Dirty Letters(23)

The three of us walked around Martha’s property for a while. She gave us a tour that ended at a tree next to a wide flowing stream. She pointed up to the coveted nest, and although it was way cooler looking than I’d expected, I still didn’t fully get Doc’s reverence. He stayed outside to nest sit and wait for the baya weaver to return, while Martha and I went into the house to make some tea.

“So . . . you and Chester . . . are you . . . a couple?”

It took me a few seconds to realize she was talking about Doc. I forgot he had an actual first name. “Oh God, no.”

She filled the kettle and turned to me with it in her hands. “Are you sure? It’s just the two of you in that RV together, and you also took a trip to New York City last month, right?”

“Um. Yeah. I’m positive. Doc is my . . . doc.”

Her brows drew together, so I clarified.

“He’s my shrink. I’m his patient.”

A look of relief washed across her face. She seriously thought my seventy-something-year-old doctor was my boyfriend?

She patted me on my shoulder. “He refers to you as his special friend.”

I smiled. “He probably didn’t want to mention anything because of doctor-patient confidentiality and all.”

Martha seemed pleased by that. Apparently the old bird was interested in showing Doc more than her nest. “Oh! Well, that makes sense. So what’s wrong with you?”

I blinked a few times. No one had ever asked me such a direct question about my mental health. “Um. I have a fear of crowds and confined places.”

She set the kettle down on the stove and lit the burner. “That’s okay. I don’t like clowns.”

Not exactly the same, but okeydoke. “So . . . you and Doc have been friends for a while, I take it?”

“Has to be three or four years now.”

“Have you always been a bird lover?”

“My mother used to have a pet bird when I was little. Her name was Kelly. She had the brightest colors on her wings, and I could watch her flutter around for hours. But it wasn’t until I joined the group that Doc and I are part of that I realized the true magic of bird-watching.”

She’d been frank asking me about my issues, so I figured candor was fine. “Which is . . . ?”

Martha smiled. “Bird-watching is about the journey. You never know where the hobby will take you. I’ve spent months trying out different foods and feeders to see how changing the habitat can attract different species. Feeding the birds also attracts other wildlife, like butterflies, dragonflies, even chipmunks. Then there are the friendships that hiking and festivals bring, not to mention the online clubs. Heck, I’ve visited friends in Alaska to watch birds—friends I’d never have met if I hadn’t started on this journey.” She tilted her head and studied me. “That’s why Doc is such a natural. You know how he is—it’s always about the trip, not the final destination.”

That was Doc’s philosophy. He’d been pushing me to take little steps, to learn to feel happiness here, instead of waiting to get there. But I’d been so focused on finding a cure for my fears that I hadn’t stopped to realize he’d been trying to teach me to accept who I am every step of the way. Two years ago, I never would have taken this road trip. It was way too outside my comfort zone. And I definitely wouldn’t have gone in pursuit of a relationship that was equally as terrifying as it was exciting. While Griffin had always been one of the few people I’d been truly comfortable with, there was a huge difference between accepting your pen pal for who she was and a real-life relationship. And he’d just come back into my life. I wasn’t ready to lose him. It was a big risk, but something told me the potential reward might make it worth it. So I took a giant scary leap. Yet for the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of hope. Whether things worked out with Griff or not, I was going to enjoy this trip and experience as much as I could.





CHAPTER 11

LUCA


Holy crap.

HOLY CRAP.

This couldn’t be where Griffin worked, could it? He must be employed by someone famous. But who? Someone I knew?

Peeking out of the RV window as we parked on Via Cerritos, I turned to Doc. “This is insane.”

“Is it possible that Griffin is well-to-do and lives here? Based on the company name, I’d assumed we were going to a business, not a residence.”

“I don’t think so, but honestly, I’m so confused. The truth is, I don’t even know if the address on that eBay receipt has anything to do with Griffin at all. It was just an assumption based on the word music.” Now, I was starting to wonder if this entire trip had been a waste of time.

Doc peered out of the window with his binoculars. “It’s probably only a matter of time before we get kicked off this street. We should perhaps inquire as to who that house belongs to before that happens.”

A few minutes later, I spotted a woman exiting the gates of a mansion that was a few houses down from the one allegedly linked to Griffin.

“Should I approach that lady and ask her if she knows who lives there?”

“Can’t hurt,” he said.

I stepped down out of the RV when she got closer to us.

“Excuse me. Hi. Can you tell me who lives at that property over there . . . Twelve Via Cerritos?”