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oblivious to her concern.
     
    Stacey paused. “Keep what up?”
     
    “The whole not driving, not traveling outside of Seattle, not allowing certain interviews thing?” He kicked a rock in their path.
     
    Stacey rolled her eyes in defiance. This wasn’t the first time that she had been accused of such a thing. “No. It’s no charade, Hunter. I’m really fucked up.”
     
    Hunter stopped walking. Fucked up was a bit harsh. Traumatized may have been a better explanation for her actions. He looked down at her and grabbed her small hand. There was the sincerest look in her eyes, as if what she was saying was the gospel in some sick, twisted way. Suddenly, he wanted to protect her, but how could he protect her from herself?
     
    Stacey looked away from him. Having been alone so long, she had learned to accept what she had become. A hermit. A pessimist in some ways. A fragment. A fraction of what she used to be.
     
    But Hunter seemed to see something different. Maybe it was because he too had been forever altered by his experience. “You’re not fucked up,” he finally said, his deep baritone voiced determined.
     
    Stacey smiled. “Of course, I am.”
     
    “No, you’re not. You’re just in a different place right now. We all go through it. I’m going through it,” he said, holding both his hand and hers up to his racing heart.
     
    “You’re sweet, Hunter. But let’s face facts. I own a perfectly good Mercedes that I’ve only driven once. When I got into it, I totally freaked. I became incredibly claustrophobic all of a sudden. Then, I had a panic attack that nearly killed another family right in a major intersection. It was horrific…no it was pathetic.” She yanked her hand away.
     
    They both began to walk again in silence. Hunter thought of all the many changes he’d made in his own life and how difficult things had been for him. He also thought about how difficult he had made things for everyone else- for his family, for what friends were left.
     
    As a surge of foamy waves hit the bay, he gazed over at the water and pushed his own pain aside. How could he help her if he was still groveling? “A Mercedes, you say?”
     
    Stacey took a sip of her Red Stripe beer. “Black-on-black interior. It’s a beautiful piece of engineering. I keep it in the parking garage. It has like twenty miles on it.”
     
    He chuckled. “You are a baller. What do you do with all of that money?”
     
    “Send some home to take care of dad and save the rest,” she answered without thought. “What do you do with yours?”
     
    “I send a lot of it to Soldier’s Angels. It’s an organization that helps military families in need. The rest I save. I’m not really into the whole living above my means deal.”
     
    “Me either,” she said, taking another swig of her beer. “It’s totally played out. Taxes make me want to save every penny.”
     
    He laughed. “Yeah, the IRS is a bitch.”
     
    “Tell me about it,” she laughed. “Don’t you wish that you could claim someone, be married to someone?”
     
    “All the time,” he said in a huff. Both the question and the answer had two meanings for him, but he would keep that to himself.
     
    And just like that, they had moved on from the moment of despair. They walked and laughed for nearly an hour, taking in the sights and the sounds of the boats and waves. Peacefully, they found themselves truly getting to know one another.
     
    Hunter liked to collect Greek artifacts when he wasn’t helping run the family practice. He spent a considerable amount of time at the gym and was a horrible golfer and basketball player. Stacey enjoyed collecting old books, buying art from a dealer in Harlem who knew exactly what pieces spoke to her difficult but beautiful childhood. When she wasn’t writing, she enjoyed biking and long walks around the waterway. Both had a thing for the Food Network and YouTube. They even were subscribers to some of the same channels.
     
    “Are