“Why not?” he asks in all heartbreaking honesty.
“I haven’t spoken to Bo ...” I say from the kitchen.
“Since when?”
“Have you talked with him?” I deflect the question.
“About once a week. When’s the last time you talked to him?”
“If I haven’t come up, that should be some indication.”
“Ember ...”
Deep breath.
“The day after Rae’s funeral.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Regan sounds angry as he enters the kitchen.
“Listen, Ireland, you have no idea what the hell happened between the two of us. I tried calling you that day but you didn’t answer anyone’s calls. Then, poof, just like that you’re gone the day after that with a cancelled cell phone account. Don’t ‘are you fucking kidding me’ me, Regan. Are you fucking kidding me?”
Tears sting my eyes as I replay the desperation I felt on my drive back to Barnstable the day after Rae’s funeral. I called Regan that whole day without any answer. I was hoping he could just...I don’t know. Whatever it was, he didn’t do it. He wasn’t there. He disappeared.
“I wanted to talk to you,” I continue as he stares at me doe-eyed. “Bo and I had sex the night of the funeral, and he fucking kicked me out the next day after Ainsley tramped around his front porch, and ...and I was so goddamned sad about Rae ...” Seeing Regan’s face for the first time since the funeral shatters me into a million pieces. A million disastrous pieces. My voice shakes as I try to keep the meltdown at bay.
“Ember, I’m—”
“No way, don’t tell me you’re sorry. You lost someone, too. We both lost her—we all lost her—and nobody wanted to fucking talk to me about it! My best friends were planning their wedding, the happiest day of their lives, and I was just looking for someone to talk through my shit with. Bo kicked me out and you disappeared.”
Regan grabs my hands and it’s all over. He’s crying, I’m crying, and we sink to the floor in a puddle of grief. Sobbing into each other’s shoulders, we cling to each other on my kitchen floor.
*
“Wow, you sure know how to show a guy a good time,” Regan laughs as we pass the only bottle of beer in my fridge back and forth between us.
Our backs are against the cabinets as we sit on the cold floor. We cried for about an hour; neither one of us realized it until we were thirsty.
“See, had you answered your phone that day, we could have gotten this out of the way a hell of a lot sooner. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go get ready.” I stand and stretch my arms overhead.
“Look,” his tone is serious once again, “I’m sorry. I screwed up by bailing like that. I was so—”
“Messed up? Yeah. Been there. Listen, it’s all right. Just ...don’t disappear again, OK? I like you and I want you in my life.” I help him to his feet, and he gives me a small hug.
“What do you have to get ready for?” he asks.
“My gig at Delta Blue.”
“Oh yeah, Josh told me about that. He said you’re really nailing it.”
“No thanks to you,” I tease. “Josh had to take over my guitar lessons. Maybe you can come sometime, when you don’t look like total trans-Atlantic flight shit.”
I laugh. He does too. It feels good.
Regan walks to the door, pausing for a moment before opening it. “OK, smartass, hint taken. I’m a mess. Are you sure you don’t want to come to Concord with me tomorrow?”
I nod and attempt a reassuring smile. “I’m sure.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Slowly sipping my wine, I’m only half paying attention to the acts on stage tonight. My mind is with Rae. And Bo. It was such a relief—and release—seeing Regan today, but I wish he’d come sooner. I remind myself that examining old wounds doesn’t have to make me take two steps back, but it’s hard. As my name is called, I tighten Bo’s cuff on my wrist one notch tighter. I feel like I really need him with me tonight, and this is all I have left.
I’m surprised I went a week without spotting it in my apartment, but it’d been kicked under my bed. He must have taken it off before he showered. By the time I found it, Rae was dead, Regan was gone, and so was I. It’s been my talisman, reminding me of what we once had and what I hope to have again. I dash on stage amidst a huge applause.
I use up the full three-song allotment tonight and ask the MC if I can sing a fourth. The full bar hoots their encouragement and he complies. I need just one more song. I’ve sung my love song to Bo every time I’ve come here for the last month. One more time can’t hurt.
“November Harris.” A slender young woman grabs my attention as I leave the stage with my guitar in hand.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Elizabeth Cantwell, nice to meet you.” She sticks out her hand, and I accept. “I handle concert bookings for several large venues on the East Coast, mainly the Southern East Coast. I’d like to talk to you about booking a show.”
Huh?
I shake my head in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”