Love Song(47)

“Uh-huh. If you say so.”

Grumbling irritably, he walks faster and is soon outpacing the Spencers.

Little Spencer slows, waiting for me to catch up. As we fall into step with each other, he murmurs, “Oh, that boy was absolutely going to kiss you.”

I feel vindicated. “Right?”

It’s another ten minutes before we reach the top of the bluff and five more before Big Spencer calls out, “Over here.”

The tree is more impressive than I expected. It’s a lone pine but not some scrawny one. The trunk is massive, gnarled with age, and the high branches stretch wide and uneven, casting pockets of shade all over the tall grass. At the base, wildflowers push up through the dirt, and one of the tree’s lower limbs juts out low enough that it creates a natural bench you can actually sit on.

“Wow, this is beautiful,” I marvel.

“Right?” Little Spencer beams. “You can totally picture Darlie and Raymond coming out here and boning, can’t you?”

“I mean, I wasn’t picturing them boning, but…sure.”

I approach the tree, breathing in the scent of pine needles and earth. I half expect to find initials carved into the trunk, a romantic heart with DG and RL scratched inside it, but there’s nothing but jagged, flaky stretches of bark.

“So Raymond lived up there?” I peer at the slope in the distance, trying to make out the Loughlin house through the pines. You can see the enormous property if you’re on the water but not from here.

“Yep,” Big Spencer confirms. “And according to legend, he snuck out every night to meet Darlie here.”

“To bone,” pipes up Little Spencer.

“What legend is this?” Wyatt sounds exasperated. “Like, is there any actual proof they met at this tree? For all you know, this is just a random tree that got dragged into this story against its will.”

“We read it in interviews,” Little Spencer says defensively. “Members of the Loughlin family have spoken about it over the years.”

“Okay, and what proof did they offer?” Wyatt challenges. “Other than hearing it in stories passed from generation to generation?”

“Oh, so you’re discounting oral history?” Little Spencer shoots back. “You’d make a terrible historian. Who wants a granola bar?”

I blink at the sudden topic change. “Ah, no thanks. I’m good.”

“Same,” Wyatt says.

“Suit yourself.” Little Spencer digs into his fanny pack, glancing at Big Spencer. “Chocolate chip or chewy oats, babe?”

As the Spencers sit on the branch bench and munch on their granola bars, I wander off, phone in hand. Might as well capture some pictures of the view while we’re up here. Wyatt comes up beside me as I’m framing a shot of the lake.

“You feeling better about this murder hike?” I ask him.

“Yeah,” he says grudgingly. “They seem harmless.”

“Told you.”

I turn around to snap some photos of the sex tree.

“I can’t imagine loving someone so much that I’d want to kill myself if they broke my heart,” I muse. “Can you?”

“Me personally? Nah. I can’t see myself ever catching feelings that run that deep.”

“Goes against the fuckboy code?”

He rolls his eyes. “Careful, Blakey… Keep using ‘fuckboy’ as a slur, and I’ll tell everyone you’ve been slut-shaming me.”

“Don’t call me Blakey,” I grumble. “Only Gigi gets that pass. And we both know you own that label. You go out of your way to make it clear to girls that you’re there for a good time, not a long time.”

That gets me a shrug. “Nothing wrong with knowing your own limitations.”

“But you have been in love, right?”

Wyatt nods. “Plenty of times. But not the kind of love we’re talking about.” He goes quiet for a beat before continuing thoughtfully. “I think I can imagine it, though. What Darlie felt for Raymond. Love so all-consuming that when it’s gone, you don’t want to move on. You don’t want to heal.”

I bite my lip, overwhelmed by the sudden intensity.

“It’s like…” He trails off again. “You just want to stop existing in a world where you’re no longer loved by her. Because erasing yourself hurts a lot less than staying behind without her.”

My throat constricts, a strange sensation traveling through my body. For a self-proclaimed good-time guy, he’s conveying some very profound thoughts about love.

“Have you ever felt anything like that before?” Wyatt asks gruffly.

Slowly, I shake my head. “No. But I thought maybe with Isaac…” I stop, unsure where I’m going with this. “Isaac acted like he loved me like that. He was so over-the-top about his feelings, especially in public…all the grand gestures and declarations of love…” I swallow through my tight throat. “But I don’t think he felt even a fraction of what you just described.”

A flicker of discomfort crosses Wyatt’s expression, almost as if he’s realized how deep we’ve gone. “Eh,” he finally says. “Makes for a great love song, but in real life? It’s probably overrated.”