Love Songs for the Road (20 page)

“You must be an architecture student? At U of M?”

“No, no. Well, yes, I’m a student, but that’s not my subject.”

“You have an eye for a beautiful home, then. This is a real gem. Designed by Dean Robert Metcalf, in 1953. It was his first commission in Ann Arbor, and it’s always been one of my favorite homes in the area. Only been on the market for a month or so. Would you like to see it?”

“Oh no. Maybe another time.” Ryan was so uncomfortable, and couldn’t wait to sprint off. But she had to ask. “Any bites on it yet?”

The agent looked to her left, then to her right, and whispered, “Are you a music fan?”

“Kind of,” she said. The subject was way too complicated to get into.

“Marcus Troy made an inquiry.” Ryan smiled agreeably, but wished she hadn’t asked. “
The
Marcus Troy.”

“Wow.”

The agent shrugged. “But he was just testing the waters, I guess. After that first call, I never heard from him again, and he stopped responding to my e-mails.”

“Too bad,” Ryan said. “That’s tough luck.”

“You’re telling me,” said the agent.

As she bore down Willowtree Lane, Ryan told herself to call it quits, to go home and get some studying done.
You’re done for the day. Time for a well-deserved breather.
But Avon was so close, and she couldn’t help herself. She kept going—she just had to.

What other choice was there? She and Marcus had reached an impasse. He’d made it clear the last time she saw him that there was no way he was going to stop doing what he loved just so he could be with her. And she’d never dream of asking him to stop making music—that was who he was. But she wasn’t going to give up on her own dreams, either. She wasn’t going to be a housewife or a glorified groupie—that wasn’t who
she
was.

Since bumping into the real estate agent that first time, Ryan had always made sure to run on the opposite side of the street when passing Crane House. And she certainly hadn’t peered through the windows again—she didn’t want anyone to think she was some kind of stalker (although anyone who would stalk an empty house was a whole other brand of crazy, surely). Her habit was simply to run down Avon, see the familiar For Sale sign in the yard, and keep going.

Today, everything was as it always was, and as she saw the sign from a hundred yards away, Ryan felt that same mixture of craving and relief, and wondered for the umpteenth time how it was that this had become an addictive ritual for her. But as she got closer, she saw that the sign had been altered. Someone had taped over “For Sale” with a much more definitive notice: “Sold.”

Ryan turned around before passing the house, scolding herself, and hoping that, finally, she might be able to start putting Marcus behind her. She willed herself to think about anything
but
him—the huge workload that awaited her tonight, the meal she would make herself, the run she’d go on tomorrow. She ran faster, hoping that anyone who passed her on the street would mistake her tears for beads of perspiration.

Less than two hundred yards away from her place, she spotted a big, garish car parked in the lot outside the apartment complex. It was the Friday evening of Columbus Day weekend, and only a few cars remained, but even if the lot had been full, this beast of a vehicle would have stood out. A loud gold, faded to a tacky shade of mustard that had last been in fashion a couple of decades before Ryan was born, its convertible canvas top faded to a mottled cream, it looked more like a boat than a car. Wondering where she’d seen it before, she saw a man emerge from the driver’s seat. He wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

Ryan slowed to a halt forty feet shy of the 1973 Cadillac El Dorado, pulled her phone out of her armband and checked her stats: 10.2 miles in eighty-one minutes. She’d shattered her record.

She shoved the phone in the pocket of her shorts, wiped her brow on her wristband, and walked as calmly as she could toward the car and its handsome driver, who stood, cocky as ever, legs crossed at the ankle, aviator glasses shimmering in the waning light. He wore the crooked smile of a cartoon cowboy, and the sight of him held just as much power over her as it ever had.

For a moment, as she closed in on him at fifty feet, she tried to think of something cutting to say, some witty one-liner that would set the tone for whatever was about to occur. But nothing suitably sarcastic presented itself. Instead, she heard only the voice of her father, whose words of wisdom during times of crisis may not have been wholly original, but were always appropriate:
Listen to your heart.

She walked to him at a measured pace. Here he was, after six weeks. He had come for her because he couldn’t stop thinking about her any more than she could about him. She listened to her heart, pounding as hard as if she were still at a full sprint, and it gave her no definitive answers. Yes, it was amazing for him to have, seemingly, driven all the way out here from Montana, but that didn’t mean that any of the issues between them had been resolved. She wouldn’t let him whisk her off her feet. But she would hear what he had to say.

Marcus pulled his glasses off and set them atop his head. He smiled with deep satisfaction, as if, after a long, arduous journey in strange, unfamiliar lands, he’d arrived home and found everything he loved intact. As his eyes met hers, though she tried to suppress it, that familiar thrill shot right through her spine.

“It’s so good to see you again,” he said.

“Marcus, I’m not sure this is a good idea.” For the second time today, she wished she weren’t having a conversation in her sweaty running clothes, though of course this wasn’t the first time it had happened with Marcus.

“Please,” he said. “I’ve got so much I need to tell you.”

Her father’s words again.
Just hear him out, Ryan. He’s come all this way. Hear the man out.

Marcus gave her time to shower and change—she wasn’t going to have a heart-to-heart with him while sweat poured down her forehead and her hair looked like a wet rat’s nest—and after a few minutes, she emerged from the apartment in a rust-orange top and her favorite jeans.

“God, you look gorgeous,” he said as he held the car door for her.

“Marcus, please.” But her heart fluttered. Marcus was so close she could smell him. But all she said was, “You came to talk? Let’s talk.”

He drove up and down Geddes Avenue, the terrain unfamiliar to him, of course. But they didn’t need a destination, not today. “I’ve been going over and over things in my mind,” he said. “And you were right.”

“About what?”

“About everything.” He took a deep breath. “Firstly, it was a terrible idea to have you come up on stage that night.”

“You can say that again.”

“I was on such a high from the custody hearing, and I lost perspective. I wanted to share you with the world, tell everyone how much I—” He paused.

“What?

“You do realize how much I care about you, don’t you?” He looked in her direction, his eyes pleading.

“Keep your eyes on the road.” Her tone was casual, but her heart was pounding faster. He looked straight ahead again, and Ryan saw his hands clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel.

“Back in New Orleans, I told you that I wouldn’t give up my career to be with you.”

“And I wouldn’t want you to. That wouldn’t be fair. Just like it wouldn’t be fair for me to give up mine.”

“But the thing is, I don’t think either one of us has to. I want you to realize all your dreams. I want you to get your degree, and then teach, or consult, or whatever it is that childhood literacy specialists do”—Ryan couldn’t help but chuckle at this—“and I want to support you as you do that.”

“But what about your music? What about touring?”

“I’m over touring. Really. I was already thinking about slowing down, forgetting about big, national tours altogether to concentrate on parenting, on recording, and maybe the odd residency at a smaller club.”

“Okay…”

“What I’ve realized since the tour is that I can end that phase of my life, and not have a single regret. But I can’t walk away from you.”

Ryan was overwhelmed. The Marcus Troy she’d met in June would have never considered transforming his entire life for anyone. Now, he was going to give up something he’d been doing for nearly fifteen years, just to be with her? She couldn’t believe it.

“Oh, Marcus.” She put her hand on his, and rested it in her lap. The car swiveled slightly. “Sorry, keep watching the road. Look, it killed me to walk away from you, too. I hated ending things the way we did. I hated leaving the kids with barely a word. And I’ve realized some things, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re the best man I’ve ever known, even though you’re a total pain in the butt sometimes.”

He reared his head back and laughed. “Thanks a lot.”

“And that I can make compromises, too, if I have to. I cared too much about what other people thought, and I had this stupid idea that no one would ever look at me in the same way, after I’d been on
TMZ
. But when I got here, nobody even looked at me twice.”

“You mean people in your Language Acquisition Diagnostic Methodologies class don’t watch
TMZ
?”

Ryan laughed. “Exactly. These nerds don’t know who Marcus Troy even is.”

He eyed her skeptically. “I doubt that.”

“Marcus…”

“What?”

“I think I—”

“No, I want to say it first.” They were on a leafy side street off Geddes, where there was no traffic at all. He pulled the car over, and turned toward her. “Ryan Evans, I am completely, head over heels in love with you.”

Ryan felt her heart open to this man. Finally, she didn’t have to hold back. He could be hers; she could be his.

Without a word, she kissed him.

Her lips met his, and then for one aching second, she pulled back, wanting that feeling of delicious anticipation to last just a moment longer. “Marcus Troy, I am completely,
totally
head over heels in love with you, too.”

His taste was so familiar, so comforting, the touch of his fingers so erotic, she felt lush and intoxicated and full of life. For a moment, she forgot where they were, and was surprised to look up and see the canopy of trees above her head. The sun was just starting to go down, and as Marcus passionately kissed her, she felt its light playing on her arms.

In a moment, Marcus said, “Come on. I’ve got something I need to show you.”

He headed back toward the university, but as he veered right off of Geddes Avenue, Ryan started to have suspicions.

“What are you up to?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he said, smiling back innocently. “Just a nice country drive.”

After a couple of blocks, though, he took a right onto Avon. Ryan didn’t let on—Marcus couldn’t know that she’d been stalking the house for weeks—as he pulled into the Crane House driveway and parked next to a gray Prius.

“A country drive, followed by a house tour?” Ryan asked.

“Maybe. I heard this one was on the market.”

Marcus parked, and before Ryan could exit from the passenger side, he ran over and opened the door for her. When she stood up, he hugged her. There was now a slight chill in the air, but she felt so warm in Marcus’s arms. She knew, from now on, he was all the shelter she needed.

A metallic clinking on the ground surprised her. Marcus, his arms clasped behind her waist, had dropped something.

“Ooh, what’s that?” he asked playfully.

Ryan looked down and saw a set of keys with a University of Michigan keychain. “No,” she said, still not wanting to let on what she knew and what she didn’t. “I don’t believe it.”

But he didn’t answer. “Let’s go inside and have a look.”

“You didn’t!” she yelled.

“I did.”

From around the corner walked the brunette real estate agent Ryan had run into weeks earlier. “Well,
hello
,” she said, obviously recognizing Ryan.

“Ryan Evans,” she said, holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you.” When Marcus turned to open the door, she mouthed, “Please” to the agent, hoping she would understand.

The agent smiled knowingly, and as Marcus continued to struggle with the lock, nodded in his direction, winked, and gave Ryan an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Then, in a chipper voice, she pulled the For Sale sign from the ground and said, “Okay, Mr. Troy, my work is done here. Enjoy your new home!” With that, she was off in the gray Prius.

Finally, Marcus figured out the lock and swung the door open, ushering Ryan through with a melodramatic wave of the hand. The house was sparsely furnished, but still cozy and warm. She noticed a suitcase lying in the hall.

“Marcus, I can’t believe you did this,” she said, grasping his hand. “And all just to be closer to me?”

“I’d do anything to be closer to you.”

Marcus led Ryan into a room that was outfitted with a simple but beautiful writing desk. A new Mac laptop sat on its surface, still in the box. Behind the door sat a daybed covered in throw pillows. Soft light from a couple of lamps made the room feel cozy and peaceful.

“You can write your thesis here,” Marcus said. “When you’re ready.”

“And what about you? What will you do while I’m slaving away?”