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Now, that’s a coincidence I can’t write off as my own distorted perception. During that whole week in Hawaii, Hazel was the only guest I saw who carried carrots in her purse.
She tosses a carrot out into the lagoon—overhand. It’s a wimpy toss, and that makes me laugh out loud.
I know that quirky overhand lob.
My heart’s doing a big flip in my chest. It feels fluttery, bursting with emotion just because I’m seeing her there.
What the heck is going on?
We were in Hawaii three weeks ago. It makes no sense for her to be there, at that railing, today.
Unless…
Unless she went back. For the ceremony.
And if she did that, it could mean she’s still hung up on our time there, too. Maybe Hawaii’s been haunting her like it’s been haunting me.
Maybe what I actually got wrong was her professional, formal tone in all those many emails after we ‘cooled it.’
There’s a chance things haven’t cooled off between me and Hazel at all.
It’s time for me to find out.
“How would you feel about a few days with Uncle Brett?” I ask Nola.
My dog picks up on everything. My emotions, my tone of voice, each crease and crinkle on my face. I know that right now, she feels the hope blossoming in my chest as much as I do.
She perks up to sitting, wags her tail, and barks.
I waste no time firing up the truck and calling the airline I used for my last flight. Hard to believe it was less than a month ago when I stepped off that plane. A helpful representative spends a good fifteen minutes figuring out a flight path I can take. I’ll have to hop over to L.A. this afternoon, then take a red eye from there.
Worth it.
I spot my brother’s house when I'm off the phone.
He’s in the front yard, weed-whacking a stand of tall bluegrass. At the sight of me, he turns off the machine and pulls his orange ear protection off his head to rest around his neck.
The yard smells of freshly mowed grass. A flowering tree near the driveway is bursting with blossoms.
Spring comes early in the desert.
“Yo,” he says as I hop out of the cab. “You go for a ride?”
I’d tell him all about my lap on the Slickrock trail if not for my current time crunch. I have to hit the road soon if I want to make it to the airport in time to catch the plane to L.A.
It feels like my heart is bursting through my chest.
What will Hazel say when I show up?
Will I even catch her there?
I want to see her in person—not talk to her on the phone or email or text her. I want to see her face to face so that nothing can come between her and me when I tell her how much I’ve missed her.
“Yeah, Slickrock,” I manage as I walk around to the passenger side. Nola leaps nimbly onto the dirt driveway, trots onto the freshly landscaped lawn, and pees.
“Can you watch Nola for a couple of days while I head out of town?” I ask.
Behind me, over at the house, I hear the front door bang closed. Happy squeals and giggles bubble up. “Nola Bean’s here!” Ophelia cries.
