Wood: A True Lover's Story

Okay. So she has even more protective family than before. The woman was never in short supply. “I was a good friend of—I am a good friend of her son, Adam. I was hoping I could speak to her and maybe get his number or address. I’ve been gone a long time and just got back into town. Is she available?” Wood smiled. “She used to love to watch her stories at noon. She still crazy about General Hospital?”

What he said seemed to help his case as a wistful smile worked its way over the guy’s narrow face. “Yep. She sure did.”

“Did?” Wood said hesitantly.

The young man nodded. “I’m sorry to tell you. My grandma passed away six years ago.”

Wood shot his fist to his mouth and sucked in a sharp breath that almost made him choke as the cold wind hit the back of throat. “Damnit,” Wood gritted out. Another one of the things he was most afraid of. Coming out and realizing all he’d missed. Not only the birthdays, anniversaries, weddings… but even the funerals. Ms. Geneva had believed in him, encouraged him, and fed him after Wood’s own evangelical Christian mom didn’t want any more to do with him.

The kid moved back as if to close the door. “I’m real sorry.”

Before he could disappear, Wood asked, “What about Adam? Is he still in the area?”

The kid squinted his light eye. “I didn’t catch your name?”

If this was Ms. Geneva’s grandson, then he was speaking with one of Adam’s many nephews. He may’ve heard Wood’s name before, but he was kind of young. Hell, he couldn’t lie, and the young man was related to his ex. This was his only chance. He had to get a face-to-face with Adam to apologize and ask for forgiveness. God, he needed forgiveness so badly. “My name is Wood Jr. Me and Adam go way back, got a lotta history.”

“Hmm,” the young man said. “Why don’t you give me your number, and if I see Adam I’ll be sure to pass it along.”

Wood knew he had no choice, and the kid was actually smart. It wasn’t wise to give out anyone’s information to a complete stranger. He reached in his backpack and pulled out his notebook and one of his sketch pencils from the bottom. “I’ll leave my number and my address too. Please tell him…” Wood hesitated. “Please tell him it’s important. He’ll know what you mean.”

“Sure,” the guy said, still not offering his own name, and took the half-torn sheet of paper.

Wood left feeling like that could’ve gone much worse. Though he was heartbroken to hear of Ms. Geneva’s passing, he was glad he was able to at least get a message to Adam. He’d also put the ball in his court to reach out to him, and he prayed he did. Wood walked the half mile to the bus stop to wait for the 34 to take him farther up the boulevard so he could make a zillion more transfers just to get to Chesapeake, a city that was less than twenty minutes away by Uber. But he didn’t have money to waste. He had a perfectly working HRT pass and all day to take this mental ass-whupping.

I can handle it. I got this. Wood bounced his knee continually while he sat on the bench a couple of seats down from another woman. She was lost in whatever she was reading on her phone, so he didn’t bother to speak. He was too busy trying to psych himself up. It was crazy for him to think that his parents would just open their front door and welcome him back inside after all this time, but he had hope. It’s all he had. He’d written tons of letters—though they never responded—and he’d laid his heart out there in each one. He apologized so many times for not being the son they wanted and deserved. Countless times he’d explained his actions in hopes they’d understand, but he never got an answer. Maybe it was too difficult for them to write their only son in prison.

“Hey! You waiting on me, ain’tcha?” the bus driver yelled at him from the wide-open door.

“Shoot!” Wood hurried and leapt up the few steps and quickly swiped his pass. “Sorry. Daydreaming.”

The woman smiled and pulled off from the curb as Wood took a seat in the back.

Wood cracked his back when he got off the last bus on Great Bridge Boulevard. All the stopping and transfers had chewed up another two hours of his time. He needed to hurry because if all went well with his folks—like his mom wanted him to stay and eat a late lunch with her or something—he still had to get to her grave before nightfall. He concentrated on the sounds of the dead leaves crunching under his boots as he trudged down the two-lane street through Chanticleer Heights so he didn’t throw up from the swarm of hornets stinging his insides. Almost naturally his pace slowed as he stared at his parents’ one-story ranch just two more houses down. He’d been told to never come back. Ever. But there he was. Because “ever” was a long time.