“I have a fear of gondolas.”
“I know that about you.”
I gave him a look like,Don’t act like you know me.“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Because you have a fear of gondolas.”
“No,” I said. “Don’t pretend you’re gallant. You’re just escaping the moms’ wrath.”
“That, too.”
Walker was still standing, like he wasn’t sure where to sit.
“You’re shaking,” Walker said next.
“Correct.”
“Are you cold or scared?”
“Both.”
“Can I come sit next to you?”
He took a step in my direction, but the center of gravity shifted and the bucket tilted.
“Stop!” I said.
Walker read the situation and took a step back. Then he sat down—carefully—directly across from me. “Now we’re balanced,” he said, like he was doing me a favor.
“Did you follow me here?” I asked next.
“I just happened to be going to the same place.”
“Are you hoping to keep fighting? Because I’m done.”
Walker shook his head. “Don’t forget that I, too, have a father in a sandwich bag.”
Fair enough.
It was a fifteen-minute ride to the top. Then five minutes to say goodbye to the two best dads in history. Then a fifteen-minute ride back down. We could be done in an hour. Maybe I’d reserve a hotel room in Denver and drive back tonight, if the rental car still worked.
I could do this.
I kept my eyes on my sneaker laces.
“I do need to tell you something, though,” Walker said.
I shook my head. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
But he kept talking. “This might be the last time I ever see you. And there’s something I have to say.”
I sighed.
“That night,” Walker went on. “The night on that garage roof ...”
He really didn’t need to clarifywhich night.
He went on. “I was in love with you that night.”
