Chapter 34

"Was that a cicada?" Daniel asked, with a charming level of excitement.

Joel listened, then turned back to the little trailhead cafe, where they'd just bought sodas for their picnic. "That was an espresso machine."

"Darn." Daniel pulled the backpack of snacks from the trunk of Joel's sedan and slung it over one shoulder.

"They'll sing soon, I promise." Joel draped the green-and-white-checked picnic blanket over one arm, then grabbed the little sandwich cooler. "There's never been a silent cicada brood on historical record, which goes back to 1634."

"Good to know some things on this planet never change."

As they moseyed down the paved path, it took everything in Joel not to drag Daniel off into the underbrush for another make-out session, especially since the one on the couch had been cut short by his own twitchiness about being touched. Now that they were far from the closest bed, the prospect of sex was less threatening and therefore more alluring.

Even here in the shade of the woods, the world looked brighter, crisper, and more all-around gorgeous than Joel had seen it in ages. Maybe it was just the clear skies and low humidity, or even simply being out and about with another human.

It probably wasn't any of those things.

A pair of brisk-walking young women passed them with a cheery greeting, their dog trotting on a leash between them. Though yellow Labs were the country's most popular variation of the most popular breed, they always reminded Joel of the photo of Vanessa, Hailey, and Ralph the dog on that long-ago Wyoming hike.

"Do you miss your daughter?" he asked.

The answer took a few moments to come. "Yes. Very much." Daniel's voice was gravel rough. "She wants to Zoom with us this weekend to meet you."

"Oh." Joel's stomach gave a little flutter. "Cool."

"Don't be nervous."

"When has telling someone not to be nervous ever made them less nervous?"

"She'll love you."

"Did she love Corey?"

"Eventually," Daniel said. "She'll love you faster, since you're not taking her mom's place."

"Does Hailey know—" He really needed to stop bringing up the past, but the guilt still poked at him. "Does she know what happened with us?"

"Sure, it was one of her favorite bedtime stories as a kid, how we hooked up at a cicada-slash-privateer convention." Daniel grinned down at him. "All she knows is you're an old flame and we met when we were teenagers. I told her it was the distance that kept us apart."

"It definitely didn't help." He pointed to a slight break in the trees to their left. "We should be able to get to Big Gunpowder Falls through there. Don't get excited by the name, though. Up here it's more like Average Rocky Stream."

They headed down the steep muddy trail, pushing aside branches of autumn olive and other shrubs that grew across the path at inconvenient angles. After a year of limited human footfall, nature had aggressively reasserted itself here.

"Just felt a splash," Daniel said behind him. "Is it raining?"

"That's cicada pee. Don't worry, it won't cause any embarrassing stains or smells."

"Right, it's basically water," Daniel murmured, as if talking to himself. "They drink the tree sap and absorb the nutrients."

"Very good. Where'd you learn that?"

"I think you told me. The day we met."

"I did?" Joel gingerly held a multiflora rose stem out of Daniel's way, saving him from its prickly embrace. "I have no memory of that."

"I didn't either until just now."

"Clearly I didn't write it in my journal. I must've reread that entry a million times before my mom threw them out."

"Threw them out?"

"I can still see those pages clear as day. So many exclamation points."

Daniel drew close behind him. "She threw away your journals on purpose?"

"I told her she could, when she turned my bedroom into a home gym. This was maybe twenty years ago?" His foot slipped on a clump of wet oak leaves. "Whoa."

Daniel steadied him with one sure hand under his arm. "Speaking of your mom, could we visit her grave? I'd like to pay my respects."

Joel stopped and turned to Daniel. "Really?"

"At the hospital, seeing Dad—it was like being punched in the face, but instead of falling over I just kept spinning round and round." His gaze shifted up and to the left as a breeze fluttered the silver strands of hair against his temple. "When someone shows you kindness at times like that, it's like a talisman to carry with you forever."

This was a variation on a theme Joel had heard before, but never from someone he was close to. "I still get emails from her former patients. They tell me how safe she made them feel, even when they were sure they were going to die."

Daniel nodded slowly. "Does that make it easier or harder to lose her?"

No one else had asked him that question. Everyone assumed it was nothing but a comfort.

"Both. Easier, because all the people she helped will carry on her memory. But also harder, because I have to mourn not just my own loss but also the world's. Is that weird?"

"Absolutely. But grief is always weird."

They continued descending, the trail becoming wetter but less cluttered. "It's almost the anniversary of her death," Joel said. "Officially that's the end of the mourning period, but I feel like like I've barely started."

"I'm sure you're not the only one feeling that way this year. Like it's not quite real."

"But I haven't even been to her place since she died. A neighbor is taking care of her houseplants, and I pay a landscaper to keep her yard and gardens in order." He gave a wide berth to a patch of poison ivy off the side of the trail, pointing to it in case Daniel hadn't noticed. "I keep telling myself that death is a part of life, so to deny death is to deny life. But myself isn't listening."

"I can go with you if you like."

Daniel really wanted to return to the place his dad had died? That might be more loss than Joel could handle at once. "Thanks, but I'm waiting for Ella to join me."

"I can go with both of you."

Joel smirked. "You just want to see my hot sister again."

"I only have eyes for your sister's hot brother." A stick cracked beneath Daniel's shoe. "So she's still hot, then?"

Joel barked out a laugh. A startled cardinal took wing and flitted away over the stream, the sunlight sparking off its red feathers.

The stream bank was still damp from yesterday's rain, so Joel unfurled the blanket, snapping it with a flourish like a magician.

"This is lovely," Daniel said as he tugged the blanket loose from the thorns of yet another multiflora rose.

"Are you sorry you didn't bring your camera?"

"Nah. Sometimes cameras get in the way of experiencing life. You try so hard to pin down a moment, it slips away completely." Daniel settled onto the blanket, curling one leg in and extending the one with the new-ish knee straight out to the side.

Joel smiled as he unzipped the cooler. Archie sometimes sat like that when he paused in the middle of a good scratch.

"Check it out." Daniel pointed behind Joel. "There's still one cicada molting on that tree. Is that the right word? Molting?"

"Uh-huh." Eclosing was the exact verb for the ecdysis process, but he didn't always have to be the well, actually guy. The cicada in question was still partway inside its nymphal shell, which was unusual for this late in the day.

He turned back to Daniel. "Chicken salad for you." He handed over a sandwich secured in an allegedly compostable bag. "And for me, chickpeas masquerading as tuna salad."

Daniel pulled out his sandwich. "Real chicken salad?"

"You mentioned once that you loved it with grapes. That's the way my favorite deli makes it, so I bought some. There's more at the house."

"You don't mind me being a carnivore in front of you?"

"Technically you're an omnivore." Sometimes he did have to be the well, actually guy. "And if I couldn't handle the presence of meat, I'd be eating alone the rest of my life."

"My cardiologist wants me to try a more plant-based diet, so I might as well start while I'm here."

"Then start with your next meal." He pointed to Daniel's sandwich. "Don't let that bird die in vain."

"I will not." Daniel took a bite, then gave a moan of delight. Yay for grapes.

"Do you have a cardiologist because there's something, uh, going on?"

Daniel shook his head. "My heart's in good shape. I have a cardiologist as a precaution, because of my dad. By the way, this sunflower-seed bread is fantastic."

"Thank you." Joel gave his shoulder a flirtatious tilt. "I baked it myself."

"Seriously?"

"Like I said, I couldn't sleep last night."

As they devoured their lunch like a pair of starving jackals, a silence fell, but not an awkward one. In the last month, they'd gone back to keeping each other company on Zoom while they worked, the way they'd done earlier in the year, before Joel had blown everything up on Valentine's Day. The practice had taught him how to be in Daniel's presence without feeling like he had to entertain him.

Besides, this bread was fucking fantastic and deserved every bit of their attention.

As Joel was contemplating a second sandwich, a woman's laughter rang out. Upstream, the hikers with the yellow Lab were crossing on stepping stones while their dog splashed through in belly-deep water, exulting in its natural habitat.

The taller woman stepped onto the opposite shore, then turned to watch her companion, who was waving her arms in great theatrical circles. With the nimbleness of a seasoned rock climber, the tall woman hopped from stone to stone until she reached her companion. They joined hands, then kissed in the middle of the stream.

"Aww," Joel and Daniel said in unison, then Daniel added, "That would make a great photo, with them framed by the two shores and the dog in the foreground."

"I thought you were a lonely-landscape guy."

"That's my art. My business uses human models for tourism photos."

"Ah, playing on customers' envy. ‘Those people are having a great time. I want to be in their place.'"

"For sure. Plus, using different kinds of models can make the destination feel more inclusive. And if it feels more inclusive, then it becomes that way, because more kinds of people feel welcome there." Daniel looked past him, brow furrowed. "Is our little friend in trouble? Hasn't made any progress since we got here."

Joel turned. A nearby box elder held dozens of discarded nymphal husks. They clung inertly to the bark in ragged lines, like abandoned cars in a zombie movie.

Except for one.

He got up and went to the tree. Slightly above Joel's eye level, a Magicicada cassini had climbed about sixty percent out of its husk. Its forelegs waved feebly. "Looks stuck. Sometimes it happens because of a genetic defect, and sometimes it's just bad luck, like getting trampled by other cicadas."

"We should help it," Daniel said.

"It'll probably help itself soon."

"What happens if it can't get out?"

Joel checked the sun's angle. "It's in the shade, so it won't be roasted. The fact it's not already bird prey means the birds around here might have had their fill of cicadas for today. So most likely it'll be eaten by ants." Starting with the head, he was careful not to add out loud.

"Eaten alive?"

"Ants have a right to live too."

"Fuck that. They can eat somebody else today." Daniel unzipped the outer pocket of his backpack and withdrew his keys and reading glasses. He got to his feet and unfolded a tiny Swiss Army knife setup from his keychain—because of course Daniel would be as prepared as an Eagle Scout.

"Don't touch it," Joel said. "Handling a cicada while it's soft can damage it."

"If we do nothing, it'll die in its shell, so what's it got to lose?" Daniel gently detached the exoskeleton from the tree trunk. "Here we go, little buddy."

Joel held out his hand. "Give it to me."

"Why?"

"So I can see if it has a chance."

Reluctantly Daniel handed it over, his face pinched into a cute-as-fuck frown.

Joel rotated the bug, holding it by its shell-like exuvia. There were no telltale drops of green-blue liquid on the body or black pools of coagulated hemolymph inside the shell. "It's not bleeding, so that's a bonus." He counted the visible joints on the waving limbs. "Forelegs and middle legs look normal. So do the wings, though we can't know for sure until they unfurl." He checked the head, where the bulging red eyes seemed to examine him in return. "Mouthparts are intact."

"What, like teeth?" Daniel leaned in.

"You don't need teeth for a liquid diet. See that long tube there?" Joel pointed to the straw-shaped labium extending from the head and folded down against its thorax. "It jabs the end of that into a twig. There's a straw inside it called a stylet that sucks out the xylem."

"What are all those little white threads?" Daniel sounded worried.

"Those are tracheae, tubes connected to the old skin's spiracles—the air holes, sort of. It's got new tracheae and spiracles now, so it doesn't need these anymore."

"Bugs breathe through their skin." Daniel mimed his head exploding.

Joel set the cicada right side up on his cupped palm. Immediately its front claws clutched his gardening-induced calluses. So there was a bit of fight left in it yet.

"Okay, let's do this." Daniel put on his reading glasses—wire-framed ones, which, like his hair, made him look sexy rather than ancient—then unfolded a tiny pair of scissors from the Swiss Army knife. "Raise it up?"

Joel lifted his palm, using one hand to steady the other, then held his breath. Daniel would be heartbroken if his surgery failed the bug, whose death would then darken their entire day.

This little guy or girl was one cicada among tens of millions in this park, one of trillions in this year's Brood X emergence. In the grand scheme of things, this cicada meant nothing.

But in the tiniest scheme of things, in this sacred space between him and Daniel…it meant everything.

"Before you start—" Joel's throat closed on the words I love you.

Daniel looked at him with wide eyes, two oceans Joel could swim in forever. "What is it?"

"Whatever happens here, you should know that—" Now what? How could he finish that sentence in any other way? "I think you're wonderful for trying."

Daniel's eyes softened.

"What you're doing," Joel said, "it's an act of tikkun olam."

"Sorry?"

"It's Hebrew for ‘repair of the world.' Usually refers to social justice, but some say even tiny acts of kindness qualify." He shook his head. "It's an obligation I'm always falling short of."

"Don't be hard on yourself," Daniel said. "You wouldn't be studying insects if you didn't love them."

"I looked at this cicada and saw nature's indifference between life and death. You looked at it and saw suffering."

Daniel shrugged. "If I were a biologist, I'd probably be unsentimental about life too." He lifted the scissors. "Speaking of life, let's give this bug a chance."

Joel held his breath again as Daniel slipped one edge of a scissor blade sideways between the cicada's back and shell, avoiding the two pairs of crumpled, pale-yellow wings. With a soft snup, he slit the shell—maybe half a centimeter at most—then withdrew the blade.

It was enough. Clinging to Joel's palm with its forelegs, the cicada pulled its abdomen free. It rested its hind legs—which looked normal and unscathed—upon the shell that had been its prison.

"Seems okay so far." Joel turned to the box elder and set the cicada against the rough, gray bark. The bug's tarsi and claws grabbed hold as surely as they had to his hand. "The wings should unfurl over the next hour or so if they weren't damaged." He raised his arms in a touchdown pose. "You did it, you stubborn-ass hero, you."

"Nope." Daniel picked him up from behind and spun him around. "We did it."

"Whah!" Joel blurted a laugh as Daniel squeezed the air out of his lungs. "I just ate, you silly doofus."

Daniel set him down, holding him steady until he found his footing. "Doofus? I thought I was the dork."

"No, I'm the dork. Wait, what's the difference?"

"We'll figure it out." Daniel turned Joel around and drew him close. "We'll figure it all out."

Joel loved him.

He hadn't said those specific words, but the words he had said to Daniel were worthy substitutes. His eyes had said it too.

And his lips were saying it now. Gone was the reticence of some of Joel's earlier kisses. This kiss was triumphant, holding their combined wonder at being reunited. Like landing on the moon, this kiss was impossible until it wasn't.

A great splashing came from behind. Daniel broke away from Joel and turned. The yellow Lab belonging to the young women was bounding across the stream toward them.

"Nellie, come!" shouted one of her moms from the other side of the stream, about ten yards away.

The dog climbed onto the bank, then shook itself hard. Daniel yelped as the cold, muddy water doused his bare arms.

"Oh no!" Nellie's other mom cried out as she waded across the shin-deep stream, brandishing a royal-blue leash and matching collar. "I'm so sorry."

"That's okay," Joel said from where he'd crouched down to receive the dog's sloppy kisses. "She's ours now, by the way. We're taking her home."

The leash-wielding woman laughed and flipped her long blonde braid behind her shoulder. "Woo, this water's freezing! Nellie, how could you swim in it?"

Nellie bounded back into the stream to join her, splashing water in every direction. The blonde woman slipped the collar back on and tightened it, then looked up at them. "We were just saying you guys are a really cute couple."

"Thanks," Daniel replied, though it seemed like only old couples got called cute.

"How long have you been together?" she asked.

Joel's laugh blended into a half cough as he stood. "That question has a complicated answer."

This was true. Seventeen years? Thirty-four years? Three hours?

Daniel took Joel's hand. "Since forever."

Joel tilted his head and offered a soft smirk, more indulgent than the eye roll Daniel had expected.

"I knew it!" The blonde woman turned and pointed at her partner. "Long-term couple! You have to take out the trash next week."

"No way," said the other woman, who then looked at Daniel. "Could've sworn it was your second or third date."

"A bet's a bet, hon." Nellie's leash mom turned back to them. "We'll let you finish your lunch. Sorry about this one's mess." She grimaced at the Lab.

"I've got two at home," Joel said. "A messy life with dogs is way better than the alternative."

"Ain't that the truth?" She looked up at the trail Joel and Daniel had descended. "Is that a good path? The one we came down on had a lot of brambles. Scratched this poor baby on her ear."

"Not too bad," Daniel told her. "Bit slippery, and there's poison ivy off to the side at one point."

"Thanks, we'll keep an eye out." She waved her companion over, and together the three of them went up the path, leaving foot and paw prints in their wake.

"Still hungry?" Joel took a step toward their picnic blanket.

Daniel looked at the resting cicada. "Can we sit over here, to keep the birds away from our bug?" Bumblebutt, he'd named it inside his head.

They dragged the blanket and all its contents closer to the tree. As they settled down to finish their lunch, Joel said, "Based on their rings, I think those women are married." He shook his head. "So young."

"Not that young. Late twenties, at least." Still, young enough to be their daughters.

"Think about it, though. They haven't spent most of their adult lives unable to marry. It's just normal for them."

"That's how it should be." Daniel bit into a fig Newton. "Corey and I got engaged the day the Supreme Court made it the law of the land."

"Who proposed?"

"Me. I'd been thinking about it a lot." Oh, this was a whole-grain fig Newton, because these days, even cookies had to be healthy. "I think Corey said yes because he got swept up in the moment. Maybe it would've been better to wait." Then again, if things hadn't imploded with Corey, he might not be sitting here now. "By the way, I will never ask you to marry me."

Joel froze mid-crunch. "Uh…m'kay. Why not?"

"Because I'm twice divorced. You think I marry too easily, that I've got a lower threshold or something."

"I never said that. I never even thought it."

"You joked about me having a third spouse when we first talked on the phone."

Joel hung his head like a scolded puppy. "Sorry. I was nervous."

"It's okay." It had stung at the time, practically the first words from Joel's mouth to Daniel's ears, but awkwardness was forgivable. "Still, it would have to be you asking."

"Noted." The corners of Joel's eyes crinkled, and he looked up at Daniel through his lashes. "Though I do like the idea of you on your knees in front of me."

A zap shot through Daniel's body. "I don't need an excuse to do that."

Joel bit his lower lip in the way that had never and would never fail to turn Daniel on. "You probably already know this, but your new hair color makes your eyes look bluer than ever, especially under natural light."

He hadn't known that. "The color's not exactly new. I started going gray young, even before I saw you last. I dyed it for…jeez, I don't know how many years."

"What made you decide to stop defying nature?"

"After my second divorce, it seemed time for a change." He pulled out a bag of sour cream 'n' onion chips, then exchanged it for salt 'n' vinegar, to avoid foul breath. "I also got a tattoo."

"Ooh, what is it?" He threw a glance down Daniel's body. "And where is it?"

"You'll see."

"Is it Denver Broncos–related?"

"Nope."

"Is it an Omaha Steak?"

"Who would do that?"

"It's like Internet Rule 34," Joel said, "where if something exists, there must be porn about it. Same goes for tattoos. Is yours music-related?"

Daniel simply ate another chip and stared out over the stream. By not answering, he could make Joel think his guesses had gotten warmer. Which they had, but not in the way he'd expect.

"So it is music-related," Joel said. "Is it a song lyric?"

Daniel mimed zipping his lips shut.

"Okay, okay. Then tell me about your divorce hair. Did your husband prefer it dyed?"

"He sure did." Daniel eyed a dark potato chip. Sometimes those were deliciously burned, but often they were just nasty. "Corey's thirteen years younger than me. He said gray hair made me look old enough to be his father."

"Lotta people are into that."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I know. I had to change my dating-app profiles to say, ‘I am not your daddy.' Got a lot less swipe-rights after that."

"Not your thing, huh?" Joel gave a flirty smirk and brushed his hand over Daniel's knee. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good." Then again, with Joel looking at him like that, he'd be up for almost anything. "What about you? Any tattoos?"

"Ha, no. No tattoos for Jews. I'm not strictly observant, but I try to follow most of the laws as interpreted by the Reform movement—which, to be fair, can be a bit ambiguous. Some rabbis say a tattoo is okay if it's Jewish-themed body art, but that's probably not the kind of tattoo I'd want."

Daniel didn't ask what kind of tattoo Joel would want, in case it was similar to his own, which might spoil the surprise. "Do you mostly date other Jewish people?"

"Sometimes. We're easy to find in Baltimore. ‘A lot of gefilte fish in this sea,' my mom used to say—which makes no zoological sense, but whatever." He poked a wayward chickpea back into his sandwich. "It mattered more when I was younger, when I thought I might have kids one day. I mean, there are still fewer Jews in the world now than there were in 1939. But it's not so much about growing the tribe by a person or two. It's more about handing down traditions and identity."

They'd had several late-night deep-thought phone conversations about Joel's faith—and Daniel's lack thereof—but never specifically regarding relationships. "Traditions like holidays?"

"And Shabbat, which is like a weekly holiday."

Today was Friday. "Were you planning to go to services tonight?"

Joel shook his head. "I went Sunday night for Shavuot, the first time I'd been there for a year and a half. But it made me nervous, being indoors with so many people, so I bailed halfway through Akdamut." He darted a look at Daniel. "Why? Did you…?"

"Want to come with you? Maybe. If it's okay."

"Fuck yeah, it's okay. You'd be so welcome there." Joel's smile turned sly. "But maybe next week. Tonight I plan to keep the Sabbath in a different way."

Well, that was intriguing. "Can you give me a hint?"

With supreme smugness, Joel mimed zipping his lips shut, imitating Daniel.

"Touché." He leaned over to rest his right shoulder against Joel's left. "Guess we'll both have to be full of surprises."

Joel set his left hand beside Daniel's right on the blanket, curling a pinky around his. They remained joined like that as they ate and drank, as the sun played hide and seek behind the racing clouds, its light strobing over the stream cutting politely around the rocks.

Daniel had spent more than one evening poring over maps of Joel's surroundings, enough to know that Big Gunpowder Falls, though small and leisurely here, would soon empty into the Chesapeake Bay, a body of almost mystical reverence to those dwelling near it. He'd sat by similar streams back west, and it was funny to think how the water passing them now didn't have to wander a thousand miles to reach the sea.

When they'd finished stuffing themselves, they stretched out side by side on the blanket, putting on sunglasses in case a cicada felt like peeing on their faces.

Daniel's eyelids grew heavy, but he fought off the drowsiness. Sleep would steal this moment, blurring its memory.

Finally Joel stirred but didn't get up. Daniel opened his eyes.

Joel was lounging on his side, head in hand, fixing him with a steady look.

"What?" Daniel asked.

"You said cameras get in the way of experiencing life because they try to pin down a moment."

"And?"

Joel's gaze was unwavering. "I'm trying to pin you down."

Oh God. Images flashed like a picture flip book: Joel straddling him right here, shoving his wrists into the blanket until the damp earth soaked his skin. Kissing him like he'd never be kissed again.

"Anyway!" Joel rolled to his feet. "We should head back, need to pick up a few things. Big night ahead of us."

Reluctantly Daniel let Joel help him up, his head still swimming from those images.

Wait. The cicada.

He turned to the tree, searching the spot where they'd?—

Bumblebutt was gone.

"Oh no." His voice pitched high as it left his tightening throat. "Did a bird get it?" This was his fault. He hadn't been watching.

Joel pointed. "Up there."

Daniel took off his sunglasses. The cicada was creeping slowly up the trunk, navigating between its cousins' discarded husks. Its body had darkened to a caramel color—not yet coal-black like it would be later.

And its wings! They'd completely unfurled, with no obvious curls or tears. "Does it look normal to you?"

"Completely," Joel said, shading his eyes.

"You're not just saying that because it's what I want to hear?"

"If you don't believe me, we could take it home with us until it's fully sclerotized. Hardened, that is."

The cicada climbed on, its little legs methodically picking their way over the scaly, ashen bark. Such a big world for such a tiny creature.

"No. This is its home." He craned his neck to scan the tree's high branches. "Maybe it's joining its friends at that big party they've been planning for seventeen years."

Joel grinned up at him. "Funny you should mention that."