That evening, she texted:

I liked our bike ride and appreciated our heartfelt conversation. 😊

Him: Yes! It meant a lot to me.

Her: Me too 😊

He wanted to say more, gush if it was allowed. Shut up! You’re past the gate, sit down and relax. ‘Yes! It meant a lot to me,’ what a lame-ass text. For hours, he was elated, but spoiled it by torturing himself trying to think of what else to say, but everything sounded ridiculous, desperate and stupid. It was indeed a defining moment, was it not? Of course it was! An official declaration! He made meaningless trips from his office to the kitchen and back, then to the living room, where he’d sit for thirty seconds and then return to his office and attempt to work. Too damn excited, excited, excited, and wholly unsettled, but that’s what connection is, right? Yes, but no, it felt wrong, out of place, uncomfortable, an errant by-product of something wonderful. A bad hormonal sub-routine stuck in the system? Or was it legitimately something worth paying attention to and unearthing? Why should he feel there was anything wrong? Guilt? No, he was blissfully free of guilt in this moment. It was something dark, depressing, tugging at the pit of his stomach. He wanted to run away and never see her again, but of course, his heart would never allow it, and it was in control of everything now.

A couple of days later, she came down with the flu and texted:

I’m officially ‘sick’ now – congested, sore throat and bad cough. Wrote a weird scene in my play, sipping tea and listening to the wind outside.

Him: Ohhhh. Not nice. I hope you leap over it quickly. Tea, tea, and more tea.

Later, he texted:

Him: I have some homemade broth and some red lentil soup in my freezer…Shall I drop them off to you, tomorrow?

Her: Thanks. That would be so nice.

Him: Cool! I’ll be there sometime in the morning… I can also stop and pick up anything you need, groceries etc, so just text me.

Her: Ok. Appreciate it 😊😘

Him:😊

He was good at caretaking because he knew how to anticipate. Meals, medicine, a fresh pillow, a funny movie, and calm reassurance. He didn’t particularly like the work, but the adoration was worth it. He felt strangely elated that she was ill.

It was how he’d been raised. The youngest of five children, he received positive attention from his parents and siblings when he carried out their requests. Go and get me the newspaper, dear fellow, from father. Help me make the salad, from mother. Get my book for me, from sister. Hand me that TV Guide and turn to channel ten, from brother. At the school of pleasing others, he excelled. Such a good, helpful boy, he’d been told so many times with dear affection. It made him a good worker bee, a highly valued employee, a perfect guest, an easy friend, and, naturally, all of that felt good, defining him.

The next day, it rained all morning, but he had an important mission. One container of chicken broth and the other, a roasted butternut squash and red lentil puree, with the same broth. He took an Uber through the storm and texted:

Soup’s at your door 🙂

Her: Thanks!

Later, she texted:

OMG. I just had a bowl of bone broth. It is so good. Like, sooo good. With every spoonful I felt healthier. Thank you 🙂 … You should give girls that bone broth on a first date. Just sayin’ 😂

Slam dunk! Chicken broth was magical, people always said that. Over the next couple of days, he texted ‘I miss you’ and ‘How are you feeling?’ She reported, ‘fine, getting better, breathing easier, more energy today, etc.’

Her: Had some thoughts about kissing you at Jericho beach.

She mentioned finishing a scene she felt good about.

Him: Can I read it?

Her: Sure. Here’s the link: … Thx for asking 🙂

She sent him a link to a Google doc. It was a scene of a woman being questioned by two detectives, a man and a woman, both in natty plain clothes. Spencer imagined Eva as the woman because she had said, albeit abstractly, that the play was about her. She was in handcuffs, wearing only a t-shirt and panties.

Female cop: Do you like roses?

Candy: Yes.

Female cop: Then why aren’t there any growing in your garden?

Male cop: When you turned sixteen, why did you stop eating granola?

Candy: I never liked it.

Female cop: Then why didn’t you plant the roses?

Candy shrugs.

Male cop: Don’t you see how you’re not making any sense?

It was uncomfortable and absurd, which made him laugh, but he wasn’t sure if that was the intent. It was incomprehensible without knowing the rest of the play, except for the clear expression of malevolent authority.

He wondered what kind of feedback she would appreciate. Some artists simply wanted space and time to get the work done and when they emerged, they wanted to see a supportive smile, not someone who looked neglected. Others wanted feedback, but not if it was negative. And others wanted honest feedback, but if it was negative, there wouldn’t be any sex. Blind support was safest.

He texted:

Wow. I love it. There’s so much going on. Not just saying that. It made me really curious to read the whole thing.

What had Eva been through to inspire that? Her play was a window to understand her better. She was healing from something, but not the plane crash, this was about something else.

Her: Thank you 🙂

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