29
I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. —Persuasion
“So... ?” Dad asks expectantly on our drive home. The freeway stretches before us, a glittering river of red and white lights.
“Yes?” I raise my eyebrows.
“You and Freddy West?”
“What about Freddy?”
“It looked like maybe you two might be dating again.”
“We aren’t . . . I don’t know . . . I hope.”
“He’s better looking than most rock stars.”
“What changed, Dad?” There’s an edge to my voice. Because though I’m relieved my dad finally seems to like Freddy, I’m still annoyed at his random likes and dislikes.
“September told me you were into him. April, I always thought Freddy was an okay guy. He’s crazy for you—that’s obvious.” I love hearing my father say this, even if, in my experience, Dean Elliot is rarely right about anything. I pray this is the exception. “And remember, I did give him permission to marry you; I was only concerned because he was not famous.”
“That shouldn’t matter!”
“It shouldn’t. But it does. I thought it wouldn’t matter to your mom. We both thought we could make things work. But in the end, she hated my fame. She hated me.”
“Don’t say that.”
“At the very least, she blamed me, and I resented her.”
I had seen all of this. I knew all of this about my parents’ marriage. In fact, it was the main reason I returned Freddy’s engagement ring. But I never thought my dad was aware of any of it. I honestly thought he was too shallow and self-absorbed to see the damage he inflicted. It occurs to me, as we speed down the freeway, that he probably hated facing the pain of self-reflection. My dad puts all his energy into improving his outward appearance because he is absolutely terrified of his inner life. Most of the time, he just can’t go there. But for this moment, in the darkness of the car, he’s brave enough to try.
I reach across the console and squeeze his hand. “Mom never regretted marrying you.”
“I’m not sure about that.” In the freeway lights, I can see his wistful smile. He is Buck Harrington, ready for his close-up. “But I know that she never regretted her daughters. You two are all I have.” That is definitely not a Buck Harrington speech, and it flies straight to my heart.
“Daddy! Watch where you are going.”
He quickly changes lanes, barely avoiding hitting the back of a semi.
***
I’m so exhausted by the time we get home that I don’t even bother unloading the wedding gifts. I wander in the house physically and emotionally drained. In the family room, I slump into the first comfortable chair and slip off my shoes. Admiral, our cat meows at me for taking his favorite spot, and I don’t even care. I’m not moving. I open my phone and go to September’s page to watch the video of Freddy and me singing at the wedding. She’s right; it’s going viral. It already has nearly a million views. It’s not my prettiest performance, but the emotion is raw and real. I can see what everyone is buzzing about. We certainly look like two people falling in love. I don’t get it. Why did Freddy leave the wedding?
I’m tempted to text him. I run up to my room and peek out my window. The pool house is dark. Maybe he’s already asleep. He has a flight tomorrow morning. I refrain from texting him. He will call as soon as he can. I hope. To soothe my anxious heart, I watch the video of us singing the duet again and again. With each viewing, I begin to believe, really believe, what I never dared hope. As we harmonize, he watches me with such blatant admiration. It takes my breath away. I fall asleep sometime during my ninth viewing.
***
My buzzing phone wakes me. It’s 5:08 in the morning.
freddy
I wrote a song.
I call him immediately.
“Hey!” His voice is low and gruff in my ear.
“Where were you?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“You left the wedding early?”
“Oh, that. I had to pick up a check Gloria left at the house.”
“For the owl man?” Gloria had mentioned that the owl’s carrier insisted on staying until he was paid. And he didn’t take Venmo, Zelle, or a credit card. Only a check or cash would do. I wish she would have also mentioned that Freddy was helping her with that. It would have saved me some worry. “That was sweet of you.”
“When I got back, everyone had left.” He sounds nearly as forlorn as I felt when I couldn’t find him.
“I left when I couldn’t find you,” I explain.
“A comedy of errors,” he says, almost to himself.
“Now about this song?” I venture.
“I want to play it for you in person. Meet me in the garden?”
He doesn’t need to say anymore. We have several formal and informal gardens in my yard. But when Freddy says, “The garden,” he means the sunken, rectangular garden surrounded by tall hedges. It was always our favorite spot to hang out. It’s where I first taught Freddy to play guitar.
“I’ll be right out.” I turn on the lights and inspect my appearance. For sleeping in my clothes and makeup, I look pretty fantastic. The curl in my hair has come into its own, and the makeup artist’s work has faded enough to look natural. I positively glow, probably from the excitement of knowing I’m going to see Freddy in a few minutes. On the way out the door, I grab a soft pink mohair blanket and throw it over my shoulders, hoping I’ll be out long enough to get chilly.
The yard is all blue and silver foliage with white flowers lustrous in the moonlight. I enter the sunken garden, a perfect rectangle of velvety cropped lawn bordered by white marble benches and formal beds. I run barefoot across the dew-covered grass.
Freddy, holding his guitar, appears, a handsome phantom on the far side of the garden. His white tux shirt stands out bright in the dark.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize how early it was until I got off the phone.” We stand only a few yards apart.
“Don’t apologize.” Time slows as we walk toward each other. “I wanted to see you.” I take a step toward him. He does the same. I’m near enough to see that he dressed in haste. The top three buttons on his shirt are undone, and the other buttons are slightly off. His sleeves are rolled up, and he has traded his dress shoes for flip-flops. His hair is gloriously disheveled.
We stand so close I can feel the warmth emanating from his body. He reaches a hand to my cheek. I sigh as his calloused fingers touch my face, making my skin feel soft. I place a hand on his stubbly chin. Crickets sing in the box hedge.
“Freddy West! What are you doing here at this unholy hour?” My dad shouts from his bedroom window.
So much for being alone.
I groan. “I’m so sorry.”
Freddy turns to the second-story window where my dad leans out. He takes a couple steps toward it and bows as if on stage.
“I wrote a song and wanted April to hear it.”
“Couldn’t it wait?” My dad shouts.
“No, sir. Absolutely not. I’ve waited long enough.”
“Then play the damn song.”
Freddy nods to my dad, then turns back to me. I take a seat on the cool marble bench. He strums a chord. A few early morning birds add their chirps to the first notes.
“Every time you smile, I’m half hope, half agony.” His voice is rough and charged with emotion, his expression heartbreakingly sincere. He creates space around the words with a haunting melody. “I have loved none but you.” His words reverberate through my being while his music swirls through the jasmine-scented air. “Take my heart once again. Yours at the beginning and the end.” He ends how he began. “I’m half hope, half agony...” His words echo through the morning mist.
“It’s a little rough . . .” he says.
I jump to my feet, the blanket falls to the grass. “I love it! How much is true?” We rush toward each other.
“Every word, I mean it. Every word. Though I think it might be more accurate to say I’m 75% agony and 25% hope. Maybe 90/10 while singing—especially with your dad listening.” We both look to the upstairs window, which is blessedly empty. I step closer, lifting the guitar strap over his head. I set it beside the bench. “But now, with you smiling at me like that,” he says, all smiles himself. Goodness, he has a gorgeous smile. “The percentages are improving.”
“Tell me,” I ask with a bit of a tease. “While you were flirting with Rosie, were you really thinking of me?”
“You didn’t really think I was into her?”
“Of course not.” I place one hand on his chest. “Just like you never thought there was anything between me and Johnny Love.”
“You went on actual dates with that guy.”
“You went on at least one date with Rosie. I was there.” I give him a playful push on his very solid chest. “And you wanted your own private carriage on the Ferris wheel.”
“That was so I could break up with her.” His hands wrap around either side of my waist. “Or, more precisely, to make it clear we were never dating.”
“Oh!” I breathe out as he pulls me in tight. “I could never tell how serious you were about her.”
“April... I’m totally into you. Those song lyrics are no exaggeration. You are all I think about. That’s why I never bothered to clarify about Rosie, which I now see was asinine. But since you’ve come back into my life, I feel like I’ve been walking around with a neon thought bubble that says, ‘I love Rainy.”
“You love me?”
He places hands on both of my cheeks.
“Let me be clear. I love you, April Rain Elliot. I never stopped. Were you not listening? Did you not see the neon thought bubble?” He wraps his arms around me. It is delicious to be in Freddy’s arms at last. I nestle in closer, then pull my head back enough to see his face in the increasing morning light.
“I saw that thought bubble. But then I’d quickly tell myself I imagined it.”
“Rainy, Rainy. What am I going to do with you?”
“Kiss her, you fool!” My dad yells from his window.
“Daddy! Go away!”
The window snaps closed. “He’s the worst.” My cheeks are blazing. I reach one hand up to the back of Freddy’s head, savoring the silky feel of his hair. I gently guide his face closer to mine. “But... he has the right idea.”
Freddy needs no more encouragement. In a moment, his lips are upon mine, soft and powerful, familiar and surprising, patient and demanding. Kissing Freddy is a thousand times better than I remember, and my memories are pretty phenomenal. His hand splays on the small of my back so that I can feel every muscled finger. My hands delight in his soft, wavy hair. After months of longing, it is an absolute relief to touch him.
“Rainy, I missed you so much.”
“I missed you.” I take in his magnificent, lovable face. “Freddy, I love you so much.” His brown eyes soften. He kisses me again. Slowly, languorously.
“I have a hard time believing this is real,” I say a few minutes later, slightly out of breath. “And not some pretty dream we’re going to wake from.”
“We can check with your dad later to see if he remembers it.”
I laugh and then groan. “I need to get my own place.”
Freddy sits on the bench and pulls me up on his lap. Fresh sunlight fills the garden. The dew on the flowers glimmers gold. “My place will be finished in a month... just saying...” He clasps my hand. “You’re always welcome.”
“That may be moving a bit fast.” I laugh. He delivers soft kisses down my neck. “But only a little. I like your place.”
“I am happy to hear that.” He sounds genuinely relieved. “I built that house for you.”
“What?!!! How is that possible?” I study his face. “When you bought it, we hadn’t spoken for years.”
“I know. Believe me, I know what an idiot I’ve been.” His expression is earnest embarrassment. “I’ve been such a mess about you, April. I thought I was over you. But when I was selecting tile for the kitchen, I kept thinking, what would Rainy like? I could never let go of the dream of you.” He looks a bit sheepish. “I even kept the ring.”
“What???” Now I am absolutely gobsmacked. He kept the ring!!!
“I couldn’t bear to sell it.”
I lace my fingers through his hand, wondering when is the soonest possible day I can expect to get the ring back on my finger. Judging from the wistful look on Freddy’s face he might be thinking the same thing.
“I can’t believe you kept it. But I’m glad you did.”
His phone buzzes. He ignores it in favor of giving me another delectable kiss. It buzzes again.
“Should you get that?” I ask, recalling he has a flight this morning.
He sighs. “No, I mean, yes, but I don’t want to.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. He reads it with an amused smile, then looks alarmed. “Crap! It’s 7:42. My driver will be here at eight.”
“Was that a text from your driver?”
“No, it was from Carlos’s assistant. That video of us singing together has gone viral. She wants to know how to respond to those asking if we are dating.”
“That’s easy,” I say.
“Is it?” He looks at me expectantly.
“Yes!” I take his hand and kiss his knuckles one by one. “We are in a committed relationship.”
“Very committed.” He nods, grinning from ear to ear. Fans make a big deal over how sexy, brooding, brokenhearted Freddy West can be. But I’ll take smiling, breathtakingly brilliant Freddy any day. His chocolate brown eyes hold mine a moment before he cheerfully types away. “I added some more.” He passes his phone to me. “What do you think?”
freddy
April Rain Elliot and I are in a committed relationship. We are totally, wildly, outrageously in love.
“Kind of an understatement,” I deadpan. “But it’ll do.” He sends the text. I show my approval by kissing him. He returns my kiss with all the pent-up passion of five years separated. Needless to say, he misses his flight.