I reached over and squeezed his hand; he pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed it, never taking his eyes off the road. He changed the CD, turning up Nina Simone’s “Sinnerman.” He accelerated and we flew toward Ann Arbor without another word. He bobbed his head and tapped his hand on the steering wheel to the fast, jazzy beat. The music set my mind into spiraling motion, thinking about what he had said. I never considered myself guarded, I thought of myself as strong, but I was wrong. Life had thrown me for a loop when my father died. I’d gone to New York thinking I would straighten things out with the café, then go to grad school, further my education, meet some strapping doctor or business man and let my life follow the square rules I set forth, but the moment I stepped onto that plane back in March, I’d started to feel a different pull. There was a magnetism I felt toward Will, the music, my new friends, the café, and the city itself. It felt right and it felt good. How could I have been so wrong about myself before? If I was guarded it was because I was realizing how little control I had over my feelings and it scared me.
When we got to my mother and stepdad’s in Ann Arbor, I gave Will a brief tour and introduced him to David, whom I called Dad. It was a Sunday and the Detroit Lions were playing, so my stepdad was wearing his normal NFL garb. Will struck up a conversation about the team and the two hit it off right away. I didn’t even know Will followed football, but there were so many things I didn’t give him credit for. He may not have been a sports fan, but Will read the newspaper every single day. He knew a little about everything and his own curiosity and desire to better himself and grow as a person had given him a far more valuable education than I had gotten from a fancy, Ivy League college. My mother and I caught up in the kitchen while we prepared dinner.
“Mom… I want you know that I don’t blame you for what happened between you and Pops. I’m getting things now… I guess I’m realizing we’re all just people… trying to figure it all out.”
She walked over and wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you for telling me that. You’ll figure it out, Mia; I think maybe you already have.” She glanced over at Will. Somehow letting my mom know how I felt gave me a sense of closure regarding my father.
After dinner Will sang and played his acoustic guitar. My mom and stepdad seemed really impressed by his ability to figure out a song in a matter of minutes. It wasn’t always perfect, but he would usually get the melody pretty close. My mom requested “The Girl from North Country” by Bob Dylan. He knew the song but he needed a little help with the lyrics, which my mom new word for word. I was surprised since I had never known her to listen to Bob Dylan. I knew the lyrics as well; Pops had sung that song a thousand times and then I realized why my mom requested it; there was no question that Will had a spirit like my father’s. He sang the song passionately with his eyes closed. His soulful voice belted out the lines like they were his own. I’m wondering if she remembers me at all… many times I’ve often prayed. I looked up at my mom, who immediately looked away. I wondered if my father thought about her when he sang those lines.
I made an ill attempt at the harmonica solo, but it didn’t sound that great; Will chuckled at me and winked. He finished the song carrying the last line out, soft and slow; She once was a true love of mine. I looked at my mom again, this time she didn’t look away and she didn’t hide the tears streaming down her face. She was mourning my father, too, and Will being there was healing for us all. The old music wasn’t Will’s style but he didn’t care, he just wanted to play for the people he cared about. He never asked if we wanted to hear an original song even though I knew he had plenty of great ones, he just wanted to provide everyone with something that was personal. He played for hours; we laughed and cried and talked a little about Pops.
When it was time to go to bed, Will offered to sleep on the couch. “No way,” I said, “I want to cuddle.” He smiled and laughed.
Will looked at my mom, who shrugged and said, “She wants to cuddle.” I curled into Will under the covers of my childhood bed. I was asleep in minutes and I got the most restful sleep I’d had in months.
Opening my eyes, I realized I was using Will’s chest as a pillow. I peeked up and found him wide awake, staring at the ceiling. “You talkin’ to God?”
“Something like that,” he murmured.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I have a lot on my mind. We need to get home. I want to put another dead bolt on the door and make the sure the smoke detectors have batteries and the furnace is working before I leave. Plus, I need to get all my equipment together. I’m just stressed about the next couple of days.”
“Will Ryan, are you worried about me?”
“I’m always worried about you.”
“We’ll get it done. I’ll help, and don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine. Do you want to spend New Year’s Eve at the apartment? We can have Jenny and Tyler over to give you a proper sending off?”
“Okay… I’d love that,” he said with a conflicted look on his face. He smiled bleakly and then kissed the top of my head before rolling out of bed.
Track 15: Hallelujah
We flew home that day and got right to work on preparing for Will to leave. Over the next couple of days we were completely consumed with chores. Will did a whole crazy safety check on the apartment while I was at the Laundromat doing his laundry. I stole two T-shirts out of the pile; I figured I would need them to cuddle up with in the weeks to come.