“Audrey?” His eyes scanned my face. “Have you been crying?”
I shook my head. “No, it was just a little dusty in here; that’s all.” I tried to muster up a smile. “Allergies.”
“Okay.” He looked unconvinced.
“I should get going. I have an interview this afternoon.” I grabbed my satchel and draped it across my shoulder.
“Hey.” He reached out and touched my arm as I walked past him toward the door. “Audrey, this is nuts. You’re obviously not okay. Can you please tell me what’s wrong?”
I stopped. Tears filled my eyes. I wish I had never looked into the box. I so wish I could pretend it didn’t exist.
Rad put both hands on my shoulders and peered down at me. “Audrey, I hate seeing you like this. Please tell me what’s wrong. Was it something I did?”
“No, it’s not you.”
“What is it, then?”
“I just—” My voice caught in my throat. I looked down at my feet. “I just need to know that you want me,” I said finally.
He looked at me stunned for a few moments, before his expression softened. “I want you—of course I want you.” He drew me into his arms. “More than anything.” I felt his lips against my ear. “So much.”
That afternoon I met up with author Elsa Reed at the Tuscan-style villa near Bondi Beach, where she lived. The entire time, I couldn’t stop thinking about the contents of the black metal box. Not even the gorgeous sea view from Elsa’s deck or the fact that I was actually speaking to one of my idols could keep my mind from trailing back to that morning. The photograph, the poem, and the page from Ana’s diary kept popping up in my head, one after another, like pieces of luggage on a carousel. Luckily, Elsa didn’t seem to notice how distracted I was as we discussed her writing process.
“I get up around five every morning,” she said. “I don’t know why. No matter how late I go to bed the night before, the next day at 5 a.m. sharp,” she clicked her fingers, “I’m up and ready for work.”
“But how do you manage to cope with all the day-to-day stuff?”
“Well, I think it helps that I’ve never been married and I don’t have any children. It means I can nap during the day if I want.”
“So you’ve never wanted children? I’m sorry if that’s too personal a question.”
She smiled at me, her eyes creasing gently in the corners. It was a warm smile. “I don’t think I went out of my way not to have children,” she said thoughtfully. “I suppose I never made it a priority. Other things seemed more important to me during my thirties and forties. Then before I knew it, I was in my fifties, and by then, I knew it was a little late.” She laughed. “Not that I feel as if I’ve missed out. I’ve spent much of my life traveling, and as you know, I’ve written several books during that time. I can’t say that I would have preferred to settle down like most responsible adults, because you only get one life, and I don’t have that comparison to make. What I do know is that I like my life—very much so—and I am possessive about the way I live. I can’t imagine having it any other way.”
“I grew up devouring your books,” I said. “I hope this doesn’t sound selfish, but I’m glad you had all that time to write. I feel your books are a gift to the world. And, what’s more, you’ve found the holy grail in that your books have enjoyed critical acclaim as well as commercial success.”
“Yes, I have been very fortunate in that regard.”
We were quiet for a few moments, as we sipped the green tea she had prepared earlier.
“There’s something I have always wanted to ask you.”
“Go ahead.”
“There is a recurring character in your stories. The man with the bumblebee pin. You write about him with so much tenderness—I can’t help but wonder if he’s based on someone you know.”
Her eyes lit up. “Ah, the man with the bumblebee pin. Yes, he is based on someone I know or rather, someone I knew—a very long time ago. I suppose you can say he is my muse.”
“Am I allowed to ask what happened?”
“Do you know about Saturn return?”
“No.”
“It’s an astrological transit that happens about every twenty-eight years when Saturn returns to the same place in the sky it stood on the day you were born.”
“And what’s the significance of that?”
“Do you know the opening line of A Tale of Two Cities?”
“‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . .’”
She nodded. “Around the time you turn twenty-seven, Saturn begins to close in on its first cycle. Many people believe this will herald a tremendous change in your life. It’s supposed to be the period where you cross the threshold into adulthood. And it’s meant to be a time that is as magical as it is unsettling. Your life is thrown into chaos and disarray. Think of it as your own tiny revolution.”
“Was it that way for you?”
She nodded. “That was the year I met the man with the bumblebee pin.”
“And what happened?” I asked, fascinated.
A mysterious smile played on her lips. “Well, I won’t go into any detail—I let my books speak for me in that regard—but I will tell you that when I turned twenty-seven, I learned a very important lesson.”
“What was it?” I asked, leaning in.
“I learned that writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most.”
I left Elsa’s house, my head spinning. I decided to go for a walk along Bondi Beach to process everything that had happened that day. Writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most. I couldn’t help but attach those words to Rad and the book he wrote after Ana’s death. Seeing that box and its contents, I finally understood the depth of his feelings for Ana, and it was as if the rug had been pulled out from under my feet.
I was walking down the busy footway, the ocean before me shimmering like a jewel, when suddenly, I stopped. I remembered the page from Ana’s diary. I slipped my hand into the pocket of my Audrey jacket, but nothing was there. I frowned. I was dead sure I had put it in there. I checked the other pocket, but it too was empty. Frantically, I dug into all the pockets of my jeans—there was nothing. My head began to spin. My throat felt like it was closing in on me. I reached down and tweaked my rubber band, blindly stumbling to a nearby bench. A teenage boy on his skateboard stopped by me. “Hey, are you okay?”
I nodded. “Asthma,” I said, hoping he would leave me alone.
“Do you need me to call the ambulance or anything?”
“No,” I managed to gasp, “I’ll be okay.”