“You’ve never been afraid to feel. You know what you want. You want Wilder. The rest can work itself out if you plug away at it together. Create a safe space to be open with each other. Talk often. Fall for each other over and over again. Be open to change. You know these are the things I believe in, and you know they’re far easier said than done. When you’re at the worst of your doubts, hopefully that helps.”
“It does.” I hug her hard and release her, ready to shoulder my bag and get out of here before I’m late.
Ican’tbe late. I’m basically panicking as it is about pulling this off without a hitch, and it’s not like it’s the plan of the century. I could always circle the block several times without anyone catching on. Wilder will be in a disguise. We decided on a location, and it’s all going to be fine. The drive to the private studio in Reno will befine.
Woof Woof Dog gives me a sad doggy look, complete with lolling tongue and forlorn eyes.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll be home in a week. Not months this time. I promise.”
Pumpkin flips right side up and saunters into the kitchen, shaking his tail at me like a rattlesnake, chastising me as well.
“I’m so sorry if he poops outside the litterbox because of this.”
Mom only smiles indulgently. We all know about Pumpkin’s moods. And how the poor other cats find his spite offerings in funky places and try to cover them up with anything available. Most of the time, it’s air. And most of the time, the spite poop is therefore located by their scratching the floor or the wall to try and cover it. Sometimes, it’s the smell that announces it first.
“Don’t worry about anything here. Go nab your prince charming straight off the street. And this time, I hope that if he’s wearing leather pants, he has underwear on underneath. That kind of sweat can lead to some real crotch rot. Just a word to the wise.”
“Mom!” And here I was, just about over the shame of her finding out about me and Wilder by walking in on us in a tangled shower heap. It’s one thing for me to be grossed out about my mom getting it on with some guy. There’s a ninety-eight point nine nine two percent chance that walking in on her would kill me. Even if I’m a nurse, there are things I just don’t want to see.
But it’s probably just as haunting for her the other way around.
“I’m worried I won’t come close to being the kind of woman that Wilder would sing about if he ever did sing about women. I don’t know if I want to be his muse, but I don’t know if I want to be his un-muse either. Oh my god, I haven’t even left to startOperationKidnap A Man I Can’t Stick A Definition On Past Echo Of My Soul,and I’m already freaking out. This is bad.” I inhale dramatically. I need to stop freaking out. I was almost past the door this time. “Can you smell that? My failure fumes are already wafting strongly.”
Mom turns her face away, slamming her hands over her eyes. “They’re burning me. Help!” She fans herself and shoots me a grin that makes me feel a hundred percent better. Sometimes I don’t need words of encouragement, a pep talk, or solid advice. Sometimes, I just needthis.
I fist bump her playfully on the shoulder.
“You’re going to do great. I know it. Trust that. Trust yourself. It goes a long way in combating failure fumes,” Mom tells me.
I shoulder my bag. “Will do. Or at least, will try.”
I have to leave this time. I have approximately zero minutes to spare.
I manage to get out the door and make it all the way to the unobtrusive white rental. My own car hardly ever gets driven, but it’s a sixties classic and not exactly the kind of thing that won’t turn heads. I opted for the rental so I could blend in.
Despite its family sedan appearance, the car is actually quite peppy, and I gain a few minutes back as I head to the park on the other side of downtown, where I agreed to meet Wilder. Meet as in drive past slowly so he can spot me and make a break straight for the backseat, catapult himself in, and have me drive away like I just committed a felony.
We did discuss my picking him up from his house or his coming here when he first proposed the idea of us going to Reno for a few days to record the songs I wrote in a private studio. He promised they didn’t have to go anywhere if I didn’t want them to. He just wanted to do this with me. Us. Together. Making music. It was magic the first time, even if it was in the back of a tour bus, and Wilder was so ill.
I want to give him this.
I want to givemyselfthis.
I wasn’t sure at first, but after considering it for a few days, I told him to book the space if it was still available. He rented a small house on the outskirts of town, not far from the studio. He knows the person who owns the studio and the house, so we’re guaranteed that our presence there will be discreet.
It felt like the right thing to do after we’d been apart for nearly two weeks.
Even if it’s complicated, and I basically have to sort of kidnap Wilder out of a freaking park, I’m seriously looking forward tohaving time together with him again that isn’t a phone call or a text. Those were great, but they only go so far. I’m beyond physicallyachingto be close to him again.
We didn’t want to risk someone spotting me picking Wilder up from his house or recognizing him if he came to mine. We both thought hiding in plain sight might be best. Hence, the park.
As soon as I near the east side of a large greenspace with a giant bear statue spouting water out of its mouth, paws, and rump into a basin below—making this up would be hilarious, but it’s forreal—I wonder if we’ve made a mistake. The place is packed. Benches. Sidewalks. The grass. People are spread out on blankets, walking, jogging, ambling, talking, flirting, making out, pushing strollers, biking, reading, listening to music, and picnicking. No one is out there taking photos of the bear. I can’t imagine why not. I definitely want some.
An old man unfurls himself from a bench bracketing the grassy part of the park. It’s shaded by two towering trees. He’s stooped just about in half, with scraggly gray hair stuffed up under a fedora-style hat, checkered brown pants pulled up way past the waist area, a blue dress shirt under a vibrant red sweater vest, and black suspenders on top of it all.
I quickly veer out of traffic, pulling over to the loading zone in front of a row of parked cars. I flip the hazards on and unlock the doors.
The old man suddenly chucks his walker aside and breaks away, racing down the sidewalk. Luckily, no one seems to be paying attention. I guess if you’re not wowed by a fountain bear with water coming out of its rear end, you’re not going to be intrigued by an old man suddenly finding his stride.
