Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Marrying Vivian?
“Maybe,” I say.
“Actions not words, my boy. Maybe you need to call Vivian and explore whether or not sharing some of your time on the planet with her is your next chapter.”
There’s no doubt I want Vivian, but that doesn’t mean she wants me. I could reach out, see if all the bridges between us have been burned, but I saw Vivian post-breakup with Matt—she disappeared where no one could find her. Dad wants me to pick up the phone and simply call. She probably changed her number. I’m the last person she wants to hear from.
If Vivian says no to me, I won’t end up with just a dislocated shoulder. I’m quite sure she has the power to paralyze me completely, right down to my soul.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Vivian
I peel open the box that’s been delivered to the hotel under the name Adele Swift. I pull out the tripod and try and figure out why it’s about half the size I’m expecting. I haven’t got an answer from Tommy or Felicity on how I can share the new tracks I’ve written. Tommy is still thinking about ways of monetizing them. Occupational hazard, I guess.
Life feels like some weird limbo. I have nowhere to call home—I still haven’t been back to the apartment Matt and I shared, and I’m still at the Mandarin Oriental in New York, despite feeling the pull of London.
I set the tripod down, adjusting the legs so the holder for my phone is about level with me when I sit on the piano stool. I glance out at the view. Maybe it would be a good backdrop. I planned to record myself singing the songs—one song in particular. After that, my plan runs out of road.
I ram my phone into the tripod and position it so the piano is in between it and the window. I take a seat at the piano and place my fingers on the keys.
“London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down.
London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady.”
I stop and check the recording. As I play it back, it’s not even clear to me that I’m playing the piano. Having the light behind me doesn’t work at all. I move the tripod and put it just in front of the window so I’m looking out onto the New York skyline.
I test it with the same song. It’s much better but I decide it’s even better to zoom in slightly. Eventually, I have the perfect placement of the phone. I press record and settle back behind the piano.
I start play the opening chords and say, “This is called ‘London Love Letter’.”
Woke up this morning, New York in my sights.
The world looks different, without you by my side.
Pictures on my phone, memories won’t fade
Whispers of your voice, calling out my name.
It’s sooner than expected, but better late than never.
The way I stumbled into you wasn’t meant to last forever.
Now you’re gone. And I’m here.
Sorry’s too late. Goodbye’s too much.
I lost your warmth. I miss your touch.
I can’t think about tomorrow without you.
I keep going to the end even though I’m more emotional than makes sense. Writing this song, playing it over and over, it’s never made me so full of…sadness.
I stand and turn off the phone and I realize what I’m going to do with the recording.
I’m going to put it on social media and see if he sees it.
I walked away from London as if I didn’t care, and here I am writing love songs about a man I’ve known only a few weeks. The man I was actually engaged to doesn’t even rent a room by the hour in my head.
Beau Cove is the love of my life, and it’s taken three thousand miles, a love song and almost a month to make me sure of it. But other than write him a love song I don’t know if he’ll ever hear, I don’t know how to win him back.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Beau
One of the benefits of being a locum is that you start each job with a clean sheet of paper, which is exactly how I like to leave my desk at the end of every day. I finish typing up the notes from my final patient when there’s a knock at the door. The head of the practice, Charlie, pops his head into my consulting room.
“Have you got five minutes?” he asks.
“I have as long as you need.” My only plan tonight is to walk back to Nathan and Madison’s. It will take me a least an hour and I’m hoping by the end of it, I’ll have some clarity about what’s next for me. This job is up at the end of the week and I haven’t booked to go husky mushing or anything else. I’ll be unemployed without a plan.
“How was your day?” Charlie asks, plonking himself in the patient chair opposite my desk.