She didn’t see me.
But I saw that hair streaming behind her, and a mask covering half her face. The basket of her bike was full of groceries. I watched her unload everything and wave hello to an older neighbor.
I could only pick out bits and pieces of their conversation as they called to each other.
“Doing okay?”
“Hanging in there,” Maddie replied, her eyes smiling. “You?”
I knew that guy. Vietnam vet with a long gray ponytail, who moved here to make pottery and be left alone with his many adopted dogs. “Kinda losing it,” he said. “But I sure do appreciate your piano playing every night.”
“Any requests?”
“Do you know any Creedence?”
She laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Let me know if you or your dad need anything.”
“You do the same.”
She headed into the house carrying her groceries.
My whole body relaxed, knowing she was fine. Not sick. Being careful. And of course, taking care of her friends and neighbors in her own way.
I drove back to Nashville that same day, sleeping at a rest area when my body couldn’t take it anymore.
She was fine.
That fact got me through the next couple of months. And then the chest pains began.
I waited it out, knowing it was a bad idea to end up in a hospital.
I tried everything. YouTube yoga. Supplements. Exercise. Vegan diet. Nothing made me feel better.
I even fostered a dog, which got me out of the house and contributed to the aforementioned exercise regimen. Pascal, part poodle, part Bernese mountain dog, and part lab, was a good idea. But even the sweetness of that black and white boy with the floppy ears could not make this pain in my chest go away. That fostered dog became my adopted dog. Still didn’t help, even though Pascal is the best and most patient dog I’ve ever met, right at my heels, everywhere I go.
And every time my thoughts drifted to the subject of Maddie, which was hourly, the pain was worse. Somehow, Pascal always knew and would try to lie on top of me whenever I was feelingmy worst, nudging me with his nose and staring at me with those soulful brown eyes.
Finally, I was able to see a doctor, who ran tests but found nothing wrong with me. My heart was in perfect condition, despite the way I was feeling. That doctor recommended pills for anxiety and depression, which I didn’t take.
“If I feel like shit, I’m just going to feel it,” I told the doctor.
In hindsight, I probably could have used something to take the edge off until I could go back to work.
Today, as I drive through my old hometown in the middle of the night, there are people on the street outside the bar. A couple of the galleries are hosting after-hours events.
The sporting goods store is new and, frankly, overdue, given the crowds that descend on the area to ski in the winter.
Back at the log cabin, I take Pascal for a walk outside along the tree line. The place is beautiful, with a wraparound porch, jacuzzi, and a sprawling, luxury fire pit area. But as comfortable as it is, I’ve never been comfortable up in the isolated mountains. The wildlife that I have seen coming out of these dark woods, the sounds that I hear at night sometimes, let’s just say I feel steadier in town. Give me streetlights and paved roads. These mountains make you see things and hear things. They seduce you into thinking you’re safe.
The only safe place I know is with Maddie. That’s never going to change.
I head back into the cabin and take a long, hot shower, thinking about things.
What if her friends hadn’t been there? What would have happened if I’d gotten to her and made her panic even worse? What kind of an asshole just appears like that after all this time?
Maybe, just maybe, I should start with an apology.
