Page 8 of Only the Wicked

A comfortable silence falls between us, until she breaks it, saying, “I said I’m from Chicago, meaning I was born there. My old job was in D.C. I haven’t decided where I’ll live. Checking this place out. Considering here. Is that crazy?”

“No. I love this state. It’s a great place to live.” As the keynote speaker to the Stanford class of 2023, I spoke of the importance of loving where you live. I’d been thinking of my home state, of growing up here, of simpler times. “Are you ready to settle down? Is that why you’re considering a small town?”

She laughs. The sound is light and carefree and rings across the wind like a chime.

“Is that a no?”

“To settling down?”

I lift a shoulder, gesturing affirmatively. It’s not a crazy question. Or maybe it doesn’t feel crazy to me because at forty-one there are those in my life who lob the question at me all the time and have for years.

“There might be a job opportunity here. But it’ll involve a lot of travel, so no, not settling down.”

Her gaze drifts through the trees, and I sense a change in topic is advisable.

What does one talk about other than work? Politics? Absolutely not. The economy? The value of the dollar?

“What was growing up in Charlotte like?”

Her question has me smiling. She saved me.

“No complaints. It’s a good place to grow up. Was.” My eyebrows lift as the weight of how much time has passed sinks in. “Twenty years ago.”

I’m not sure where to go with that, so I step quietly, wading through a sense of nostalgia.

“Did you learn to climb out here? In the North Carolina mountains?”

Once again, she saves me with her conversational direction.

“Not really. More out West. But I’ll come back one day. Hit places like Linville Gorge.” I pause, wondering if I should throw it out there. The angle women love. And, what the hell. It’s a means to an end and a benign tactic. “One day we’ll come back together. When we’re all healed, we’ll see who’s the better climber.” She flushes. Referencing a joint future is always an easy win. “What skill level are you?”

“Expert.”

A lift of the eyebrow, a jut of the chin. Proud of her abilities. I chuckle. Yeah, she’s a lot like me.

We share climbing stories the rest of the way down. It takes us about twice as long with her bum leg, but it’s all good. To Sydney without a last name, I’m a random guy who helped her down a mountain.

We reach our cars; two of four cars parked in the gravel lot. We didn’t cross any other hikers, which means they chose the long way.

Her car’s parked further away than mine, but there’s a gravitational pull I can’t control pulling me to my rental.

I’m a fucking idiot. I should help her to her car, then grab the phone. It’s a fucking addiction.

I sling the door open and snatch the phone from the charger.

Fifty-five missed messages.

“Everything okay?”

I click the screen and skim the notifications. Nothing requiring immediate action, but the pattern of messages from investors, board members, and our CFO gnaws at me. The message from Daisy is the only one I care to see.

* * *

Daisy Jonas

Got what u need

* * *