On the other hand, that seems like a lot of effort for somebody who’s now thoroughly in the rearview mirror. I have Becca—who is nothing like Ashley—and if I’m going to write a song for someone, it should be her. She deserves that, to be immortalized in a song. So she’ll always know how special she is every time she hears it.
* * *
On the day of the festival, Becca and I have a lazy morning. I rummage through the closet and drawers. I’m missing more boxers…and now socks, too.
“Hey, Becca pie, are you sticking my underwear in your drawers by chance?” I can’t imagine why else they’d be missing.
“No,” she says. “Why would I do that?”
“That’s a great question, but I’m missing several.”
“You are?” She frowns and comes over. “That’s weird. I haven’t touched your things. I mean, you fold yours and put them away.”
“I thought you might be taking some of them. So you can wear them for inspiration while you work.”
She gawks at me for a second then bursts out laughing. “Uh…no. But that’s so weird.” She gasps as though a thought has occurred to her. “Do you think somebody’s stealing them? Like to sell or something? You know, how some crazy, pervy fans steal their favorite celebs’ clothing?”
“Doesn’t seem likely. I mean, some fans would definitely do it. But I’ve been home a lot, enjoying the new TV.” Turns out Amazon Prime does cover Drover.
“But you do go out from time to time.”
“Yeah, I guess. Maybe I should lock the house more carefully.”
She shrugs. “Or maybe your stuff will turn up.”
“Yeah. Anyway, it isn’t that important.” I put on the Batman shirt I wore in Vegas, frayed denim shorts and a pair of old Reeboks. I pick up a DC cap—can’t wear a Marvel cap with the shirt—and sunglasses.
Becca dresses comfortably, too, in a T-shirt, skinny jeans and cowboy boots.
“We need to get you a good pair of boots,” she says, looking at my sneakers. “They’re the best things in the world.”
“Works for me.” I put an arm around her.
We walk to her SUV, already loaded with “what she needs,” and drive it over to the festival.
“What do you need at a festival other than some cash and maybe a little sunblock?” I ask as she drives onto the field that the festival’s using as a parking lot. “Actually, you don’t even need cash because I got you covered there.”
“My bow and arrows. Well, they do have arrows there, but I need my own bow.”
“For what? You gonna circumcise more dummies?”
“There’s an archery competition. I enter every time I go. It normally starts at two.”
“Awesome. I’ll be cheering for you then.” I smile, pretty certain she’s going to win if the target is anything like what we have in the back. Or she could just imagine her ex-boyfriend’s face over it every time she takes aim.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Don’t you normally win? I saw what you
did to that mannequin.”
She laughs. “That target doesn’t move. A little different from the ones at the competition. You’ll see.”
There are tons of trucks and SUVs already parked. She puts her car between two trucks, and we climb out. The sun’s up, but it isn’t scorching, thanks to the fat white clouds in the sky. I put my sunglasses on anyway. I know they aren’t really going to give me privacy and anonymity, but they can’t hurt. Glasses certainly didn’t hurt Clark Kent.
The area smells like hay and grass and dirt. And something smoky, but it’s not from some wildfire because it smells deliciously like meat. My mouth starts watering. Whatever’s making the place smell this good better be on sale. I have cash and a willing and eager belly.
Becca leaves her bow in the car, saying she’ll come back for it later. A few townspeople dressed casually say howdy to us. I wave at them, and so does Becca. But she doesn’t tell me who they are or greet them by name, even though they say hello to us like they know exactly who we are.