Chapter 174 Ethan
Ethan
Dropping onto one of the newly installed benches, I take my container of cold noodles with peanut sauce out of my cooler bag.
It’s all coming together.
Almost done.
I open the lid, lift my phone, and snap a photo of the noodles, careful not to get too much background. Then I text it to Tilda.
It’s been almost two weeks since she was on my plane.
And every day since I dropped off that duck food, I’ve either left something for her—socks, DVDs, mealworms for Quackers. Or I’ve texted her—photos of food, flowers, things that make me think of her.
She hasn’t replied to any of it. But it still feels different.
Ever since the airplane hangar.
Ever since she kept the sunglasses on.
It’s felt different.
And I’m hopeful.
“Pretty impressive.” A voice interrupts my thoughts.
I look up from my lunch and spot Shelia. “Thanks.” I take in the activity around us. “Appreciate your input on the habitats.”
She hums and puts her hands on her hips, looking at the pond. “It’s nice to be involved in something fun.”
“Rescuing mountain lion cubs getting old?”
“Hardly.” She laughs, but it morphs into a sigh. “But… ya know.”
“Yeah.” I do know.
Wildlife management isn’t always fun, cute babies. It involves a lot more death and sadness than anyone wants to think about.
Which is why education is so important.
I think about Matilda picking up that mountain lion like it was a fucking house cat. “How’s the cub doin’?”
“Real good.” Shelia smiles. “You can tell Tilda we were able to put it in a rehab with an injured adult who we suspected lost her own cubs recently. They’re bonding well.”
“She’ll like that.”
I want to text Tilda the update right now.
But we’ll talk soon enough.
Shelia blows out a breath. “Well, I gotta get back to the clinic.”
“See you at the opening?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Tell Tilda hi.”
I nod, and she walks down the gravel path toward the parking lot that’s just out of view.
My colleagues know this is a surprise for my wife, but they don’t know that we haven’t been talking.
No one knows. Except Sandra.
My sister loved my wife so much she called me just a few days after that disastrous night, asking when we’d have dinner again.
When I replied with a choking sound, she started freaking out, asking me if Tilda had died.
And… I started crying.
Big, fat tears kind of crying.
Then Sandra started sobbing.
Then I had to fight through my tears to tell her Tilda was fine.
Then Sandra screamed at me, saying it was just like the time I showed up at her sleepover to tell her our parents had died.
Which just made us both cry even more.
Of course, that’s when Fisher showed up at her apartment, and then I got to listen to him freaking out because he didn’t know why Sandra was crying.
And that’s how I ended up on speaker phone with Sandra and fucking Fisher, telling them everything.
I told them my plan.
Asked for advice.
Ended up including Fisher in the project. Putting him in charge of stocking the pond and sourcing the fountain.
I shake my head as I dig my fork into my noodles.
Friends with Fisher. Who’d have fucking thought?
My phone signals a message, and I chew my food as I set down my fork.
One of the stonework guys lifts his hand as he walks past.
I nod, then look down at my phone.
It’s a text.
A photo.
From Tilda.
I swallow.
It’s a picture of a container, exactly like the one on my lap. Open. With a fork sticking out of it.
And it’s on a lap.
A lap covered in a rainbow skirt.
And in the corner of the image, I can see an armrest.
The pink armrest from the camping chair I left for her yesterday.
That hope swells inside my rib cage.
She’s eating the food I left for her this morning.
And she’s sitting in the chair I got just for her.
I hesitate. Then I send her another message.
Me: I miss you.
The hope twists around itself.
It’s true. The most true thing I’ve ever felt. I miss her so fucking much.
But I don’t know if telling her—
Wife: I miss you too.
The relief that hits me is so thick I shift back.
I want to go to her.
Right now.
I want to fall to my knees in front of her and beg her forgiveness.
But that’s not what she needs.
She needs to believe me.
Wife: I want to believe you.
I press a fist over my heart.
She always said it was like I could read her mind. Like I knew what she was thinking.
But she did it just as much to me. And even now… even apart, it’s like we’re together.
Me: You will.
Me: Friday. Noon.
I send her the address.
But just the address.
It’s two days away. And I don’t want to wait that long. But I can. Because a lifetime is on the line.