After hanging up, he’d returned to his bed, stared at the ceiling for over an hour, and decided two things: return to Redeemer One that night because that would be what his uncle wanted for him; call Andy Candy because when he tried to come up with the name of anyone in the entire world who might listen to him and not think he was a half-grief-crazed drunken fool running his mouth irrationally, she was the only remaining candidate.
Matheson Hammock Park was an easy bus ride for Moth. He sat in the back row with the window cracked open just an inch or two so he could pick up the scent of hydrangeas and azaleas carried on the slippery midday heat, without compromising the steady cool wheeze of the bus’s air-conditioning. There were only a couple of other folks on the bus. Moth saw a young black woman-he guessed Jamaican-wearing a white nurse’s outfit. She had a dog-eared paperback Spanish Language Made Easy study book in her hands. Moth could see her lips moving as she practiced the language that was nearly essential to working in Miami.
At his feet, Moth had a plastic bag with a large media noche sandwich for them to share, some bottled water, and a fizzy lemonade drink that he recalled Andy Candy had liked on their other picnic-type excursions to South Beach or Bill Baggs State Park on Key Biscayne. He could not remember ever taking her to Matheson Hammock, which was, in no small way, why he had chosen that location. No shared history in this park. No memory of lips grazing, or the silky sensation of young bodies touching in warm water.
Love dreams were best forgot, he thought.
He did not know whether Andy Candy would actually show up. She had said she would, and she was probably the most honest person he knew, now that his uncle was dead. But the realist in him-a very small part, he inwardly conceded-had doubts. He knew he had been cryptic and obtuse and probably a little scary on the phone, with his sudden talk of murder.
“I wouldn’t come meet me,” he whispered to himself above the sound of the bus engine’s slowing for his stop. He rose and pushed himself into the bright early afternoon sun.
He stuck to a wide path that paralleled the entrance drive into the park. More than one jogger cruised past him beneath the cypress trees that shaded the route. He ignored the coral rock building, where a young woman sold tickets and maps and which had a large “Florida’s Disappearing Habitat” sign out front, with pictures of how squeezed for territory all the native animals were. He paused near a stand of palm trees that edged up against Biscayne Bay, where a young Latin American couple were going through a wedding rehearsal. The priest was smiling, trying to relax everyone by making jokes, which neither mother seemed to find even remotely funny.
Moth waited at the end of the parking lot on a bench that had a single palm that shaded it. He could hear high-pitched laughter from the tip of the park, where a wide, shallow man-made lagoon created a special place for small children to play. The nearby beach seemed to glow silver in the strong sunlight.
He was going to pull out his cell phone, check the time, but stopped himself. If Andy Candy was late, he didn’t want to know it. He thought, There’s always a risk in counting on someone else. Maybe they don’t come. Maybe they die.
Closing his eyes for a moment against the glare, he counted heartbeats, as if he could take the pulse of his emotions. When he opened his eyes, he saw a small red sedan come into the lot and pull into a space near the back. Like many cars in Miami, it had tinted glass, but he caught a glimpse of blond hair and knew it was Andy Candy.
Before she was out of the car, he was on his feet. He waved, and she waved back.
Faded jeans on her long legs and a light pastel-blue T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in an informal ponytail, the way she typically put it when going jogging or swimming. When she spotted Moth, she slipped off her dark sunglasses. Moth’s eyes took her in, trying to see similarities and changes all at once. With each step she took closing the distance between them, he could feel a surge of some runaway feeling gathering within him.
Andy Candy almost stopped in her tracks. Moth seemed thin to her, as if his already-lithe body had somehow been shaved away by the years since high school. His tangled hair was longer than she remembered it and his clothes seemed to hang reluctantly from his body. She had not known what she would say; she was unsure whether she should kiss him, give him a small hug, maybe just shake his hand, or perhaps do nothing. She didn’t want to hesitate, nor did she want to seem eager.
She steadily crossed the parking lot. Not fast. Not slow, she told herself.
He stepped forward, out of the palm’s shade. Wave. Smile. Act normal, whatever that is, he told himself.
They met halfway.
He started to lift his arms to embrace her.
She leaned forward, but held her hands out in front of her.
The awkwardness resulted in a semi-touch. Their arms went to each other’s elbows. They kept a little distance between them.
“Hello, Moth,” she said.
“Hi, Andrea.”
She smiled. “Long time.”
He nodded. “I should have…” he started, but stopped.
She shook her head. “You know, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I thought you’d just go your way and I’d go mine, and that was it.”
“We had some memories together,” he said.
She shrugged a little. “Teenage memories. And that’s all, I figured.”
“More than teenage,” he said. “Some were pretty adult.” He smiled.
“Yes. I remember those, too,” she said. She added a small, disarming grin.
“And now here we are,” he said.
“Yes. Here we are.”
They were silent for a moment.
“I bought a little food and something to drink,” Moth said. “How about we find one of the picnic tables and talk there.”
“Okay,” she said.
The first thing he said when they arrived at a shaded table was, “I’m sorry I was so, I don’t know, on the phone…”
“You were scary. I almost didn’t come.”
“Half a sandwich,” he said. “The fizzy drink is for you.”
She half-laughed. “You remembered that. I don’t think I’ve had one of these since…” She stopped. She didn’t have to say when we were together for him to understand it. She pushed the sandwich toward him. “I had lunch already. You eat it. You look like you could use it.” Her tone had a tinge of toughness.
He nodded, acknowledging the accuracy in her statement. “But you’re still beautiful. Even more beautiful than…” He stopped. He did not want to remind her of their breakup, although seeing him would do little else.
She shrugged. “Don’t feel beautiful,” she said. “Just a little older.” Again, she smiled, before adding, “We’re both older now.”
He took a bite from the sandwich and she continued to stare at him. He thought her look was a little like a funeral parlor director eyeing a newly arrived corpse for a suit of in the coffin clothes.
“What happened to you, Moth?” Andy Candy asked.
“You mean…”
“Yeah. After we broke up.”
“I went to college. Studied hard. Got really good grades. I graduated with high honors. Wouldn’t go to law school like my dad wanted. I got started on a graduate program in American History because I didn’t know what else to do. Kind of useless, I guess from his point of view-examining past events-even if it’s something I love doing…”