Chapter 13: No Tomorrow: Chapter 13

For the fifth time, I push up the sleeve of my jacket so I can check my watch. I glance around the park, expecting to see Blue and Acorn walking toward me.

But I don’t see them anywhere. And it’s now an hour past our usual Saturday morning meeting time at the picnic table near the bridge. Our place.

A weight of worry sinks into my stomach and explodes like a bomb, striking up shards of panic. What if something happened to them? Maybe he got arrested for living in the shed and Acorn has been taken to a pet shelter. Maybe he got run over by a car while he was walking here. Maybe he’s still not feeling well, and he’s all alone, sick, and in pain.

All the maybes and what-ifs come at me like bullets from a machine gun, each one pelting my heart until I can’t take anymore. Closing my book, I stand to leave and embark on my own search party, and that’s when I see them walking toward me in the distance. Every molecule in my body relaxes with instant relief, and it’s so overpowering that I almost need to sit down again to recover.

Acorn has a tennis ball in his mouth, and he bounds to me when he recognizes me, as if he can’t wait to show me his new treasure. Laughing, I take the fluorescent green ball from him.

“Where did you get this?” I ask the dog playfully. “You’re very excited about it!” I toss it a few feet away, and he runs to retrieve it and immediately brings it back to me. We do it three times.

“He’ll do that all day,” Blue warns after kissing me hello.

“I love seeing him so happy with things.”

“I do, too. I get the feeling he didn’t have toys when he was a pup. Sorry I’m late. I stopped to talk to a girl. She’s the one who gave him the ball.”

“Oh. What girl?” I say the words before I realize how nosy and jealous they sound.

He shakes his hair out of his face, and the blue feather earring swings across his cheek.

“Just a girl I talk to sometimes. I usually see her when I play over near the antique store, but I ran into her on the way into the park.”

“And she had a tennis ball with her?”

He laughs. “She brought her dog here, and she had a whole pack of tennis balls. She asked me if I wanted to hang out with her and let the dogs play together.”

“Oh.” I wonder if I’m not the only girl he has a relationship with. There could be a whole tribe of women who also noticed the hot, talented, magnetic homeless musician and his cute dog. Perhaps, like me, they threw caution to the wind to befriend him.

And more.

“Babe…” He leans down to meet my eyes. “Are you jealous?”

I glance over at Acorn playing with his ball. “No….”

He grins cockily at me. “You are.”

“I am not,” I say defensively.

“You’re the only one I’m involved with. I didn’t hang out with her. I came here to be with you. I don’t hook up with other women.”

“I hope not.”

“The ladybugs would get mad at me if I even thought about another chick. You think I want them to swarm on me and eat me?” He pulls me into his arms and kisses me as I laugh.

“That would be a horrible way to die,” I tease.

“Fuck yeah.”

As we leave the park to drive to the bagel place, a woman with her black lab waves at Blue. She’s not at all how I envisioned her. The woman in my mind was a sexy, young girl with dark hair, perfect makeup, tight jeans, and an unbuttoned coat revealing alluring cleavage. In reality, the woman is in her upper thirties and attractive in a very natural, no-makeup-needed way. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail. She’s wearing gray sweatpants, sneakers, and a big, puffy white jacket. A wedding band is clearly visible on her waving hand. When she smiles and waves hesitantly at me, I feel like an idiot for being jealous, insecure, and hallucinatory.

“Do you feel better today?” I ask in the car on the way to the café. When he doesn’t answer me, I glance away from the road to look him over. His hair is messier than usual, as if he forgot to brush it or run his fingers through it this morning. And when he walked up to me earlier in the park, I thought he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Last night you said you felt sick. I think you had a migraine?”

He lights up a cigarette and lowers the car window a few inches, saying nothing further.

“Blue? Were you lying to me about not feeling well?”

“Why the hell would I lie to you?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, as a feeling of unease creeps over me. “You’re acting kinda weird. Like either you don’t remember it or you lied about it.”

“I’m acting weird? First, you think I’m fucking other women with tennis balls. Now you’re accusing me of lying to you.”

“I’m not accusing you. I also suggested maybe you don’t remember.”

“Why wouldn’t I remember last night?”

I pull into a parking spot outside the café and put the car in park with a frustrated and equally nervous sigh.

“Why are you getting so defensive?”

“I’m not. I just don’t get where this convo is going.”

Me either.

“Did something happen last night? Were you sick? Did you go somewhere? Was something wrong?” I reach for his hand and entwine our fingers. “Just talk to me.”

“I am talking to you. What the fuck is this interrogation for? I thought we were getting breakfast.”

“We are. I’m just confused.”

“About what?”

I blink at him, trying to sort my thoughts. He somehow turned us in a circle, and now I’m completely confused to the point where I feel like I’ve done something wrong.

“Let’s just forget it.” I force a smile. “I’m starving, and I’m sure you are, too. Let’s just get our bagels and coffee.”

Instead, he turns in the seat to face me. “Do you trust me, Piper?”

“Yes. As much as I can. I’ll admit it’s a little difficult sometimes because I don’t know where you are all day, or at night for that matter. We can’t call each other. You won’t meet my family. You don’t want to move in with me. You won’t commit to any sort of long-term relationship. You keep us in limbo. Always vague. So I guess it depends on what kind of trust. Do I think you’d purposely hurt me? No, I don’t.”

“I mean it when I say I love you. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know that. And I believe it.”

A small finch eating crumbs off the parking lot asphalt has caught his attention. Barely blinking, he watches the tiny bird with keen interest, and I wonder if it reminds him of his time with his aunt and her birds. Or maybe for him, it’s just a welcome distraction from this conversation.

“I get lost in my own head sometimes. The music, the words, sometimes they take over. Sometimes I can’t sleep for days, and I don’t eat. Then I get fucked up ‘cause I’m exhausted and hungry. I get headaches and I feel moody as shit, and it all fuckin’ dominos until I find a way to reset.” He tightens his fingers into mine. “I do better alone so I don’t drag people down with me. But now I’m kinda crazy about you, so I’m trying to make it work. I would’ve left as soon as it got cold out if I didn’t love being with you so much.”

Finally, he’s opening up, but the vagueness is still there like a thin blanket thrown over us. “I know you’re trying. We’re in this together, whether you’re in a good mood or a bad mood. I don’t need or want or expect perfect. I just want you.”

The bird has flown away, and his gaze shifts down to our hands. He nods slowly and then talks in a very low, almost whispered tone. “I guess I really don’t remember having a headache.”

This is one of those moments in life when I can dig deep for answers and force him to face his problems or I can sweep it under the rug, kiss it better, and hope it never creeps out again.

I choose to kiss it better.

“Sometimes I can’t remember what I did yesterday, either. Let’s go get something to eat. I promised our fuzzy boy a doughnut, and he’s been very patient.”

The smile on his face washes away all my earlier doubts and unease, and I silently vow to stop analyzing him. Lots of people forget things and go through moods, myself included.

We spend the day driving around listening to music and talk about an article Blue once read about paint colors that are supposed to evoke certain moods. I jot down the colors in a pocket notebook I keep in my purse so I can try to find them when Ditra and I buy paint for my new apartment, because the first thing I’m doing is painting over all the stark-white walls.

By the end of the day, I have swept away and forgotten the confusion and the elephant in the room.