“Even when I threw the mimosa at you in that Rome café that morning you suddenly broke up with me.”
Harry grins. “You were blindsided.”
“And Everett and I were together pre-Harry and post-Harry.”
“But post-Harry was just a rebound,” Everett says, raising one eyebrow. Bella smiles as they playfully click their pints.
“And it’s beenso fucking awkwardsince, but we’ve been hashing through it all, and we’ve decided we can be friends. At leastwe’re going to try. We’re teasing our love for one another in a different direction. Right now, I’m very happy with my new guy.”
“And cheers to him,” Everett says, lifting his pint.
This should feel awkward, but I’m giggling.
“Can you tell us about the next book?” Bella asks.
“I haven’t started. Any suggestions?”
“Ummm...” Bella looks thoughtful. “You could make the story even more about Cathy.”
“You know I wanted to title the last oneThe Catherine Saga.”
“Do it for this one! Push back if they give you problems,” she says excitedly. “What do you think, guys?”
“Oh absolutely!” Harry says as Everett nods.
“No one wants to see my duff face on-screen all the time,” Everett says through his Greek-god grin.
“Oh, shut up, you.” Bella playfully slaps his arm.
“I’ll do it,” I say. I’ve signed the contract already. Given the first book’s success, I certainly have more leverage this time around.
“And she gets another happy ending this time. That’s nonnegotiable,” I say smiling as I finish off my pint.
We talk a bit more before karaoke music and dancing starts. The pub is significantly more crowded now than when we first arrived. I’m sure the festival drew people from Yorkshire and beyond. I hear local and Scottish accents in the midst. Pretty soon, as the music starts, we have to practically shout across the table to hear one another.
After the Spice Girls’ “Wannabe,” Madonna’s “Like a Virgin,” and Britney Spears’s “Toxic,” I’m tapping my boot under the table.
Bella wrinkles her nose and orders another pint. “Whochosethis list?”
Harry groans. “If they’re going to go ’90s/early 2000s vintage, they can at least throw out some cerebral radical British hits via The Cranberries or Chumbawamba.”
Everett mock sings a few lines from “Tubthumping.”
Except for our table, everyone seems to be having a great time. Of course, almost everyone on the dance floor is over thirty. Ancient by my youthful movie star friends’ standards.
“What’s next?Destiny’s Child?” Everett asks sarcastically as our shots arrive.
I’m suddenly tickled. At least at this moment, I’m cooler than these three.
I down my shot and stand up with a wicked grin. “Sure. Why the fuck not?”
And then, a few minutes later for the first time since 2001, I’m belting out “Survivor” from the small, sticky pub stage, while Bella, Everett, and Harry have joined the older millennial crowd, not caring if anyone recognizes them. They dance, lip-synching and cheering me on from the floor.
We take a selfie as we leave the pub, and Bella hugs me tight before I get in my taxi. On the short ride back to Haworth, I watch stars poking through the night sky’s fabric. It’s so dark here. My tight cord loosened today. I’ve put myself through so much—guilt over my feelings for Henry, guilt for blinding myself to August’s waywardness. But Bella, Everett, and Harry helped me see that the craggy rock path is fine, and we can come out on the other end wise and even happy.
Philip, a good soul, is safe wherever he is. It’s me who’s been adrift. I needed this journey to feel secure. I’ll always grieve him, but I can lose this rippling fear that our love ended with his death.
That evening, I take a long, hot bath, soaking my sore feet and chaffed hands in Epson salt. I call Ms. Fernsbybriefly to check in on Heathcliff and then shut my phone off. I settle back in the soapy water, dwelling on my gratitude for what I had with Philip and my good odds for a bright future.
