Page 67 of Ms. Lead

I return to the fireplace, grab Oliver’s books off the mantle, and then return to the kitchen. I’m about to drop them into the trash, but I can’t bring myself to do that. Something makes me hesitate, hovering the books above the opening for a minute. I stare at Oliver’s picture on the back of the cover of the bottom book, and I suddenly can’t breathe.

Laying the books on the counter, I try to gather myself. I can’t throw them out. Finally, I put them in a box, write the word “FREE” on it, and take them out into the hallway, leaving the box by the elevator. Out of sight, out of mind.

The theory works until I go back into the apartment, where the bare mantle and wall above the fireplace now remind me of what used to be there.

They look empty. Like me.

Chapter Thirty-Five

OLIVER

TRAVELING ON

Five Months After the Grand Canyon

Two weeks into the publicity tour for my book, Open City Las Vegas: The Modern Wild West, and I’m already starting to feel burnt out. Darcie did her best to space out the appearances as much as possible, to give me time to rest, but there’s just something soul-draining about having to be ‘on’ for hours at a time.

Add to this crazy pace the fact that I’m traveling through the Northeast and Midwest of the US during January, and it’s a perfect recipe for being absolutely miserable. I appreciate that it’s not unrelenting heat because that’s like kryptonite to MS, but this is a little ridiculous.

At least we’ll be heading south and west in a few more weeks. That’s how I instructed Darcie to schedule the agenda to ensure I’m where I need to be on February 21st.

The holidays were a blur, and I spent Boxing Day with Darcie and Pamela, who were kind enough to invite me to their home. However, they insisted on watching football matches all day, so I bowed out relatively early. I should have known better on that one. And I was in bed early on New Year's Eve, so my party days are apparently over.

It’s incredible what a difference five months can make when you concentrate on improving yourself. Rather than playing the stagnant hermit like I did the first year after my diagnosis, I’ve broken out of that shell and made some significant changes.

I’ve completely altered my diet to battle the inflammation associated with MS, and I’ve started various fitness activities, from yoga to cycling, to keep my strength and balance issues at bay. I’ve even started regular acupuncture and massage therapy.

The final and most significant change has been engaging a therapist. The Thursday group with Oscar is still helpful, but even with that, there are things you don’t want to talk about with your mates.

Peeling back the onion that is the human experience layer by layer has been enlightening. Recognizing that I was letting my fear rule every aspect of my life was a start. Now the task becomes letting go of that fear, which I’m finding is more difficult than anything else thus far.

I’m perfectly okay having someone stick me with a bunch of tiny needles on the auspice of feeling better, but tell someone how I’m genuinely feeling about anything? Pfft. No thanks.

I am working on it.

Sitting in an airport in Cleveland, waiting for our flight to Chicago, Darcie has decided that this is a great time to talk about the break I insisted on in February.

“I mean, I think it’s brilliant that you’ve baked in a little bit of a respite into the itinerary, but why can’t you tell me what you have planned? And why I’m not invited. It’s rude.” She chuckles, but the thought of that time revives my anxiety.

I try to think of a way to explain it without explaining it while trying to get comfortable in the airport seating.

“It’s just a break from everything. Including you. So, I couldn’t very well invite you along, could I?” I flash her a smile, letting her know I’m joking. But she still examines me closely.

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” She goes back to her phone, scrolling with a shrug.

My therapist is the only other person besides Bianca who knows about that time's significance. Honestly, he’s not a fan of the agreement at all, but I’m committed to seeing it through regardless. I needed the time to work on myself. It didn’t start out that way but evolved unexpectedly.

I thought for sure this long time apart would extinguish the fire that had ignited in me for Bianca, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s fanned those flames by making me think a real relationship might be possible between us now that I’m in a better place mentally and physically. The transformation that needed to happen for me was immense, and something that big can’t change overnight. It needs time.

While I can’t and, for the most part, don’t live based on my fear anymore, one huge worry keeps me up at night, that Bianca has moved on. I have no right to think that she would do anything other than forget me and find someone else. To be honest, she should. I won’t blame her one bit if she has. I was an idiot, and she does deserve better than who I was back then.

When I arrive in Las Vegas next month, with my heart in my hand to offer to her, I can only pray that my deepest fears won’t become a reality.

* * *

Besides my scheduled signings at various bookstores in Chicago, Darcie has arranged press interviews with both television and print outlets. I would much rather meet with readers and discuss my books than meet the press and discuss my life.

While readers come from a place of honesty and interest, it always feels like the media comes with ulterior motives. They want to get exclusive information or salacious details that they can twist and warp to their own purpose. Whatever gets them the internet clicks they want.

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