Ten Days of Perfect (35 page)

I thumbed through my phone as Adrian started his car and pulled down Main Street. I had a text from Monica that she sent last night:

Monica:
Ember, I talked to Adrian. Get sleep, I’ll be at your apartment waiting for you tomorrow.

I had an email from my boss:

November,

I received a call and email from David Bryson very early this morning. I also spoke with Bo. Take the week off and call me when you can. I’m sorry all of this happened. –Carrie.

Finally, there was a text from Bo:

Bowan
: I know you’ll ignore me if I call, and I don’t dare try to see you in person right now. I love you November. When I said forever, I meant it. I’ll never stop loving you. Please forgive me. Forgive me.

Sleep didn’t erase the emotional pain, and I bit my lip as I slid my phone back in to my bag.

“Hey, what’s in that bag?” I as
ked Adrian, noting a paper gift bag
on top of my suitcase.

Adrian shrugged, “Bo said it’s yours - that you never opened the card. If you want me to take it
-”

“No,” I interrupted, “I’ll just open it . . .” I hesitated as I ran my thumb under the seal.

The square card held a CD. I gestured to Adrian to put the CD in his player as I read the note Bo wrote:

November Blue,

You’ve given me the most perfect ten days that anyone could ever dream of having. I love you more each day, and plan to love you more for however many days I have left on this Earth.

The note slipped through my hands and hit the floor of
the
car as the music started, and familiar voices filled the
space around us,

“Don’t know what time it is, I’ve been up for way to long

and I’m too tired to sleep . . .”

“That’s me . . . and Monica
. . . and Bo, from the first night we sang together at Finnegan’s. It was the first night I met
him
. It’s The Wailin’ Jennys - Josh must have recorded it . . .” I pushed Adrian’s hand out of the way
when
he tried to turn off the music. “Don’t . . . we sounded awesome.” I managed a grin as I leaned in to the headrest and watched Concord fly past my window.

“
. . . then maybe I’ll walk a while,
and
feel the earth beneath me . . .”

The song slapped me across the face as I heard Bo’s voice join mine, a  cappella, through the speakers. I reached for the card on the floor and opened the composition book to slide it in. As I opened the front cover, I noticed there was writing on the left side, opposite Bo’s transcription of the lullaby:

“There is the kiss of welcome and of parting, the long, lingering, loving, present one; the stolen, or the mutual one; the kiss of love, of joy, and of sorrow; the seal of promise and receipt of fulfillment.” ~Thomas C. Haliburton

I didn’t feel Adrian pull the car over, but I knew we were stopped. My face was buried in his chest; his embrace tried to hush my body-quaking sobs right there on the side of the road.

My soul felt more battered than my body, but it begged me to stay; to find Bo and try to understand just one more time. My mind, however, couldn’t process
anymore hurt - any more lies.
I handed my soul to Bo Cavanaugh, and was given bloodied knees and a busted face in return. I was broken. For the first time in my life I was broken, and it was at the hands of the cruel temptress “Reckless Abandon.” Our souls had gone out ahead of us and made plans they couldn’t promise they’d keep, and I was left in a sobbing heap.

“Shh,” Adrian whispered in to the top of my head. “It’s going to be alright.”

“What if it’s not? I loved him, Adrian. What am I supposed to do?” I had no strength to pull my head from his chest - I kept sobbing.

Adrian rested his chin on the top of my head, and I felt him shrug. There weren’t any words that could resuscitate my soul - not today.

Somewhere, in between my incoherent
wails and whispers of reassurance from Adrian, loneliness let herself in and swallowed my soul.

First and foremost, I have to thank my husband, Scott, for fully supporting my dream. Thank you for putting up with a dirty house, lots of take-out dinners, sometimes sleeping alone when I stayed up way too late to write, and my attitude the next day. Thank you for
helping me schedule time
to get out of the house to spend hours writing, reading, editing, and editing, and editing. I love you.

Thank you to my parents for always encouraging my writing, and showing excitement over reading this book. Dad, I
really
hope you didn’t read Chapter Six. Mom, don’t let dad read Chapter Six. Please.
Oh, Brian (my brother), if you happen to read this book, you also may not read Chapter Six.

Thank you to Ruth Moody of The Wailin’ Jenny’s for granting permission for me to use the lyrics to ‘Heaven When We’re Home.’ Receiving your e-mail was one of the highest points of writing this story.

Evan Spinosa- Thank you for the gorgeous photograph and cover design.

Jessica – You read each chapter as I finished it. You read some righteous crap and loved it anyway. I loved hearing you beg me for more. I hope you read it again, I promise it got tons better.

Jennifer
Roberts-Hall- Your editing wizardry left me in awe. Thank you for cleaning up this work, chatting with me about line and word choices, and being so gracious and selfless. I bow in your honor.

My Beta Readers: Michelle Pace, Michelle Mankin, and Melissa Perea – Every step of the way.
On e
very step you helped me find words, colors, senses, and feelings. You were my personal cheering section online, on the phone, and on Skype. Your encouragement held my hand and my heart. 
Mankin
– I love th
at you’re a huge fangirl for Bo. Your encouragement and praise through the whole process has been humbling.
Pace
– Your A
drian love makes my heart smile. We must schedule time for my friends to meet yours in Jefferson Point.
Perea
– Thank you for helping me trickle angst through the rainbow of love.
Keep reading, Pix, there’s more.

Maggi Meyers, Leslie Fear, Melissa Brown, and Dave Newell – Late night chats, honest critiques, and the necessary videos and songs at 1:00am helped me stay
just
this side of sane. I wish absolute and stratospheric success for all of your novels – you deserve it.

Melissa Perea – Yea, you get two. I can’t thank you enough for hours of late-night book banter, critiques, deep discussions, and a promise to never let each other publish anything less than our best. I hope this lives up to our pact.

The Indie Bookshelf – You ladies are amazing. It feels wonderful to be part of a group supporting independent arts. Thank you for your support, and the chocolate :). Check them out at
www.theindiebookshelf.blogspot.com
.

Starbucks – Thank you for the swanky office space, free wifi, delicious energy, and support for this book.

To all the Indie authors who have helped pave the way and are still keeping the streets clean – You are all rock stars to me.
I want to specifically thank J. Sterling, Colleen Hoover, and Tarryn Fisher.
Without you,
and the road you pa
ved with rainbows, butterflies,
pumpkins, strength, and venom,
this book wouldn’t exist.

BA Ladies (and Fred) – Your unwavering support for Indie Lit. is encouraging; spread the love.

The Clapp Memorial Library in Belchertown, Massachusetts
- Thank you for your teen book group when I was in high school, and your summer reading program. Your efforts poured the foundation for the will of this book.

Finally, to everyone with a dream and a will – If it scares you, you must do it.

Andrea Randall lives in Upstate New York with her husband and three children. She holds a B.S. in Development Sociology from Cornell University, which, she promises her parents, was put to good use in writing this novel. 

Connect with her via
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at
:
www.facebook.com/AuthorAndreaRandall
, or on
Twitter
: ARandallAuthor.
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