Chapter 10
DELPHINE
Iarrived home from work tired, with a slight headache at the back of my eyes.
Annie was already home when I got there, cutting up vegetables for our dinner wearing headphones, probably listening to music or a podcast. Whatever it was, she didn’t hear me come in.
For a moment, I just stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching my almost grown girl slicing zucchini.
She was my whole heart. Despite all the pain he’d caused me, ultimately Jon had left me with a great gift.
The best thing in my life without a doubt. For that, I would be forever grateful.
I stepped into the kitchen and she saw me, tugging off her headphones. “Hey, Mom. You’re home early.”
“And you’re making dinner. Thank you.”
“Tyler sent me a recipe for a stir fry sauce I want to try,” Annie said. “He’s so funny. Like an old man with his recipes filled with veggies.”
“He looked after his mom for a long time before she found Hunter,” I said.
“Yeah, Tyler’s the best.”
“He is. So are you.”
“Mom, that’s so sweet.” She set aside the knife and gave me a spontaneous hug, holding tighter than usual.
“How was your first day of work?” I set my bag on the counter and shrugged out of my suit jacket.
“It was totally awesome. I helped, like, six people find books, and it was so much fun. Dorian taught me how to use the register and how to unload boxes of books that come in from publishers. He even suggested I create a staff picks for teens and cleared off part of a table for me. I can’t believe it.
He’s super patient too. It took me a minute to figure out the computer system that tracks inventory, but he didn’t seem to mind going over it twice.
He’s got this calming presence, you know.
He’s great with the customers too. All the locals love him.
Seraphina came in so they could talk about her signing at the store next month.
She was shocked to see me there, wearing a green staff apron. Did I tell you about the apron?”
I shook my head, chuckling. “That’s great, honey. I’m pleased for you.”
“And think of all the money I can save for my car.”
The car. Great. I hadn’t thought about that.
She’d been talking about buying a car for months now, even though she only had her learner’s permit.
Annie was always two steps ahead of where I thought she’d be.
She’d been like that from the start, hitting milestones before the baby books said she would, excelling at school without much effort at all.
“And he played me this incredible song. I’m dying to play it for you.
It was listed as his favorite on his dating profile, and I wanted to hear it, so he pulled it up on his phone and gave me headphones so I could listen to it.
I was just … speechless. You know when something’s so beautiful it’s impossible to even talk about it? ”
“You saw his dating app?” He had a dating profile?
“Oh, yeah. He had just made it live when I came in, so I saw it up on his computer.”
“Interesting.”
“I know, right? He wants to meet someone. Maybe because all his buddies are married now.”
“Sure,” I said noncommittally. “What’s the song?”
“‘The Book of Love.’ The Gavin James version. Do you know it?”
That was a gut punch. “Yes, I know it. I haven’t heard that one in a long time.”
“But you like it?”
“I used to, yes.”
“Used to?” Annie asked.
I sighed, wondering how much to say. The last thing I wanted was to bring down her ebullient energy by talking about sad things. “I found after your dad died that there were some songs too painful to listen to. So I don’t.”
“Is that why you don’t play music anymore?” Annie asked. “You used to always have music on.”
“I did?” I played dumb. I knew darn well she was right. Music had been something Jon and I shared. When he died, I’d found it impossible to listen to any of our old favorites. They say scents bring back strong memories. Music did too. Memories I’d rather not have.
“I miss having music on while we’re cooking or whatever,” Annie said. “We should get one of those portable speakers and connect it to our phones.”
“If you’d like that, sure.”
She went back to her chopping. “I get it, though. Why the song would be too hard to listen to.”
I didn’t want to talk any further about the song or the man who had played it for her. I suspected if I did, I might never stop. “I’m going to change clothes.”
“Okay, I’ll put the rice on,” Annie said.
I thanked her and then fled upstairs, afraid I was going to cry. Apparently, I was a crier now.
Upstairs, I sat on the edge of my bed, holding my phone in both hands.
This house should have been full of music.
I pulled up the music app and searched for “The Book of Love.” The Gavin James’s version came up, along with about ten other covers of it.
My finger hesitated over the play button. Could I bear to listen to it again?
I pushed play. The opening notes sent a shiver down my spine. Then, the first line played, poignant and beautiful, sung in Gavin James’ voice he must have borrowed from a heavenly angel. No. I couldn’t do it. Not yet. I hit pause and tossed my phone into the middle of the bed.
I changed into jeans and a T-shirt, washed my face at the bathroom sink, telling myself I was fine.
When my face was scrubbed, I took a good look at myself in the mirror.
Who are you anymore? A woman who lived in a silent house because she was too afraid to feel things?
Or someone brave and resourceful, ready to live in a place that could hold both sorrow and joy at the same time?
Could I turn on the music again?
Not today.
But maybe tomorrow.
With that in mind, I ventured downstairs toward the smell of ginger and garlic wafting from the kitchen and planted a smile on my face.
Just like I’d done for years now. For Annie, I’d always told myself, I had to be strong and stoic, never letting her see how broken I truly was.
Because she needed me. I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart, not when I was the only parent she had left.
She looked up when I came into the kitchen, smiling. “Good timing. Food’s ready.”
And so I set the table and poured glasses of water while Annie dished up generous portions for both of us. This was enough, I told myself. Dinner on a summer night with my favorite person, even if the music was muted.
That night, I had a strange dream. In it, I woke to the sound of “The Book of Love” playing in my garden.
I got out of bed and padded across the room, opening the French doors that led out to the garden.
It was a full moon, lighting my stone pathway.
When I reached the peonies, a man was standing there, holding gardening shears.
A half-dozen blooms lay at his feet. At first I didn’t see who he was, other than a man in my garden cutting my precious peonies.
But as he leaned over the bush to cut another flower, he turned to look at me.
Dorian.
The music swelled.
“I don’t have music here. Not anymore,” I said.
“But you will again. If you just let go.”
“Let go of what?”
I woke before he could answer.
Shaken, I reached for the glass of water I always kept by the bed. The clock read five a.m. It would be light soon. I got out of bed and went to the French doors, peering out to my garden. But there was no moon and no man cutting flowers, just my garden, waiting for the sun to rise.
The evening of Annie’s soccer game was one of our perfect days in Willet Cove, hovering just below eighty under a cloudless sky, with just a trifle of a breeze.
I’d come straight from the gallery, feeling high after selling two of Maren’s paintings that afternoon.
I was always struck by the contrasts in my life, going from meeting with wealthy clients to a hometown teen soccer game.
They didn’t seem like the same worlds. Yet they were both mine.
I found Gillian and Alex near the midfield line, Leo strapped to his father’s chest in an outfacing carrier, kicking and babbling while Alex chatted with one of the other fathers. Gillian gave me a quick squeeze. “You good?”
“I sold two of Maren’s paintings,” I said.
“How wonderful.” Gillian gestured toward one of three chairs. “Brought an extra in case you needed one.”
“That’s nice. I would have stopped by the house to pick up mine, but I was worried I’d be late. My one couple kept vacillating between two of the paintings.”
“They’re about to get started,” Gillian said. “I brought snacks in case you’re hungry.”
We sat next to each other, with the third chair remaining empty. Alex continued standing, bouncing the baby to keep him happy. Leo seemed to be quite content, sucking on his knuckles, all cozy next to his dad.
The teams were still warming up, Annie and Bella passing back and forth near the far goal, when someone caught the corner of my eye. I blinked, surprised. Dorian was making his way along the sideline, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts, looking slightly uncertain.
“Dorian’s here,” I said under my breath.
“Oh, how sweet of him,” Gillian said, standing to wave him over.
He saw her and headed our way. When he reached our little group, he and Alex shook hands.
“What brings you to the game?” Alex asked.
“Annie asked me,” Dorian said, glancing down at me. “I hope it’s okay?”
Annie had invited him? What was she up to? It didn’t take much conjecture to guess the answer. She wanted us to be in the same place at the same time.
I smiled politely. “Sure it is.” Not really. “Have a seat. She’ll be thrilled to see you here.”
He settled next to me. I couldn’t help but notice his muscular legs. Clearly he was a runner. Why did he have to be so attractive? It made everything very confusing.
Leo started fussing, then let out a yowl. The hunger cry.
“I’m going to have to feed him,” Gillian said to Alex as she got to her feet. “I’ll take him to the car.”
Alex handed Leo to Gillian, kissing the top of his head. “All right now, Mama’s got you.”