The Cover Age, Chapter 3

Owing to the restrictions of a lockdown, I couldn’t exactly drop by for a visit. I instead suggested we meet up at a park, like we were a couple of spies.

Most public gatherings have been disrupted, most venues shuttered. The park I suggested had a pond, and when I arrived there were ducks in great abundance. No other people, yet. Plenty of runners out there, but that was about it, and they stuck to streets. They say an effect of the pandemic is nature slowly reclaiming itself, which apparently happens much more rapidly than we’d like to believe, although if we’re being honest happens in all manner of small ways all the time, with half the business of civilization tidying up mundane matters like dust and cobwebs.

I hadn’t brought anything for the ducks, but they seemed not to notice. They ambled about, merrily, business as usual. I had never met Clive in person, couldn’t possibly know what he looked like, Clive being one of those bloggers who never shared a picture, but it was an easy guess when a man with thinning hair, an uncertain shuffle, and a nervous expression behind blue frames approached.

“They’re my kid’s idea,” he said. “Also, you’re a girl.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Wife left me a few years back,” he said. “Claimed I spent more time writing than snuggling. Probably true.”

Which would be an understatement. Clive is editor of his own small press, always pumping out new anthologies, often simultaneously. Difficult to know how he would find time for anything else, much less a wife, much less a kid.

“Blue frames?” I couldn’t help pointing out again.

“They’re surprisingly common these days,” he said.

“So yeah,” I said, “I’m a girl. Never really came up. Real name’s Marietta. Fox is a lark. Long story.”

“Right,” he said. “So, you really believe what you wrote?”

“When it comes to Oliver Row, I believe everything,” I said. “And, of course, doubt everything.”

“This thing is making everyone crazy as it is,” he said. “Makes as much sense as anything.”

We kept a good distance between us. I sat on the bench, as Clive had found me, and he stood a little off. Turns out he’d thought of the ducks, peeled away at a chunk of bread he may have baked himself, whether because of the lockdown or a hobby. I had no way of knowing. Didn’t particularly care.

“Interesting, meeting you like this,” he said. “Sort of feel like you were stalking me, all these years.”

“Coincidence,” I said. “Oliver lives here, too. Meeting you is my way of finding the strength to reunite with him. Ex. Bad breakup.”

“I see,” he said.

“No offense, but you can’t even begin to imagine,” I said.

There was another awkward pause, though there was a lot of that going around.

“Is this a quest?” he asked. “Is that what you asked me to come here for?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Still deciding.”

“The kid’s with my ex, by the way,” he said. “Nothing pressing. Except, y’know, state mandates. We could get in a lot of trouble.”

“Probably,” I said. “But then again, probably worth it.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You know you’re crazy, right? I’m not talking just now. Your blogging is crazy. Thought I’d point that out, just to be clear.”

I got up and headed off. Clive followed. The ducks went about their business.