On Track - 1. Chapter 1 Sentimental Journey

Sentimental Journey

Determined, Woodrow shifted his knapsack after once more checking his car doors were locked. Today was a good day, because sometimes he had to push the remote button three times, or even resort to locking the old beast manually. Stowing his ring of keys in the zippered side pocket took some twisting and grunting, but he wanted no repeat of the time he’d lost them through a hole in his back pocket. Dirk’s older, unreliable, pain-in-the-ass Jeep was still a cherished part of his life.

He found it so difficult to let go of any connection to the past, and that exasperating vehicle was a big part of it. He needed something more dependable, but he just couldn’t bring himself to make the change. Not yet. Adjusting the straps of Dirk’s green canvas relic, another memory-laden object taken on many a hike together, he began to move his feet.

Listening to the birds singing their cheer at this warm, sunny day, he took one last look back at his Jeep. Though crowding the brush at the gravel pull-off from the country road, it should be safe. At five and a half hours away from home, he wasn’t exactly familiar with this area. Memories of that one fateful, horrifying visit surfaced, but he pushed them away and let the pastoral scenes to his left inspire him to keep going. Maybe today he would find the peace he so desperately needed. He had to do this.

Sighting down the iron tracks, he surmised there was a three kilometer walk ahead, and wondered if his light jacket was necessary after all. He often overthought things, always trying to be prepared for any situation, but he could already feel the sweat forming against his skin. The next road over—far nearer his destination—was still closed after all this time, but he really didn’t mind the longer trek. No need to hurry, and there was another pretty view of rolling fields through the trees up ahead.

Swallowing down his trepidation and concentrating on that peace he was seeking, he set off. He had to be careful because the black railroad gravel beneath his feet moved easily, and as Dirk would have attested to vigorously, he was an accident waiting to happen no matter how much attention he gave to his fitness. His size twelve-and-a-half feet were a constant source of sudden imbalance and consequent embarrassment, and no amount of leg and foot exercises—or agility training—had ever changed that.

The trees growing along each side of the train-tracks’ bordering ditches gave little shade since the sun was almost directly overhead, so he relented after rounding the first slight curve in the track, stopping to remove his pack. Ridding himself of the unnecessary layer felt good. He lifted his arms after stowing his windbreaker, letting the breeze cool his damp skin.

Staring forward, his mind wound backwards to the smells and the carnage he’d witnessed that early dawn, and he questioned again whether he was doing the right thing, facing the spot Dirk had been burned to ash with little warning and no chance. There’d been nothing recognizable to bury, and that fact continued to haunt him.

Night after night after night he woke up wondering about his lover’s last seconds in the fiery railcar. No one in it had survived after the vintage, wooden passenger train had collided with a tanker that never should have been on the tracks. The most frustrating thing was, though, that there was still no good explanation offered for it… only possible theories which didn’t help him at all. No one had yet determined why the deceased driver tried to cross the tracks despite the flashing warning signals. Contrary to initial speculation, alcohol was not involved.

Some passengers had survived in the other cars—ninety-one to be exact—but that didn’t help him either, though he was happy for those people and their families. After the impact and explosion, the train had travelled a half kilometer before it finally derailed completely, a tangled mass of hideously shaped metal and blazing wood with injured passengers everywhere. Woodrow shivered as those persistent images flashed in his mind’s eye. He hadn’t seen them in person, only on the television station playing a cell phone video on repeat after Dirk’s distraught father had called, but they were a part of him now, as if he’d actually witnessed the immediate aftermath with his own eyes.

The drive to the wreck site had been a blur, the loud muffler on the Jeep a roar as steady as the one that built in his chest minute by minute. He’d seen his partner off at the station only hours before, apologizing for the hundredth time about having to cancel their mutual plans for the scenic trip to see Dirk’s maternal grandfather. His boss had made a mistake in the holiday schedule, and that’s the only reason he was still alive. He should have been with him.

Of course, Dirk had taken the mix-up in stride. “Next time,” he’d said, reassuring Woodrow spending time with his Papa Jack was what mattered most to him. They’d be out on the boat morning to night anyway, he’d insisted, which Woodrow always avoided like the plague, as any landlubber would.

The situation had felt unreal as he maneuvered along dark, unfamiliar roads that night, but he’d held onto hope his partner hadn’t perished in the crash, despite what Dirk’s father had been told by the rail authorities.

Unfortunately, upon arriving in the emerging daylight, he was shown an official list of the dead. The name on the page brought scalding tears, and then the horror of it sunk in while the acrid smells of destruction seeped into his whole body. He’d collapsed upon hearing Dirk’s railcar had burned too hot to be able to distinguish any actual remains—there was no body… there was no anything—and it was all too much to handle. His partner had essentially been cremated with thirty-one strangers.

He woke up in a hospital bed later that evening, extremely groggy. It was a small, rural clinic, and it had taken time for him to remember why he was there. But when he did, he cried silent tears, feeling alone in a way he never had before. He was never able to forget after that, even in sleep.

Exactly one year had passed, and while life had finally taken on some normalcy, Woodrow was anything but okay. He still had those nightmares, and he’d stayed withdrawn from most of his friends and family—and had no idea how to come out of his grief. Returning to work kept him busy, but it no longer gave him the satisfaction it used to. Other than Dirk’s father John and his own sister Charlie, he had become an island.

That’s why he was here. He had to say goodbye, and what better way to do it than on this dubious anniversary. He had to let go, and it made sense to do it in the last spot Dirk had drawn breath.

Forcing his feet to move again, he donned his knapsack and headed for the next gentle bend at a steady pace. The kilometers were covered before he was ready, and as his eyes focused on that fateful spot ahead, it startled him to see there was no obvious sign anything had ever happened there. The air was clean and fresh, of course no longer smelled of smoke and death, but for some reason that didn’t seem right. All trace of Dirk’s last moments were gone, and he chided himself for expecting something different. This was a day to celebrate what they’d had, not an excuse to be morose. If there was an afterlife and Dirk could see him, he deserved to see he was going to be okay—his final gift for the man who had made him so damn happy. For just a second, he pictured his broad smile and it spurred him to smile too.

He picked up speed, and as he got closer to the spot he noticed a dark shape on the grassy area beneath the trees. It was on the other side of the ditch on the same side of the track Woodrow was. His heart jumped at the thought it might be a bear—they terrified him since he and Dirk had watched a movie called The Edge, starring Anthony Hopkins and one of those Baldwin brothers—but he soon realized it was no bear laying there. It was a man with a bent arm covering his face.

He cleared his throat and scuffed his feet once he’d advanced to about a hundred feet away. “Hey, are you okay, man?”

The figure shot up to a sitting position and wiped at his eyes. In a sputtering, gravelly voice, he answered. “I’m… a… fine. I… ah… I was just saying goodbye to someone who died here.” Rubbing his hands together after wiping at his eyes, he jumped up quickly, a lanky, broad-shouldered figure who snatched a helmet from the ground next to him. He looked ready to bolt, and it was then Woodrow noticed the motorbike parked in the shade of the trees. “I’ll just be moving along so….”

Woodrow stepped closer. “Hey, you don’t have to leave. I think we’re both here doing the same thing. It was a year ago today I lost someone too.”

“Yeah, one year since the worst day of my life.” His voice sounded less hoarse now, but it was clear the handsome man had been crying. He appeared about Woodrow’s age, but that was just a guess—he could be anywhere between twenty and thirty. The overhead sun, glinting off shiny, sandy hair, showed the tear tracks from both eyes. They were bright blue.

His own sadness surged up now that he was in the spot Dirk died. “Um… I didn’t mean to disturb you… you been here long?”

“No. No, not really. I don’t know… maybe twenty minutes. The road is closed to traffic for some reason, but that doesn’t stop a bike,” he answered with a hint of a smile.

“I was curious about that too, wondering if they were still investigating. I walked from the next road over. I… ah… I hope my car is safe there,” Woodrow said lamely, finding the situation of having to make small talk on such a day uncomfortable. Something must have shown on his face.

“Could be they still are, but they don’t tell me anything,” he said with some bitterness. “So… I can leave and give you some privacy, and ah… come back later. I really don’t mind. I think I know what you’re feeling, and you probably want to be alone.”

Woodrow stood silently, not knowing what to say. He watched as the man walked away and prepared to mount his bike, one he could see was a Harley. He didn’t fit with the mental picture Woodrow had of someone who rides Harleys. He looked too… innocent? No… angelic was more like it. Stupid thought, but the hunch of this guy’s shoulders betrayed his pain, so he felt the need to speak. “Wait!”

The shaggy head slowly turned his way. “Yeah?”

“Um… that’s not true about me wanting to be alone. I’ve done enough of that since I lost Dirk.” Woodrow watched one of the man’s dark gold eyebrows raise, and he wondered about the wisdom of what he was doing. “So… you’d be welcome to join me if you want. It might… it would be good to talk to someone who understands.”

The stranger let go of the handlebar and turned to fully face him. “Dirk?”

“Yes. My life partner. We were together since the second year of college. Seven years we had… before he died.”

“Peter. I lost Peter. We were together four years… four really great years. So, I guess I understand more than you probably thought.”

Woodrow felt some relief the man didn’t turn out to be a homophobe. “Guess so,” he said with a quick smile. “Was… was Peter in the first car too?”

“No, the fourth car. They say he died instantly from… he had a broken neck.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“First car for your Dirk?”

Woodrow nodded, unable to speak.

“That must have been rough. I was here that night… well, morning by the time I reached him. I heard about….”

Woodrow nodded again, finally free of the lump in his throat. “It was rough for both of us—doesn’t matter how we lost them.”

The man peered more intently. “I think I saw you that morning.”

“You did? I don’t remember much of anything except the smell… that awful smell.”

“Like a diesel fuel barbecue,” he muttered softly. “Ah, were you taken in an ambulance?”

Woodrow shuddered at the callous uttering, but he understood the man’s bitterness like not many others would. Fact is, he was right—it did smell like that, and he fought down the urge to retch. “Yes, I collapsed and apparently passed out,” Woodrow admitted sheepishly. “I don’t remember much of that either, but a doctor told me later I was in shock.”

“Well, I was sitting down trying not to hyperventilate after I emptied my stomach when you dropped to the ground. They gave you oxygen right away. Funny how I remember that, with all those other faceless people around,” he finished with a head shake. “Maybe you were lucky to pass out. Sometimes that day plays like a movie. Like a terrible, never-ending movie.”

“That’s what it’s like for me. Disjointed, though. I remember our last conversation so clearly before he got on the train, and—jeez this is hard.”

“I understand. The name’s Paul, by the way.”

“Woodrow.”

“Woodrow? Who tagged you with that,” he asked with a tilted grin that was quite appealing.

Woodrow was taken aback by the quick interest it seemed to stir in him. “My dad, and it took me a while to forgive him for it. He had his reasons, though, and in some ways I’m pretty proud of it.”

“Family name?”

“No, a friend of his. A close college friend, shot and killed by police because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, and the wrong color. Six of my dad’s college friends got involved in a little harmless ruckus while on spring break, and only the black one got shot and killed. Naming me Woodrow was his way of honoring him.”

“It’s a shitty, fucked-up world sometimes. We all should appreciate that every life is as important as it is fragile,” Paul said, instantly seeming embarrassed. “Sorry, that was a little much.” He rubbed his hands together again, and looked ready to make a getaway.

Woodrow didn’t want that for some reason, at least not yet. “No it wasn’t. You’re exactly right that we take life for granted. Are you hungry?”

“What?”

“I asked if you were hungry. I have a picnic lunch. It’s nothing fancy. We could share it with Dirk and Peter… with their memories. This pack is getting heavy, and it would be nice to have someone to talk to while I sit and eat. I brought plenty. Uh… we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

“You a boy scout or something?”

Woodrow chuckled. “Not the first time I’ve been accused of that. Dirk used to make fun of me for always being prepared for anything.” His smile slipped. There was one thing he never could have been prepared for. Regrouping quickly, he regained his smile. “This is my way of celebrating what we were fortunate to have, and to say goodbye. I don’t know what I was expecting coming here, but it felt important to do it, to have one last meal and be good with it.”

He looked around, again noting there was no real evidence anything tragic had ever happened in this spot. The smoldering, broken trees of his nightmares had been removed, and everything was lush and green. “Life… it goes on. I guess that sounds like one more stupid platitude, but I know without question Dirk would want me to get back to living,” he said as his gaze met Paul’s.

The man sighed as he looked skyward. “We are definitely here for the same reason, and it’s not a stupid platitude. Peter and I were lucky too, but it’s time for me to quit being a mess—I’m tired of crying—so fucking tired of tears. I… we need to stop wallowing over what’s been lost, right?” His gaze shifted back to Woodrow with that same eyebrow raised in question.

“Right,” he agreed. Those eyes were not just pretty… they were deeply intense in that moment. He was a guy who felt things deeply, of that he had no doubt.

“I’ve pushed everyone away, and all that’s doing is hurting the people I love—those who care about me and still try to reach through my walls. I owe them…so… sure, I’ll sit with you and eat some food, and maybe Peter will send me a sign. So far, I’ve got nothing.”

“You could be taking about me, Paul. I’m doing the same thing, and I’m tired too. I just want it to stop. Anyway, it looks like you picked a good spot, so I’ll come over there.” He made it down the slope and all the way up the other side when the inevitable happened. He stumbled over his big feet, but Peter caught him on the way down and steadied him. The feel of his hands on Woodrow’s arms made him flush, the physical contact more pleasing than he would like to admit. Regaining his balance, they were face to face, and Woodrow saw gold specks mixed in with the blue.

“That pack must be heavy. You all right?”

“”Yeah… yeah, I’m good. Got two left feet at the best of times.”

Paul chuckled. “Peter used to say that about me. He never let me carry anything important. Here, let me help you with that.” Grabbing the shoulder strap on one side, he lifted, and Woodrow shrugged out of his knapsack, relieved the weight was gone.

“Whoa, this really is heavy. What the heck have you got in here?”

“You’ll see,” Woodrow answered. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, though.”

“I don’t mind crazy,” Paul responded, and Woodrow laughed loud enough some birds scattered up out of the trees branches overhead.

Unzipping the green canvas, he pulled out the plaid blanket he and Dirk used to snuggle under while watching movies on the weekends. He held it out for Paul to spread out.

Next came two of the scented candles Dirk had made at a craft workshop. They smelled of vanilla and something else Dirk said was cinnamon, but Woodrow had always insisted they smelled like weed to him. He still suspected he was right, and weed was in those candles.

“Candles? Wow! You go all out. Want me to light them?” A lighter appeared from a back pocket.

“Sure, if you don’t mind? Dirk, he made them from scratch. You a smoker?”

“Me? Nah. I’ve just always carried a lighter. I like to camp.”

“Me too, as long as I have a tent and a mosquito net.”

Paul chuckled. “Smart man. Ah… and I’m guessing this blanket has some significance?”

“It does, yeah,” Woodrow answered while staring into the bag, not wanting to elaborate. Next came two stoneware plates with colorful roosters in the center. They’d been Dirk’s only dorm plates, and the ones they had their first date meal on—pasta that had actually been pretty good. They were ugly, but they both agreed they couldn’t throw them out once they moved into their first apartment and got new ones. They became their snack plates during movie nights, and Dirk would understand why they were here.

“Hey, we had plates like these!”

“Really?”

“Well, similar. The Roosters weren’t colorful like this, but the shape of the plate and the brown trim was the same. Wonder what happened to them?” he mused as he set them on the spread out blanket.

“You sure you have room for food in there?”

Woodrow yanked out a cooler bag in answer. “Steak fajita wraps… Dirk’s favorites. He loved them for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.”

“Steak? A man after my own heart. You sure packed a lot in there.” His eyes widened when Woodrow reached back in and pulled out a bottle of red wine. Australian Shiraz, Dirk’s favorite. “Wine too? Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Dirk bought this bottle before he left. He was supposed to take it with him, but he forgot. He was a terrible packer… always forgetting something.”

“So it’s pretty special,” Paul said, staring into Woodrow’s eyes. “Are you sure you want to share this with me?”

“I would appreciate if you would. I know Dirk wouldn’t mind… he hated to see stuff wasted. I guess you could’ve called him an eco-warrior. We’ll pour some wine on the ground for him and Peter, and then we’ll drink a toast in these.” He smiled as he pulled out two small, ancient, flower-patterned juice tumblers Dirk had claimed from his late mother’s meager belongings. He’d told Woodrow they were on the table, filled with tomato juice, for every Sunday dinner when he was a kid. The glass was so thick you could drop them on the floor and they wouldn’t break.

“I’m sure there’s a story behind those.”

“Dirk’s mother’s Sunday dinner juice glasses. She passed away about five years ago, and these were all he wanted from her stuff, other than some old photos. You could throw these against a rock and they would bounce off.”

Paul raised his eyebrows in a comical way. “My mom had some like these… plain ones, though. They don’t make ‘em like these anymore.”

Woodrow chuckled. “Thank God for that. So, you ready to eat?”

Paul nodded, an intriguing smile on his face that made Woodrow curious. He could only describe it as soft. “I wasn’t hungry before, but I am now.”

“Good!” He unzipped a side pocket and pulled out a corkscrew. “You want to do the honors, Paul?”

The man’s eyes widened, and then his brow furrowed. “Ah, sure. This was always my job.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No… no, not at all. Peter always said those same words. “‘Do you want to do the honors, Paul?’” You said those exact words.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Sorry? Why? You are including me in something really sweet and thoughtful here. What you said earlier about not knowing what to expect from today? Well, I didn’t either, but this… this feels really good. The truth is, I’m pretty sure I would have spent a few hours crying before I gave up. Then I would have left feeling empty, despite my intentions to let go. Sharing this anniversary of Peter’s death… and your Dirk’s… well… like I said, it feels good. It feels right, Woodrow, seriously.”

“I’m glad, Paul. It does for me too.”

“I ah… I like the way you say my name.”

“Oh? Paul,” he said again, sounding it out. “How do I say it?”

“I don’t know… you kind of stretch it out or something. It’s hard to describe. Just forget I said anything. Haven’t had much social interaction lately.” Noticeably redder in the face, he busied himself with working the cork from the bottle with a slight pop. “Success!”

Woodrow chuckled. “Should we toast first, and then eat?”

“Sounds good.”

He held the glasses while Paul poured, and then they held them high. “To Dirk. You were my heart and my soul, and I will always love you. I hope you are at peace, babe. Your turn, Paul.”

“To Peter. I feel like I’ve been letting you down, but I’m going to do my best to get my life back in gear from this day forward like I know you would want, I promise. I’ll love you forever, wherever you might be.” Woodrow could barely hear his words, they were said so softly.

Their eyes met, and each held tears. Woodrow tipped his glass and spilled half the wine onto the grass in front of his crossed legs. Paul did the same, and then they drank. He felt a cloud lift when Paul smiled at him. The man looked closer to happy, and that alone made the effort of this day worthwhile.

No words were needed as Woodrow passed him the foil wrapped fajita. Grunts of appreciation came as they settled back and chewed, both looking across to where the wrecked and burned out train had lain. Birds sung and insects buzzed, and life went on.

Once finished they spread themselves out across the big blanket side by side. Woodrow broke the silence first. “Where do you live?”

“Toronto, all my life. You?”

“Same, but originally from the east coast. I live in the east end, but work right downtown.”

“Doing what?”

“Right now, boring stuff. I’m in advertising for the most part.”

“And that’s boring?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t used to be. There was a time I really enjoyed my work, but now it feels like just a job.” He blew out a long breath as he thought about how hard it had been to find joy in anything. “What about you?”

“I work from home mostly.”

“Where’s that?”

“An apartment in the west end, on south Burnhamthorpe. After Peter died, I couldn’t live in the house we bought, so I sold it. Sold the furniture too.”

“Do you regret that? I mean, do you miss it?”

“Sometimes I regret it, but we didn’t have it long, and it just felt like a place to sleep after the accident, not that I did much of that. My friend Mary handled most of it for me.”

“Mary? Peter, Paul, and Mary?” he asked, turning his head and grinning.

“Yeah, we got a lot of razzing whenever we were in a group.”

“Aww… cute.”

“Yeah, right,” Paul responded, but he was chuckling.

“I kept our house, I guess because I couldn’t be bothered moving. I couldn’t be bothered doing anything. Life insurance paid the whole thing off, so my brain says I did the smart thing in holding onto it. I’m lucky my employer let me keep my job because I did some piss poor work when I first went back.”

“And now?”

“I put a lot more effort in, but I’m not sure it’s what I want to do anymore.”

“I’m in finance, and I was guilty of the same thing. Numbers are numbers, though, so they got their money’s worth from me.”

“So, you like doing what you do?”

“I suppose. I’ve taken on some freelance consulting to keep myself busy, and that I do enjoy… steering clients away from making mistakes.”

The conversation lulled again, and Woodrow thought about a lot of things. One of them was Paul, and his lips. He wondered what it would be like to kiss him—to slip his tongue between those perfect, white teeth. The thought should have mortified him, but it really didn’t. The guy was handsome as hell, and there was no ignoring that fact, even if he knew he wasn’t ready to go there with him or anyone else. He took a sudden breath as he felt Dirk’s happy presence for the first time that day.

Paul interrupted his thoughts as if he’d just read them. “You done any dating yet?”

“Oh, god no. I… well… someday I will, I guess, but….”

“Yeah, me neither. I hope that….”

Listening to his voice trail off, Woodrow understood. “It seems like too big a step to take, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Paul answered after a long minute had passed. “I’ve been thinking about it more, though.”

“Lately? I think it’s a place I want to get to eventually.”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about it today, for the first time really.”

“Ah, so coming here was the right thing for you… for you to let go of the past.”

“I… yeah, I guess, but I’m not sure it so much this place as it is meeting you.”

“Me? What did I do? Was it the fajita?” he asked jokingly. Woodrow turned his head to face Paul after he felt him do the same.

Paul ended up shifting his whole body until he was on his side with his head propped on his left hand while his right one twiddled with the blanket, inches from Woodrow’s side. “No, it wasn’t the fajita, thought it was damn tasty. I just… it’s not what you did, Woodrow. It’s who you are, I think. I’ve been laying here mulling stuff over. I haven’t been attracted to anyone for so long, but you… you’re so beautiful, and you’re incredibly kind and obviously thoughtful. I’m feeling things… things I haven’t felt since Peter. Sorry. Oh, crap, I’m freaking you out, aren’t I?”

Woodrow sat up quickly, crossing his legs and burying his hands in his lap while trying to control his expression. “Paul, it’s okay. You’re not freaking me out, but maybe this situation is a little. Today isn’t turning out the way I expected at all, and… and I got to admit I find you attractive… very attractive, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing with where I’m at.”

“I get it. You’re not ready.”

“No, I don’t think I am. I mean, for me letting go was opening up to friends and family again, not actually….”

“Dating?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’m sorry… I really am. I shouldn’t have said what I did, especially after you’ve been so considerate to someone who’s a stranger. I should go.”

As he went to get up, Woodrow reached over quickly and placed a hand over the one the man had firmly braced on the blanket. “Don’t go. Please listen. I don’t know what’s right for me, but I don’t want you to disappear from my life, that’s for sure. You don’t feel like a stranger at all, and you’ve been kind and considerate too.” Their eyes held for a moment before Paul dropped his, and Woodrow felt like he’d just lost something.

“Paul?” The man’s eyes rose, but this time they were guarded. “This day… it’s been the best day I’ve had since my life fell apart. Anyway, maybe I’m not quite ready, but when we were laying here talking, I felt Dirk close to me. I seriously felt his presence and I know he was pleased. I was just processing that—why he was pleased and why I felt him so strongly— when you said what you said. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Sure I do—my timing couldn’t have been worse—and you have no need to explain. I hated having to explain how I was feeling to people, especially to someone who asked me out. Timetables are bullshit, and we both know that. It’ll happen for each of us when it feels right. I might not be interested in anyone else for months or more, and that’s okay. I’ll get there, and I’m sure you will two one day.”

Woodrow frowned, trying to sort through his feelings and Paul’s words. There was a sincerity to him that was genuine. “Can we keep in touch?”

Paul nodded, looking sad but trying to hide it. “Look, don’t feel bad for not being ready. Fact is, we connected as friends today, but we don’t really know one another. For all we know, going on a date could have been a disaster.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Not one bit, but hey, nothing in this world is certain, and we both learned that lesson the hardest way possible.” Paul stood up unimpeded this time and walked over to his bike. Woodrow watched him appreciatively, thinking there was something he should say, but was unable to sort out what.

He returned after fishing his phone from his saddlebag. “Digit time, if you still want to keep in touch?”

Woodrow rose, feeling a relief that surprised him. “Of course I do,” he answered with a happy grin, pulling his phone from its pocket on the side of his knapsack. He felt much calmer once Paul’s number was safely stored in his phone.

“That’s that then. Call me in a couple of months if you want and let me know how you’re doing, or anytime you feel like talking.”

“I will,” Woodrow said. “Thank you, Paul, for today. It turned out to be a good experience after all.”

“For both of us. I’ll tell you what. Let me drive you back to your vehicle.”

“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that.”

“I insist. I don’t have an extra helmet with me, but you can wear mine.”

“Wait! I don’t want to put you out. It’s not that long a walk.”

“You won’t be, and you may not realize it but your face is getting sunburned, and the last thing you need is more sun on that pretty face, so no more arguments, okay?”

“Fine. Thank you again… Paul.”

The man’s eyes softened noticeably before he responded. “You’re welcome, Woodrow. Need any help packing up?”

“No thanks. Everything’s getting wrapped in the blanket. I just want to pour the rest of the wine on the tracks and say goodbye to Dirk.”

Paul nodded.

“Would you like to join me… say good bye to Peter.”

“Another toast to them… absolutely.” He grabbed the corked bottle after he blew out the candles, and then held out his hand. Grab hold and I’ll make sure your two left feet don’t have you falling downhill this time.”

“Kind of cheeky, aren’t you,” Woodrow said with a grin.

“I can be, definitely.”

Sharing their goodbyes seemed a natural thing to do. Woodrow went first, and then handed the remaining wine to his new friend to pour a toast to Peter.

“So did he give you the sign you were looking for?” Woodrow asked when they were walking to the bike with his knapsack back in place.

“He did… he really did. How about you? Did Dirk give you any sign?”

“I believe so. Like I said, I felt him near… and I believe he was… perfectly content.”

“Good. I’m happy for you.”

“So am I, and for you.”

Paul nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. “So you’ve been a passenger on a big bike before?”

“Not in a long time, but yeah, a few times.”

“Okay, strap this on and I’ll drive nice and slow along this patch of green belt.”

When Woodrow swung his leg over, he was right up against Paul, and it was one more thing that felt right that day.”

“Wrap your arms tight around my waist until you get the feel of the bike, okay?”

Woodrow did as he was told, and all he felt was firm muscle. It was arousing, a sensation that reminded him he was still a healthy man. The bike eased forward, the rumble of it exciting, and all too soon they were at his old jeep. He hopped off once Paul turned the bike off, reluctant to let go of the man.

“That was fun,” he enthused as he handed back the helmet.

“Maybe one day in the fall I could take you for a ride along some country roads. It’s the best way to travel and see all the colors.”

“I bet it is. Yeah, maybe someday we could do that.”

Paul’s expression changed slightly, and Woodrow thought he knew why. Their moment may have passed back on the blanket. “Okay, well thanks again for the food and the wine… and the conversation. You turned a potentially terrible day into something I never expected… something I really needed. I feel like I said goodbye to Peter in the best way possible. Have a safe trip back, Woodrow. Keep in touch if you want to, okay?”

“I will, Paul. You did the same for me, so thanks for the company.”

“See you,” he said before the bike roared back to life and he rode off.

Woodrow watched him go with a lot of feelings swirling. One of those was definitely confusion, and one might have been regret. He felt a little guilty that his thoughts had strayed from Dirk on this special day, but knew the man would chastise him for it if he could. This day was supposed to be about life… his life going on, but as Paul had said, he would know when the time was right, and he didn’t have to explain that to anyone.

Woodrow woke up in the early morning hours covered in sweat. It was at least the fifth time he’d woken since he went to bed, and he was frustrated. Sitting up, he groaned into his hands. Where was the peace he’d been searching for?

Standing, he pulled off his tee shirt and headed for the washroom. His sunburned face needed more lotion. It wasn’t bad enough to be painful, but he could feel the heat radiating from the skin.

Staring into the mirror when he was done, he couldn’t lie to himself. He knew what he wanted to do, and with a huge, cleansing sigh, he accepted it. Rinsing his hands thoroughly, he went back to his room for his phone. Calling up his contact list, he clicked on the newest one and prepared a text. He didn’t think… he just wrote, and then pushed send before he could change his mind. Three in the morning was very late, but it would be there for Paul when he woke.

Rereading the message, he felt no regret. If it was meant to happen it would, and if it didn’t… well, he didn’t want to think about that right now…

“Hey, Paul. Can we forget what I said to you earlier, please? I’m pretty sure I’m ready, and it’s because you feel right to me. I’m not going to overthink, so I’m asking you to go on a date with me to see if it… if we have something. Well… what I mean is I would like to cook you dinner rather than go out somewhere, and maybe we could watch a movie after on my couch. I promise it’s big and comfy. If you’ve changed your mind about this being a good idea, no worries… let me know whenever. W.”

The response was so immediate Woodrow almost dropped his phone when the chime sounded…

“When?”

He laughed into the semi darkness, releasing some of the frustration he’d woken with…

“Is Friday too soon?”

“Not for me. Send me your address and I’ll be there, and I’ll bring the wine this time. Red okay? Will there be steak fajitas?”

Woodrow snorted, smiling at the screen…

“Red is preferred. Do you want there to be steak fajitas?”

“I wouldn’t say no to them. They were delicious.”

“Then they’ll be part of the menu. Hot ones this time, maybe for a snack during the movie. Can’t watch a movie without snacks. Good night, Paul.”

“Good night, Woodrow. Thank you for not overthinking! Looking forward to Friday.”

Woodrow laughed louder this time, and real joy bubbled up…

“Me too, Paul.”

Laying back on the bed after he sent his address, he felt the peace that had eluded him for so long. He embraced it, feeling he deserved it, and not questioning whether he’d done the right thing, however it turned out. Life was to be lived, and yeah, he had high hopes, but what was wrong with that?

‘Not a thing,’ he could hear Dirk say. Pulling the sheet over his cooled-down body, he made another decision he was ready for. Car shopping would be in his immediate future. The Jeep held many memories, but it was time to let it go, and Dirk would understand that—he would understand that life needs to go on.