I blink and George laughs. “You look like I just admitted to identity fraud.”
“No! I’m processing. It’s great, George. I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah?” I can see a hint of apprehension in the tense set of his shoulders.
“Yeah. Mental health is obviously super important, and yourecognized that you needed support and you’re getting it.” It’s so George, come to think of it. Nothing stops him.
“You might want to consider talking to someone when you get back.”
I knew it.
“Maybe,” I say. “But I don’t want to be one of those people who starts every second sentence with, ‘My therapist says…’ ”
“My therapist says that’s a very normal concern.”
“Always the comedian.”
“My therapist also says he knows a couple of practitioners who specialize in life transitions like breakups.”
“You talked to your therapist about me?”
He leans closer and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I talk to my therapist about you nonstop.”
“Ha.”
A gust of wind carries over the water and I shiver. The skin on my arms pebbles. It strikes me how truly alone we are. It’s as if we’re the only two people in the world.
“You’re cold,” George says. “Do you want to go back into the sauna?”
“I’m happy here.”
“One sec, then.” He climbs out of the hammock and returns wearing his glasses and holding a blanket that he spreads over us both.
“What else?” I ask him. We lie facing each other, our heads propped on our hands.
“Big-picture stuff?”
I nod.
“I want to keep writing and traveling. I’d like to write a book one day.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know yet, but I want to do it. Nonfiction, obviously.” To someone else, he might sound arrogant, but I know he’s looking for the next challenge.
“I’m surprised you haven’t written one already. George Saint James, prizewinning journalist, bestselling author…It’s inevitable.”
“And I want to share my life with someone,” he says.
Now that floors me. “As in, one singular someone?”
“You don’t have to look so shocked, Frankie.”
I snap my mouth shut. “It’s just that,” I start, “and don’t take this the wrong way, but there have been a great deal of someones. You’re a bit of a…” I search for an inoffensive way to complete the sentence.
“Careful,” George warns.
“I’ll go withrake.”
