Page 63 of Heal Me
“Thank you,” I say, kissing her temple. “My sweet, pretty Lavinia. My beautiful little songbird.”
Her entire body goes rigid at that last word. I haven’t said it since she lost her voice, but I’ve thought it so many times.
Pressing a hand to her cheek, I turn her head to meet her pained expression. “You are,” I insist. “You’re still my songbird.”
She shakes her head ardently, squeezing her eyes shut as a world of pain descends over her features.
With a resolute motion, I get off the bed, go to the living room, and grab the violin.
“Sit up,” I demand when I come back.
Hurt is lodged deep inside her blue eyes when she opens them and reluctantly moves to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Play,” I order.
Her brows are tightly knitted, her jaw clenched hard as she takes the violin and places it on her shoulder. But she plays anyway. At first, it’s stiff and soulless, but as her fingers dance over the strings and her hand sweeps the bow back and forth, her shoulders drop, the furrow in her forehead smooths out, and her jaw loosens. Her eyes fall shut as she becomes one with the music, and the music takes on a whole new life and vigor.
I carefully move to sit on the bed beside her, closing my eyes as I let her music wash over me. Rex pads over too, resting his head on my thigh as she plays.
Images of the mountains, the lake between the trees, and the magnificent view from the cliff appear before my inner eye. Sunshine shimmering on the water, a gentle breeze blowing through the trees. Pretty blue eyes watching me with trust and vulnerability. So much strength.
The music stops, and I open my eyes to meet the gaze of my dreams.
“See. You’re still my songbird.” I grab her chin before she can shake her head. “You still sing as beautifully as ever. Just with a different instrument.”
The defeat in her eyes remains despite my words, so I continue.
“It was the emotions you poured into your music that silenced my mind. It still is. It doesn’t matter if you sing or play the violin. The effect is the same.”
As I speak, the sorrow draws back, replaced by that open vulnerability she’s shown me so many times.
“You’re still my songbird.”
This time, she doesn’t protest. Tears pool in her bright eyes as she stares at me, hope mixing into the sorrow. Hope I put there. Hope that isn’t just healing her, but healing me as well.
She grabs my hand and squeezes it for a long moment. Athank you. Then she places the violin back on her shoulder and lifts the bow, accepting my name for her.
She’s still my songbird. Always will be.
