Ready to Fall (12 page)

“How many women do you know who fit that description?”

“Only one.” I smiled down at her. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

I stepped down and turned to help her off the last step. She gave my hand a squeeze before letting go.

“I love this place. It’s full of amazing things others have thrown away because they thought they were trash.”

“The saying is true. One man’s trash …” I didn’t need to finish the statement.

Bent over to examine a large triple-domed birdcage resting on its side in the mud, she turned and smiled up at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but we’re kind of like this stuff.”

“Garbage? Gee, you think so highly of us.” I frowned.

“No, the treasure. Only they didn’t see it.”

Not getting her meaning, I asked, “Who?”

“Mr. Not-so-Perfect and Kelly. They tossed us aside, not realizing what they were giving up.”

I nodded, but I still wasn’t getting it. “Which one of us is the birdcage?”

“We’re everything. Misfit toys, broken window frame, old Encyclopedia Britannica volumes.”

“Useless and outdated crap?” My eyebrows pulled together as I tried to figure out how this flattered either of us.

“If you want to see it that way. I prefer to think it takes the right person to see the treasure inside someone else. You’re not useless or worthless to me. Or to anyone else who matters in your life. That’s my point.”

She was either incredibly wise or crazy. Or both.

“I think I get it. I’m the cool stack of bowling balls, not expired meat.”

“Are you saying the code word?”

I licked my bottom lip and chewed on the scruff right below it before smiling at her. “Nope. I’m embracing my bowling ball status.”

“Good. I’m the birdcage.”

“And what a lovely birdcage you are.” Our tension lifted and we settled back into right. The even keel comfort between us returned.

“You have enough fun at the dump?”

“Best time at the dump ever.” She grinned up at me, her eyes alight with happiness.

“Glad to hear it. I still don’t know what your favorite ice cream is, but I know you identify yourself as an old birdcage. I think it says more about you than the simple stuff.”

“I agree, bowling balls.” She reached out and grabbed my hand and swung it between us.

“We need a new code word.”

“How about pyramid? I don’t see us managing to bring that into conversation.”

“We might if we have a heated discussion about Egypt.”

“Or Mexico.”

“Or Mexico,” I said at the same time, swinging her hand when we walked over to the truck. “Pyramid it is.”

“Hopefully we won’t have to use it.”

I liked her optimism.

Winter’s iciness thawed into rain and the sun broke through the gray more often when February turned to March. Diane and I hung out, often playing what she dubbed “Truth or Pyramids”—a nod to our code word. The need for an out faded as we learned about each other.

“Favorite Star Wars?” she asked.

“Star Wars.”

“Favorite city?” I asked.

“London.”

“Favorite tree?” she asked

“Cedar.”

“Favorite body of water?” I asked.

“A lake.”

“Favorite fish?” she asked

“Salmon.”

And so it continued for weeks. Neither of us ever said pyramid.

We talked about other stuff: weather, island gossip, zombie apocalypse preparedness, and the probability of a zombie apocalypse. And if zombies existed, then other supernatural creatures must exist, too, which led to reminiscing about our vampire story. Normal stuff. Sometimes we went to the movies. Once we drove to Oak Harbor when she swore she craved fast food only to figure out she had lost her taste for it after going so long without it.

Occasionally, I’d have a guys’ night out with Donnely. On some of those nights we headed over to town and flirted with women we hadn’t known our whole lives. But I never missed the last ferry. The appeal wasn’t there. Donnely commented, but didn’t make a big deal of it, which surprised me at the time. He also toned down hitting on Diane. Guess he figured she was sticking around and wasn’t giving in to his charms any time soon. Could have been that or she beat him at pool every time they played. Losing damaged a man’s ego.

After much reminding from my aunt, we found ourselves in her Jeep driving to have Sunday dinner with my family. I kept warning her they might be overbearing or my uncle would probably say something homophobic, but they were good people. She’d never asked about my family again and I’d been nervous she’d find out all the ugly truth. I could have told her upfront, but the topic hadn’t come up. And I was a chicken shit.

While we bumped along the unpaved driveway through the woods to the house, I filled her in on the list of cousins who might show up. I felt relief when only two cars sat in the driveway. We’d lucked out and my explanations were for naught. No big family inquisition.

Helen and Peter were as nice as could be to Diane, offering her wine and inviting her to help herself to the homemade cheese-ball or smoked salmon. She politely tried both, asking if Peter had smoked the salmon.

“John and I did it together. I’m surprised he hasn’t shared some with you already.”

“I’ve heard legend of his fish sharing, but he’s never brought me any fish.”

I wondered where she’d heard that … ah, Maggie. They must have talked. Of course they talked. Maggie was her landlord. Made me wonder what else they spoke about. Specifically, what did they say about me?

Dinner tasted delicious. After we finished eating, Peter invited Diane to sit with him while I helped my aunt with the cleanup. He insisted, even after she offered. Damn him. I hated doing the dishes.

Helen waved me away from the sink. “Stand here and keep me company while I clean up. You’ll only get in the way.”

“I knew there was a reason I loved you,” I said, leaning down and kissing the top of her head.

“I talked to your dad last week. They’re thinking of bringing the RV up this summer. We figured they could park it here on the property for a visit.”

My spine stiffened at the idea of my father visiting.

“I can see how happy you are about the idea. He’s your dad, John. The only parent you have. You only get one set to start out with and there isn’t a return policy.”

“I know,” I grumbled and picked at a spot on her counter with my thumbnail. “I’ll play nice when they come. I promise.” Even to my own ears I sounded like an insincere child.

“You have a couple of months to practice.” She sighed and patted my arm.

A change of subject was needed and she chose the exact one I’d rather not discuss with her. If only my code word worked with everyone.

“Diane seems like a nice girl.”

Pyramid.

I leaned back and peered around the corner to see Peter and Diane in the living room. Her soft laughter carried into the kitchen. Nothing appeared out of sorts, nor did she sound uncomfortable.

“Yeah, Diane’s nice. We’ve been hanging out.”

“Is that code for dating?”

“No, in this case it means spending time together, but not dating.”

“Is that the same thing as hooking up?”

Pyramid.

“No, not hooking up. Hooking up is the benefits of dating without the dates if you know what I mean.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Well.”

“Yeah. Not that.”

“Good. A nice girl should be respected and treated like a lady. I think your generation would benefit from courting.”

“Seriously? Courting? My generation? You’re not that old. Dad got Mom pregnant before they got married. Sounds like your generation could have benefitted from it too.” I bumped her hip with mine to emphasize my teasing.

“Oh, those things have always happened.”

‘Those things’ were my brother James, born fourteen months before me.

“Speaking of the bastard child, how is Jim?”

“Don’t call your brother a bastard. Haven’t spoken with him, so I guess he’s fine. You should call him.”

Pyramid.

“Sure. I’m going to check on Diane. We should probably get going.”

Peeking into the living room, I spied Peter showing her a framed photo. The familiar frame and the picture in it would open a whole big box of pyramids.

Why did I think bringing her to dinner was a good idea?

D
IANE
WAITED
UNTIL
we climbed in her car and hit the main road to ask the question. It would have to be asked sooner rather than later. Either way I knew she’d give me the out if I needed it.

“What happened to your mother?” she asked, her voice soft, concerned. Full of pity.

Fuck.

I sat in silence while I debated which answer I’d give her. “Pyramid?” I said, the question evident in my voice.

“If you want. I won’t pry, but I’m curious. Your uncle didn’t tell me, if you were wondering. He showed me a couple of family pictures and in the later ones she’s missing.”

“She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Her hand found mine on my thigh and she gave it a squeeze before saying, “Pyramid.”

The word conveyed more empathy than any frown or words of pity. Diane got it. She wouldn’t push and accepted death for the answer. The how’s and why’s didn’t matter.

“Favorite sport?” Diane asked.

“Soccer.”

“Do you still play?” Her question was innocent.

“Not anymore.”

“But you did?”

“I did.”

“But now you don’t?”

“Nope.”

We’d run out questions of ice cream flavors and childhood memories. Lately our conversations wandered more into first kisses, weird scar stories, and beloved, but dead pets.

“I blasted out my knee in college. Tore both the ACL and MCL.”

“Playing soccer?”

“Yeah. I played goalie. If YouTube had been around then, the video probably would have gone viral. Legs aren’t supposed to bend in that direction.”

I watched Diane cringe and curl up further into a ball in one of my leather chairs. Rain beat the windows and we had blown off a hike for sitting around, watching movies, and waiting for the storm to pass.

“Ouch,” she said, rubbing her own knee. “Were you good? Before the injury?”

Chuckling, I absentmindedly rubbed the faint scar on my left knee. “Was I good? Yeah, I was good. Full scholarship and being scouted for the Olympics when it happened.”

“The Olympics? Really?” I could hear both the surprise and respect in her voice.

“It would have been a long shot, a very, very long shot, but yeah. I spent the summer training. Stupid asshole slipped on the wet grass when he missed the kick. I dove for the ball and he used my knee to stop himself.”

“Shit.” Diane rarely swore.

“Shit is right. I think I blacked out on the field. I’ve never felt pain like that.”

“What happened after?”

Pyramid. “I learned what it was to lose everything.”

“No more Olympics?”

“No more Olympics, no more soccer, no more scholarship.”

“How old were you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Wow.”

If she only knew how fucked up that summer was. Sucking in a deep breath, I decided to spill the whole horrible tale.