And a raging spirit that will not be broken
I dream
Through hard losses
And harder wins
Through pain and defeat
Joy and hope
Through hot, sleepless nights
In the cold light of day
I dream…
His words are so full of imagery. Of pain and sorrow and…strength.
There’s a lump in my throat. I don’t want to contemplate the meaning behind this poem, especially if it pertains to me or Cash or—
“Y’okay?”
His deep voice is a cattle prod, shocking me into standing. Yard looks at me in concern before turning to pant happily at Luc, who’s looking very Paul Bunyan-y in jeans and a thick flannel shirt. Leaning against the doorjamb, arms and ankles crossed, it appears he’s been there a while.
“Sweet Jesus!” I press a hand to my chest. “You scared the stuffing right out of me.”
He toes out of a pair of galoshes, leaving them by the back door, and on stockinged feet makes his way over to me. After giving me a quick hug, he flops down on the sofa and squints up at me. “Did I know you were coming?”
“No.” I tentatively resume my seat. “It was sort of an impulse on my part.”
Once I made the decision to let go of what was and embrace what is and what will be, I couldn’t wait to deliver the letters. Besides my box of keepsakes and the time capsule, the letters are the only things I still have from our time together in high school. Somehow, giving them to their rightful owners feels like closing the door on the past and opening the window to the future.
“You should act on impulse more often.” He winks.
I’m quick to shake my head and come back with, “Said no smart person ever.”
That makes him chuckle.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” I circle a finger in the air.
“Reckoned it could use a spruce up.”
“You’ve got good taste. The leather on this sofa is buttery soft.” I rub my hands over the cushion beside me.
“I just know what I like.” His eyes flick from me to the open journal, and I feel the sting of blood rushing to my cheeks.
Sack of crap. I was hoping he didn’t see me.
“Uh…sorry I was snooping.” I make a face. “I shouldn’t—”
“Hush, woman. You can snoop all you like. I don’t have anything to hide from you. Not anymore.”
The sting in my cheeks has moved to my ears. Quickly changing the subject, I say, “I came to give you two things.” Grabbing the framed napkin first, I hand it to him.
When he turns it over, his eyes widen. For a moment, he’s quiet, as if he can’t find the words. Eventually, his voice rough, he says, “How the hell did you manage this?”
“He did a gig in town three years ago. I snagged a backstage pass.”
