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Rio:If you could tell a story to do all that, you can certainly help write a children’s book.
Oren:LOL. What would it be about?
Rio:Music. I’m thinking two clefs meet, a treble clef and a bass clef, and fall in love and decide they could make beautiful music together, so they create concertos and operas. I see thefront cover with the two symbols embracing, which would form a heart…
Oren:Nice!
Rio:It could be a metaphor for us.
Oren:Oh. You’ve thought about this?
Rio:Sorry, I have to go. I hear Vi coming downstairs. She never comes down here. This can’t be good.
Oren:OK, text me later. Stay safe.
April 29, 2018
Rio:Hey.
Oren:Hey. What are you up to? How’s the book coming?
Rio:I haven’t started writing it yet. It’s too chaotic and toxic here. Maybe if I crashed with you for a few weeks, we could start something??!! LOL
Oren:Start something? You mean your children’s book, right?
Rio:Yes. Though, you never know what else might happen?!
Oren:You’re such a tease!
Rio:Maybe I’m not teasing. It’s been a long time since I last had sex. LOL. And I keep looking at that picture of you and MJ at that awards dinner. You look so dapper and damned sexy!
Oren:Hmmm. Well, you know I’d like to help…
Oren:And I know how that feels. I haven’t had sex since Jackson left.
Rio:Vi is selling the house, so I have to get out. Do you have a couch I can crash on next month for a couple of weeks??!!
Oren:Better. I have an entire guest suite with its own bathroom and balcony.
Rio:What, I’m not welcome in the master bedroom?
Oren:You asked for a couch!
Wednesday, May 9, 2018, St. Jude—Hearing the crunch of gravel, I looked out the window to see Rio coming down the driveway in his ancient bright-yellow Subaru Baja with its red-and-black pinstripe along the sides. I walked outside to help him with his bags and was surprised by how little he had. After an awkward hug (just the feel of his arms around me was enough to wake Roscoe from his slumber), I led him to the guest room to put his things down. Then we retreated to the den. Beyond the windows, the clean, clear canal glittered like shards of mirror reflecting pink flowers on the cherry blossom trees, suffusing the room with a warm, rosy light.
Turning from the windows, he looked around the room curiously. Dotted around the room, often in clusters of three, were crystal vases filled with rocks. Picking one up and examining it, he asked, “Rocks? Why rocks?”
I shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “I think they’re beautiful. I like that thousands of people, longing for beauty but not expecting to find beauty, unwilling to look for it, assume it isn’t there and so walk right past it.”
“But why not flowers?”
“Flowers wither and die. I like permanence. I suppose that’s why I’ve never had a one-night stand or a hookup…”
“You’ve never—”
I shook my head. “I’m too romantic, I suppose. Besides, Jackson and I were together since we were sixteen years old.”
“I love that about you—you’re loyal and a romantic,” he said.