When he picks up a classical guitar, he’s breathtaking. But when he plugs in the electric? He doesn’t just play—he transports you somewhere else entirely. He doesn’t even realize it, but he’s a prodigy. A star. The kind of talent the world only witnesses once in a century.
I lie on my stomach in the grass and unfold today’s letter, my hands trembling.
Hey, Sally. How’s San Francisco? I don’t know how long this letter will take, but I’ve probably already told you everything on FaceTime. Still, I like writing. It feels different.
Today I learned how to make a savory pie with ham, zucchini, and cheese. It turned out really good. I asked Grandma what I could replace the ham with for you, and she suggested that vegetarian one you like. We’ll make it together when I come back. Oh, and I learned to use a rolling pin. Don’t laugh.
Yesterday I went to group therapy with Aunt Evelyn. I didn’t talk, just listened. Some people had gone through such terrible things that I wondered if I even had the right to feel so bad. But I’m working on those thoughts with Dr. Jenkins during our Skype sessions. I’m trying hard.
I miss you. I wish you were here. Aunt Evelyn loves you, Grandma always asks about you, and Grandpa says he misses your rants about why fishing is harmful. We still go every weekend.
At the festival, I ended up on stage. Don’t ask me how. I was terrified, but Evelyn came up and sang along to calm me down. It felt magical, like when we look at the stars and make up constellations. She even played Seven Wonders and said it was for someone special. Pretty sure she meant you.
You’d love it here, Nova. The woods are full of animals and insects you could take pictures of. One of the rabbits had babies, and I named one Daisy. I’m sending you photos in the envelope—landscapes, the animals, and one Chris took of me with Daisy. Save them for your mood board.
Dad says we’ll be back in early August. I can’t wait. I’ve learned new guitar tricks and meditation techniques that might help with your pre-exam jitters. I miss you, Nova Elizabeth Dehlia Marshall. Counting the minutes until you call me in two hours and thirty-seven minutes.
With love,
— McQueen.
I roll onto my back, giggling as I clutch the letter to my chest. I shuffle through the envelope for the photos, and my heart aches at each one. He captured everything—the garden, the woods, the animals, the vegetable patch.
And then the last photo. Vincent, sitting in a meadow, holding Daisy in his hands. The sunlight makes his freckles glow, his hair’s shorter now and his whole face’s brighter. Video calls didn’t capture this new light in him.
I always thought Vincent Cooper was pretty. But this? This is different. He looks... radiant.
And now, waiting three more weeks feels unbearable. I miss my best friend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Vincent Cooper
PRESENT (2023)
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"Don't use your brain to play it,
let your feelings guide your fingers."
Jimi Hendrix
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"I don't think that’s a good idea, V."
"You'll have fun."
Aurora sighs as we get out of the car Sam lent me. "I think it's a really bad idea."
She grips the handle of the closed door while I circle around the car and I pause to look at her for a few seconds. She’s wearing a cream-colored corset with a matching miniskirt, her hair half-pinned back with a clip while the rest falls softly over her shoulders.
If only she didn’t have the best hearing in the world, I’d take a picture of her and send it to Max. He’d lose his mind. I take Aurora by the arm and hold her bag as we head toward the entrance of Speedy’s Pizza. Music pours outside. There are groups of people talk in clusters, and couples kissing in the shadows.
"I promised I won’t leave you alone," I reassure her as we near the door.
Aurora grimaces. "Exactly. I don’t need a babysitter. I know Max asked you t—"
