“We don’t talk about you know who.”
“I know.” She frowns at me while her breath fogs out above her head, frosting her eyelashes. I feel like mine are on the verge of freezing shut since I keep ducking down into the collar of my jacket, making my breath go straight up into my eyes. “That’s why we should. It’s been what? Six months since he left?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“And his house has sat empty all this time?”
“Yes.”
“No sale signs or anything?”
“No.”
“Which could mean he’s coming back.”
I repress a sigh as I stare off to the side. It’s white all around us. The trees are skeletal, with no leaves, and it’s a pretty barren sight. Not pretty like winter can sometimes be. “I honestly don’t care if he is. You know I went over to his house the night we looked him up, and I told him I didn’t want to see him again. I meant it.”
“Which is why you’ve been mopey and sad and refusing to go out and do anything fun for all these months.”
“That’s not it. What kind of fun things can you do when it’s minus a thousand out?”
“You’ve been in a shitty mood for the past six months. Don’t tell me you haven’t looked him up once.”
I have. I have, and Leanne knows it. She’s very well aware that I’m very well aware that Wade has done a lot in the six months he’s been gone. He left the week after we had our little talk. I call it a breakup, but I’m not sure it’s the correct term because it would imply we were dating, and whatever we were doing, it wasn’t that.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know he started a company that makes affordable housing. We really needed that. It was a great idea.”
“He has a construction background. It made sense.” I wince, realizing how easily Leanne suckered me into that one.
“Well, sense or not,” Leanne says, more diplomatically than I would have expected after my lapse of judgment, “he’s doing some good things. He’s funding buildings for veterans and homeless people. I can’t imagine all the work and research it would take.”
“He was in construction. He probably knew all about it beforehand. He had to learn something in school, I’m sure.”
“He also set up all those scholarships for people who can’t afford to train. There are ten different scholarships—full scholarships—for people who show promise in carpentry. Do you know how much it would cost to fund that?”
“I can imagine,” I mutter. I barely avoid stepping on a patch of ice and breaking my neck. Luckily, disaster is averted, and we keep on walking. My toes are freezing, and I can’t feel my fingers. I have a strong urge to tell Leanne that we need to go somewhere and get a coffee to warm the frick up, but I just keep walking.
I don’t mention the strange letter of thanks I got in the mail two months ago—the one from some weird foundation that does research and conservation work with and for spiders. They thanked me for the donation made in my name to the tune of a quarter-million dollars. All that money will apparently help save endangered species and help in the conservation and research of natural habitats for species of spiders worldwide.
I knew exactly who had done it. I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a joke or if Wade was just paying homage to the good times we had. Either way, I never heard a thing from him directly. But I’m glad he stayed in Chicago and is putting the money to good use. Once he actually got things going, the media pretty much settled down and left him alone. No one treats him like a celebrity, and he’s never hounded or plastered all over tabloids or trash articles online. I guess people like a feel-good story, and so sometimes those get posted, but no one is acting crazy enough to drive Wade out of Chicago. Maybe people finally figured out the city could really use someone like him to try and make things better for the many people who have gone through some rough times. Maybe they figured it was best to leave Wade alone to do his good work.
“It’s freezing,” Leanne suddenly states like she just noticed it now, even though we’ve been out here walking for twenty minutes. “Let’s go back to your place. You can make us hot chocolate and read me some of that new story you just finished. You were saying you wanted my input on some of the history parts.”
“Right. Well, I’m game for going home, but do you really want me to read it to you? The parts I have questions about are pretty boring. I don’t mind doing research, but it only goes so far, and I hate making mistakes and having everyone point them out after. I feel so dumb.”