Authors: Jasinda Wilder

After Forever (27 page)

BOOK: After Forever

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I couldn’t tell Ever or Cade. Mom was long dead, as were her parents and Dad’s. So, there was just me.

And I was paralyzed with fear. Had no plan, a limited amount of money, no job, no degree. No friends, no family.

I felt the tears leak out, and I lurched off the couch, pulled Apollo from his case, and sat down in the chair in the middle of the living room. Played, and played, and played. Until I broke through the calluses on my fingers and bled, until my wrist ached from holding the bow, until my teeth hurt from grinding them together. I didn’t even know what I was playing, just that it was all that mattered, all I had to keep the fear at bay, to keep the brokenness from escaping.

A thought came to me, as I finally let the bow drop to the floor: Each day, facing my fear and simply moving through the day was akin to jumping off the dock as a little girl. Just waking up was facing my fear. Taking each breath was an act of will. Not breaking down in tears each moment was an effort. All I could do, every single day, was face my fear, jump off the dock, and hope I could swim to shore.

I forced myself to eat, to do mindless time-wasting activities. Cleaning already clean things, watching TV. Reading. Eventually, I went back to playing until the sun went down.

~ ~ ~ ~

Carter

I took the long way home. I parked in my spot at the post office, locked my truck, shouldered my dry-bag, and circled the block on foot. I wasn’t ready to go home. It was quiet, and empty. Lonely. Once I swam home to the island, there’d be nothing to do but kill time until I was tired enough to sleep.

So I walked around the block, hoping for a distraction. I was nearly back to the beach when I heard music. It came from one of the cottages facing the beach. That particular cottage had been empty for years, I knew. I’d thought about buying it, as a matter of fact, when I’d first moved up here and needed somewhere to live that wasn’t the winery. It wasn’t for sale, I’d been told. I ended up finding the island, which was perfect in so many ways. And now there were lights on in the cottage, windows open. The front door was open, only the screen door in place. I slowed my steps as I passed, and then came to a stop.

It was a cello, being played by a consummate professional. I recognized the skill because Brit had been a classical music freak. She’d dragged me to endless concerts, symphonies at the DSO, in San Francisco and Boston and New York. Her favorite was the London Philharmonic, and she’d brought me half a dozen times. I’d never understood it, really. There were no words, nothing concrete I could grasp. Just the music, and it never quite caught my fascination. The only time I’d really enjoyed a show was when we’d seen Yo-Yo Ma with…I couldn’t remember which orchestra. I just remember being captivated by the way he’d played the cello. I’d kept hoping the stupid symphony would shut up so I could hear him play by himself.

What I heard sounded like that. A single cello, low notes wavering in the sunset glow. I edged closer to the screen door and peered in.

It was her. The girl from the beach. Facing me, the cello between her knees, her arm sliding back and forth, the bow shifting angles ever so slightly with each motion. Her fingers moved in a hypnotic rhythm on the strings, flying with dizzy speed and precision.

The music she played was…mournful. Aching. She played the soundtrack of pain and loneliness. Her eyes were closed. I was maybe six feet away from her, but she didn’t see me, didn’t hear me. I watched through the screen door, captivated. God, this close, she was even lovelier than I’d imagined. But the pain on her face…it was heartbreaking. The way she played, the way her expression shifted with each note, growing more and more twisted and near tears, it made my soul hurt for her. Just watching her play, I wanted to throw the screen door open and wrap her up in my arms, make everything okay. I didn’t dare breathe for fear of disrupting her. I knew I was being a creeper, watching her unbeknownst like this, but I couldn’t move away. Not while she still played.

Jesus, the music. It was thick, almost liquid. I closed my eyes and listened, and I could almost see each note. The low notes, deep and strong and male, they were golden-brown, ribbons of dark sunlit gold streaming past me. The middle tones were almost amber, like sap sliding down a pine trunk. The high notes were the color of dust motes caught in the rays of an afternoon sun. The notes and the colors twisted together, shifted and coruscated and tangled, and I saw them together, shades of sorrow melding.

She let the music fade, and I opened my eyes, watched her. She hung her head, the bow tip trailing on the carpet at her right foot. Her shoulders shook, and her loose and tangled hair wavered as she cried. God, I wanted to go to her. Comfort her.

But I couldn’t. My feet were frozen and my voice was locked. As I watched, she visibly tensed, muscles straining, and she straightened; her shoulders lifted and her head rose and the quiet tears ceased. Her eyes were still closed, but her cheeks were tear-stained. They needed to be kissed clean, the tears wiped away. Such perfect porcelain shouldn’t be tear-marred.

The way she pulled herself together, it was awe-inspiring. She was clearly fighting demons, and refused to give in. Refused to let them take hold. I pivoted away from the door as she took a deep breath and clutched her bow. I waited, my back to the wall beside the door, and then, with a falter, the strains of the cello began again, slow and sweet, speaking of better times to come.

I forced my feet to come uprooted, forced them to carry me past her door. To the beach. Into the water. I tugged my shirt off and stuffed it, along with my keys, phone, and wallet into the dry bag, cinched it tight on my shoulders. Strode out into the cool, lapping water, kicking the moon-silvered waves until I was chest deep and then dove in. Set a punishing pace. I’d be exhausted by the time I got to my island, but that was what I wanted. I needed the tiredness, the brain-numbing limpness of exhaustion. It kept the memories from coming back. Let me almost sleep without nightmares. Almost.

I swam the two and a half miles in record time. I could barely drag myself onto the dock by the time I got there, but my mind was still racing a million miles a second. This time, thank god, it was with thoughts of the girl. The cellist. I kept seeing the sadness in her expression, the loneliness. The pain and the fear.

What was it, I wondered, that could cause such sweet and perfect beauty such searing pain? I needed to know. But I might never find out if I couldn’t get myself to talk to her.

Or to talk at all.

It had been eleven months since I’d spoken a single word. But for
her
, I might find the courage to simply say hello.

Saving Forever

Coming February 14, 2014

playlist

Note from the author: these songs are not listed in the order in which they appear in the story, but rather are grouped by artist/album

From
Six Unaccompanied Cello Suites
by Yo-Yo Ma:

“Suite No. 1 in G Major - Prelude”

“Suite No. 2 in D Minor - Menuett”

“Suite No. 6 In D Major - Allemande”

Other pieces from Bach’s Unaccompanied Suites:

“Suite No. 5 in C Minor - Courante”

“Suite No. 4 in E-flat Major - Sarabande”

From
Songs and Poems for Solo Cello
by Philip Glass and Wendy Sutter:

“Song VI”

“Song IV”

From
Thousand Words
by Portland Cello Project:

“Broken Crowns”

“Taking a Fall”

Unassociated pieces:

“Sonata For Solo Cello” by Zoltán Kodály

“Song For You” by Alexi Murdoch

Jasinda Wilder

Visit me at my website:
www.jasindawilder.com

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Biker Billionaire:

#1 #2 #3 & Omnibus

Big Girls Do It Better: (#1) Wetter (#2) Wilder (#3) On Top (#4) Married (#5) On

Christmas (#5.5) & Omnibus

Delilah's Diary: #1 #2 #3

Wounded

Rock Stars Do It Harder

Rock Stars Do it Dirty

Rock Stars Do It Forever

Falling Into You

Falling Into Us