Waiting for Walker by Robin Reardon

Author:Robin Reardon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: courage, islam, afghanistan, first love, sailboat, intersex, gay love story, psychic energy, shark week, muslim couple
Publisher: Robin Reardon

CHAPTER NINE

I spent all day Thursday alone, trying to distract myself from being pissed at Walker. He hadn’t called, he hadn’t texted—nothing. I had sent him a text shortly after midnight when I couldn’t fall asleep, thinking maybe he’d see it when he was alone and be able to reply. It said, Are you ok with this cause I’m not. There was no reply.

To hell with him. So, to be sure I stayed away from the shore on Thursday, I biked to the inland section of a favorite haunt, the Barn Island wildlife area, camera and tripod in my pack along with enough food and ginger ale and water to see me through the day. I could wander around there for hours and never go near the shoreline.

With my bike locked to a tree near the Palmer Neck Road entrance, I set out on foot toward the tiny fingers of water that creep in from the Sound. I shot the reflections that grasses and bushes and trees made in the water. I shot a white clover flower that I’d placed in shallow water beside a stone with markings that made it look a lot like the clover blossom. I shot other stones through shallow water that was sometimes still and sometimes rippling. Lying on my belly, I took shots of different subjects through long grasses, or I changed my focal length and shot the grasses themselves. As the sun got lower, I shot just the shadows that grasses and rocks made.

And I kept checking my phone for a message from Walker. Nothing came.

Around six o’clock I called Dad. When he answered, I was pretty sure he was alone. Good.

“Dad, did Mom call you?”

“Haven’t heard a peep.”

“Because we had it out after I got home. She hates that I’m gay. Oh, also, she doesn’t believe it. So I just thought she might have phoned you.”

“No. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. But—listen, is there any way I could come out early? Maybe Friday night?”

He paused just long enough for me to think he was gonna turn me down, and I pictured him with Layla. I mean, Sharon. In my mind, she was in her twenties—isn’t that the kind of woman who attracted middle-aged men? She had blue hair cut in different lengths, lots of eye makeup, and a silver ring right through the middle of her nose that hung down in a way that made me want to tie her up like a bull to a fencepost someplace.

“Sharon will be here. I’d like you to meet her. I was going to suggest it for Saturday dinner, but if you really need to get away we could do it Friday instead, if your Mom’s okay with the idea. Would that work for you, son?”

Before I could stop the words, they escaped. “Will she stay overnight?”

His answer was just as quick: “Probably.”

I froze, just for a second. “Does she know about me?”

“She does. She’s very supportive, actually.”

“Really.”

“Are you at home?”

“No.”

“I’ll call your mother now and see if she has a problem with giving you up a day early.

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