Where Love Finds You (The Unspoken Series) (15 page)

Patrick called me. I wouldn’t have accepted his request to get together, except that he sounded as though he’d be crying and he asked me if I’d be willing to meet him at his wife’s grave. I figured that didn’t sound like an attempt to seduce me, so went ahead and met him there.

As I walked through the graveyard I saw him. Arms dangling at his sides. Shoulders heavy, head down. I approached the grave. And him. He attempted to smile, but failed.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry to make you do this. I figured I could consider you a friend and no one else understands.”

“Please don’t worry. I’m glad you called.”

He did a good job holding back tears, except for the slight quiver of his bottom lip.

“Thank you for coming.” He never made eye contact with me, only the gravestone in front of us. “Everyone is telling me to move on. Everyone. Maybe it’s because I can’t get out of my depressed stupor. Maybe they miss seeing me happy.”

“You need to find happiness, Patrick. You can’t go on living like this. She wouldn’t want that.”

I looked at the gravestone his gaze still rested on.
Emily May Wheldon. Beloved wife of Patrick. Daughter, sister, and faithful friend.
Our silence, carried by the autumn breeze, made my mind wander off to the color-changing trees. The cycle of life.

“Look over at those trees,” I said. “So many beautiful colors and yet they are dying. Do you ever wonder if it’s just us? Just our culture that makes us look at death as a negative, sad thing? When really it’s this beautiful experience that ends up being the most colorful one of our lives?”

Patrick finally made eye contact with me, then looked back to the trees. “You lost me.”

I laughed. “I just mean that Emily’s death was probably the best time of her life. The time where she learned the most about how to truly live. When we’re faced with death we grow from it in ways we never could’ve in our normal busy lives. We change. Like the trees. We change into something even more beautiful. Maybe that’s what death is. A transformation into true beauty, into real life. And maybe that’s what you need to do.”

“You mean I need to die too?”

“No.” I smiled. “I’m not that deep, am I? I’m just saying you need to embrace Emily’s death as something beautiful. Something good that happened to her. And something beautiful that’s happened to you because of her. Allow this to change your colors, to help you live a content and captivating life before you die one day yourself.”

“Yeah. I guess one thing this has shown me is my own mortality.” 

I looked at the name on the stone again. Then the others around us. So many stones spanned out for miles and miles. Body after body piled under mounds of earth and grass. The final chapter of every story lied six-feet under. Or did it?

“My friend Sarah recently had a scare with cervical cancer. It’s not a big deal now, but it really changed the way we think about life.”

He sat on the grass, crossed one leg over the other, and leaned back onto his hands. “How so?”

I sat beside him, indian-style. “It taught us to live, to put it simply. To just be. But at the same time, to care more about our health and not just live for pleasure and enjoyment. To be responsible with each day we’re given and not look ahead, wondering why today doesn’t look like we hoped it would yesterday.”

We looked at each other until I broke eye contact by looking down at my hands, filled with the grass I had picked apart as we talked. The crisp air rustled the leaves by our feet as we allowed the silence to once again fill the space between us. I felt natural with Patrick. In a sense, I wished he weren’t a widow. I would’ve considered giving up my dreams of Mr. Coffee Shop if so. But reality always looked dimmer than my dreams and unfortunately I couldn’t turn off the light.

When I walked into my apartment that night I saw a note on the kitchen counter. Sarah let me know that she’d be back tomorrow. Not to worry. No other hints. She knew that would drive me nuts. I tried to call and text her to no avail. Phone turned off.

I am an open book. My Sarah is a locked journal who gives away the key long enough for you to take a peak, but not read anything in detail. Then she closes herself back up and hides the key.

I never understood that personality. What’s there to hide? She’s also the type to wait three days before making a first date think she’s interested. I know her motivations aren’t devious, but I can’t help but wonder why all the games. If you want something, get it. If you like someone, show it. If you are sad, cry. Happy, smile. No point in hiding things and pretending to be one thing when you’re really another.

Honestly, I don’t have the energy for that. Enough thoughts pound their fists against my brain cells every day that I can’t conjure up the ability to pretend to be something I’m not. 

So, here I am.

A few weeks ago I would have called myself depressed. Hopeless, albeit anticipating a better future. Now, not so much. More like hopelessly hopeful and somewhat content.

Let’s be honest, I’m not the type to be completely content until all my ducks are neatly clucking one behind the other. Right now, my ducks are frantically trying not to drown in a turbulent river.

Okay, maybe it’s not that bad.

My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I let it go to my voicemail. When the little notification popped up I called and listened to the message.

“Hi Ella. I hope you are doing okay. I wanted to call you about something really important that will affect
Chances
. If you could, please return my phone call as soon as you can.”

The tone of his voice reminded me of wilting flowers underneath the scorching sun. Not sure I wanted to hear the really important news, but I called back anyway.

“Ella, I’m glad you called. Listen,” Mr. Sullivan said. “We’ve had a bad year with the building and, well, the bills haven’t been paid with our current expenses. We haven’t been able to find anyone to rent the upper portions of the building and we can’t afford to keep it going.”

“Okay.” I swallowed hard. “What does this mean for me?”

“Well, it means we are selling the place and you can either buy it and stay where you are or hope that the next landlord is willing to allow you to stay there.”

“Is that probable?”

“Can’t say for sure. Depends what kind of vision they have for the place and if you fit into that vision.”

My shop. How could it be taken from me in the blink of an eye? Just like that. I didn’t even know this could happen.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sorry. Yes, thank you Mr. Sullivan.” I exhaled. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll figure something out if it comes to that. We’ll see, I guess. I’m sorry to hear things have been rough financially.”

“Well, it’s okay. We are actually thinking of selling our house too and moving back to Lancaster to be closer to our grandchildren. It’s all for the best.”

“Yes.” 

All for the best.

“Are you serious?” Dee sunk into the chair on the other side of my desk. “What does this mean for
Chances
?”

I shook my head. “No way to know for sure until someone buys the place.”

“And you can’t afford to buy the building?”

I raised my eyebrows. “The question is, even if I could, would I really want to?”

She looked around the room. “Well, I better start looking for something else in case.”

“Of course. That’s exactly what I want you to do. How’s the savings account for your studio?”

“It’s coming, but not quite there yet.” She stood. “I want to start it right.”

“Yes. I’m supportive of waiting for the right thing.”

She rolled her eyes with a slight smirk and then walked out of my office. I looked at the box to my left. Flaps folded over, hiding the instrument inside. Tempting. So tempting to try to play again, but I feared the memories and worse . . . the pain of resurrecting the memory of his dead body. 

The front door bells jingled. Dee walked back into my office, sunlight from the doorway highlighting her frizzy hair.

“Looking at that violin again, huh?” she said. “Plan on picking it up anytime soon?”

I shook my head.

“You never told me what happened. Why don’t you play anymore?”

“It’s a long story.”

She looked out the door. “It’s 1:45pm on a Tuesday. I have time for a long story.”

“Guess I don’t have a choice.”

She sat down and crossed her legs. “All ears.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal. I don’t like telling people for that reason alone.”

“Because you are afraid I will think you are ridiculous?”

“To put it plainly, y—“?

“I already do. No worries there.” The bells jingled again. “Bet that’s UPS. Be right back.”

I heard a customer order a latte as I pulled out some paperwork to go through. Not like I had time to sit around and play violin or talk about why I don’t anymore. Mr. Sullivan left a message on my phone. The
for sale
sign would be up in a few days, but he already had a promising buyer. Except they wanted to turn it into a parking garage. He also gave me a few ideas for new locations. Even told me I’d be more successful if I moved the shop.

Trouble is, I liked
Chances
being there. Not only did the business thrive from day one, but I’d have to bury my dreams if I left. Something I had no desire to do. Not yet.

I knew he would come back one day. Whether he thought about me or not, he’d show up in
Chances
one day purely because he used to work in the same place years ago. I’ve prepared myself for the possibility of him walking in with his wife’s hand linked in his, but I didn’t mind. Seeing him one last time would give me the closure I needed to let the dream die.

Patrick’s face halted my mental rant. His sad eyes looking for hope in all the wrong places. My grandfather’s words. So pure and true. The last words he spoke to me have never left my mind, but somehow they fluttered away from my heart more than I wanted them to.

We didn’t expect him to die when they operated on his heart that day. No one did. No one except him.

He squeezed my hand. 

“I know you don’t like seeing me like this,” he said, surrounded by wires and beeping machines.

“I don’t at all.” I wiped away a single tear.

“Listen to me.” The brightness on his face turned dark, serious. “I need you to do something for me.”

I leaned in. “Anything.”

“Never give up hope until you find whatever it is you are after, but . . . . “

“Yes?”

“Just don’t spend your life looking for hope in the wrong places. You’ll never find it.”

One month and four days later, I left in a hurry for the airport. I had an extremely important audition. Already late, I stopped when a nice guy from my apartment building asked me if I wanted to go out on a date. I had been dreaming of that moment for weeks. I shouldn’t have stopped. He only wanted me for one thing and I wasn’t about to give him that one thing. I found out the hard way.

Pushing it, my car reached over ninety on the speedometer several times. By the time I got to the Philly bridge I slowed down to eighty. One glance over at the water and my life changed forever. Everything after that is a blur. All I know is I crossed the lines. I hit another vehicle, which turned into a five car accident right in the middle of the bridge. I broke my arm in two places, took months to recover from, and most of all, ruined my ability to play even the most simple scale on my violin.

The doctor said I’d have a full recovery and I believed him, but every time I picked up a violin my hands no longer did what I wanted them to do. But that’s not what made me give up. How could I pick up a violin and play when I killed a five-year-old little boy with an entire life ahead of him? Because of me, parents went home to an empty boy’s room and probably curled up under Batman sheets in tears. Because of me, Parker Ramsey’s body was lowered into the earth as rain pelted his casket and his daddy held his mommy from trying to hysterically jump into the earth with her son. I watched from a distance. Walked away with tear-saturated clothes. I hadn’t picked up a violin since. Everyone thought it was because of my injury. That’s what I wanted them to believe.