Chapter 37
Trish: I got an inquiry from a movie producer today.
This was not text talk. I FaceTimed her. “Congratulations!”
“Well, nothing has happened yet, but I guess it could turn into an option. Maybe. You know most of those go nowhere.”
“Most go nowhere. That’s not going to be your story.”
The whoosh of air out of Trish’s body was visceral. Like most of us, she wanted someone else to believe that her dream of
her book making it to film would happen. “Hollywood is slow. Slower than refrigerated syrup, but an option is clout,” she
said.
Encouraging her, I added, “And people will start buying the book to make sure they’ve read it before the movie.”
There was a little lull in the conversation before Trish said, “I know you’re happy for me, but you still look sad, friend.
What’s going on over there in the cabin in the swamp?”
“You know that’s a book title.”
Trish scrunched up her face. “A horror story. I hope that’s not what you’re creating right now.”
The heaviness in my soul came out in my thoughts. “This story started a long time ago.”
“And like all stories, it can have a different ending. You can turn this multigenerational drama into a romance,” Trish said.
“Please let the Gabe thing go,” I pleaded.
She cocked her head and dropped her eyes before raising them to speak again. “Listen, if you want someone who won’t ride you
to right, you need a new bestie.”
“Impossible to get one of those at my age.”
“Which is why you need to listen to me,” Trish exclaimed. “Have you talked to him?”
“No.”
She sighed like I was impossible. “Did you read the book again?”
“No. I’ve been writing.”
“You can read a four-hundred-page book in five hours. You’re not writing that much.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
“Let me get this straight,” Trish started. “You’ve never had to look for a reason to let a sorry man go, yet you’re searching
hard for a reason to get rid of a good one.” Another beat of silence passed between us before Trish said, “Read the book.
There’s something in there that he wants you to see.”
“Okay, okay. You don’t have to keep trying to convince me. I just have to get my head together.”
“Hurry up, because he’s too fine to be running around here free.”
I walked to the bookshelf and removed my copy of Seasons. “You’ve convinced me. I’m holding the book.”
“Mission accomplished. Bye!” Trish ended the call.
I plopped down on the sofa with the book.
I flipped it over and opened the back cover.
Gabe’s handsome eyes stared at me from the author photo.
I didn’t need to look at his picture to remember those eyes.
The color, intensity, and spirit in them were unforgettable.
Every line and crinkle spoke to me. I saw everything he endured in his eyes.
I sent him a text.
Me: I don’t feel well. Can you take over with the kids today?
Gabe: Sure. Since I’m in town. Maybe I should take the week.
Me: Thank you.
Bubbles bounced, and I waited for what else he might have to say. They stopped, and I was relieved.
I rubbed my hand over his book again. His plea rang in my ear: “See me. Find me between the pages.”
I flipped the book over and opened it to chapter 1.
In this season, I love deeply, without reservation, judgment, or regret. That might be hard for you to believe as I take you
back through the last three seasons of my life.
Begin this journey with me, accepting one fundamental truth: The past is always trying to take something from the present.
I took a deep breath and allowed myself to revisit Gabe’s pain. By evening I closed the book. I’d shed all the tears, felt
all the emotions, found all the messages I’d missed the first time—missed them because I was so hurt for him.
I reread the last lines:
In this season, I learned that my heart has an endless capacity for love. Love heals wounds and trauma. Love opens the pathway for more love. Love will find forgiveness, healing, and reconciliation if we let it.
I choose love.
I looked at Gabe’s picture again. I understood what he was trying to tell me.
The tears flowing down my face would not stop, and they didn’t need to. This was a good ache. The kind you wanted to reach
your belly and spread into your muscles. It was good for the bones and the soul.
I stood and went to the bathroom for a cold cloth to clean up my face. I hadn’t cried this hard since—I laughed—since last
week. But these tears were different. I hadn’t nearly burst a blood vessel in my eye because I was sad. Relief was the emotion
that filled me to overflowing. Relief and love.
“I love you, Alex.”
I wanted to call him and tell him. But first I needed to finish my book. I had to reach the end. I needed to live in the fictional
version of love. I wanted to see my heroine find her happily-ever-after so I could trust that I would have my own.