Rutted

9

Ridley

Attached to the elegant gold chain is an engagement ring. I found it wrapped in a pair of Teuvo's boxer shorts soon after I was discharged from the hospital. Whenever I could, I would steal a pair and wear them as pyjama bottoms. Trust me when I say they're the most comfortable things a woman could wear. I'd already grabbed one of his oversized T-shirts, one that still smelled like him. When I grabbed the flannel-patterned boxer shorts, I wasn't expecting to hear the metal clink against the weathered hardwood.

Finding the ring was a hassle, thanks to my injuries. Seeing it did something to my soul. It ripped away the pieces that were still clinging to my spine. That was the moment I became a hollow version of myself. A skeleton. Teuvo had been successful in hiding his plans, and when I realized I'd never know what he had planned... how he would've proposed to me... I collapsed to the floor, feeling like I was bleeding to death. I clutched my chest and screamed at the world, digging my nails into my tender skin. The tears scalded my cheeks, and they left invisible scars down my face. Now, whenever I cry or think about the ring, my face throbs in tune with my broken heart.

Every so often, I will slip the ring on and imagine an alternative life. One where Teuvo is alive and I'm waking up every morning beside him. Where we're discussing what tattoo he'll get next while I sit beside him and squeeze his hand, telling him it's okay to cry despite wanting ink. And, sometime far in the future, I'm sitting on the back porch with his hand resting on my bulging stomach.

All we ever talked about was the future. That's not to say we didn't enjoy the present—we sure as hell did. But we were an aspiring couple. We had plans and dreams and wishes, with every intention of fulfilling them before our inevitable deaths.

Sighing, I glance down at my feet. My toes are painted black and they look contorted beneath the water. I'm sitting on the dock with my feet submerged in the icy water while the wind, which holds the promise of summer, nips at my face. The crickets are already chirping despite the still lighting the valley with a golden glow. I fist the ring and hold it close to my heart, recounting how many times Teuvo and I sat on this dock. It was one of our favourite places. We'd eat our dinners down here while nursing our drinks. Bask in the sunshine while the waves crashed against the shore.

If anyone within the realm of counselling knew I'm living here, they'd tell me to leave. To embed the 'for sale' sign into the ground and let a relator do the rest. They would say I'm holding on to too much. That part of the healing process is letting go. But there are two issues with that hypothetical suggestion. One, finding a place to live in the Okanagan is brutal. Second, I love this property. Even when casting aside the memories Teuvo and I made here (which is very difficult), I fall in love with this place whenever I look at it. From the quaint lake house to the privacy to being close to the lake... it's perfect.

My gaze shifts to the view of the city. Although Kelowna is building up instead of expanding its area, it still looks tiny. The tall high-rises are nothing compared to Knox Mountain and all the other mountains I'll never know the names of. Or maybe I will. Once this pain passes or I become used to it, maybe I'll hike to every summit in the valley and know more than Terrace Mountain, Blue Grouse Mountain, Carrot Mountain, Boucherie Mountain, Knox Mountain—to name a few.

Feet numb from the icy water, I release the ring, letting it hang from my neck. I draw my knees to my chest, splaying my feet and toes across the weathered wood of the dock. Then I rest my chin atop my kneecaps, continuing to survey the valley. So much has changed since the accident. There are more buildings, more devastating forestry, drier conditions, blossoming orchards, and the mountains are laden with green. I can taste the sweetness of hot pine needles and campfire smoke on my tongue. These are the scents I associate with summer. The hotter days in August, where you're spending every moment you can at the beach before everything slips away.

I shouldn't be feeling this in May.

It should smell like blossoming Saskatoon berry bushes, damp grass, and upturned dirt. I shouldn't be able to adapt to the water until the beginning of July. Nor should I be spotting signs of drought already. Every year, the effects of eco-anxiety get worse. Every year, I feel my heart bleeding as Mother Nature screams for help. Yet nobody's willing to change.

Drawing my bottom lip between my teeth, I tilt my head to the side and stare at the shoreline. Teuvo always believed there was still hope for the planet. Whenever I fell into doom-scrolling or worrying about what the climate will be like in twenty years, he would calm me down. Sometimes, and as dark as it sounds, he would assure me the planet would recover—after causing humanity to become extinct. He told me wildflowers would break through the foundations of abandoned buildings. That birds and bugs would return. That apex predators would balance out the way natural systems work. Water would be plentiful and forests would regrow. After anthropogenic activity ceased to exist, the climate would balance itself again.

Humans, Ridley, are like dinosaurs. One day, their purpose will cease to exist and be taken over by a new species. I just hope they're smarter than us.

I squeeze my eyes shut as my nose burns. As my heart threatens to piece itself back together and shatter all over again.

I wish he were here to make sense of everything. Because nothing makes sense to me. As I recall the events of that day, I nitpick every detail my foggy brain can muster up. While Teuvo was repairing the brakes and adjusting the axels, I was gathering our food and drinks from my truck. He had on an oil-stained navy-blue jumpsuit. Grime caked his hands, and there was a smudge on his cheek. Although he was a chemistry major in university, he was savvy with mechanics. His father was one before injuries forced him to retire early. Teuvo and his cousin took over, and that's how he made money to attend university before being recruited. He had never planned on becoming a professional rider, as much as he loved motocross. But when the opportunity arose, he couldn't resist.

What I'm trying to say, and as I've said before, he never would've made a mistake. Which complicates things further. If someone sabotaged us, then they knew about our relationship. The possibility also raises questions about who had a motive. What they were trying to achieve.

Dipping my toes back into the water, I sit up and grab my notebook and pen. It's difficult to write the names of people I trusted, but I have to. There's no telling who did this to Teuvo and me or what their driver was. Also... I may not know everyone who was there. Aside from my teammates and the people I compete with, I'm oblivious to the people who complete the teams at the track.

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth. It'll take some sleuthing, but I'm up for the challenge. Putting the pieces of the puzzle together will distract me. Maybe help me find some closure. Besides, my therapist encouraged it.

And I deserve some answers.