It has take me a while to finish the third book in the Life Series. It has been sitting in a folder on my computer for a couple of years now. I rereleased the second edition of Life is Fair, then Road Rash, and while I edited A Ruby-Colored Life, I dreaded working on the next book.
While there is some humor in my books, well, at least I think there is, they aren't the cheeriest of reads. Lots of drama and family dysfucntion, heartache and lover never being ready to accept the love that is offered.
But this one... this one... the death in the family, the will, the gifts left for the living, the reaction to those gifts, and the nightmare that follows, was hard to read and edit, over and over, until the story was as I had planned.
I asked my husband to describe A Life Extraordinary in three words, and he replied; heartbreak, dispair, and hope.
I took my main character, Nora on a difficult journey, and at one point, almost broke her, but she's a resillient one, and she fought on, and kept going, and in the end, she found her hope that all would be alright.
A Life Extraordinary has the same cast as the previous books, Nora, her father Rupert, her mother Isobel, her sister Delia, her ex-husband and now best friend, Vincent. There are a few characters we've encountered in the previous books, Milo, Lola, Cropper to name a few. There are also a few new players in the game who affect Nora's life and her choices.
Below is the first chapter of A Life Extraordinary. Enjoy!
SPOILER WARNING If you haven't read Life is Fair and A Ruby-Colored Life, I don't recommend reading this sample chapter.
Chapter One
The vicious monster of my nightmares is quiet. The frightening creature has retreated into the shadows, and its acrid voice is no longer bellowing orders and putting me in my place. I don’t know what caused it to be silent, but now, I’m free of my vicious mother, and free to dream a wondrous dream.
It envelopes me with divine love as it speaks to me of an alternate course I might have taken in another life, where another me was fearless and wise.
In this dream, the mattress is a soft cloud, and the sheets are heavenly. A warm breeze blows the curtains to the side. Through the open balcony doors, I see the grandness of nature. Pine trees grow tall to meet the brilliant blue sky, wispy clouds float high above, and a hawk rides the wind. The breeze carries in the scent of the fragrant woods and the wildflowers, growing in the meadow.
In my dream, I’m at peace with the world.
A crow lands on the railing, cocks her head, and screeches at me. She hops along the wood and stares at me before she speaks to me again.
‘Yes, it is a glorious new day.’ I stretch. ‘How are you today?’
The crow watches me with curiosity and answers with a knock of her beak on the wood. She jumps onto the floor and eyes something shiny before she turns to me for permission to claim it.
‘Of course. It’s yours,’ I say.
The crow picks up the metal and peers at me one last time, and for a moment, her beak twists into a sly smirk before she spreads her magnificent black wings to carry her and the treasure away with loud flapping thwacks.
I rest my head on a fluffy cloud and watch the ivy grow from the floor to the ceiling. A squirrel pokes his head out from between the leaves. His nose crinkles when he catches sight of me, and then he’s gone again.
A chestnut drops onto my bed and bounces to the floor. There, it sprouts, its roots dig into the floorboards, and moments later, a proud tree with lush green leaves grows tall in my bedroom.
A cocoon opens, and a butterfly spreads its shimmering blue wings. It flutters through the room and out into the great, wide world beyond the balcony doors.
I hear a noise and smile. I stretch before I fling the blanket off me and leave my bed of clouds. As I walk through the twisted wooden door frame made of tree trunks and branches, I slide my naked body into a soft, flowing gown that billows behind me.
On the mezzanine, where the polished railing twists and turns as if it had sprouted from the ground and grown to attach itself to the house, something is moving under my bare feet. It is the wood itself, changing shape. My house is alive and growing.
There’s the noise again. I walk to the edge to peer into the living room below, where my easel stands in front of the two-story-high windows through which the sun illuminates this grand space and warms the stone floor. The light shines on tall fiddle leaf fig trees in large earthen pots and ferns growing from the cracks in the walls. Ivy creeps along the baseboards and grows to the window frames. Outside, the meadow stretches before me until it meets the forest.
My eyes travel to the canvas on the easel. I’ve never seen it before, but I know it is my work. Near it, an electric guitar leans against a cozy, blue lounge chair.
The noise draws me to the kitchen, which is tucked into the corner at the other end of the house. Rustic green cabinets are built into the logs that wrap around the appliances. They appear new yet also aged. I stroll along the railing with my hand gliding over the wood. It moves ever so gently under my touch while I hope to find the source of the noise.
To inspect the space under the mezzanine, I lean over the railing, and its branches grow around my hand to keep me from falling, and they caress my skin as if to say, “Good morning, dear.” I keep moving, and the wood releases me from its embrace. I stroll to the other side of the mezzanine and search the space beneath me for the source of the noise. Tucked away in another corner below is a couch so massive it could sleep an entire family with room to spare. There are shelves lined with antique books and a rustic, old wardrobe. Potted plants and a coffee mug sit beside a plate with crumbs on the wide coffee table.
A door opens with a magical creak, and a dog comes barreling in with a stick clenched in his jaw. He bounces to the kitchen, drops the piece of wood, and greedily slurps water from a bowl.
“Heya, Spud, did you have a good time in the woods?” I ask, and the dog grins at me with his tail wagging.
“I’d say so,” Vincent says, and emerges from behind the massive river-rock fireplace separating the entry from the living room. “He found several squirrels to chase. Didn’t you, buddy?”
Vincent smiles at me. In his eyes, I see love, glorious love. It radiates from him and fills me with warmth. Love surrounds me and everything in the house. It’s in the woodwork, the walls, the river rocks that push out of the floor as though they were alive, and their pattern, like a Van Gogh sky, flows in moving swirls toward the ceiling. The love is in every piece of furniture, every dish, and the cushions of the couch. The house and every living thing in it grow and thrive on the love we share.
“Morning, babe,” he says. “Can I tempt you with coffee?”
“Always.” With my hand tracing the knobby railing, I walk, light as a feather, to the uneven wooden staircase that looks like it belongs in a witch’s hut. Without taking my eyes off Vincent, I bounce down the steps with light feet and float to him.
He wraps his arms around me. My feet leave the ground, and I cup his face to kiss him softly. His lips on mine send tingles down my back and have my stomach aflutter. Hundreds of brilliant-blue, iridescent butterflies emerge from it and circle around us.
I gaze into Vincent’s beautiful, warm eyes, and everything that came before falls away. We are only here in the glorious now. The blissful, peaceful, unchanging now.
“You’re home,” I say, and my heart overflows with goodness.
“This is where I live,” he says, and smiles. “This is our home.”
“You are my home,” I whisper.
“I love you more than words can say,” he says. “But will you trust me with the care of your fragile heart?”
He lowers me to the floor. His face changes and fades away, and something pulls me from my dream.
‘Wake up, cream puff,’ Vincent says, but the voice comes from outside my dream.
The wooden house fades, and the sound of the creek wakes me. I stretch and roll over, hoping to return to the magical place where all was right with the world. The bed moves, and I jump with a start. Sitting on my mattress, next to my feet, Vincent is smiling at me with the mischievous grin I’ve missed since he left.
‘You are here,’ I say.
‘Caramel macchiato, anyone?’
‘Am I still dreaming?’ I ask and take the cup. I glance around the room, and everything in my tiny, old apartment appears to be solid. I read the spine of a book on the shelf, inspect the canvas fastened to my easel, and notice the mess.
‘If you are dreaming, does that make me the man of your dreams?’ he says with a smirk.
I take a sip of delicious coffee, my eyes taking in the beautiful sight of Vincent sitting on my bed before I set the cup on the nightstand. I leap across the bed, wrap my arms around him, hold him close, and take a deep breath filled with his familiar scent. He holds me too and rests his head on my shoulder. I sink into him. I must still be dreaming, but his arms around me and the smell of him so close are too real to be a dream.
‘I missed you.’
‘I missed you, too,’ he whispers.
‘Do we have a dog named Spud?’ I let go of him to study him, still wondering if I’m in another realm.
Vincent laughs. ‘So, you do dream about me?’
‘I dream about a lot of things. Log cabins that are alive and filled with huge potted plants. Railings that grow and twist their way through the house, and shaggy dogs chasing squirrels.’
‘As long as you have pleasant dreams,’ he says.
‘It was a nice dream, but this is better.’
This is too vivid to be a dream, but looking at him, sitting on the edge of my bed, wearing a plain, black dress shirt instead of the old threads he so loves, I’m hesitant to believe I’m awake.
After the day at the river, when we admitted our true feelings, he snuck out of here in the middle of the night, and I haven’t heard a peep from him since. I never believed he was gone for good, but despite my dreams, I couldn’t imagine I’d wake up to find him sitting on my bed.
Vincent sips his coffee and looks at me with a bright smile and glowing eyes, and a warm feeling washes over me. We take each other in for a minute, and it’s like I saw him only yesterday.
‘Are you back for good?’
‘No, I was at Gary’s for a few days, but I’m leaving soon.’ He tilts his head to study the cup in my hand.
When I realize he’s not staring at the coffee, but at my fingers, I shove my hand under the sheets and hide it from his view.
Vincent looks at me, confused.
‘Don’t read into it,’ I say.
‘You’re wearing your wedding ring?’ he asks.
‘Last night, I was digging around my old jewelry box and came across it. I tried it on to see if it still fit and just forgot to take it off again,’ I say, slide it off my finger, and lay it on the nightstand like it’s a random piece of jewelry with no meaning.
‘I’m surprised you still have it,’ he says, staring at the ring.
I sip my coffee and wait for him to explain why he’s here, because I want to know where we stand. I can’t deny my newly discovered feelings have me wanting to explore the possibility that we are meant to be so much more than friends. I want to believe the life I saw in my dream is possible. We have a connection that defies explanation, a bond I have not been able to establish with another human being. It has endured twelve years, and I believe we are supposed to be in each other’s lives in one shape or form.
‘How long will you be in town?’ I ask and cover my hand so he can’t see the light patch on my skin where the ring used to be, and the indentation left from having worn it for weeks.
‘I have to get on the road soon,’ he says, his eyes digging into mine, searching for truth.
I turn away and remove the lid from my cup to take a big sip. ‘Back to Pomona?’
‘No, Nadine’s parent’s place. She flew up there yesterday.’
‘Oh.’
‘Breakfast is getting cold,’ he says, and pats my leg before leaving the bed.
I follow him to the kitchen, pulling my shirt down to cover my thighs. He’s set the table, and containers from Ike’s Garden Grill are in the center. Pancakes and scrambled tofu, a large bowl of fruit, and tempeh bacon.
‘Wow, I can’t believe you brought takeout.’
‘I was starving and didn’t want to wait for you to get ready.’
‘Thank you.’
I sit down, and the cold metal chair sends a chill down my legs.
Vincent drops bread in the toaster and scoops grounds in the coffee machine for refills. The toast pops up, and he gets a plate from the cupboard with the familiarity of someone who used to live here two months ago.
When he sits across from me, I pinch his arm.
He recoils. ‘Ouch, what was that for?’ he says and rubs his skin.
‘I want to make sure I’m not dreaming.’
‘You’re not,’ he says, and inspects the red mark.
‘Good.’
While we eat, questions swirl my head, but I don’t dare ask them. We almost kissed the last time I saw him, and he told me I was the music in his heart. I told him I still loved him, too, and asked him not to move to Los Angeles to live with Nadine. But despite all that, he left anyway. My feelings are unchanged, but I dare not bring them up today.
We eat, and I glance at him often and catch him doing the same. Every time our eyes meet, I smile because I’m delighted to see him sitting in my kitchen. It means there is hope. Part of what we once were has survived.
‘I listened to the album,’ I say, taking in the sight of him. The dark locks, his gentle eyes, and his gorgeous jawbone under the neatly trimmed beard. I don’t want to take my eyes off him, fearing he’ll disappear in the brief second it takes to blink. ‘You and Gary are amazing together.’
‘Thanks,’ he says, and his face turns serious for a moment.
‘I recognized several of the songs, and what you guys did in the studio is astonishing.’
He chews slowly and pokes at his scramble. ‘Did you listen to all of them?’ he asks without looking up.
I clear my throat before I answer. ‘I did.’
I wouldn’t know what to say about the hidden song at the end of the CD. The lyrics to “Guitar Lessons” detail the sweet beginning of our love affair, its glorious highs and turbulent lows, its devastating, heart-breaking end, the aftermath, and Vincent’s years alone. Despite being about our doomed relationship, it is a love song, and it ends with hope. It reminded me of how deeply we fell for each other when I was weeks from the age of twenty. It helped me see our marriage from his perspective. How the divorce affected him, and how he healed his heart.
I pick through the bowl of sliced fruit for a strawberry and wait for Vincent to mention the song that got its title from our first date.
‘It was a great experience working with Gary and the rest of the guys and a pleasant change from the frustrating recording sessions with Ivan and Lance,’ he says.
‘Instruments of Change is an interesting name. Are there plans for another album?’
‘No, although I wouldn’t mind working with the same group again. After Mystic Asphalt, I’m more cautious about committing to anything. I want to work on projects that feel right and challenge my artistic abilities, you know?’
‘I do. I hated painting portraits on commission for people who said they liked my work, but asked me to paint in a different style. What’s the point of hiring me if you want me to not paint like me?’
‘Absolutely. Over the years, I’ve written a lot of songs, and should I ever record them, I want to do it my way.’
‘Because if we don’t do it our way, it will become work, and who wants that? Then we might as well sell stereo equipment, right?’
‘Or sling hash in a diner,’ he says with a brief, sentimental smile, and helps himself to another serving of pancakes.
I don’t know what we are now or where we’ll go from here, but our past is ever-present in the awkward space between us. We may not discuss our marriage or the years following our divorce when we forged an unlikely friendship. Neither of us may bring up how we feel about each other, and I’ll go on wondering if his feelings are still the same or if he is falling more and more in love with Nadine with each passing day. Everything we said weeks ago is still fresh and raw in my mind, and I imagine it is in his as well. How that will affect our future is anyone’s guess. He has years of experience in hiding his true feelings from me while I’m new to it, and it is not a skill I wish to excel at.
Vincent turns around and reaches into his jacket that’s hanging on the chair. He retrieves an envelope and slides it across the table.
‘What’s this?’ I ask.
‘Open it.’ He’s excited and nervous as he watches me peek inside.
‘Tickets?’
‘Rick is throwing a big birthday party. He’s rented the Monarch Theater, and there will be music and drinks. Gary and I, along with our pianist Otis, will play songs from Molecules. We might also throw a few unrecorded tracks in the mix. I talked Ivan and Lance into coming to town to sing some of our old material. What started as a small party has turned into a day-long concert, so Rick decided to sell tickets, and he’ll donate the proceeds to a worthy cause.’
‘A Mystic Asphalt reunion? There’s something I never thought I’d see.’
‘Neither did I, but I’m looking forward to playing with the guys.’
‘I’ll be there.’ I stare at the tickets in my hand, reading the names listed. ‘Will you introduce me to Gary? I’d love to meet him.’
‘Sure.’
‘You better bring Nadine.’
Vincent’s face turns serious again. ‘Of course, she’ll be there,’ he says, looking down at his plate. ‘For some strange reason, she’s excited to see me on stage for the first time.’
‘She’s in for a treat.’
I will trust you with the care of my heart.
‘The local station has been playing “I’ll Make It Mine” almost daily. I’m thrilled for you. The record is selling well?’
‘We’re happy with the sales, yeah.’ He gets up to pour fresh-brewed coffee into his cup. ‘Since when do you listen to the radio?’
‘I don’t, but I hang out with people who do. When I volunteered at the Cat Center a while back, Ritchie had the radio on all day, and they played “I’ll Make It Mine” often.’
‘What did you do there?’
‘I helped set up new housing for the cats, and now I do whatever they need. Scooping poop and cleaning. I’ve been helping other organizations too, picking up trash at the beach and such. It makes me feel useful and gets me out of these walls. I can’t spend all my time holed up here just painting.’
‘You’re not working?’
‘Nah, Dad said I shouldn’t take another job I’d hate, and to take my time finding something I’d enjoy doing. Honestly, I’d be happy if I could spend the rest of my days painting.’
‘I noticed when I walked in that you’ve been busy.’ He walks to the living room. ‘The place keeps getting smaller.’
‘It just seems that way because you’re living in a big house now.’
‘Perhaps,’ he says, looking at the painting on the easel. It’s of a bluefin tuna swimming in crystal-blue water, with bits of hazy seaweed in the distance. I saw a photograph of koi swimming in a pond, and I let it inspire me to create something similar.
‘You’re still painting animals.’ He takes a step closer. ‘This is great. I love how you captured its movement in the water and how the light reflects on its scales. It looks so fluid and three dimensional. God, you have so much talent.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, and smile.
He looks at the details a while longer before he turns to me. ‘Have you talked to Milo yet? Does he know you’d give your left arm to have a show at Ground Zero?’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘He’s never going to hang your paintings if you don’t ask him to.’
‘No, I refuse to beg. When he offers me a chance to show my art without me asking for it, I’ll know I got it because I deserve it.’
‘You have come such a long way as a painter,’ he says, scanning the art above the hide-a-bed. ‘I thought you had talent when we met, but you still surprise me. Each year, you learn more and improve and blow me away with your work.’
‘Thanks, that’s nice to hear. I can say the same about your music. I’ve always loved your voice, but Molecules is light years better than Kick Start.’
‘Well, Mystic Asphalt was Ivan’s band, and Kick Start was his baby, not mine. Road Rash was a team effort, but we compromised so much neither of us was truly satisfied with it.’
‘What about Molecules?’
‘Recording Molecules was such a positive experience, and I’m thrilled with the entire album and only have love for it.’
I shove the last strip of tempeh bacon in my mouth, too much for one bite, and chew slowly to keep the bits from dropping.
Vincent watches me and shakes his head. ‘You’re such a slob.’
‘What? It’s Ike’s amazing food. I can’t help it,’ I say, and a chunk of tempeh falls out of my mouth. With the last piece of pancake, I sop up as much maple syrup as I can, and when I’ve swallowed the tempeh, I shove it into my mouth. ‘I should get dressed,’ I say, and get my jeans from the living room.
In the meantime, Vincent folds the takeout containers until they’re compact enough for the trashcan, fills the sink with water, and wipes the table with the sponge. By the time I’m dressed, he’s washing the dishes in the sink and stacking them in the drying rack.
‘Still cleaning up after me,’ I say, and button my pants. ‘You used to be the slob, and I was the tidy one.’
He turns to me, and there’s a hint of a melancholy smile. ‘It’s a habit I picked up staying with my dad.’ He turns his attention back to the dirty dishes.
‘Do you see your folks more often now that you’re living so close to them?’ I wait for him to hand me the first plate.
‘I do. It’s nice to hop in the car and spend a day or two with them.’
‘How are they?’
‘They’re great. I didn’t think they’d last a year, but they’re as in love now as they were seven years ago.’ He glances at me and sets the plate on the drying rack. ‘They want to meet you.’
‘Me?’ I say, surprised. ‘Why me?’
‘I guess they want to put a face to all the horror stories I’ve told them,’ he says with a smirk.
I punch him playfully on the shoulder. ‘Idiot.’
‘Fruit cake.’
I dry another plate before sliding it into the cupboard. Then I lean against the fridge and wait for him to finish washing the mugs. ‘What do they think of Nadine?’
‘They would love her, I’m sure.’
‘They haven’t met the woman you’re living with, but they want to meet the ex who divorced you ten years ago?’
Vincent shrugs.
What has he told them about me while they helped him deal with the aftermath of the divorce? He said he was a changed man when he left Birch Creek, thanks to James and Angie. Therefore, he must have told them about me and our relationship, the good days and the bad ones, the ugly moments, and the blissful periods we spent madly in love.
If they’re eager to meet me and have yet to meet Nadine, they must know something I don’t, and maybe all the stories they’ve heard weren’t all in the horror department. This gives me hope.
He rinses the last dishes with clean water and hands me a mug. ‘Do you want to go for a walk downtown?’ he asks.
‘Sure, why not?’
***
We park on the less pleasant end of Magnolia Avenue and hurry past the teenagers who are hanging around the skate shop. When we leave the run-down buildings behind us, we slow down and glance at the store windows. We spend a few minutes listening to a street musician playing a decent version of a Frank Sinatra song. Vincent drops a few bucks in his guitar case before we move on.
‘How is Los Angeles treating you?’ I ask.
‘It’s good. Weird. The traffic is worse every day, or maybe it just seems that way. You’d love the many vegan joints.’
‘I know. It’s vegan heaven down there.’
‘It’s not San Remus, but it is a good place for now. I’m going to write the score for a movie. Nothing big, just an indie flick starring nobody I know, but it’s a start.’
‘That’s great.’
‘The script looks interesting. It’s not your typical, predictable blockbuster, so I’m thrilled to be involved.’
‘I’m happy for you.’
‘Thanks. I’ve got my foot in several doors, and, at the moment, it feels right to devote all my time to writing music. Aside from the score, I’ve written songs for several artists. With Molecules being so well received, it appears I’m a desired songwriter for singers who don’t write their own material.’
‘Like who? Anyone I know?’
‘Matt Oakley, Chandra Hope, Ian Henry.’
‘Wow. That’s an impressive list.’
He stops outside Ground Zero and examines the art displayed in the window. ‘Let’s go in.’
I stop and roll my eyes. ‘I won’t beg Milo for a show, if that’s why you brought me here.’
‘It wouldn’t hurt to throw out a hint or two,’ he says, and before I can stop him, he’s walking through the door.
A handful of people are looking at double rows of small paintings of pristine classic cars in oversized, gaudy, gold frames. Not what I was hoping for, but in a peculiar way, they’re interesting. Mainly, because the artist has a rare talent for painting shiny chrome.
Milo is sitting behind the desk and gets up when he sees us.
‘These are different,’ I say.
‘I know, not what I normally show, but I find the combination of the cars and the frames fascinating.’
We wander through the gallery, with Vincent trailing a few feet behind us. After a while, I see what Milo means. The subjects and the frames are an odd combination, yet they work together so much they need each other.
‘Do you notice anything?’ Milo asks.
I examine the paintings, but don’t know what I’m searching for.
‘Oh, wow. I see it,’ Vincent says, leaning forward to inspect the bumper of an old Chevy.
‘Have another look,’ Milo says, smiling at me.
I step toward the painting and try to find whatever I’m supposed to see, and after a while, I do. The artist painted detailed reflections in the chrome. Those reflections are the true subjects, and the gaudy frames are the distraction drawing attention away from what is happening. Lovers kissing, a dog taking a leak on a tree, homeless people sleeping in doorways, a fight between three men.
‘What a brilliant idea,’ I say, and wish I’d thought of it.
‘It’s those details that sold me on them.’
‘Now that I know about the reflections, I see them everywhere.’
I have a second gander at each painting, stopping every so often to examine the artist’s technique and to find whatever she has hidden in the chrome. A bearded man in a pink antique dress, holding a pink parasol strolls down the street. In another piece, a guy plays the accordion, wearing a Christmas tree suit.
‘Will you do Open Studios this year?’ Milo asks.
‘I wish. I no longer live in that house. My new place is too small.’
‘It’s a shame because you did fantastic during last year’s event. You sold more than a dozen paintings, didn’t you?’ Vincent says with a wicked sparkle in his eyes. ‘Your paintings are stunning, and they should be on display somewhere, especially since many people said they couldn’t wait to come back to see your new art,’ he adds.
I throw him a disapproving look and ignore his comment by asking Milo which artists’ studios he and Thorsten liked the most.
Milo is vague and tells me they came across several gifted painters. He’s already booked a few of them, and his calendar is full for the rest of the year. My heart slips down a few inches. ‘October is still available, and if you want it, it’s yours,’ he says after a pause.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, I’ve tried to contact you, but your website is no longer up,’ he says. ‘Your range of work truly impressed me. Your figures are gorgeous, and I look forward to seeing them on my walls.’
I ask him for an honest critique of my work, and he shares his expert opinion on my strengths and weaknesses. He and Thorsten concluded my paintings would be better if I stopped cutting the figures off mid-chest. ‘I would suggest painting the whole figure or zooming in closer.’
Thinking about some of my paintings, I understand what he means. ‘So, what advice can you give me?’ I ask.
‘Be bold, be grand, and don’t be afraid of work on a large canvas.’
‘Thank you so much, Milo,’ I say. ‘Thank you for this amazing opportunity. I promise, I won’t let you down.’ I’m so thrilled, I want to throw my arms around him and kiss his cheek, but we are not that well-acquainted.
‘You’re welcome. Please, leave your email, and I’ll get in touch with you in the next few weeks, and we can talk more.’
I write my contact information on a piece of paper on Milo’s desk, and after I thank him again, Vincent and I leave the gallery.
‘Oh, my Zeus, did he just give me my first exhibit, or am I dreaming again?’ I say, when Vincent and I are standing on the sidewalk, a few doors past the gallery.
‘You are on your way, my dear,’ Vincent says with a big smile.
‘What the hell am I going to paint? I have no idea what to paint.’
‘He said he loves your figures. I assume by that he means people, not tuna,’ Vincent says, smiling at me.
‘Yeah, you heard right,’ I say with a sigh, and calculate how many weeks I have until October and how many paintings I might complete in that time. ‘I need more than a dozen paintings on enormous canvases to fill those walls.’
‘You can do it, you know, you can.’
‘Only if I come up with a good theme for the show, preferable by yesterday.’ I bubble over with excitement and ramble about the show, finally achieving my dream of showing my art in Milo’s exhibition space. I throw my arms around Vincent. ‘Thank you,’ I say, and sink into him.
‘No need to thank me. You got it on your own merits,’ he says, and kisses my forehead. ‘You heard him. He’d already tried to get in touch with you before I said anything.’
‘No, it was you bringing me here today, singing my praises, and pushing me towards better things.’
‘In that case, you’re welcome,’ he says, and his arms wrap around my back. He holds me close, and I don’t want him to let go.
There are two men I can’t imagine living without. My father and Vincent. Life hasn’t been the same without my best friend, and now that he’s here, I have woken up, and I’m alive again.
‘You’re going to make beautiful music, and I’ll get to hang my art in my favorite gallery,’ I say.
‘We are. Life is good.’
‘Yes, it is.’ I hold on to him, wishing I’d never have to let go. Don’t leave, I want to say to him. Don’t go back to Nadine. Stay with me, and we’ll start over. We’ll make each other happy and bring out the best in each other. We are better people now, older and wiser, and we’ve learned from our mistakes. Therefore, we won’t make them again. This time, we won’t fuck it up. So, please, just stay with me.
But Vincent lets go of me, takes several steps back, and shoves his hands in his pockets.
In his eyes, I see our history. A million brilliant moments when we loved each other. I wish I’d seen sooner that each of them added a precious sapphire memory to the thick scrapbook of our lives.
‘I better get going,’ he says, and turns toward the parking lot.
‘I’m glad you came.’ I look at the items in the windows as I walk next to him, so he can’t see my disappointment.
‘Me too.’
The same rowdy kids are still hanging around the skate shop, yelling and shoving each other, and we ignore their probing stares as we pass them.
‘So, you’ll come to Rick’s birthday bash?’ Vincent asks and opens the driver’s door of his truck.
‘Absolutely,’ I say, and get in on the other side.
Vincent slides the key into the ignition and pauses. ‘It won’t be weird, will it? The three of us hanging out together for a few days while Nadine and I are in town?’
‘So, that’s the reason you came to see me? To make sure I don’t tell your girlfriend about our last day together when you told me you still loved me and I said I loved you too before you snuck out of my life in the middle of the night? You’re worried I’ll make a scene and she’ll learn the truth?’
He stares at his hands on the steering wheel, worry written on his face. ‘That’s one way of putting it, I guess.’
He’s slumped in his seat, and I know his feelings for me haven’t changed. I am still the music in his heart, and he is the color in my soul. But for some goddamn reason we aren’t talking about that. Instead, he’s worried we won’t make it through one silly party without letting the truth slip with Nadine standing next to us. Instead of telling me he made a mistake when he chose her, he’s here to ask me to pretend we’re still nothing more than best buds and to convince Nadine he only has feelings for her.
Of course, I won’t tell her, nor will I let him know I would give anything to get the chance to build a life with him.
‘Have your feelings for me changed in the two months you were gone?’ I ask, with my heart pounding in my chest.
‘Don’t ask me that,’ he whispers, and pushes one hand into his eye socket to rub it with a grimace.
‘Fine, I won’t,’ I say. ‘Let’s pretend that day never happened.’
He exhales with a groan and turns to face me. ‘What about you? Do you still have feelings for Eugene?’
I stare out the windshield at the other parked cars and think about the man I’d be married to by now had I not walked away from him. I’m not sure I miss him, but I miss the life I had with him, and his sister Sadie, her husband Desmond, and their baby Lily. For a moment in time, I was part of a grand family, and I still wish I didn’t have to give them all up when I broke off the engagement. ‘You don’t have to worry for a second. I have no intention of making it weird.’
‘OK, good. It’s just . . . well, it would have been weird if we came to San Remus and . . . didn’t see you. I wouldn’t know how to . . . explain to Nadine why I didn’t invite you to the party or why we can’t . . . you know, hang out or at the very least meet for dinner.’
I snort. ‘Right. Of course.’ I wipe my eyes and turn toward him. ‘I just want my friend back. I can pretend we never said what we said if you’ll be my friend again.’
‘Do you think that’s possible?’ he says, faking a smile.
‘Yeah, I do. It can’t be all or nothing. We’ll learn to live in the gray and someday, we’ll forget what happened, and we’ll be the same best friends we always were,’ I say, faking a smile as well. ‘And it won’t get weird hanging out together at the party because we won’t allow it to get weird, right? I just . . . I can’t imagine not being friends or never seeing you again. Can you?’
He stares out the windshield for a long time, thinking. ‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘We can make sure it won’t get weird.’
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