Chapter Thirty-Eight Special Connection #3
And a small part of me whispers, Maybe nothing else matters but us.
He laughs so quietly, it comes out as a breath. “Beverly…we…” His smile disappears. The creases between his eyebrows deepen. “We should tap the brakes for a bit.”
“Tap the…”
But the words get lost. I think my peripheral vision narrows.
Crash.
Boom.
My mouth opens and closes, then opens. “What?”
He’s leaving.
But I love you.
“So you can focus on your show,” he finishes.
“I…we don’t even know if I got it.”
“I do know. You’ve worked too hard for this not to. And I’ll be on tour. You’re stressed. You can’t be stressing about me too.”
“Yeah.” No. “You’re right.” That’s wrong.
You’re wrong.
What the hell is wrong with you, Griffin?
The doors start to slide together again, slowly, slowly, slowly…
And they meet. Close. Shut me off.
Why would he let that happen?
Why—
But then they open again.
And Griffin’s broad chest is rising and falling against the strap of his guitar. His finger is jammed on the button to reopen the doors.
“I’m sorry,” he says, stammering out and blinking quickly, as if something is caught in his eyes. “I don’t know what…I…”
My heart stumbles, tripping into the elevator with him, grasping, beating, rushing—
But then a hand grabs my elbow.
It’s Finch.
He’s run up behind me, out of breath and clutching his side.
“They want to talk with you, Bevvy.”
My head whips around. “What? Who?”
“The Connection people.”
“They do?”
“See?” Griffin says from the elevator. “Told you.”
“Wait—”
“I’ll text you.”
It happens so fast. Everything here, then gone.
The elevator door slides shut, and neither of us reach out to stop it.
I stand there, swaying in place.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
A palm lands on my shoulder, but I barely feel it.
You were wrong, Griffin.
“You okay?” Finch asks.
“What?”
“Beverly?”
“What?”
“C’mon.”
“Where?” I ask.
“They want to talk with you.”
But why? Why steal me away from Griffin like this? Why now?
I feel like I’m floating as Finch escorts me back through the double doors, back to the long conference table, and back to the suits with grins on their faces. I’m in a dream—no, a nightmare—absolutely lost.
“Miss Lark,” they say, causing me to refocus on the room. The Connection logo beams too bright over their heads, illuminating their hair in streaks of red, yellow, and blue. It’s blinding. I squint.
“We’d like to discuss some extra details, if you have some time right now.”
“Time?” I ask. “Details?”
I blink through the fog. All the nerves that dissipated in my chest now bubble up with Griffin gone, spreading like wildfire through my fingertips, shaking and clenching and numb.
“Beverly.” They smile. Who could smile right now when—“We’d officially like to offer you a spot on our platform.”
Like whiplash, I’m jerked yet again. I think I hear buzzing in my ears. The room is both quiet and far too loud.
A spot…
Spot on…
My legs shake. My stomach drops. Am I going to pass out?
“Beverly?” Finch asks.
“We got the show?” I ask breathlessly.
One of the suits laughs, but I don’t see what’s so freaking funny.
We got the show.
We got the show?!
We got Birds on the Block back on the air.
Finch’s arms are suddenly slung around me, and the wildfire in my veins rages up my throat and to my head.
I’m on fire.
My world is ablaze with light and energy and…
I choke out a laugh, bursting through my sore vocal cords.
I did it.
And I’m laughing, unable to stop it.
I brought the show back.
Everything I’ve worked for…it’s here.
I need to tell Nana.
No, I need to get home. I need to pack. I need to get to work. I need to call my old Flock Workshop cohort. I need more writers. I need actual professional childhood-development researchers. I wonder if we can get the workshop space back.
I need…
I need…
If you asked me to describe the following forty minutes of conversation, I couldn’t do it.
Maybe we talked about show details.
Maybe we negotiated.
Did I even form words?
But I know one thing: I couldn’t stop beaming, like the sun was radiating out of every possible part of me. My ears, my eyes, my mouth, my ass…I was vibrating with sunbeams. When Finch laughed, so did I, in sync like we were performing Bernie Bird all over again.
And when we left, giving emphatic handshakes to everyone—for some reason, I also shook Patricia’s hand on our way out for a full twenty seconds—I couldn’t stop reeling.
But then we stopped in front of the elevators again.
And the world halted. And every word Finch spoke echoed right into the hole in my chest Griffin left behind. The hole we both created. The one we both know is right to leave.
He was right.
I’m cracked on the inside, but I’ll piece myself back together with work.
That’s what I do.
That’s what Griffin does too.
“Wanna go for coffee?” Finch asks.
A laugh stumbles out of me. “You know me so well.”
He pats my shoulder. “Prepare to be very tired in the coming months, Bev.”
But how do I say that I’m already tired?
I’m tired, but God, I’m so happy.
I’m on top of the world.
But I already miss having Griffin up here with me.