Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Good for you. You finally got the attention you were craving.”
My mouth opens and shuts in astonishment. If I were still that same angry kid, I would have some expletives to offer her.
But before I can figure out a rebuttal, Dina’s voice rings out. “Leave the man alone. We all have our pasts, and he was only a teenager at the time.”
Ms. Sussan blinks, then tugs on her cat’s leash. “Indeed.”
When the door shuts behind her, my eyes meet Dina’s, and we both burst out laughing. “Thanks for that.”
“No problem. Now get over here and give me a hug.”
The request surprises me. I’m sure John’s family has had enough of me.
I fall into her warm embrace as she whispers in my ear, “Whatever happened in your relationship with John is your business. We still love and support you, honey. You’re a good person.”
I nearly sob against her throat. It’s been so long since I had a parental figure tell me anything good or supportive. It makes me ache for John’s parents again.
After she rings up my purchases, I walk out of the store lighter than I felt going in. Maybe it won’t be so bad, coming back here again.
Just as I have that thought, I run into Beth holding a broom as she sweeps the sidewalk in front of Spellbound. “It’s nice to see you again, Micah,” she says with a smile. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” I blink, then blurt, “No I told you so?”
“Of course not.” She grips her chest, her reaction surprising me. “What do you take me for?”
“Someone who speaks her mind whether you want to hear it or not,” I tease.
“With age comes wisdom, and I’ve learned over the years that not everyone wants my advice. That said, I’m sorry I interfered.”
She certainly appears changed. More humble and conciliatory. Might be a story there I’m missing. “You obviously were right, even if it was hard to hear.”
“I might’ve been right about the distance, but not about your heart. Or at least, it’s not a thought I’ve shared with you, given the circumstances.”
“Not sure what you mean.” Should I even ask? I’ve not felt right about her predictions in the past. But I can’t seem to help myself.
“I’m talking about your hearts being connected, even with distance. After all, the sun is still sure of the ocean twice a day, even if the horizon keeps them apart.”
Something about that niggles in my brain, like I recognize it from somewhere. Or maybe it’s because she used the word sure, same as I did in my letter to John. Twice a day—like at dusk and dawn?
Just as I’m about to ask her to elaborate, she waves to an approaching customer. “There you are! I was hoping you weren’t canceling our session.”
I turn away as the customer mutters her apology. I’m still thinking about what Beth was trying to say. The woman speaks in riddles.
Walter tries to sell me something from his souvenir stand, and I shake my head. “I see you’re still banking on the town curse.” I’m surprised it doesn’t include a map to my grandfather’s so-called haunted house. I wouldn’t put it past him.
By the time I place in my trunk the bags of groceries to tide me over for a couple of weeks, I’m tuckered out and ready for some peace and quiet in the foothills. That’s surprising because I don’t always feel that in the city, where there’s a certain energy and buzz. But maybe it’s because this is Aqua Vista, and almost everyone knows my name.
Still, instead of sliding behind the wheel, I head to a nearby bench to inhale some clean mountain air and check a text from my agent. Not a minute later, Mr. Goodson shows up with his ukulele and sits at the other end. I remember the year his wife passed and how forlorn he always looked. How you would hear him playing their favorite songs in town, as a tribute.
His demeanor hasn’t changed much. There’s still an underlying melancholy, as if the sorrow hasn’t lessened much over the years. I don’t think I appreciated the sentiment—the deeply romantic gesture—as much then as it hits me now. Or since being estranged from the love of my life.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You still play?”
He nods and smiles. “For her.”
I’m not sure if the man even remembers who I am, but if he does, he doesn’t mention it. Just lifts the instrument and glances once at the sky as if she’s up there somewhere.
I listen to him play something a bit off-tune, but I recognize the melody as “That’s Amore”—an oldie but a goodie, my grandfather would say as the music blared from his radio on the boat. I smile at the memory.
I wait for him to finish, then clap and smile. “How long were you and Mrs. Goodson married?”