Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“We’re getting it done.” I leaned over to kiss her lips. “I made you a promise.”
Easton appeared on the other side of her bed. He sat down and took her hand in his. I could see the torment in his eyes. And I saw the dark shadow that hung around him like a cloak. The navy-blue and graphite evidence of how seeing his sister in this bed was his version of hell.
“I’ll leave you to the music.” He looked up at me. “Cromwell’s got you now, okay?” He kissed her hand. “I’ll see you, Bonn.” Easton’s voice cut off. The lump in my throat was getting bigger and bigger each day, shutting off my ability to swallow. And right now, seeing Bonnie shed a tear, watching as it rolled down her pale cheek, made it swell so big I couldn’t breathe.
Bonnie tried to hold on to him tightly. But I could see she was struggling to move her fingers. Easton stood and kissed her forehead. He looked at me. “Cromwell.”
“See you, East,” I said, and he left the room.
A sob came from Bonnie, and I was on the bed in two seconds flat, lifting her into my arms. I felt the tears on my neck. She weighed nothing in my arms. “Don’t want…” she whispered. I held still while she finished the rest. “To make him sad.”
My eyes squeezed shut and my jaw clenched. I held her tighter. The piano I played at most days stared at me. I moved my mouth to her ear. “I wrote something for you.”
I laid Bonnie back on her bed, wiping her tears away with my thumb. “You have?” she said.
I nodded then kissed her quickly. All our kisses were quick now. But I didn’t care. They were no less special. I ran my hand over her hair. “You are the bravest person I’ve ever met.” Bonnie blinked, her eyes closing a fraction too long as my words sank in. Her skin was clammy, so I pushed back the long, brown hair that framed her face. “You’re going to win, Bonnie. I’m never giving up hope. I wanted to create something to remind you of it, the fight you told me you’d put up. I wrote something for you to play when you lose hope.”
Excitement flared in her eyes. It always did when I played. She reminded me of my dad in those moments. Another person I loved who believed in me so much. Whose greatest joy in life was listening to me play. The loss I felt in these moments was extreme. Because if my dad had met Bonnie…he would have loved her.
And she would have loved him.
“You ready?” I said hoarsely, those thoughts stealing away my voice.
Bonnie nodded. She didn’t release my hand until I got off the bed to walk across the room. I sat down at the piano and closed my eyes.
My hands started to play the colors that I had committed to memory. The pattern that poured from my soul and whose music filled up the room. A small smile pulled on my lips as I let the images that had inspired this piece spring to mind. Of Bonnie walking ahead of me, holding my hand. Of her smile and pink lips. Her pale skin flushed with color under the weight of the heavy South Carolina sun. And her, sitting down in the grass with me, overlooking the lake. Canoeists and rowers moving slowly along the water, no urgency or rush. The breeze would flow through her hair and I’d notice the freckles the sun had brought out on her nose and cheeks.
She’d move above me to kiss me. I’d hold her waist, feeling the fabric of her summer dress. And she’d breathe easily as I took her mouth. Her body would be strong. And when I laid my palm over her heart, it would beat a steady, normal rhythm.
Her lungs would breathe in the fresh air.
And she would laugh and run just like everyone else.
Then we’d sit together, in the music room. Her, next to me on the piano. I’d play, and her voice would fill the room with the most vivid violet blue I’d ever seen.
I’d hold her in bed at night, and she’d fall asleep with her head on my arm…happy.
My fingers lifted off the piano. I took three deep breaths before I turned around. Bonnie was watching me, a floored look on her face. “Perfect,” she whispered, shattering my heart. I sat down on the edge of the bed. I took her phone off her bedside table and loaded the piece onto it. “When you’re lonely, when you’re feeling down. When you’re losing hope. You play this, and get back that strength you’ve shown me since I first met you in Brighton.”
Bonnie nodded her head. Her finger clumsily pressed play. The piece I’d just played drifted between us. Bonnie closed her eyes and smiled. “It’s like…” She worked on her breathing. “Being on the lake.”