Sabrina nodded. “Go take your nap. I’ll just be down here, glaring holes into scrap paper, trying to establish what I want to write.”
Nora hid a yawn. “Pretend you are holding a conversation on paper. When I’m writing and find myself struggling and at a loss for words, I find that if I let my mind wander and freely write whatever comes to mind, the job takes care of itself.”
Sabrina raised an eyebrow. “You free-write? I just assumed that you planned everything out ahead of time. You’re always creating character sketches and fiddling with chapter outlines.”
“Sometimes yes and sometimes no. Free-writing helps me avoid writer’s block and come up with new and spontaneous ideas I didn’t even know were present within the depths of my mind.” Nora chuckled.
“Take this morning, for example. I let my fingers fly and free-wrote for about an hour. I ironed out some of the rough patches of chapter ten. Who knew that the extra spice that section of story was missing was having our Miss Kennington accidentally stumble upon Lord Malcolm playing billiards, informally attired in his shirtsleeves, breeches, and waistcoat?”
“Any chance you might let me have a sneak peek at it?” Sabrina clasped her hands together and looked at her friend with puppy-dog eyes.
If this works for the nephews, it’s worth trying with Nora.
“Write your letter and we’ll see.”
Sabrina hugged her friend. “You’re the best.”
Nora flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I know I am.”
They laughed. Nora picked up her phone and left the room. Sabrina heard the door to her bedroom click closed. She was all alone. She could hear the sound of the grandfather clock’s pendulum swinging away. The soft hum of the refrigerator. Sabrina retrieved her laptop, now fully charged, from the guest room and sat down at the kitchen island. She stared out at the violet stems of the lavender plant dancing in the wind.
She opened a blank word document. The cursor flashed. She exhaled and began typing.
Dear Lorenzo,
How have you been these last three weeks?
She paused. Would it be too crass to ask Lorenzo a question like that?
No. I do care and want to know how he’s been doing. Has he been as miserable as the evil half of me hopes?
Writing this note is difficult. I am conflicted with you. Since we last parted ways, your rejection has forced me to constantly analyze and question my self-worth. Your words broke me, and I am still putting myself back together. You are not the first person to whom I have proven to be a disappointment.
When we met, it was the first time I had ever felt as if I had this instant connection with a person. There was something about you I was drawn to. Everything about our meeting and our time together just seemed right. For once in my life, I was willing to throw caution to the wind and possibly even let my heart rule my head.
Yet in a matter of moments, that opportunity was ripped apart from me. You never gave us a full fair and fighting chance. All that you could focus on was protecting yourself from having your heart broken again. You automatically deemed me a woman not worth your time or effort. You forgot that relationships are about two people.
I was like a piece of trash, easily discarded by the wayside. I was reminded that I am a person who is forever unable to live up to the expectations of the people who are supposed to love me. I do not easily forgive or forget, however—
She drummed her fingers on the touchpad.
I almost feel as if I’m writing a dialogue for one of Nora’s stories. Am I going too far in voicing my pain? Nora did recommend I write as if I were conversing with him. I can always edit this.
—being in Florence these last three weeks with Nora has allowed me to do what I came to Europe to achieve—to find and heal myself. As a part of my new outlook on life, I’ve decided that everyone deserves a chance.
Sometimes a first impression can be woefully wrong. And so, I am writing to tell you I am willing to hear whatever you might like to say to me on the condition that I may have no reply to send your direction.
Sincerely,
Sabrina
After rereading her words a few times, Sabrina sent the document to the printer. She heard the internal mechanisms inside the machine spring to life, clicking and aligning into place.
It’s time I find a way to extend an olive branch to Mom. This war of attrition ends today.
Suddenly, she could hear the thud of her pulse beating in her ear. The muscles in the back of her neck tensed. With shaking hands, she retrieved her phone from her pocket. Stepping outside into the embrace of the afternoon rays of the sun, she slid Nora’s patio door closed behind her. Sitting on the bench, she heard the buzzing of bees at work collecting pollen.
She splayed her hand on her chest and counted backward from five. Before she could talk herself out of it, Sabrina unlocked her home screen and tapped the phone number for her mom. It took several moments for the phone to connect to the network before it started ringing. She dug her fingers into her palm and bit her lip.
