CHAPTER 73
I ran up to a bench and sat down on it. I lowered my head and held it in my hands, trying to catch my breath.
“Why did you do that?” Mike rushed up to me and sat down. “Why didn’t you ask his permission, like we spoke about? Why didn’t you tell him about the book and the story and what you’re writing—?”
“I can’t do it!” I swung around and cut him off.
“What?” he asked.
“This. Any of this. All of this!” That familiar feeling rose inside me again. I felt breathless. I looked around for something to steady myself on and grabbed hold of the sides of the bench.
“Are you okay?” Mike asked quietly.
I shook my head. I tried to count to ten in my head. I always did this when I felt the anxiety taking hold of me. But it wasn’t just the anxiety, this time; it was also the sadness. I could feel the tears, like buckets building up behind my eyeballs, climbing up my throat, just waiting for one more thing to tip me over the edge so they could all come out.
“Becca, please tell me you’re okay?” Mike’s arm was around me now.
That’s what tipped me over the edge: his genuine care and concern for me. The sobs came and they shook my body. “No. No!” I finally managed, through the messy crying. “I’m not okay. This is not okay.”
“Talk to me,” Mike said gently.
“I can’t write this. This is not mine to write. This is not just some story with characters and a plot twist in it. These are real people, and they are in pain. Did you see how much he loved her—loves her? He still loves her, after all these years. After an entire lifetime has passed without her, he still loves her.” I shook my head, hard. “I just can’t do this.This isn’t my story to tell, and I know you think your grandmother told you to tell it, and Emelia and Ash feel the same way, but I don’t think she meant this. I think the fact that we found those letters, and they’ve finally—after all these decades—found their way back to Abe, means she gets to tell it to theoneperson who is meant to hear it.”
I stood up and walked over to the huge oak tree in front of me and put my hands on it and tried to take another deep breath. I heard Mike stand up behind me and walk over. I turned around before he reached me and leaned my back against the tree.
“I can’t believe I even thought of doing this,” I whispered to him. “How did I become so desperate that I thought I could steal someone else’s story and pass it off as my own?” I looked up at Mike. “I have done some stupid things in my life, but this one . . .this one. . .” Down at my feet, a small beetle was scuttling over the blades of grass, and I watched him as he went about his business, totally oblivious to what I was going through.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” I looked up at Mike when the beetle had walked around the back of the tree and disappeared. “I’m sorry I dragged you halfway across the world and wreaked havoc in your town and . . . well,I’m just sorry,” I said.
He smiled at me sympathetically. “I’m not sorry. Look what we just did.” He looked back at Abe’s house, and I did, too.
“Do you think he’s reading them now?” I asked, feeling a little calmer.
“I hope so.” Mike came and rested next to me, with his back against the same tree.
I thought about the willow tree and what was etched in it, and I felt like Mike and I were etching our own story in this tree together, without even knowing it.
We stayed there in silence like that, our shoulders touching. I synced my breathing to his and my body started to relax even more.
“So, what are you going to do about your book?” he asked, gently nudging me with his shoulder.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just know what Ican’tdo.” I took a deep breath; the air here smelled different from the air I was used to. It seemed sweeter, as if it were laced with some exotic flower. “I guess I’ll call my agent and just tell her I don’t have a book,” I said calmly. “She’ll call my publisher, who will freak. The bookstores will be told that the book is not coming, my readers will be told that there is no second book. My career as an author will be over. I’ll take on a small job somewhere and sell my car and all that other crap I don’t need, and I’ll start trying to pay back the advance, and . . .” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I know that theWillow Bay Heraldwould probably jump to have a writer of such caliber working for them,” he said, and I laughed through my tears and then leaned my head on his shoulder.
“You think?” I asked, my cheek resting against the muscles in his arm.
I felt him nod. “Yeah, I do think.”
“And where would I live?” I asked. “The people of Willow’s Eco Estate will not have me.”
Now it was Mike’s turn to chuckle slightly. “No, theydefinitelywon’t.”
We were silent for a while again and then Mike put his hand on my cheek. “You sure you don’t want to do this? It’s not too late to go and ask him. We are right here.”
I pulled my head away and shook it. “This is the right thing to do.” I pushed myself away from the tree and then started wiping the tears from my cheeks. I straightened my clothes and pushed the loose strands of hair that were hanging in my face behind my ears. I put on a small, brave smile when I was done.
“I’m proud of you,” Mike said, out of the blue.
