KAT WANDERFULL: What are you getting at?
MRCUSTOM: Just saying that if you were mine, I’d want to be around you. I’d want to see you in those fields of wildflowers. Sink my feet into the lake, next to yours. Stand beneath the waterfall with you. And I’d give you a stack of Christmas presents so tall, it’d put the Eiffel Tower to shame.
KAT WANDERFULL: How old are you?
MRCUSTOM: 27. Why?
KAT WANDERFULL: Because your notions of love, while sweet, are unrealistic. Anyone with experience should know better.
MRCUSTOM: Or maybe I have enough experience to know what love should look like. I won’t settle for anything less.
KAT WANDERFULL: I hate to say it, but if that’s your philosophy, you better get used to being eaten alive.
MRCUSTOM: I’m not concerned. Who’d want to mess with Jabba the Hutt?
CHAPTER SEVEN
You must think I’m the dumbest man on the planet.” John wiped his mouth, then tossed his balled napkin on the table at Stella’s. “I don’t understand why you’ve kept this from me. For two years, Keira. Two years. And then you finally tell me right before you leave on a long trip?”
“I didn’t tell you because you’re always complaining about how dumb social media is. How everyone on there is a fraud, trying to be someone they’re not.”
“You’ve certainly proven my point, haven’t you? All this time, I thought you were going on these trips to find yourself—”
“I have—”
“Instead, you’ve been building this SimCity life for yourself. Let me ask . . . do you open yourself up to your virtual friends?”
Guilt swelled in Keira’s chest cavity. Should she tell John about MRCustom? Well, honey, there’s a man who has become my dearest friend, and we counsel each other through life’s trials. But, oh yeah, I don’t know his real name.
A vein in John’s forehead pulsed. “Do any of them know the real you? Keira?” He held up a hand, not that she had planned to say anything. “Or is Kat the real you, and I’ve latched on to this character you’ve created?”
“They’re both me, John.”
“Nope, I don’t know this woman.” John waved a dismissal at her phone, still displaying her Kat Wanderfull profile picture. “I know Keira—the local geography teacher. Keira—the girl who likes keeping a man around in case she ever decides she’s ready to settle down—”
“John, stop.”
“Keira—the girl who’s scared to death to take a risk. Keira—the girl who’s afraid to be alone even if she won’t admit it.”
“Stop, please.”
“Keira—the little mouse—”
She slammed her palm on the table, rattling the silverware and glasses.
At the front of the restaurant, Victor, the restaurant’s owner, perked up. He started to make his way across the room. Keira shook her head, and he stopped.
“Enough, John.” She smoothed her napkin across her lap. “I haven’t intentionally tried to hide this part of myself. Please understand that I do want to be able to give myself to one person fully. But I did that once, and I got burned. Those scars, they changed me.”
“I’m not Robbie, though.”
No, most definitely you are not. “I know. Look, I came back here with the intention of building a life here—separate from Robbie, but close enough to keep an eye on my mom. You know how my father can be. As far as you and I? I didn’t want a relationship. But I met you, and you’re good and kind and understanding. You’re the only thing that’s keeping me here anymore. But I see how miserable I’m making you. You deserve a woman who can give you everything. That’s why it’s time I make a clean break, from this town, from you—”
“Keira, no. Don’t go there. You’re being illogical. I have an idea—hear me out. When I’m in this town, I spend way too much time as Principal Garfield and not enough time as John. Keira’s John. But hey, I can be fun. I can be spontaneous. You live for adventure. Well . . . so do I.”
She gave him a funny look. “Sure, Mr. Irons-his-socks, you’re a regular Bear Grylls.”
A pout puckered John’s mouth. “Give me a chance. Let me join you for this summer Travelganza you have planned.”
“Travelganza? Is that a word?”
“I made it up. See? Wild, fun, spontaneous.” He patted his chest. “Let me come with you. I know my way around a camera.”
That much was true. The school hallways displayed his photographs of the high school students. Pretty good for an amateur. Still, though . . .
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides, I’m leaving tomorrow night. Don’t you have work to do to close out the school year?”
John thought a moment. “I will have some work to do in our downtime. But Gillian can handle some of the face-to-face stuff. That’s what vice principals are for, right?” He smiled. “Please, let me join you. I promise to leave my iron at home. Maybe my socks, too.”
Sitting back in her chair, Keira shook her head. “I don’t believe it. You? Wear sandals without socks? That’s not exactly hygienic.”
“Okay, perhaps I’ll bring a couple of pairs of socks.” He kissed her hand. “If you don’t enjoy my company, then we’ll know it’s not meant to be. But promise me something. If you do like having me around, accept my proposal and let’s give this marriage thing a shot.”
“John, I—”
He pressed two fingers to her lips. Holding her gaze, he pulled the ring out of his pocket. “I’ve carried this in my pocket every day since, you know, the last time I asked. Just hoping that you’ll realize you can’t live without me and beg me to put it on your hand. I’m not expecting you to wear it on your left hand.” He took her right hand and slid the ring on her third finger. “Let this be a sign that you haven’t completely given up hope. Give me one summer to win you over.”
If she could figure out how to open her whole self to him, she would. For all his patience and love, he deserved as much.
Still, blending Keira and Kat wouldn’t be easy. Like fire and ice. Oil and vinegar. John and Robbie.
“But if you choose me, really choose me. No more Robbie. Erase the memories. And after you’ve had your fun this summer, no more Kat Wanderlust, or whatever. Leave those ghosts behind. It’s time to grow up and put aside all these silly dreams of yours.”
* * *
* * *
As the clock neared midnight, Robbie tapped out a message on his phone, warding off his exhaustion. It was all catching up to him. Staying up late to read books beyond his comprehension. Chatting with Kat Wanderfull on Momentso. Working like crazy to finish the teachers’ lounge remodel in record time. Replaying last night’s birthday party again and again. All while trying to plan his date with Hallie tomorrow.
That date. He wasn’t in the right headspace for it, but he’d committed. Who knows? Maybe Hallie was the girl he was hoping for.
MRCUSTOM: I think I’m half Lennie and half George. They wanted a simple life at home. So do I. My greatest dream is to meet a girl who’ll sit by the fireplace with me, discussing classic novels I barely understand, without having to thumb each sentence onto a tiny screen.
Robbie placed his phone on the coffee table, then lay down on the couch with his basketball-shooting hand stretched toward the ceiling. The Steinbeck novel sprang up through the air, paused about three feet above, then fell back down to his grasp in an un-basketball-like way. If he’d gotten the audiobook instead, he would’ve had the whole thing finished by now. Not that he didn’t like this or other classics. He loved a good story. It sucked him in until he felt as if it was his battle to fight, his girl to save, his kingdom to protect. If only he didn’t have to actually read the story.
Hey, Kat, sorry it’s taking me so long to finish Of Mice and Men, but I have the reading level of a sixth grader. Not embarrassed at all by that little fact, by
the way.
From where it lay, his phone goaded him to see if she’d responded yet. Anabelle had been asleep for two hours, and there was nothing on television. It was either check the phone obsessively or play book basketball again. When he gave in to another Momentso check, he was rewarded with a new message and a green dot on Kat’s avatar.
KAT WANDERFULL: Sounds like a nice dream. And I hope you get that one day, but I need to be clear. If my boyfriend and I want a chance at going the distance, I need to let go of this friendship. Truth is, I talk to you way more deeply than I speak to him. That’s not right. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on into thinking this could ever be more than a conversation.
Wait. Was she . . . dumping him? Maybe Kat and Keira had more in common than he thought.
He put his phone back on the table. Book basketball was way more fun than this. He tried to spin the book on the tip of his finger. It fell, nearly knocking over his glass of water. Big fail. His phone lit up with her next message.
KAT WANDERFULL: You there?
He groaned and picked up the phone again.
MRCUSTOM: No need to apologize. If he’s what you want, I won’t stand in your way. I hope he’ll make you happy and finally give you the family you deserve.
KAT WANDERFULL: Thanks for understanding.
MRCUSTOM: Before you go, can I ask you a question? It’s about the book.
KAT WANDERFULL: Go ahead.
He flipped through the pages of the book, looking for anything he could ask. Anything to keep her with him, even for one more minute. Pathetic. That’s what he was. Or lonely. Like Curley’s wife.
Aha.
MRCUSTOM: Does Steinbeck ever tell us Curley’s wife’s name? Confession: I haven’t finished it yet. *Hides face in shame.*
KAT WANDERFULL: No shame needed. But, no, we never learn her name.
MRCUSTOM: Why?
KAT WANDERFULL: Her only identity is the one her husband gave her—his wife. Before that, she was probably known as such and such’s daughter. To me, she’s the most tragic character in American literature. Her life wasn’t her own. Neither was her name. She was on the fast track to self-destruction because of it.
He pictured Keira in the high school hallway that first day they spoke. Around town, she was the Knudsen daughter. In college, she’d been Robbie’s girlfriend. Robbie thought he was helping her, prodding her toward a healthier identity when he’d nicknamed her Kat.
Kat Knudsen. Not Kat Wanderfull. Same nickname. Two way different people.
KAT WANDERFULL: Time for my own confession. Sometimes I feel like her. I’m also caught between two names, two identities, both given to me by men.
MRCUSTOM: ?
KAT WANDERFULL: Kat was the nickname given to me by my first boyfriend. I wonder if I’m merely playing the role he gave me years ago. Independent, strong, and passionate Kat. He actually bought me my beloved road atlas, which is more of a diary than anything else.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
KAT WANDERFULL: The other one is written on my birth certificate. That name is meant for the woman who sits quietly, obeys, and accepts pain at the hand of a man. I don’t like that name, but I can’t escape it.
Lord, I hope you aren’t playing a cruel game here.
When her next message came through, he brought the phone closer to his face, then farther away, but no amount of squinting could change the letters on his screen.
KAT WANDERFULL: That name is Keira.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The teachers’ lounge was done, and not a moment too soon. The last students had left the building two hours ago with a celebratory yelp that could only be made on the last day of school. Robbie was glad. He couldn’t handle seeing Keira again. Not after last night’s revelation.
Yeah, he should’ve known. Perhaps, deep down, he did. How often had he imagined Keira was Kat Wanderfull as they traded messages? Pictured Keira’s mouth saying Kat’s words? He wanted it to be her. And yet, he didn’t.
For the thousandth time that day, Robbie yawned. With sleep eluding him anyway, he’d revisited her old posts into the early morning hours, noticing how streams of the old Keira merged with the new. And what he saw drew him to her the way the Madison River beckoned him on a crisp summer morning.
What did Mom used to say? Don’t pet a fret. Of course, that only applied to little concerns. Realizing he was in love with his ex-girlfriend’s new persona wasn’t a “little concern.” He’d not only petted the fret. He trained it, named it, and let it sleep at the foot of his bed. Man, he needed to get away from this place. He had to get through this date with Hallie tonight, then tomorrow, he and Anabelle would start their drive to California. Sunshine and waves were the prescriptions he needed.
At the far side of the room, Anabelle drew on the wall-sized dry-erase board with a pink Expo marker. She sang the Princess Patty Cake theme song while she created her family portrait. Good thing Keira hadn’t made it in the cut of family characters. It was bad enough that she’d rooted her way into his dreams. She had no place in his daughter’s. And after last night’s weird cyber-breakup, it was clear Keira/Kat didn’t want to be there anyway. Good job, buddy. You’ve graduated to getting dumped by girls before you even date them.
“Happy summer.” Above the cardboard box she carried, Keira greeted him with a rare smile. The lopsided kind that scrunched her nose and turned her big blue eyes to slits. She called it her ugly smile, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Tell her.
Robbie’s mouth went dry before he could tell the voice inside to simmer down.
“Keira! Keira!” Anabelle skipped toward the door.
Keira set the box in the hallway then welcomed Anabelle into her arms.
“I missed you!” Anabelle’s voice was somewhat muffled by Keira’s blouse, but Robbie could still make it out.
Keira rested her cheek on the top of Anabelle’s tangle of strawberry curls. “I missed you, too.”
At that very moment, Robbie’s heart exploded and sent shards straight to his brain.
Tell her.
Robbie took a swig from his water bottle.
“Daddy’s taking me to California tomorrow.” She held up her hand like it was a secret. “I’m gonna swim like a mermaid.”
“You, little girl, will be the bravest mermaid in the whole ocean.” Keira touched the tip of Anabelle’s nose with her fingertip.
Anabelle giggled, then danced her pink cowgirl boots back to her mural.
Keira straightened up, scanning the whole room. “It looks great. The teachers will want to live here. You know, there are a few single gals who work in this school. They’ll probably want to reach out to thank you personally.”
Robbie scoffed. In general, teachers made his inner eight-year-old squirm. But Keira wasn’t like any teacher he’d known. He gripped the broom handle tightly. One last sweep, then he’d be out of here. But, then again, he’d be out of here. These chance meetings would be over. Who knows when he’d see Keira again? Suddenly, he wanted this conversation to last as long as possible.
Keira cocked her head, the smallest of smirks twisting her lips. How long had he been gawking at her? The broom slipped from his grip and clattered on the floor.
Anabelle jumped but kept drawing . . . Keira. She’d drawn Keira. In the picture, she wore a blue dress and bridged the gap between him and Anabelle. They held hands, the three of them. He’d never been a smart man. This was proof. He’d let this go too far. A million questions jumbled inside his head. Ones he didn’t exactly have permission to ask. Maybe MRCustom could have asked them to Kat Wanderfull. But Robbie could not ask Keira.
Tell her now.
Robbie bristled. Tell her what, God? Oh, hey, Keira, you know that guy that you dunked in the friendship toilet? That was me. You know that
huge secret you’ve gone to great lengths to hide? I know it.
Her eyes focused now on Anabelle’s drawing. When at last she turned back to him, her teeth had sunk so deep into her lower lip he expected to see blood. She was already upset. May as well finish it off. Nail, meet Coffin.
“Keira, I found out something . . . about you.”
“About John and me?” She pinched the ring on her hand. A diamond ring.
Suddenly, the ceiling seemed to bow above him. He expected it to crash down until he noticed that the ring was on her right hand. Not her left. What in the world did that mean?
“What you’ve heard is true. Robbie, we’re going to give it another go.”
As her baby blues flickered over him, she shrugged. That was how much she cared about John. A shrug’s worth. And Robbie meant even less than that. What a fool he’d been. Kat Wanderfull didn’t care about him. Neither did Keira.
“I was packing some stuff, and I found a few things.” She returned to the box in the hall, lifted it, and placed it on the new, squeaky-clean countertop. She reached in, retrieving something small that she held in her palm. With the way she stroked it briefly, he expected it to be a mouse. Like that one she’d found in college and named Algernon. Hopefully, whatever she had in her hand this time wouldn’t bite him.
She opened her hand. On her palm, the braided leather bracelet—the one he’d seen her wear the first day of the remodel—greeted him like a demon’s kiss. It was a souvenir from Yosemite, their first trip together. They’d bought matching ones because, well, they were pathetically in love. Forever and always, she used to say dreamily when she’d look at it. Apparently, she had a different definition for those two words than he did.
“I want to give this back to you. I thought maybe Anabelle might like it someday. Do you still have yours?”
This Wandering Heart Page 6