But there are people out there who would love these things so much more than she does.
Once she’s tired of sorting, she gazes back up at her guitars. When she started learning, she hated it at first. Her hands were too small for the F or B minor barre chords, and it hurt to stretch her fingers that way. But slowly, she grew to like the way she could turn noise into music. Or music into noise, depending on which critic you asked.
She reaches out to strum a cherry Epiphone, expecting the chord to strike some profound note deep in her soul—only for it to sound discordant, because of course it’s still out of tune.
So she takes it off the wall and tunes it by ear. Grabs a pick. She gives it a slow strum, her fingers settling into the frets. A G chord. Then a D. An A, and then back to D.
The opening chords of “Wildflowers.”
Softly, she hums along, messing up more than a few times, not forcing herself to start over when she skips a whole verse.
She still doesn’t want to make music for anyone else—that hasn’t changed.
But maybe she could make some for herself.
Epilogue
Spring break, one year later
It’s the perfect day fora hike.
Then again, there aren’t many imperfect days in Switzerland, with its teal waters and lush green mountains that steal the breath from Ramona’s lungs every time she gazes out at the landscape.
“It feels a little wrong, how much I like this hat on you,” Nick says, reaching out to flick the brim of her UCLA cap.
“This or the Clippers hat?”
He gives her a grave look. “Don’t make me choose.”
“Why do I feel like your dirtiest fantasies would involve me wearing a baseball cap and nothing else,” Ramona says, laughing.
“Because you know me very, very well. And you wouldn’t dare tease me like that in public.” He brackets his arms around her waist, tugging her close, and she’s still grinning when he brings his mouth down to hers.
After they conquered all the hikes in the book he gave her last Christmas, this seemed like the logical next move. Ramona’sspent so much of her life in cities she can barely remember, and she’s eager to make new memories.
Ones that have Nick right next to her.
“I’m actually amazed you can do this without that many bathroom breaks,” he says as gentle sunshine beams overhead. “Really, just holler if you need to pee in the bushes. I can make sure no one’s watching.”
With a groan, Ramona nudges him with her shoulder, though there are few things she loves more than Nick teasing her. “I’m growing and challenging myself every day.”
And it’s true—not just physically.
Her nonprofit is still in its early stages, focusing on sex ed and body image for young performers in Hollywood. The goal is to hire educators to teach workshops geared toward kids in the industry who may not be getting that kind of information elsewhere—or worse, might be getting the wrong kind of information.
She even declared a major in business at the end of her freshman year. Sure, she probably doesn’t need the degree to run the company, or could outsource that kind of management, but she wants to be as hands-on as possible. Wants to understand everything. She’s more energized than she’s been in ages, in no small part because it’s a topic she’s deeply passionate about. Something she knows firsthand, and wants to change.
The trauma—because she can finally call it what it is; that’s been part of the recovery, too—is still there, a scar that grows lighter every day.
The whole time, Nick’s been right there encouraging her. Reminding her that she’s smart, capable, has something unique to offer.
It’s been a year of change in every sense of the word. Last summer, she sold her house, and she and Nick moved in to a new place in Encino, where Audrey and Lexi visit all the time. Finally Ramona felt like she could properly exhale without all those empty rooms. She donated plenty of her memorabilia and auctioned off even more, the money going to support victims of sexual assault.
She hasn’t exactly been low profile lately. After three other women came forward, charges were filed, and Ramona prepared for a long road ahead. Her ex took a plea deal a few months ago, and even that felt enormous, with how many sexual assault cases are never reported and how few attackers actually punished. And he hasn’t booked a single job since.
Ramona and Nick have managed it, the renewed attention on her. It comes in waves, and every now and then she comes across some nostalgia post on social media, and she can appreciate the memory for what it was: something that brought her to where she is now.
Now: hiking with her boyfriend through the Swiss countryside. A postcard in every direction.
