Library

16. Lovely

T he entire dynamic of Lovely’s home and life had shifted over the past few days, taking on a new rhythm that seemed to cover the cottage in a shiny haze of happiness. The days slipped by, each one a little sweeter than the one before.

After a long morning walk, they squeezed in something active and fun, like an hour of kayaking in the canals or a short charter on Chuck’s boat, which they’d both loved.

Back at her cottage, they’d share lemonade and a delicious mid-afternoon meal, happily agreeing that they preferred that to a large dinner, laughing about how age changed everything.

Then they settled in for the best part of their time together, always shared with three very content dogs. They took their respective seats on the screened patio—he on the rattan sofa with the coffee table covered in notes, a guitar in hand, and her facing the water with a paintbrush and her canvas—and got creative.

He worked on a few different songs— Yet and Whisper of Truth were her favorites—and she slowly painted a “beachscape,” capturing all the colors, the sweet hammock hanging between palm trees, and the comfort of the sun on the waves. Eddie promised the painting would hang in the den at his ranch.

During these hours, as the sky shifted from bright blue to soft lavender, they basked in each other’s company. He jotted notes, made up lyrics, strummed the worn walnut Gibson he’d found in Key West, and sang to her with a deep but raspy voice that she swore she would hear later in her dreams.

It’s the whisper of truth that sets us free,

The gentle breeze that lets love be.

No more pretending, no more shame,

Hear me calling out your name.

All the while, she stroked her brush over the canvas, capturing the colors of Coconut Key. Each shade somehow reflected the beautiful, warm, tender emotions that were taking up residence in her heart.

Lovely, though she’d probably never admit it out loud, was falling in love, and it was the most exhilarating and soul-lifting sensation she’d ever known.

“Whatever happened to your bangs?”

She turned from the easel at the question, frowning as she tried to figure out what he meant. “My…bangs?” She tapped her forehead with the back of her hand. “These bangs?”

“You had bangs…back then,” he said, squinting at her like he was seeing eighteen-year-old Lovely in his mind’s eye.

“I also had light brown hair with blond streaks, courtesy of lemon juice I squeezed on it every day.”

“I liked the bangs. And your hair was just to your shoulders, and I remember when I saw you walking, it swung all in one smooth move, like a shampoo commercial.”

She laughed at the image. “Well, your hair was dark and barely touched your shoulders. When did you grow it?”

“When I retired from the label,” he said. “I stopped getting haircuts and finally looked like the rock star I never got to be. When did you grow yours?”

“I stopped cutting my hair the day my sister drove off with Beckie in her car.”

He blinked at the answer. “Why? Protest?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Sadness, I suppose. A sense of…giving up? I knew that no one, including Beck, would ever know she was my daughter, but by then I was almost twenty-nine and kind of figured I’d never have another child. I was so broken that year.”

“I can’t imagine,” he said softly.

She let her eyes close. She’d forgotten that was when she’d grown out her bangs, well over forty years ago.

“When Olivia took her away,” she said, “she told me in no uncertain terms to stay away from her so Beck couldn’t see the remarkable resemblance between us. And I just…” She tried to swallow, but tears threatened at the memory of those dark days. “It was a sad time.”

“Oh, Lovely.” He made a move to put the guitar down, but hesitated, looking uncertain. “I don’t know if I want to write a song about that or come over there and hug you.”

“Hug,” she whispered without a moment’s hesitation.

He stood immediately, placing the Gibson on the sofa and rounding the coffee table, arms extended as he walked to where she was perched on a stool.

“I’m sorry you were sad.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, taking the embrace.

“But it was.” He inched back and looked at her. “How unfair that your whole life bore the brunt of that night, and I didn’t even know it.”

She sighed, acknowledging that, then shrugging. “It’s over and it’s fine. All’s well, as they say. And, you know, now that Beckie’s back in my life, I suppose I should get a decent haircut. I got into the habit of just trimming and braiding.”

He lifted the long braid that was so frequently hanging over her shoulder, taking it to her forehead. “And bangs,” he said. “I thought they were the cutest thing I’d ever seen.”

She laughed, weirdly unselfconscious by his close attention. “I liked them, too.”

“I’ll cut it,” he said. “Let’s do it now.”

Gasping, she shook her head. “You will not cut my hair. No, siree, not for love or money, as Beck and I like to say.”

“I’ll do it with love and charge you no money,” he promised. “I know how to cut hair. I have two daughters. I cut Melody’s bangs her whole childhood.”

“I don’t know…” She stroked the braid. “It’s tempting, but I’ll make an appointment. And what about yours? Will you ever cut it?”

“Do you want me to?” he asked, turning to show her his ponytail.

“I do,” she said, getting a surprised look over his shoulder. “I like a nice, short-haired look on a man, to be honest.”

“Then cut it. You have scissors?”

“Now? You want me to cut your hair right now?”

His whole face lit up. “Let’s cut each other’s hair.”

She felt her jaw loosen. “That’s so…”

“Intimate?” He smiled.

“I was going to say risky. And…”

“And fun,” he finished for her.

“Fun if we don’t mind wearing hats for the next few months.”

Still smiling, he cupped his hand on her cheek, rubbing his thumb under her lip. “You are so pretty, Lovely.”

She almost made a joke about her age, wrinkles, or the slightly soft jowl he held, but something stopped her. The look in his eyes, maybe, or the way her heart felt like it was simply melting in her chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “You make me feel…”

He lifted his brows, interested and waiting.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” she said.

“Try.”

Laughing, she shook her head. “I’m not you. I don’t know how to put feelings into words like you do. You take feelings and make them words and music, and I can barely form a sentence.”

He tipped his head toward the canvas. “You paint them.”

She didn’t look at the art, gazing up at him, lost. Completely and irrevocably lost.

“What are you thinking?” he asked softly. “Describe it. That should help with the words.”

“I’m thinking that…” She swallowed. “Honestly?”

“Nothing but, Lovely.”

“I’m thinking things that will just make you say you’re sorry.”

He drew back, confusion clouding his blue, blue eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you to take responsibility for things that happened nearly six decades ago.”

Nodding, he slid his hand from her face and held her shoulders. “I promise I won’t. But tell me what you’re thinking.”

Searching his face, she gathered her words, so very much wanting to tell him that she’d never been in love, never even close.

She’d never felt so tender toward a man, even protective, and fascinated and enthralled and close but every minute she simply wanted more. She walked around with him in her head and on her heart and she’d never known that this kind of connection was possible for her.

How could she tell him that?

She exhaled. “I’m thinking I do want bangs. And I have good scissors. Yes?”

A slow smile pulled. “That’s not what you’re thinking at all, but yes. Let’s cut our hair and recapture our youth.”

That made her laugh. That and all the dizzy, wild, unexpected and wonderful things she was thinking but couldn’t say.

Dusk was falling by the time he finished his work.

“If you try to look in that mirror one more time,” Eddie said, “I’m gonna screw up and you won’t be happy.”

Lovely bit her lip at the order and closed her eyes to resist the temptation to peek. She could certainly see plenty of silver strands on the ground where they sat, just under her upper deck. She’d let him take off about six inches at the bottom, but from this vantage point? It looked like six feet.

And the hair on her forehead tickled, and took her back to the past when she would let her mother cut her hair, always outside just like this.

He stepped back, snapping the shears with the flair of a professional, eyeing his work and nodding.

“Is it straight?” she asked.

“Sort of.”

“ What ?”

He laughed and leaned over, giving her nose a kiss the way Nick frequently pecked Savannah. The very idea of that made her heart twist.

“Yes, my lovely Lovely. It’s straight and adorable and I think you’re going to love it. Hang on, one little…” He lifted his scissors, peered closely, snipped, and backed up. “All right. You may look.”

“Really?” Now she was scared. What if it was awful? She could be dead by the time her bangs grew back.

He handed her the mirror. “Trust me.”

She inhaled, took the handheld and turned it. “Oh!” she exclaimed, blinking her eyes wide at the unexpected sight. “Oh, look at that.”

“I am,” he said, smiling as he stared at her. “Now you look like…her. That girl I remember. The one that got away.”

She glanced up at him, then back in the mirror, beyond pleasantly surprised. She fluffed the bangs, and they fell right into place, then shook her head so her hair—which looked thick and soft—brushed over her shoulders. Her shoulders! It was short, but…

“I love it,” she said, lowering the mirror to look at him. “I really love it, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Good. My turn.” He flicked his hand to get her off the stool he’d carried down for the project.

“I don’t know if I can do this as well as you. Where did you learn to cut hair?”

“I told you, the girls. Especially Mel, who was always attached to me.” He lifted the towel from her shoulders and shook off some hair, then draped it around his own. “Just cut the ponytail. One snip. Then we’ll clean it up a bit and get back to business. I think my next song will be called… A Cut Above ?”

“No, that’s a terrible title,” she said on a laugh, standing up and giving him the seat. “How about… Cut Loose ?”

“Oh, getting better. We could go with Snip Out the Past .”

She smiled and got behind him, easing the elastic from his hair. “ Clean Cut, Messy Past .”

“I like it! Emotional and clever. Or… Fresh Cut, Fresh Start .”

“Optimistic,” she said. “Cheesy as all get out, but hopeful. Just…straight across?”

“Yeah. It’s no biggie, Lovely. Just hair. Oh! I know. The Cutting Edge .”

“ The Final Cut,” she offered, picking up the comb they’d brought to slide it through his hair, which was surprisingly silky and so perfectly silver. The very act was, yes, intimate, but she nearly purred with how good it felt.

“I like that, but it’s sad. How about Shear Decisions ?” he countered, making her snort.

“Don’t make me laugh or it’ll be… A Bad Cut .”

The puns flew as she trimmed, very slowly at first, then with more and more confidence. Silver locks fluttered to the wood deck while he sat perfectly still, not the least bit afraid she’d mess up his beautiful hair.

“How short?” she asked as her scissors approached the very top of his shoulders.

“Whatever you like,” he said. “This is for you.”

“For me?” She froze mid-snip. “Why?”

He tipped his head and looked up at her. “I want to look good for you.”

“You already do.”

“But you don’t like long hair.” He flipped his fingers over what was left of his. “I like this. Keep going. Just clean it up.”

“Okay.” Narrowing her gaze, she approached the hair like art, looking for ways to shape it and make it look fuller and thicker—which it was, surprisingly for his age.

After about ten or fifteen more minutes, she ran a comb through it again, positively delighted with her work. But would he be?

“All right. Big change,” she said. “Are you ready?”

She handed him the mirror and held her breath. He lifted it and looked at himself for a long time, silent and staring.

“Oh, Lovely.”

Her heart plummeted. “You hate it.”

“It’s too short. It’s way, way too short.” He lowered the mirror and stood as she took a step back, putting her hand over her lips.

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I just wanted to?—”

“Not my hair. It’s great. It’s hair. It’s actually quite comfortable.”

“Then…what do you mean?”

“I mean…this. Us. This time we have together. It’s just not enough,” he said, reaching for her. “It’s too short. A few weeks in the scheme of the ten or twenty years we hopefully have left? It’s just too short.”

She gave a sad smile, relieved that he didn’t hate the haircut, but feeling the punch of pain for how right he was.

“I guess that’s your song title. Too Short .”

His eyes shuttered. “What are we going to do?” he asked on a gruff whisper.

She took his hand and drew him closer. “Enjoy every moment we have together,” she said. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

He closed the space left between them, pulling her into his chest, planting a soft kiss on top of her newly-cropped bangs. “It’s just not enough time when you find something like this. Unless…”

Holding her breath, she waited for what he’d say next. Dreaded it and longed for it and didn’t know how she could possibly respond.

“Unless?” she asked when he was quiet too long.

He looked down at her. “You come to California.”

“Of course I’d love to visit and?—”

“For good,” he said before she could finish her thought.

The rest of her sentence stayed trapped in her throat as she stared at him.

“Why not, Lovely? I have the most beautiful place. Half Moon Bay is one of God’s most beautiful works of art. And the winery is spectacular. The whole state, really. We could go up to Mendocino or into the mountains and have so many adventures. We could?—”

“Stop.” She put her fingers on his lips. “I live here.”

“I know you do,” he said, undaunted. “Now. But I’m seventy-six and you’re seventy-five.”

“Too old to move,” she countered.

“Too old not to,” he fired back.

“And too soon to have this conversation,” she added.

He shook his head, which looked so different and, yes, younger. She loved the short hair. Oh, God. She loved him . Now what? Now what was she supposed to do? A low-grade panic crawled up her chest as she stared at him, unable to talk.

“Nothing’s too soon at our age, Lovely. Everything’s too late if we wait. Why would we find this amazing thing and then just let it go? Why would we do that? This gift? This surprise? This unexpected late-in-life joy? I’m not willing to just give it up because of…of geography. Are you?”

She took a step back, unable to answer and suddenly needing to breathe or run or hide.

“Are you okay?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice, which touched her.

“I’m…yes. I’m fine. But I think…the sun’s going down. And I need to just be…alone.”

His shoulders sank with a sigh as he nodded. “I understand. And I haven’t seen much of Mel and Jazz, so I should go sneak in a bite of dinner with them. Join us?”

She shook her head. “I’d like to stay here and…”

“Think,” he finished for her, leaning in for the lightest kiss. “About the future.”

The future? She didn’t answer, so he started to pick up the towel and brush the fallen hair through the deck cracks.

“Let me get it, Eddie. You get back to Jazz and Mel. Please.”

As if he heard the soft note of determination in her voice, he stopped and set the towel on top of the stool, then gave her another light kiss.

“I’ll leave the guitar here. I can’t write without you anyway.”

She smiled at that, hugging her arms against the lightest winter breeze off the water, watching him take off down the beach for Coquina House.

Standing stone still for the longest time, she felt that gentle wind flutter her new bangs and shorter hair, blowing change all over her. Finally, she swept away their hair, picked up the towel, scissors, and mirror, and walked up the stairs to the screened-in porch where the dogs were sleeping.

She put the items on the table, stopped to pet Sugar, and looked at a few golden clouds hovering over the horizon.

California? She could never leave Coconut Key.

But…she was in love. For the first time in seventy-five years on this Earth, she was deliriously and genuinely and completely in love.

And didn’t she deserve that as much as anyone?

She turned and looked at his guitar, his open notes, and the remnants of him. On a sigh, she went to the rattan sofa and inched the guitar over and sat, glancing down at what he’d written last.

The years go by, they slip away.

Next thing you know, it’s your dying day.

Chorus:

Love happens fast or happens late.

You might regret it if you wait.

A second chance, a second time.

If only

He’d crossed out the next few words and she couldn’t read them.

If only…what? If only she’d turn her life upside down, leave her family, her home, her newfound life…for love?

Dropping her head back, she gave in to a sob. She’d waited her whole entire life to find this kind of love…and now she couldn’t have it. How was that fair?

It wasn’t. If she was being honest, life hadn’t been terribly fair to her. A teenage pregnancy, an overbearing sister, a life apart from her daughter, and now…this.

No. It wasn’t fair at all.

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.