Page 35 of Anywhere with You

I was glad not to be in Cara’s car. It was bad enough to look over and see an empty seat where she should be.

Lane’s boss, Alyssa, had been more than happy to give me a ride, though her front passenger seat was stacked with boxes that had to have the AC, or her makeup samples would melt, so I sat in the sweltering back seat.

“It’s like I’m your Uber driver,” Alyssa joked.

As it turned out, though, she was more like a very bad stand-up comedian in a room in which I was trapped for three hours. She would give me every detail of extremely boring anecdotes, then laugh loudly as though what she’d said had been funny.

Without meaning to, I started imagining how I’d tell Cara about her, mimicking Alyssa’s story about buying a lawn mower, and how she’d tracked down a print copy of a Consumer Reports about lawn mowers and studied it thoroughly, only to find out it was ten years old and the mowers she read about weren’t even being sold anymore . Ha ha ha!

I felt a little bad making fun of her, even mentally. She’d been kind enough to drive me and even turned down my offer to pay for gas.

But mostly, I just wanted quiet. I wanted to stop trying to overthink every single choice I made and remember all the good moments of Cara’s and my time together, every stop, every remarkable view, to imprint our trip on my mind forever.

I had never done anything like this, this weeklong road trip into the unknown.

I’d never seen so many amazing things, learned so much, and talked so much with another human being.

I wondered about her road trip questions, whether she’d really just meant to pass the time or because she’d wanted for us to know each other better, whether she’d ever imagined that us getting to know each other would mean caring more than we’d ever expected.

The drive felt longer than any day I’d spent in the car with Cara. I drifted off to sleep at one point and woke up, reaching for her.

Eventually, I saw the airport signs, and Alyssa dropped me at departures, smiling and waving as I struggled with my guitar and suitcase.

The flight from Phoenix to Houston was worse than I imagined.

The sterile gray of the airport and plane was like eating paste after the holy natural loveliness of the hot springs.

There were too many people, with all their terrible people smells.

I paid too much for bad coffee and sat in uncomfortable chairs, wallowing in the wrongness of being here, when Cara and the beautiful world were out there, reachable, but abandoned.

The flight itself was fine. I didn’t stress about air travel, even with all the malfunctions in the news. It was possible that the idea of falling out of the sky seemed like the solution to pretty much all my problems.

But when we landed safely in Houston, I had to start facing them.

I got a rideshare, a real one and not a trapped-with-a-comedian nightmare, to Cara’s apartment building to get my car. The rideshare’s GPS did not sound like Sir David Attenborough. It was such a terrible, boring voice that I could barely stand it.

I stood outside Cara’s apartment for a moment, strangely tempted to knock, even though I knew she wasn’t there.

Then I got in my own empty car and drove straight to Strings & Things.

The cash register and the bell over the door chimed simultaneously as I entered. Doug was behind the counter and did a double take when he saw me but quickly returned his attention to the customer, who had just bought one of our nicer acoustic guitars.

I looked around. There were customers here. Real customers, some of them putting accessories into our seldom-used handheld shopping baskets.

Florence emerged from the back, looking frazzled, and walked right past me to a waiting customer.

I took a step closer to eavesdrop.

“…will be in tomorrow’s shipment, so you’ll get the first pick of the Stentor violins.”

The customer left empty-handed, but smiling.

“What is going on?” I whispered behind Florence.

She spun around, wide-eyed. “Honey! You’re back! Oh no. You’re back. What happened?”

“Car broke down. There are customers here.” It was more a question than a statement, and Florence gestured for me to join her in my office.

The desk looked more organized than I’d left it. I had a sneaking suspicion that the whole business would’ve run better from the start if Florence had been in charge, though back then she hadn’t known a Fender from a Hoover.

I sat in my chair, and she collapsed in the one across from me, looking exhausted.

“At this rate, we’ll have to hire more staff. I’ve been running all over hell’s half acre. I can’t spend ten hours a day on my feet like I used to.”

“More staff?” I gaped. “When I left, I was worried how I was going to keep paying the two that I have. What is going on?”

Her forehead furrowed. “You know.”

“I know…what?”

“The Mesmio thing. Your friend posted videos of you playing a couple of times, talking about the store, and of course, the two of you are just adorable anyway.”

I tried not to linger on that last part. “What about Mesmio?”

Florence’s eyes went wide. “You don’t know? You’re…what’s the word… virus ?”

It took me a second. “Viral?”

“That’s the one, darlin’. We’ve got people driving in from Katy, Friendswood, Baytown, the whole area.

Doug got the idea to ask them to post about the store online, even got a couple of funny signs made up— Don’t get strung along.

Shop Strings & Things. He’s as smart as all get out.

And don’t get me started on the online orders. ”

I was shaking my head. “We’ve never had a single online order.”

“Well, now we do. Doug saved little pictures of you and your friend off the Mesmio, and he writes a note and sends them along with the package. He really is a gem.”

My head was whirling. I leaned into the top of the desk for a moment. I focused on Doug forging my signature on notes to my…fans? That should probably stop. But it was a smart idea.

I sat up straight, meeting Florence’s worried expression.

“Thank you for taking care of everything this week. You have no idea how wonderful it was to get away for a while. I didn’t expect to come home to a thriving business, but you know what?

We deserve this, you and me and Doug. We’ve worked hard to get this far. ”

She smiled, looking relieved. “I better get back out there before they overrun Doug.”

She left, closing the door behind her, and I looked at the corner of my desk, at the envelope with my name and address in too-large letters, right where I’d left it.

I picked it up and held it in my hands, feeling the weight of the pages.

A week ago, I had been too afraid to open it, too afraid to acknowledge that my marriage was over, that the woman I’d loved so completely didn’t love me anymore.

And I made myself a promise, one that I thought would make Cara proud: I was going to open this envelope, right now, and the next phase in my life was going to begin, and I was going to face it. No, I was going to embrace it.

Bridget was gone, and I truly didn’t want her back. My marriage was over, and that felt like a different sort of grief, somehow. But I would grieve while moving forward.

And if Bridget took everything, if she took the store, which she had every right to do, then that would still not stop me. I would make the life I wanted.

And if I failed, I’d know that I did everything I could possibly do to succeed. I would be brave. And I would keep going.

I grabbed a corner and tore open the envelope.