Chapter 36
Clare typed “The End” to her latest romance novel,Lucky Like Love. Of course, she had to create a happy ending. It was bittersweet, with more sweet than bitter, and even though she’d cried a river while writing it, she was happy with the results.
It was threemonths’ worth of bleeding her heart out onto the page, but at the end, her heroine finally understood that love couldn’t be forced, it couldn’t be begged for, and it definitely couldn’t be bought.
Love was like luck.
It just happened.
It either clicked or it didn’t.
And she’d rather liked that no one controlled love.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t be love.
Freelygiven, and freely received.
Oftentimes one-sided, but nevertimes wasted.
She would post the story to her beta readers, and tomorrow, she would turn a new leaf and start another love story.
She unsilenced her mobile phone and noted she’d had a missed call. The caller ID said it was from the Poddle Neurological Institute.
Could she have left something there? Or perhapsshe’d been listed as an emergency contact for Griffin?
She thought about him every day, and she wondered how he was doing. Even though she had his passcode tattooed onto her shoulder, she’d resisted looking into his cloud account. Sure, she’d set it up for him so he could rebuild his memories, but she couldn’t do everything for him, and she’d rather not mislead him with false impressions.
“Hello? This is Clare,” she answered.
“Hi, Clare, this is Enya from Dr. Murray’s office. Your brother requested I call you to let you know he has an appointment with Dr. Murray to talk about surgical options for his epilepsy.”
“My bro—?” She caught herself. “Oh, yes, Griffin. Tell me when, and I’ll be sure to show up.”
“It’s this Friday. He said you would be happy totake care of him after the surgery.”
“I will definitely be there.” She hung up after getting more details.
Her heart swelled, about to burst from her ribcage. The apartment felt too small for her, and she’d been cooped up for almost three months since leaving Castle Gallagher.
Her novel was done, so she put on exercise clothes and earbuds. She’d clear her mind and let herharried thoughts organize themselves.
Did this call mean Griffin had remembered her? To the distinct detail that she’d pretended to be his sister at the doctor’s office?
Did that mean he’d also remembered her promise to be at his side? As a friend only? Or could there be more to it?
She itched to call him, but she did not want to influence his memories. If he remembered heron his own, he would find a way to let her know.
Until then, she would not settle for second best, nor would she manipulate or create conditions for love.
Love was to let it be. It was the same thing she did for her characters. She let them be themselves and drive their story, because as soon as she tried to force them into a mold, they rebelled and stopped speaking to her.
“I love you, Griffin Gallagher,” she confessed to the air as she jogged around the fountains of St. Patrick’s Park.
Butterflies fluttered over pretty flowers, and birds twittered and squeaked. She looked up at a tiny blue tit warbling, "tsee-hee-he-hee, tsee-see-he.”
“You’re magnifying my good luck, aren’t you, little one?” She breathed a prayer and let the bird amplify it to theheavens.
When she arrived back at her apartment, a courier was leaving a note on her door.
“Are you Clare Hart?” he asked, tucking his pen over his ear.
“Yes, that’s me.” She looked curiously at a large Kevlar envelope.
“This here’s for you, from Griffin Gallagher, County Donegal. Will you please sign?” He handed her the heavy envelope. “If this is a love letter, it’sthe largest and heaviest one I’ve ever seen.”
She signed for it and could barely breathe. Her heart was beating so fast, she felt faint, and yet, at the same time, invigorated and bursting with energy.
“Can you wait?” she asked the courier. “Come in and have a cup of tea? I have something I’d like to send him in return. An even larger love letter.”
