I chuckled, nodding. “That’s right. They helped heal me. And time too. Having you in my life has brought me back. You’ve inspired me. The music is coming to me again. Because of you.”
“I understand. This last book felt hard to write. Add on Sylvia’s comment about pivoting, and I’m off my game. I’m afraid this is the beginning of the end of my career. And I don’t know who I am if I’m not a writer.”
I could see how hard it was for her to admit that to me. “What if you wrote something that excites you? Something just for you? A book you’ve always wanted to write?”
“I have no idea what that would be. For so long, it’s been about giving the publisher what they want, I don’t know if I can even reach that place in myself any longer. You know, where the ideas just come, begging me to write them.”
“I do know. I really do. But I also believe in your talent. Your editor’s comment about pivoting has you doubting yourself but no one else does. Not me. Not Tyler. Not your friends. Maybe this is a turning point in your career? Time to write somethinga little out of your comfort zone could give you your spark back. Altering the course is sometimes what we need to reach the next level of creativity.”
She was quiet for a moment, a muscle in her jaw twitching. “Thereisan idea I’ve thought about off and on for years. I don’t know what it is exactly but it’s something sweeping—multigenerational, women, growing up in the South. But that’s all I’ve got.”
“Want to talk about it? Maybe I could help?”
She flushed, shaking her head. “I have some ideas, but, when I say them out loud, they often sound ridiculous.”
“Try me.”
She looked at me for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “Yeah okay. Music might be the thread. Breaking the cycle of generational poverty because of musical gifts. And what happens to the people you leave behind. Or something like that anyway.”
We both laughed. Then, an idea popped into my head. “Come to Nashville with me. We can go to The Meadowlark Café where it all started for me. Maybe you’ll find the story whispered from the cracks through the floorboards.”
Her face lit up. “Really?”
“Ivy’s playing at The Meadowlark Café in three weeks. We could go.”
“Please don’t be joking right now. Don’t get my hopes up unless you mean it.”
“I’d never joke about Meadowlark.”
“Are you ready to go back?” Seraphina asked.
“You know, I am.” As I said it, I realized it was true. “This is my home now, but a part of me will always belong to Nashville.”
“Willet Cove feels like home?”
“Not to scare you away, but wherever you are is where I want to be.”
Her eyes went glassy. “That’s good to hear because you’re becoming home for me too.”
“I’ll ask Ivy to get us in,” I said. “She’s booked for a show at The Meadowlark three Saturdays from now. We’ll fly in on Friday, so I can show you around. See her show on Saturday. Maybe spend another day exploring—I can take you to all my old haunts. Then come home Monday.”
“I’m there,” Seraphina said. “As long as you’ll be my date for the movie premiere next weekend.”
“I’d be honored.” I leaned over to kiss her. “I’ll get us the plane tickets for Nashville.”
“I’ll have the Netflix team add you to the VIP list.” She smiled, her eyes alight. “I haven’t gone anywhere in a long time. Maybe between the premier and Nashville, I’ll get pulled out of my slump.”
“I have a feeling it might be just what you need.”
I really hoped I was right.
Tyler’s gamestarted at noon. We’d claimed a patch of grass near third base with lawn chairs and coolers for the whole gang. Lila had brought a charcuterie board, with mounds of cheese, cured meat, nuts, dried fruit and crackers. Grady and Esme had brought a cooler of drinks. Gillian sat with Leo against her chest, the baby sleeping through everything. Delphine had come from the gallery. She stuck out in a tailored light blue suit when everyone else was in jeans or shorts.
Seraphina sat beside me, her shoulder touching mine. She had her sunglasses on and a Giants cap pulled over her long hair. Although she didn’t say anything, I could see her unease in thetenseness of her shoulders and the way her gaze darted here and there, looking for photographers.
On a blanket slightly behind our chairs, Margot was coloring with Madison, the two of them bent over a book of princess designs.
“Purple is for her dress because she’s a queen, not a princess, and queens wear purple,” Madison said.
