“Heknows that, but he doesn't see it that way,” I replied gently, feeling thedelicate fragility of his glass heart. “You have so much love to give, and youneed to release it. Your life was meant to be spent on loving what you've beengiven, not on mourning what was taken away. Because he's not gone. He's rightthere. He always is.”
Thegrieving father wouldn't face me. He wouldn't show me his eyes, full of painand sorrow, but I could feel the reluctant lifting of his soul. And I could seethe smile on his little boy, knowing I'd gotten through to his daddy, and thatthey were going to be fine. I let myself revel in that for just a moment,before moving on to the next.
Irealized, in that brief, stolen moment, that this is what I've always beenmeant to do. Helping people by giving loved ones the gift of closure. There wasso much satisfaction in finally listening and letting it happen withoutresistance, and I wished it hadn't taken so much time and pain to see it. Butmaybe that's how it had to happen, I considered. Maybe, in order to truly fallin love with our callings, we first have to explore and resist. Maybe we needto feel the pain of denial, to know how good it feels to give in and let itflow.
And,I realized, this was the greatest high of all.
***
“Howdo you feel?” Tracey asked in the car after the show.
Iconsidered the question with a smile, staring out the window at the streams ofpassing streetlights and power lines. “I feel good,” I said. “Like, reallygood.”
Shegrinned from behind the wheel of her Mercedes. “I told you.”
Afterjust fifteen minutes of willingly receiving messages and passing them on, I wasexhausted and ready to crash, but there was also a buzzing beneath my skin thatcouldn't compete with anything I'd ever felt before. Then, I was elated by therealization that the static had never been so quiet, or so calm, and I knew I'dneed to do it again.
Onetime and I was already addicted.
“Youhungry?” Tracey glanced at me from her side of the car.
Ireally needed sleep but my stomach growled in protest. “I'm starving.”
“Same.”
Wedrove aimlessly, looking out the windows at the passing restaurants, waitingfor something to jump out and grab our attention. But burgers weren't appealingat the moment and I'd just had Chinese the night before. It wasn't until wedrove by a dimly lit Italian restaurant called Vincenzo’s that Tracey's facelit up with interest.
“Icould really go for some pizza,” she said, and although it reminded me too muchof the man I used to know, the man I was still legally bound to, I agreed. It'dbeen so long since I last ate pizza, and after an exhausting night, I cravedthe comfort of hot dough and melted cheese.
Traceypulled into the parking lot and we went inside, both of us weary with smilingfaces and sagging shoulders. My legs felt heavy and weak, like I’d just run amarathon, but I felt so good and satisfied, that I couldn’t complain. It waslate and there weren’t many stragglers left in the restaurant, but Tracey stillfound us a far table in a secluded corner.
“Lessdistractions,” she said with a wink, leaving her bag on the bench seat. “Whatdo you feel like eating?”
“Oh,um … I don’t know. I’ll find a menu—”
“I’llget it. You gotta be so worn out, especially when you’re not used to it. Sit.I’ll be right back.”
Sheleft me at the booth, browsing through my phone and enjoying the whisper ofmusic playing through the sound system. I sank further into the cushy seat, tooaware of how tired I really was, and as hungry as I might have been, I stillcouldn’t wait to collapse onto my bed.
LordHuron’s “Louisa” began to play, barely detectable to unfamiliar ears, but I’dknow that song anywhere. My vision clouded in the memory of dancing with Vinnieon a dark street in New York City, the night when he had first kissed me, andI’d first kissed him. I thought about all of the promises time had broken sincethen, and I spent the minutes of the song wondering where we went wrong. We hadbeen so good together, hadn’t we? He, the broken bad boy, and I, the innocentgirl destined to put him back together. But tropes are meant for predictablemovies and cheesy romance novels. They didn’t fit into the real world, withreal people and real problems. And no matter how deep I delved into it, Icouldn’t pinpoint any one pivotal moment that had ruined everything, and Iwondered if maybe it had simply always been.
“Howdepressing,” I muttered to nobody, before looking up to see where Tracey hadgone.
Shewas at the counter, looking over a flimsy takeout menu and talking to a guybehind the counter. He was cute. Blond. Tall. It didn’t take long for guilt tosneak its way in. I shouldn’t have been checking out another guy, not when Iwas still married. But an annoying little voice in my head told me it was fine.It had been months since I talked to Vinnie and months since he’d sent Moe withthat letter. I never sought him out, because I understood his need to fixthings, by himself, for himself. Hell, I was doing the same thing. But how muchtime can go by before you realize you’re not married anymore? How long can youremain faithful to someone, before you just have to let go and give up?
“You’reseriously gonna sit there and check him out?”
Ijumped, startled by the voice, and I turned to face the melancholic smile ofthe man I used to know.
“Hey,sweetheart,” Vinnie said, wearing an apron and resting his chin against thebroom handle in his grasp.
Igasped at him, unable to speak, as Tracey came back to the table. She was takenaback by my new visitor, and her eyes volleyed between us.
“Youknow each other?” she asked me, sliding into the booth.
“Um…” My lips pressed together firmly, as his eyes dared me to tell her the truth.“Tracey, this is Vinnie, my … my husband.”
Tracey’seyes dropped to my hand, as if she hadn’t thought to check if I was wearing aring. When she found it there, where it had always been, she all but gasped. “Ididn’t know you were married,” she said, then turned to Vinnie, extending ahand. “Hi! It’s nice to meet you. I had no idea you worked here,” she added,looking at him, then back at me for help.
