Sweet Forty-Two(79)

I nodded. “Who are you?”

She took two steps toward me and grabbed the ends of my index fingertips. “I’m not a lonely girl anymore.”

“And the prince?” My voice came out as a whisper.

“It’s like Alice with the unicorn. Book, not movie. I see one, I think, but it’s in the convincing, you know? Of myself. Can I believe it?”

We were both speaking in whispers now.

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to tell her she could, but things with her were better presented as questions. “Can you?”

“I’m afraid, you know.”

I nodded. “I know. Listen ... I have something I need you to help me with.” I cleared my throat again, willing myself not to kiss her until this last part was done.

“Oh? What’s that?”

I sped into the kitchen, grabbed two cupcakes and handed them to her. “Meet me on the pier in, like, five minutes.”

“With these?”

I nodded. “We’ll need them, I think. Kind of a re-do of a few weeks ago. Only I promise you that this time I won’t curl into the fetal position and sob.”

She stared at me with a comically quizzical look on her face. She wasn’t used to being part of a plan, just the master of them.

“Just go.” I nudged her arm. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

A few minutes later, I made it to the pier with my violin in one hand, and a paper bag in the other. I stopped at the edge of the pier for a moment, taking in the view. Not just the welcoming sun, peaceful in its fury, but the peaceful and fury bit of human being dangling her legs over the edge of the splintered wood. She’d rolled her black jeans up to her knees and her shoes were resting next to her. Just as she rolled her head back and took a few deep breaths of warm sunlight, she caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh, hi!” She seemed startled, even though my invitation was why she was there in the first place. Georgia stood and un-cuffed her pants, staying barefoot, as she walked toward me with the two cupcakes in her hands. “Did you, uh, want these now, or...”

“Not yet. Set them over there. I have to play something first.”

As she set the bright cupcakes on the tattered grey railing, I played a couple of notes.

“What are you playing?” The wind picked up slightly, and Georgia wrapped a bandana quickly around her hair, keeping it out of her face.

“The song you asked me to play a couple of weeks ago was called Nocturne by Chopin. I’ve been playing it whenever I think of Rae. And not because it sounds sad, I actually don’t think it’s sad at all ... anyway,” I took a breath, refocusing myself, “I composed a piece based on that one and mixed in some notes that I felt really expressed Rae, to me. And how we were with each other.”

“Oh ... wow...” Georgia looked uncomfortable as she studied her fingers.

“But,” I sighed, “if there’s anything I learned about love and loss at all, it’s that I can’t do anything alone. That’s why I want you here. To help me say goodbye to her.”

She opened her mouth like she was about to protest, but then her shoulders sank as she exhaled. “I’m here for you. Go ahead.”

Georgia rubbed her hand up and down my back a couple of times and stepped back, giving me space to play.

I’d kept the beginning the same, tears spilling from the strings in the form of high-pitched vibrato, wailing for everything I’d lost. I shook up the middle of the song, though, and gave it some reprieve. Breath. Healing. Working on the notes over the past several weeks, I’d focused on all of the good times Rae and I had, and everything we felt for each other, said and unsaid.

As I transitioned to that section, I looked out into the ocean and heard Rae’s laughter yet again. My eyes shifted to Georgia, who had tears in her eyes and down her cheeks as I swayed to the notes. She did a horrible job of keeping her tears hidden, and eventually they fell from my eyes too.

I smiled through them, though. Life is an endless ocean of tears, happy and sad, and it’s our job to smile in their wake. Ending the song was easy, peaceful, resonating with a tranquility I’d spent almost nine months forcing into my bones. Letting go was all I needed. Not a forcing in of peace, but a letting go of hurt. Peace is always there at the center of our souls, and I had allowed anger, hurt, and hate to shove it in a long forgotten closet.

As I pulled the bow away from the strings, I closed my eyes and whispered, “Goodbye.”

At that, Georgia’s arms were around me. I rested my chin on the top of her head and took several breaths, feeling lighter than I had in months.

“Regan, that was beautiful.” She stepped back and gestured to the bag. “What’s that?”

My throat constricted. “It’s the last part.”

I had her hold my violin as I knelt down and removed three items from the bag. First was a glass bottle I’d picked up from an antique store around the block the day before. It came with a large cork, which was the selling point for me, really.

“What are you putting in there?” Georgia took off her coat and laid it on the ground, setting my violin on top of it as she knelt next to me.

I pulled out a crisp sheet of composition notebook with the words For You written on top. “This is the song I just played. See?” I handed it to Georgia, who took it in her hands as if it were a baby bird, never closing her fingers around the edges, just letting it float in her palms.