“I know exactly,” I said.
“Whenever we traveled, my mom would make sure we stayed in hotels that had some history. In San Antonio, there’s a hotel called the Fairmount. Built in 1906. We walked in that place and I felt like I was on the Titanic. I felt my way all over that hotel. Remember how you said that the world was more beautiful, once upon a time?”
“Yeah.” I’d felt stupid when I said it, but now I was glad I had.
“It’s so true. There’s still original furniture in the Fairmount, and the whole place just feels . . . ripe.” She laughed at her word choice. “Ripe is the only word that fits. Like it’s bursting at the seams with history and time and energy. There’s so much beneath the surface, but no one can see it. Not just me. No one. And because no one else can see it either, it makes me feel privileged that at least I can feel it.”
“I know that hotel. They relocated it in 1985. Actually picked the hotel up and moved it down the street. My grandma was one of those rich old ladies who was big on preserving the historical sites. A lot of the wealthy families are. She was on the committee to save it. That was before I was born, but there was a big gala at the Fairmount to mark its one hundred year anniversary that we all attended. It’s a cool place.”
“I loved it.” Millie sighed. “Where else have you been?”
“I’ve been all over the world. I’ve seen more in twenty-six years than most people see in a lifetime. A lot more.”
“Did your parents take you?” she asked.
“No.”
She waited for me to elaborate, and I weighed what I should share. It wasn’t a happy story. But I realized, much to my astonishment, that I wanted to tell her.
“I had never thought about traveling. It wasn’t even my dream. I didn’t really have any dreams. At eighteen, I was a lost, rich kid with no idea who I was or how to navigate the rest of my life.”
Millie didn’t respond. Considering she couldn’t give a guy eye-contact, she was the best listener I’d ever met. She reminded me a little of Moses, the way she just soaked it all in and didn’t miss anything. The difference was, Moses didn’t hang on my every word. Millie did. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I didn’t want her hanging on the wrong ones, hanging her hopes on something I hadn’t meant, and holding me accountable for everything that came out of my mouth. I spoke the truth with a layer of bullshit thrown in for entertainment value. It was the Texas in me, part of the charm. But I couldn’t be that way with Millie. I had to say what I meant, always. I didn’t know how I knew it to be true. But it was. And I felt the responsibility in my gut.
“When I was sixteen, my sister, Molly, disappeared. She was kind of a party-girl. Same as I was. We were wild. But we were close. And we always looked out for each other. She was a couple years older than I was, but I was the man, you know? She up and disappeared on the Fourth of July and we didn’t know what happened to her. Not for two years. And I blamed myself. I looked for her, but I couldn’t find her. So I drowned my frustration with alcohol. Dad kept a well-stocked bar in the house, and I helped myself often. But by the time I was eighteen years old, the alcohol couldn’t touch the itch beneath my skin or the restlessness in my blood. I’d lost my sister and I was strangely jealous that she couldn’t be found.” I considered how far to go, and ended up leaving a bunch of stuff out, not because I was ashamed, but because it was just too damn heavy for kite flying.
“And then I met Moses. Moses had nothing, but Moses knew everything. He painted away his pain. That was how he coped. And he let me hang around. He let me in. He helped me see. Neither of us had anywhere to go. But I had money. My parents were relieved to see me leave. They were tired. Grief-stricken. And they handed me a credit card and washed their hands of me.”
“And you just went to Europe?” Her voice awe-struck.
“We went everywhere. We were barely legal. Kids, really. But he could paint. I could bullshit my way out of almost anything, so he painted his way across the world and I made sure people bought his stuff instead of throwing us in jail for vandalism. He wanted to see all the famous art. The Louvre, the Sistine Chapel, the architecture, the Wall of China. That was his dream. So that’s what we did. And when I couldn’t talk us out of trouble, we fought our way out of trouble. That was my goal, see. I wanted to get in a fist fight with someone from every country. I got my ass kicked by a big Swede. He now works at my gym, and I make it my mission to kick his ass every day.”
Millie’s laughter pealed out like a song, and I examined my words to make sure I’d told the truth at every turn. Satisfied that my account had been spot-on, I relaxed and laughed with her.
“Axel?” She ventured a guess as to the Swede’s identity.
“Axel,” I confirmed. “I met Andy in Ireland and Paulo in Brazil. When I opened the gym I tracked them all down and asked them to come work with me.”
“So you collected people and Moses collected art?”
“Something like that.”
“How long did you travel?”
“We kept traveling until we found ourselves.”
“What does that mean?”
“Moses told me once that you can’t escape yourself. You can run, hide, or die. But wherever you go, there you’ll be. I was pretty empty for a long time. It took a while to figure out what fills me up.”
“I understand that. Darkness is very empty. And I’m always alone in the dark.”