Page 65 of Race to Me
I flush scarlett when he interlaces his fingers with mine, and in a breathless moment, all is right in the world.
I wrap my fingers around one of the roots of the tree, always mesmerized by how beautiful it is. “What kind of tree is this?”
“A Banyan. They’re native to India.” Foster replies, looking up at the massive structure.
I grow curious. “Did you come here to think of me?”
His fingertips run up the rough surface of the tree, trailing over the jagged bark that meets soft wood. “You, racing, and my parents.”
He’s never talked about his family with me. “What are they like?”
Foster tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, resting his elbows on his propped-up knees. “They, um ... they rode too.” he replies, averting his gaze.
“Rode?” I ask, wondering about the past tense.
He nods, looking at me with glossy eyes. “Yeah ... there was a crash.” My stomach turns in knots. “No survivors.” Foster gestures to the tree, and in his eyes, I know what he’s saying.
This is why he brought me here.
Why he was crying.
Facing the trunk and playing his guitar.
It’s his last connection to his parents.
The last place they were alive.
“Foster, I’m so sorry.” My voice breaks.
He shakes his head, shrugging. “It’s okay.”
I feel the tears welling in my eyes. “No, it’s not. You saw how I treated my parents. That’s why you were so upset with me at the burger place. I’m so sorry, Foster.”
“No, fuck your parents. If I would have known then what I know now,” worry lines crease his forehead. “we need to communicate better.” he jokes, but the weight of his loss is still heavy in the air.
I catch a tear as it trickles down his cheek. He flinches from the emotional gesture, not sure how to take it. “You don’t have to fake it around me, okay?” I tell him.
He nods once, quickly brushing his sleeve over his face to rid away any sign of emotion. “Anyways,” He smiles a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve never really talked to anyone about that.”
My face softens. “You can talk to me anytime about anything.”
The heavy moment is drowned out by our smiles at each other. “Oh shit!” he exclaims, jumping up from where we sit.
Foster brushes off his pants, extending his hand to me. “I want to show you something.” he offers, slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder. When I stand, I dust off my dress. “Wait right here.” He points to the ground, and I listen. He rushes to his car, which I realize now is neatly tucked into the side of the road. The black of night gave no hint to it being there at all.
He leans inside and rummages around, pulling out a smashed white box from the passenger window.
When he walks back to me, I ask, “What’s that?” But he simply shakes his head and takes my hand in his.
In the darkness, he navigates us through palm trees and bushes. He walks in front, shielding me from their pokey leaves. His guitar is in front of my head, and I walk carefully so my face doesn’t slam into the strings.
“It’s really dark, Foster.” I whisper, worried about the wildlife at this time of night.
“Almost there,” he tells me, squeezing my hand.
We arrive at a small alcove, one created by sweeping vines and tousled Floridian ivy. I walk through, and the moonlight glimmers against the sea, exposing an intimate private beach. “I’ve lived here my entire life, but I never knew about this.” I admit, breathless at the view.
His grin stretches wide as we take off our shoes and step onto the sugary sands.