“There was a song Chace loved. I’ll never hear it again without thinking of him. You’ll know it as ‘Lovesong’ by the Cure. If you listen carefully, you just might hear it.”
And then, from outside the closed church doors, I hear the faint strains of a violin. The congregation turns around in their seats, the Porters standing up at the sound. I wait, rage rising up inside me, willing the reverend or someone else to run outside and tell Nicole to shut up, to tell her she’s ruining the service. But no one does. Everyone listens in rapt silence, just like that night at our New Year’s party. Congressman Porter holds his clasped hands up to his chest, while Mrs. Porter hugs Teddy close, the two of them gulping back tears. Looking around, I can’t see a dry eye in the room. And then, as her violin hits a swooping, piercing note, I feel something crack inside me. I give in to my own tears, head in my hands.
Even as I hate her, she can still make me cry.
Dear Chace,
It was the train that brought us together, wasn’t it? Before we found ourselves on the same Long Island Rail Road heading west, all you were to me was Lana’s sweet boyfriend and I’m sure I was nothing more to you than her violin-playing roommate. But the train exposed everything, diving beneath the layers of those roles to who we really are. Do you regret it now, taking the same train as me? Sometimes I do. Only because I never meant to hurt anyone. And because now I know what it means to truly hurt, myself.
I love you still,
Nicole
MARCH 12, 2016
JUNIOR YEAR
Midway into my train ride from Long Island to Manhattan, I spot a familiar flash of golden-brown hair, just visible above the top of the seat three rows ahead of me. It doesn’t occur to me that Chace could be trying to avoid any notice, or that he might want privacy. He’s a friendly face, so of course I get up from my seat, lugging my violin case behind me to join his row.
“Hi, Chace.”
His head jerks up at my approach. His cheeks fill with color, but he doesn’t look nearly as surprised to see me as I am to see him.
“Lana didn’t mention you were going into the city, too.” I slide in beside him. “We could have shared a cab to the train station.”
“She doesn’t know,” he says quietly. “She thinks I’m at practice.”
He doesn’t say it, but I can tell by the look in his eyes what he’s asking. He doesn’t want me to tell.
“Why?” I ask. “Are you planning a surprise for her or something?” That seems like the kind of thing guys would do for a girl like Lana.
“Yeah.” He nods.
“Say no more.” I smile at him. “My lips are sealed.”
“What about you?” He glances down at my violin case. “Doing something music-related?”
“It’s my first day of rehearsals for the Philharmonic showcase,” I tell him, unable to keep from beaming. He grins back.
“Oh, right. That’s crazy awesome. What are you playing? Any chance it’s the song from New Year’s Eve?”
“?‘Summertime’? That’s the song I auditioned with, so maybe. I guess I’ll find out today.” I stretch my arms over my head, giddy with a combination of excitement and nerves. He watches me and chuckles.
“It’s cool how you don’t hide it.”
“Don’t hide what?” I ask.
“How much this means to you,” Chace says, turning in his seat to face me. “I’m used to people downplaying everything.”
A piece of advice Lana recently gave me flashes in my mind. “You shouldn’t be so obvious, Nicole.”
“Yeah, I’m not the queen of subtle,” I agree.
“Don’t change.” He touches my arm for the briefest second before turning back to the window. And I could swear he has the same look on his face that he had the night of the meteor shower—the expression that made me feel like he saw too much when he looked at me, that made me want to push him in Lana’s direction instead.
We sit in a companionable silence for the rest of the ride, my earbuds in as I mentally prepare for my first rehearsal. When it’s time to change trains at Jamaica Station, we step off the platform together and find two seats next to each other in the second car. But when the train stops at Atlantic Terminal, I’m surprised to see Chace get up.
“That’s my stop.”
“I thought you were going into the city. Wouldn’t that be Penn Station, like me?”
“I’m actually going to Brooklyn.” He pauses. “Maybe we can take the train back together, though. Which one are you taking?”
“Probably the six o’clock,” I reply. “Rehearsal is four hours.”
“Cool. I’ll already be on the train when you get here,” he tells me. “I’ll see you then.”
“See you.”
I watch as he jumps over the gap onto the platform, disappearing into a mass of commuters. And for some reason I don’t yet understand, the thought of meeting him again on the train makes my pulse quicken with anticipation.