by N. S. Moore
That’s how long it’s been since I last saw Wren.
I watched the news coverage of her story as it was unfolding for about a week. The media used pictures of her from before the kidnapping, and it was nice to see her as she truly was. Is. Who she is meant to be.
She’s beautiful. I mean, I always knew that she was, but I hadn’t realized how much stress I had put on her until I saw her as she was before the bank robbery.
Mexico isn’t really that bad. My hair color has grown out, and I’ve got a tan. I’m eating regularly, and I haven’t had anything stronger than a Coke in over three months. When I look in the mirror, I almost don’t even recognize myself.
I look a little bit like me—the old me—the me before I left home, with just a hint of the rebel that I spent so fucking much time being.
I’ve gained a little weight, and I actually feel better than I have in a long time. Like I might be human again and not a fucking sewer rat.
The news on the incident died down pretty fast, and it seems like forever since I’ve seen Wren’s face. I see it every night when I close my eyes, but it’s not enough.
It will never be enough.
I made it all the way down to Mexico City when I finally decided to stop running. I’ve settled in here. I was doing a bunch of odd jobs for a while—janitor, bus boy in a restaurant, that sort of thing for a while. Then, one day while I was working at the restaurant, a senior citizen tour group came in to eat. They were all American, and I found myself giving them a little extra attention and just hanging out and talking to a bunch of them, even after my shift.
I didn’t think anyone was paying much attention, but the next day I was approached by a guy who works for a company that does tours like this—specializing in catering to the over sixty-five group. He asked if I’d be interested in coming to work for him—doing parts of the tours and organizing activities.
“You mean like some sort of camp counselor?” I asked, and he laughed.
“Something like that,” he said. “We have groups coming through daily. I would need you to work with my team to coordinate some parts of the trip, find new and different activities and basically just treat them like you really like them.”
I nodded. I do like them. I hadn’t really taken the time to think about it ever before, but after doing part of the tour with seniors and Wren, I found that I kind of liked the geriatric set. They were far more interesting to be around than people my own age, and they didn’t want anything from me except a little of my time—and friendship.
I could do that.
So I took the job. I’ve been at it for about two months now. The money is good, and some of the things that we do as a group are things that I’m doing for the first time. That makes it a little more fun—like we’re all going through it together.
Shit, not only do I look normal now, but I’m acting it too. Only, it’s not an act. This is me.
It’s late tonight. I’m sitting outside of my apartment on my little balcony and looking up at the stars. Some nights I wonder if Wren is looking up at the stars too, and then I have to stop myself and try and stay focused on myself and getting my shit together.
I kind of think I have.
I’m gainfully employed, the cops aren’t looking for me, and I finally feel like I’m in a good place. I’m comfortable in my own skin for the first time in years—maybe in my entire life.
The only part of my life that is lacking—if we’re being honest—is my sex life. Maybe someday I’ll get laid again, but for now, it’s just not worth it. I’ve had plenty of offers, believe me, but I don’t want any other woman.
I want Wren.
Only Wren.
I sigh and look at the sky. It’s a clear night, and I realize that I can keep sitting here and saying that I’ve got my shit together all night long, but the fact still remains that I’m hiding in Mexico.
Walking back inside, I look around my tiny apartment. It’s basically a studio, but the rent is good, and the place is bright and clean. I had lived in the fucking dark for so long that it was a little hard to get used to. But I am now.
So what’s next?
What’s the next chapter of my life supposed to be?
Home.
The word comes to mind before I can stop it, and it’s not nearly as scary or has distasteful as it once was.
Home.
Do I even know what that is anymore?
Do I even have one anymore?
Only one way to find out.
I know it’s late, and that it’s been years. I can only hope that maybe the time that I’ve been gone has given my folks the chance to see that life shouldn’t be taken for granted. Maybe they’ve learned to see other people for who they really are.
Maybe they’ll finally see me for who I really am and accept me for it.
I don’t want to just hop a bus or a plane and show up on their doorstep. I don’t think I could handle a face-to-face rejection. So I decide to call them and let them know where I am and leave the ball in their court.
And hope that they don’t hang up on me.
I dial the number that I know by heart and wait for someone to answer. Like I said, it’s late, and last I remember, they were typically in bed by eleven on a week night. The phone rings and rings and finally goes to voicemail.
It’s the first time I’ve heard my mother’s voice in years, and my chest aches at the sound. The little boy in me remembers it—even if we never shared bedtime stories or a lot of pleasant memories, it’s still the voice of my mom and it washes over me.
“…leave a message after the tone,” she says.
Beep.
“Hi…mom, dad, it’s me. Cody.” I take a deep breath. “I know it’s been a while and…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed away so long. I’m down in Mexico City and…I don’t know…I just wanted to say hello and see how you were both doing.” I leave my number. “Anyway…I love you guys and…I’m sorry.”
I hang up and feel like another giant weight has been lifted. They may not call me back, hell, they may never speak to me again, but at least I know that I tried. I extended the olive branch and that’s all I can do.
My conscience is clear.
****
A week later I’m painting pottery with today’s senior group. I’m listening to old Joe talk about his plumbing business and he’s keeping everyone entertained. I look down at what I’ve been messing with and feel slightly amused.
I’m painting flowers on a vase.
Who the hell am I?
I break out laughing and everyone turns to look at me. I hold up my vase. “I think my man-card should be revoked after this,” I say with a smile and all of the ladies tell me how adorable I am and what a romantic I must be.
Yeah, right. I’m a regular fucking Casanova.
An hour later we wrap up and one of the other employees of the company takes over to take the group to dinner. I wish everyone a good night and stay behind to help the owner of art studio clean up.
The sun is starting to go down as I make my way home. There’s a nice breeze tonight and I’m thinking that I’ll grill something on my little charcoal grill that I have on my balcony. Nothing fancy. Maybe a burger.
I turn the corner and wave to some of my neighbors and make my way up the street to my building. There are a couple of people standing out in the courtyard with my landlord, Juan. They don’t look familiar and as I keep walking I wonder if we’re getting some new tenants in the building.
I stop as I see Juan point to me and the couple turns around.
It’s my parents.
Holy shit!
Do I run?
Do I walk?
I can’t move. Seriously, my legs refuse to move and I suddenly feel completely unprepared. I know I called them, but they never called back. I figured they’d washed their hands of me and that was that.
My dad starts to walk toward me and still I can’t move.
Next thing I know we’re face to face.
He’s gotten older. He’s a lot grayer than I remember and his face looks different—sadder—than I remember. I can tell that he’s just about to say something when my mother comes running up and wraps her arms around me.
She’s never done that.
She’s also never run, but that’s another story. Pulling back, she cups my face in her hands as tears stream down her face. She suddenly smiles and says my name.
“Cody…”
And then both she and my dad hug me.
That’s all it took and I felt like I was finally home. Like everything was going to be all right.
Epilogue
Wren
My life is split into two realities. Before Code. And after him.
I’m in the after-Code reality now, as I walk up the stairs to my apartment.
I moved out of my dad’s house a couple of months ago, once I started feeling more normal. He was worried at first, but he was pleased with the security in this building, and I think he understands why I need to be on my own.
I turned nineteen almost four months ago, on the day that everything changed.
Tonight, I’ve been out with some friends—Nora and a couple of other girls I’ve started hanging out with from college. We went to a movie and then to get a snack, and I’m kind of tired now and am thinking about going to bed early.
That’s what’s on my mind—going to bed early—when I walk down my hall and see that someone new is moving in next door to me.
There are a couple of boxes in the hallway, and the door is propped open. The building is near the university, so there are always people moving in and out. I don’t give it a second-thought except to hope whoever it is doesn’t like to have wall-banging sex or to turn their music up too loud.
I’m unlocking my door when I hear the elevator bong and the doors slide open. Before I open my door, I glance down to catch a glimpse of my new neighbor.
He’s a good-looking guy with dark hair and a very fine body. That’s my first impression.
Then something strikes me as noteworthy, and I turn back to look again.
His hair is dark again—its natural color. And he’s clean-shaven and wearing jeans and a t-shirt. The tattoos still run down one arm, branding his skin as distinctly as the mark of Cain. He looks different. Less rough. Less hard. But his eyes are just as intense and deep and almost fierce with the emotion they hold.
Right now, they’re also a little questioning, as he puts down the box he’s carrying and steps over toward me.
I’m frozen, paralyzed by the overwhelming wave of surprise and feeling rushing over me.
“Hi,” he says, giving me just a little smile.
“Hi,” I manage to choke. I’m shaking a little so I brace myself against my door, which I haven’t yet opened.
He can’t be here. It’s like my most fantastical daydreams have come to life. But it’s wrong. He’ll get in trouble. He’ll get arrested.
We both always knew that some things are impossible in the world as it is.
He holds out a hand, as if he’s introducing himself to his new neighbor. “I’m Cody.”
I stare down at the big, masculine hand that has touched me all over, brought me heights of pleasure, killed a man for my sake. “Cody?”
“Yeah. Cody Martin.” His eyes grow more questioning than before. “If you don’t really want to get to know your neighbors, I’ll understand.”
I realize he’s giving me a way out, in case I’ve changed my mind in the last four months and don’t want anything to do with him now.
Maybe he thinks I’ve gotten over whatever Stockholm Syndrome I was possessed with before and only see him as a criminal and a kidnapper now.
I reach out to shake his hand, the only gesture I’m capable of.
His face relaxes, and he smiles for real—not broadly but with genuine warmth.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say. “So your name is Cody?”
“Yeah. It’s real.”
He’d always acted like he was never going to return to his family, ask them for anything, have anything to do with them again. He’d been running from them his whole life. But maybe he’s changed.
“And,” I begin, trying to think through how to ask the question. “And there isn’t any…any baggage connected to the name?”
He’s still holding my hand in his strong, warm grip. “Nothing. I haven’t used it in years, but it was time to go back to it.”
“And you’re…you’re living here now?”
“Yeah. If it’s okay with you.”
I’m shaking again, but with a surge of joy. It isn’t happening. It just can’t be happening.
I never believe the world would allow something like this. The bright horizon the pathway of light was always leading to.
“It’s fine with me. I’ll be happy to have a new neighbor,” I tell him. “As long as you don’t play your music too loud.”
I’m not sure why we’re still going through the motions with this introduction, but if feels important. Like we’re just beginning a different kind of relationship, and it needs to begin in a normal way, with introductions, with preliminaries.
He laughs, low and warm. “I’ll do my best.” His eyes run up and down my body, and I see something hungry blaze up in his eyes.
It makes me hungry too, like neither of us can be truly satisfied without the other.
“Tell me a little about yourself. Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, a different timbre in his tone.
“No.” I shift slightly, my body reacting to his tone and the expression in his eyes. “I was really into a guy a few months ago, but I didn’t think it would work out. And, since then, I haven’t even been interested.”
“The same thing happened to me.” He steps forward, closer to me. “I think we have a lot in common.”
“Who would have guessed?”
I’m breathless and smiling as I gaze up at Code—who is who he’s always been, only better. Better.
And I realize something else. My life is really split into three realities. Before Code. After him.
And now.
***
Code
So this is what it took to break free.
I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when I saw Wren again. Wasn’t sure of her reaction. Or mine. When I stepped off the elevator, my first instinct was to drop the box that I was holding and just walk over and claim her.
Like I’d done so many times before.
But this is different now. A new beginning. For both of us.
A lot of time has gone by – and I hadn’t been able to find out a whole lot about her except where she was living and going to school.
I’m not gonna lie—I watched her for about a week and was relieved when it looked like she wasn’t dating anyone. Not that it meant that she’d want anything to do with me, but the possessive part of me liked knowing that there wasn’t another man in her life.
Touching her.
Loving her.
Going back to my real name wasn’t as hard as I’d thought. Actually, going back to my life wasn’t as hard as I’d thought.
After my parents had arrived in Mexico, we spent about a week together—just getting to know each other again. Really getting to know each other for the first time. It was amazing. They didn’t ask what I had been doing all the time that I’d been gone, and I didn’t offer.
All I knew was that they were happy—relieved—to see me and wanted me to come home. Things have been different since I’ve been back. I lived with them for a couple of weeks back in Jersey, but I was restless and they understood it.
Part of the good thing about their social stature is that doors have opened for me that otherwise might not have. It still amazed me that from their perch fifteen-hundred miles away from here that they were able to – and willing to – pull some strings for me.
Like with this apartment.
There had been a waiting list for this particular building because of its location to the univer
sity, and yet here I am. I’m learning to embrace who they are—who we are—and not resent it so much.
Standing here in the hallway looking at Wren, it’s just…amazing. I had gone through a dozen different scenarios and plans about how we were going to see each other again. I thought about meeting up accidentally at the park or someplace public. I imagined showing up at her door with flowers.
I feel like I’ve been planning this moment since I walked out of that hotel room in Laredo.
I shake my head and chase that thought away. No more. That’s not who I am anymore and that’s not who Wren is anymore. I want this new beginning. A fresh start.
I realize that we’re still holding hands and a small chuckle escapes my lips. I look up and meet her eyes and see the same happiness and relief that I feel.
“So…are you new to this area?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I am. I did some traveling and have been staying with my folks for a couple of weeks up North – just until I found the place that I wanted to be.”
She nods with understanding and then tilts her head to the side, studying me. “It’s not easy to get into a place like this. I had heard that there was a waiting list.”
I leaned in close like I was getting ready to tell her a secret. “Sometimes it pays to know the right people.”
We both laugh as I take a step back and finally pull my hand from hers. I miss the connection already.
We’re silent, but it’s not the awkward kind. I could stare at Wren for a lifetime and have it not be enough. “What do you do for a living?”
There are a million things that I want to tell her—that I want to say to her—when an idea comes to mind.
“You know what? It’s kinda late and I really need to get these boxes inside. Plus there are a few more down in the truck.” She looks disappointed, like she thinks that I’m blowing her off. “I’d really like to keep talking with you, though. How about we go for coffee tomorrow? Do you have classes?”
She shakes her head and smiles shyly. “I’d like that.”
“I should warn you, I’m a pretty early riser. Would you mind going in the morning?”
Her smile widens. “How early are we talking?”