Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
When I can’t sleep, because every note of the song plays on repeat in my head, I roll over and grab my phone.
Flynn: Found out today that Mr. R writes novels. Should I revisit the kazoo as a hobby?
I don’t know if it’s a two- or three-hour time difference, but maybe she’s already asleep. Or maybe she’s in some other part of the world, playing her cello. Is the family emergency over?
My screen illuminates with a reply. It’s just three blushing emojis with the hand over the mouth.
June: Immediately searching up Rupert Rawlings on Amazon
Flynn: He goes by R. Rawlings. Thrillers
June: How many? Have u read any of them yet?
Flynn: I’m dyslexic
June: Audiobook
I roll my eyes and reply with the eye-roll emoji.
June: Omg! He’s written 8 books. I’m starting one tonight
Flynn: lmk what u think
June: We could buddy read/listen and discuss every few chapters
Flynn: Or u could give me a summary and I can act like I read it
She doesn’t reply. No little dots or anything.
Flynn: were u sleeping?
Nothing.
Flynn: Cool. Good chat
Still nothing, not even to my sarcastic reply.
I set my phone aside and wait for her to reply or sleep to take me.
The next morning, I see a missed text, but she sent it at 4:00 a.m. my time.
June: Sorry. I had to get back to practicing
I type a reply: Nbd. What are you practicing for?
But I erase it before sending it.
Then I type: I saw a YouTube video of u
But I erase that too.
I throw off the sheets and leave my phone on the bed. Within minutes, I’m out the door, jogging across the street to the path around the lake. Zoya playing Bach’s prelude with its haunting notes spurs me to run faster and faster, like I’m chasing something. Then I see her above me, our bodies tangled in the bedsheets. Her hair tickles my face as she grins before we kiss. Fingernails digging into my back. Tiny moans vibrating between us.
My whole life flashes before me. The abandonment. The abuse. The tiny breaths of reprieve, filled with laughter and glimmers of hope. The crack of a judge’s gavel after sentencing me to time in prison.
The first day of freedom after my last day served.
The first touch of a woman’s hands on my body.
Freedom and no clue what to do with it.
My lungs burn, but I continue to pump my arms, passing people with reckless abandon. I just want to silence the voice in my head reminding me of all the things I’ve never been or will ever be.
I veer to the side and onto the grass, collapsing onto my knees, then rolling onto my back.
Breathless.
Angry.
Lost.
And then … the music stops.
The voices quiet.
It’s me and my heart beating.
Clouds swirling.
Birds soaring.
I’m no more alive than dead.
Chapter Thirty
June
“It’s too much,” Mom says.
My parents talk in hushed voices, but with my ear pressed to their bedroom door, I can hear everything.
“She’s twenty-six. I think she’s old enough to know if it’s too much. We have to stop coddling her,” he says.
“Bodhi, she’s experienced more than most people experience in a lifetime. I don’t care how old she is; it’s all too much. She’s still dealing with a broken heart. She’s back in LA. And my mom has basically blackmailed her into performing again. Who’s going to take responsibility when she cracks? It’s too much. She didn’t get to bed until nearly two in the morning.”
“It was her idea,” he says.
“That’s not fair. You know she’s all or nothing. There is no in-between with her.”
“Babe,” he sighs, “what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t lose my mom and my daughter.”
“You’re not going to lose her.”
“We lost her, Bodhi! She left everything, including us, and found a new life halfway across the country. That felt like losing her.”
“Well, now she’s back.”
“She’s back and going to doctor’s appointments with Mom. She’s back and practicing her cello for three hours in the morning and three hours after dinner. She’s back and she hasn’t once laid by the pool.”
“She swims every day,” Dad says.
“Yeah. She swims laps until she’s out of breath. She does everything until she just can’t do it anymore. Then she sleeps a few hours, wakes up, and does it all again.”
I peel my ear away from the door. I’ve heard enough. My parents fighting over my well-being does nothing to help. On my way downstairs for breakfast, I pull my phone from my robe’s pocket and text Flynn—my favorite escape.
June: If u could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
I sit at the dining room table where a bowl of overnight oats and fresh berries is ready for me.
Flynn: Where I am
Flynn: If u could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
June: I’d live in a van with a full tank of gas and endless possibilities