“I did call a handyman. Was just waiting for them to call me back and arrange a time.”
He downs a mouthful of beer. “Now you don’t need to worry about this. Just get them to replace the broken palings on the fence and your smashed mailbox.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
There’s a fire pit made out of stone and a couple of Adirondack chairs. It’s peaceful and private and all mine. A green space to sit and stare at the flames or look up at the stars. But not yet. The sky overhead is streaked with the colors of sunset. Orange and pink, violet and blue. I turn in a slow circle, taking it all in. It’s like the world is putting on a show.
“How was your ride?” I ask.
“Good. Took Route 2 through the islands. It gave me time to think.” He narrows his gaze on me. “Have you been drinking?”
“Yes.”
“That explains the party I heard happening inside.” He smothers a smile. “Did you have fun?”
“We really did.”
“Good. Hana and Muriel gone now?”
I nod and sit my ass down before I fall down. Alcohol may or may not have been the actual best answer to my particular set of problems. But today was a heck of a lot of fun just the same. A dandelion grows in the grass beside my chair. Obviously, the universe wants me to make a wish. I blow on the dandelion and squeeze my eyelids shut tight.
“What’d you wish for?” he asks.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.” I open my eyes and turn the dandelion around and around. “Grandma and I were always doing things like that when I was growing up. Wishing on shooting stars, eyelashes, tossing coins into fountains, and blowing out the candles on birthday cakes.”
“Mm.”
“Somewhere along the way, adulthood takes over and we lose our sense of wonder. One of the worst mistakes we ever make.” Which is when something else occurs to me. “How did you even get out here?”
“The side gate was open.”
Huh.Me and my stalker need to talk sooner rather than later. There’s no way I left the gate unlocked. Standing across the street from me is one thing. But peeping in windows is right the fuck out. Which reminds me of something. I fetch my cell out of my left bra cup (the dress is great, but it has a distinct lack of pockets).
“Is it okay that I am here?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Makes sense that you’d be security conscious. I should have knocked and said something. I’ll do that next time.”
“Thank you.”
And there’s my stalker on the Justice for Ryan website under updates. Sometimes I really hate being right. But of course she’s here following me around because of him. They met when she wrote to him about his tragic plight, apparently. It was love at first sight when she went to visit him. How lovely. The happy couple have high hopes of attracting the interest of a well-known organization that works to free people who’ve been wrongfully convicted. And I highly doubt it’s going to happen with him being guilty as sin.
Interesting how he and I have both met new people this year. Though my ex is obviously doing better at love than I, despite being behind bars. Which both is and isn’t funny. Whatever. There’s no way I am wrecking what’s been a great day by thinking about him and his loser girlfriend.
Soon summer will be over, and the maples will start to show their autumn colors. But for now, the birds are singing and bugs are chirping and everything is fine. Turns out a tequila buzz in the afternoon is a splendid thing. The sky overhead goes on forever, making me feel like anything is possible. Like I could start my life over and make fewer mistakes or different ones or something. It’s a beautiful dream.
Grandma used to say if you’re always bracing yourself for bad things, you miss the chance to enjoy good things. It can best be summed up as pessimism makes you a pissy person. No idea why I am remembering this now. But it feels relevant to my state of mind and how I’ve approached life for the last however many years.
“Have you been walking on your own at night?” he asks.
“No. I thought it’d be best to take a break from that.”
He nods.
Having a stalker means being a bit more careful. Too many places for her to hide in the dark. But I am not getting into that with him. Not when I don’t know where we stand.
“My marriage fell apart because we stopped making time to talk to each other,” says Noah out of nowhere, taking the seat opposite me. “Both of us had stressful jobs and life was just so fucking busy. What did it matter if I didn’t know exactly where she was at, and if she hadn’t heard the latest bullshit from my work, you know?”
