing back.

It was the sort of thing that made you want to cry.

They made love slowly that night, and the box spring mattress groaned with every movement, but neither of them noticed. Afterwards, Camila stroked Lauren's back, her own skin flushed and hot in the small room.

When Lauren closed her eyes in the darkness she could see the faint outlines of deep blue and smears of purple and green like the fireworks you got when you rubbed vigorously. They stayed a moment then evaporated - a glimpse.

Camila sighed in her sleep and Lauren tried to stop thinking.

On the way home, Camila leaned serenely back against the headrest. She looked like she was asleep, but she wasn't. She didn't want to ruin the image of the empty beach and the endless water with the scroll of the landscape or the naked road. Even when Lauren told her they had recorded all of it, it didn't matter, she'd shrugged and kept her eyes shut.

"I really liked it there," she murmured. "We should go back."

"We will," Lauren had said softly over the crackly twang of a guitar, "I promise."