Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
She doesn’t want to talk about it?
Waylon tried to tamp down the dark feelings rising in his chest, threatening to drag him back into his past.
It’s not the same. Frankie’s not Camille.
He closed his eyes and the laughter in the room faded. Better that than imagine they were laughing at him for being a fool.
“Waylon?” Frankie’s unsure voice cut through the darkness. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bitch.”
He opened his eyes. The sight that greeted him sliced through his chest. His Pixie looked as devastated as before, only now she was calling herself a bitch because of him.
I’m toxic. Dangerous. This is why I don’t deserve to be with a woman. Don’t deserve to be loved.
“Don’t ever apologize to me,” he practically growled.
She sat back and folded her arms as her devastation gave way to irritation. “Waylon, that’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t have?—”
He put his hand up. “Stop, Frankie. Not another word. Don’t you ever call yourself a bitch, you understand? Especially over something that I said or did. ”
I don’t deserve her .
“Waylon, talk to me. Please.” She unfolded her arms and laid her hands on the table.
But I want her .
Waylon took a deep breath. He felt calmer but still terrified that he was about to watch her stand up and walk out. “You’ve made it clear it’s none of my business and that you have your own life outside of mine. I said I’d never tell you what to do or try to limit you or anything like that. But I… Look, I’ve come to really enjoy you.”
“Enjoy me?”
“Not like that. Yes, like that.” He growled and pulled at his hair. “I enjoy spending time with you. I enjoy seeing you. I enjoy sleeping with you. I know we said just Buddies.”
He reached across the table and grabbed her hand.
“Frankie. Pixie. I want more.”
Her face gave nothing away. “More?”
“Yeah, Frankie. I want us to be more than Buddies with benefits. I also know you have this standing date thing. So, I guess what I’m asking is, who’s Dan? Is he an ex, did he abandon you when you got cancer? Are you dating someone else? Is it Dan?”
Anger slowly grew in her eyes.
“You think I had a boyfriend walk out on me when I got sick? Like, he left when he found out he’d have to hold my hair back when I puked after chemo so he freaked out and took off?” She shook her head slowly as she said, “No. No, that’s not what happened. My life is not a trope in a romance novel. And you aren’t here right now to take the place of some loser dude who abandoned me when the going got tough.” She wiped her arm across her eyes. “There was no dude holding my hair back.”
“Then there should have been, dammit!”
He was vaguely aware the laughter around them had faded so he dropped his voice. “You should have had some guy who held your hair back when you puked and then fed you ice chips until you could keep something substantial down. He should have held your hand while you sat in the chemo chair, and read you stories at night when you couldn’t sleep, and been there when you woke after surgery. Fucking been there every damn minute, Frankie. Because that’s what you deserve. You deserve a good man.”
He let go of her hand. “Not someone like me. So, if you are dating some else, if he’s better for you…”
Frankie bit her bottom lip and stared off at some distant, invisible point. “Okay.” She nodded. “Okay. You’re coming with me right now. To meet my standing date.”
“Frankie. I…you don’t have to?—”
“No, Waylon, I do. I really do.”
Frankie stood up and grabbed her purse. “Are you coming?”
She kept her gaze locked on his as he stood until he towered over her. She stood there fiercely staring down a man twice her size. And winning.
“Tell me where to take you,” he said.
Frankie nodded. She broke eye contact as she turned away and Waylon felt like she’d loosened a physical grip on him. He followed her and watched as she graciously thanked the chef again, and then their waiter, slipping what looked like two hundred-dollar bills into his hand.
Outside, the temperature had dropped considerably since the sunset. Frankie had only taken a lacy shawl into the restaurant, leaving Waylon’s winter coat, which she’d basically stolen from him, on the passenger seat in his Camaro. He’d driven her in the Camaro for the first time that night, speeding through Boulder’s streets, showing off. The valet recognized them and brought the car around quickly. Frankie stood shivering and it killed Waylon not to put his arm around her, but every fiber of her being screamed don’t touch me .
Waylon opened Frankie’s door and grabbed his coat off the seat before she got in. He wrapped it around her, and as he did, he carefully slipped his hand into the right-hand pocket where he was positive he’d left the earbud.
Nothing but pocket change.
They’d spent the ride in silence until Frankie said, “Take the next left onto Silverton and park across from the first house. We’re here.”
They’d been driving from the heart of Boulder to the southern outskirts, into a newer, expensive neighborhood, judging by the large houses to their left. Across the street from the neighborhood was an open space framed by trees and a chain link fence. Waylon slowed down and took a left. He parked across the street from the first house, beside another wide park running the length of the street. Waylon studied the house. He knew real estate—if it went on the market, the place would sell for one-point-one million at least.
Looked like Dan did well for himself.
Waylon killed the engine. The porch light was on and another one upstairs but the house was dark otherwise. A Jack-O-Lantern sat on the steps, its candle extinguished like all the others dotting the neighbors’ porches. It was late, well past trick-or-treat time, except maybe for the random older teenager not quite ready to let the tradition go.
“I didn’t notice you call or text. Are we expected, or will this be a surprise?”
“Dan always expects me,” Frankie answered as she toyed with her purse strap.
Waylon got out of the car and went around to open Frankie’s door. He helped her out and shut the door. He started around the car toward the house when Frankie said, “Not that way. This way.”
She pointed at the open space across from the neighborhood. Waylon noticed a gate across a gravel turnoff. Was it actually a driveway through someone’s huge yard? He didn’t see any house lights past the pines and bare cottonwoods.
“Come on. We have a bit of a walk.”
“Wait, we’re not going here?” He pointed to the house on the corner .
“No.” She started walking. He followed her without another word across the street to the chained gate.
And into the cemetery behind it.
They walked in silence, gravel crunching beneath their feet, then dry grass. The moon was full, and the straight lines of headstones cast long shadows. The air was colder here, fitting for Halloween night. Waylon couldn’t help but look around, imagining a certain Ace WWI pilot sneaking on his belly toward a Halloween party.
They made their way between the rows until Frankie stopped in front of a headstone with a bench beside it. The granite was simple and the base held a small plaque. Waylon stooped to read it.
Danielle Cruz
Beloved Daughter. Fierce Friend. Pure Chaos.
“Dan,” Waylon said. “Of course.”
“One more gal for the Guy Name Club.” Frankie sat on the bench, pulled out her phone, and tapped the screen. Seconds later, the tinny-sounding intro to Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” crackled through the air, complete with snaps and pops, and hissing as if it were on a cassette tape.
Waylon blinked. “Sounds like it’s coming straight out of an old boombox.”
“She had a real one that she left me. I still bring it every time. It’s in the trunk of my car right now so this’ll have to do.”
He sat beside her. “You always play this song for her?”
“Are you kidding? I play an entire mixtape. She made me promise I would whenever I visited or else she’d haunt me with glitter and judgment.”
Waylon chuckled. Frankie smiled faintly and scooted a little closer to him. “This song is from Say Anything . John Cusack, trench coat, boombox over the head. It was our romcom holy grail.”
Waylon smiled. “Classic.”
“Dan loved eighties movies,” Frankie said. “ Say Anything was her favorite. She used to say if a guy didn’t know the boombox scene, he didn’t deserve to see her boobs.”
Waylon let out a quiet laugh.
“We met on my first day of chemo. I was sitting in that awful chair, scared out of my mind. She was already hooked up next to me. Cracked a joke about how an IV cocktail that bad should at least come with a little paper umbrella.”
Waylon laughed again. “She was funny.”
“Yeah. The kind of funny that makes you forget you’re dying for a while.” Frankie looked at Waylon. “Do you think it’s weird that I talk to her? And talk about her like she’s still alive?”
“Not at all. It’s your way of processing your grief, of keeping her alive inside. It’s like leaving a light on in a dark room; it doesn’t change the loss, but it softens its edges.”
“I like that.”
“Do you want me to go back to the car and leave you in peace to talk to her?”
“Oh no. Dan would be so upset if I didn’t let you stay.” Frankie leaned closer to Dan’s stone.
“All right, Dan. I was going to visit you tomorrow in the daylight, but here we are. I’m sure wherever you’re at, you’re absolutely thrilled I’m visiting your grave on Halloween under a full moon.”
Waylon grinned.
“ And as a Halloween treat, I brought a hot guy. Not the firefighter you’d hoped for, but he has a nice ass, so I’m pretty sure you’d approve.” Frankie leaned back.
“Dan was going through treatment for the third time. Her body was wrecked, but her spirit was… big. Loud. Bright. Made the whole room warmer.”
“In Your Eyes” ended and Berlin’s “Take My Breath Away” started as the playlist moved on. They sat in silence for a while. Frankie leaned her head on Waylon’s shoulder as “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” began to play .
“She’d kill me if I didn’t mention that every time I hear this song—no matter where I’m at—she wanted me to throw my fist in the air like Judd Nelson crossing the football field at the end of The Breakfast Club .” She stood up and did it. “There. This playlist is how I keep her with me.”
She sat back down and Waylon gently wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer as the wind rustled through the trees around them.
“Dan made me promise more than just playing her mixtape.” Then she whispered, “It still doesn’t feel real sometimes. That she’s not here. That I’m still here.”
Waylon took her hand. “I get why you didn’t want to tell me,” he said. “This wasn’t a secret you were keeping from me. It’s…sacred.”
Frankie’s eyes filled, but her smile was real. “Yeah. I miss her every day.”
“I’m sorry I pushed. It was wrong of me.”
Frankie shook her head. “It’s all right. I wanted to bring you here. I did. But, there was just something about not bringing you that kept her a little more alive. I kept telling myself I’d wait until tomorrow. Then another tomorrow.”
He smiled. “I’m honored.”
Cyndi Lauper began singing “Time After Time.”
“You visit her every week?”
“Every week.” Frankie brushed away a tear as she sang the line about a suitcase of memories. They quietly listened to the rest of the song.
“She’s the reason for your list, isn’t she?” Waylon said softly.
Frankie nodded. “Yeah. We used to talk about all the adventures we’d go on once we were done with ‘this cancer bullshit,’ as she put it. Have a wild weekend in Vegas. See penguins on an Australian beach. Eat a work of art at Liminal. As Dan got sicker, our plans started getting weirder the worse she got. Swimming with sharks. Paragliding naked. Eating a hot dog in Fiji. She wanted to lick a rainforest frog just to see if she’d hallucinate about a llama named Steve.” Frankie laughed—softly but it was genuine.
“Sounds like she would’ve gotten along with Steph.”
Frankie glanced at him. “Yeah. Dan would’ve loved this whole group.”
Kevin Cronin began singing “I Can’t Fight This Feeling” as Frankie studied Dan’s headstone.
“When Dan realized she wasn’t going to make it, she made me promise to live big. Big enough for both our lives, and to squeeze out every drop.” Frankie paused. “She told me to have every adventure I could. Even if I had to do it alone.”
“You’re not alone,” Waylon said. He squeezed her hand gently. “Let’s keep her with you. Wherever you go. I’ll help you check off every adventure. Even the weird ones. Especially the weird ones.”
Frankie grinned. “I won’t make you lick any frogs.”
“I’m not sure I didn’t already at Liminal.”
Frankie laughed. “True. I might have to mark that one off as done.”
Whitney Houston’s “How Will I know?” took over from REO Speedwagon.
“What about Hawaii?” Waylon asked.
Frankie tilted her head. “Hawaii? What about it?”
“Was that her adventure or yours, or both?”
“Oh, both. I guess.” She paused. “Okay. Mostly hers. But I’m excited to go, too,” she quickly added.
“You’ve told me about Dan’s adventures. What about yours?” Some instinct kicked Waylon’s heart up a notch as he pushed. “You must have some from before you met her.”
Frankie gave him an odd look. Instead of answering, she picked up her purse from beside her and put it on her lap. She studied it like it held the secrets of the universe. “Can I ask you something kinda weird?”
“Anything. As long as it doesn’t involve licking frogs or a llama named Steve. ”
Frankie giggled before she grew more serious. “Do you believe in fate?”
“No. We make our own choices and our own way through the world. Or at least I do. Nothing’s dictating my destiny.”
“Then what about coincidences?”
“They’re just that—coincidences.”
Frankie nodded thoughtfully as the playlist segued into “Vacation” by the GoGos.
“Maybe meeting Dan was only a coincidence. She was my soulmate except for one thing. I don’t mind the cold while she hated it. She called cold weather a personal attack from Mother Nature. That’s why most of our adventures were going to be tropical.”
“So you set your arctic adventures aside. You weren’t about to go anywhere cold with Dan?” Waylon asked.
“No way.” Frankie fiddled with the top of her purse. “But I sure want to see puffins someday.”
Puffins . Didn’t that podcast on the bus mention a boat ride to some sort of puffin island right before it faded out? A strange excitement filled Waylon’s chest.
“Puffins, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Where?” he asked tentatively.
She side-eyed him. “Someplace I could also see the northern lights. That’s at the top of my personal list.”
“Yeah?” Waylon’s heart skipped. “Puffins and northern lights. Is that all you want to see?”
“Oh, heck no.” She grinned. “I need some culture, too. Like a museum.”
This can’t be happening .
Waylon tapped his chin, pretending he was in deep thought. “So, where can you see puffins and Northern Lights, and go to a museum, I wonder?” He looked her straight in the eye. “What kind of a museum? There are all kinds, you know. ”
Frankie nodded. “Well, I like eighties movie music as much as anyone else, but I’m kind of a fan of punk, too.”
Waylon felt almost light-headed. “So, you’d want to go to a punk museum?”
God, the way she was looking at him. “Does that sound crazy?” she asked.
“Not crazy at all,” he told her. “As a matter of fact, I once heard something about a punk museum somewhere and I thought it sounded pretty cool.”
He watched her face light up and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Did you?” she asked.
“I did. So. Any other kind of museum you’d like to see?”
Instead of answering, Frankie opened her purse and rummaged around inside.
Then, slowly, she pulled out a small earbud case.
Waylon’s heart filled with goofy joy.
It’s her.
It is her.
She found the earbud in my pocket and didn’t tell me.
Frankie flipped open the top. Inside rested two earbuds.
Except they were mismatched.
One looked practically new just like the case but the other was horribly scratched up.
It occurred to him that an earbud could get pretty scuffed if it spent the winter jangling around in a pocket full of change.
Frankie studied the case, then took a deep breath like she was preparing to bungee jump off a cliff.
She doesn’t know if they’ll work. She hasn’t tested them yet .
Then with one swift, decisive move, Frankie took them out of the case. The little red light on each one turned blue and “Vacation” cut out from her phone speaker. At least one earbud had connected to her phone. Frankie hit pause on the playlist .
“Catch,” she said, then tossed the scratched-up earbud straight up in the air.
Waylon caught it.
They grinned at each other.
He put it in his right ear while she put the other one in her left.
Instead of turning Dan’s mixtape back on, Frankie scrolled through her ‘favorites list’ on the music app and found what she was looking for. She hit play.
“—penis museum!” blared into Waylon’s ear. He jumped just like he did on the bus the first time Frankie tossed him an earbud.
Frankie’s laughter was identical, too.
“How?” she asked.
“I’d lost a bet and had to give up my vehicles for a week,” Waylon said. “I hated it. I was relieved it was my last day. Then I met you. I rode that bus for the next two weeks just hoping to see you again.”
She shook her head in disbelief.
“Frankie. Why did you leave like that? Why didn’t you get your earbud back?” He smirked. “Was I that hideous?”
Frankie rolled her eyes. “No.”
“Then why?” he pressed.
“Because the stop after the one where I got out was mine, and I was tempted to skip it and stay on the bus to meet you.”
“I wish you had.”
Frankie shook her head as she looked down. “You don’t.”
“Why?” He touched her cheek, slid his thumb under her chin, and raised her head until she was looking into his eyes again.
“Do you remember what the next stop was?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Waylon frowned. He remembered the stop she was supposed to get off on was just before his, at the hospital.
“Oh.” He stretched out the sound, barely more than a sad sigh.
“Right. That was the day of my surgery. I was afraid that if I didn’t get off the bus right then, I never would. I’d back out. And I thought, it’s only a cheap earbud. What does it matter? I may not need it much longer anyway.” She bit her lip and shrugged, laughing a little. “The doctor didn’t want me driving for a few days after my surgery. I didn’t have anyone else to call to take me or pick me up. I took the bus instead of a ride share because I wanted to get to the hospital as slowly as possible. I wanted to stretch my BC life as far as I could because I knew everything would change on the other side of that line. So I was on that bus for the first and last time. One day’s difference and we wouldn’t have met.”
“Baby.” Waylon pulled her into his arms and held her, cradling her head and swaying them both slowly.
“During chemo, I told Dan about the bus and the earbud. She was the one who said that it could be my anchor back to a normal life. Or the beacon to a kickass one full of adventure, and who better to leave it with than the smoking hot guy with the great laugh?”
Waylon smiled. “And here we are.”
“ Now do you believe in fate?” she asked.
“I do.” Waylon kissed the top of her head. “Ready?”
She nodded. They took the earbuds out and Frankie put them back into their charging case. She kissed her palm, then pressed it against Dan’s marker.
“You were right about the beacon, Dan. Just don’t get smug about it.”
They walked back to the car. As Waylon was helping her in, she stopped.
“Can we do one more thing before we go?” she asked.
“Why do you say that like it’s illegal?”
“Because it’s probably illegal.”
Waylon blew out a breath. “All right. Lay it on me.”
Ten minutes later, they were back at Dan’s grave, admiring their work.
“It’s really more of a Halloween trick than a crime, if you think about it,” Frankie said.
“If they have a security camera, I hope whoever lives there sees it that way. ”
“Oh. Huh. I didn’t think about that.” She grabbed his hand. “We’d better get back to your car and get out of here.”
Waylon laughed as Frankie tried to run through the cemetery in her heels. He swept her up and carried her back to the Camaro.
Behind them, the Jack-O-Lantern they’d stolen off the porch steps rested beside Dan’s marker, candlelit eyes twinkling with mischief under the Halloween moon.