AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Standing straight ahead of me, right in front of the windows that overlooked the city, was my cello.
I stared at it for several minutes, unsure of how to process seeing the one thing that still tied me to my old life. I walked over and ran my fingers along its sides— admiring the signature cuts and scratches I’d placed there over the years. Wary, I slid my hand under its bottom, feeling for the last carving I’d made, to be absolutely sure that it was mine.
Mrs. Kate Garrett…Someday
“DO YOU LIKE YOUR CELLO?” James strolled into the room, scotch glass in hand. “It took me awhile to track it down, and I hope it isn’t too damaged.”
“It’s not damaged at all.” I plucked a string. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much, James. I appreciate this more than you’ll ever know.”
He nodded, and tossed back the scotch.
I wasn’t sure if I was imagining things, but he didn’t look happy to see me. He looked pissed.
“Are you feeling okay tonight?” I asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You seem upset.”
“I’m very upset.”
“You just said you were fine.” I smiled, assuming he was mad about the sixteen people who caused him trouble all the time. “Is the board going behind your back and making decisions again?”
“Not at all.” He crossed his arms, glaring at me. “In an ironic twist of fate, we’re actually getting along now. I’ve been invited to join them for Poker night.”
“Well, you’re kind of ruining my cello reunion with your glaring over there.” I lifted my bow from its case. “Would some music make you feel better?”
He didn’t answer.
“You know, I never thought I’d say it, but this cello is the only part of the past I miss.”
“I know.” He leaned back against his bookshelf, his jaw clenched. “Good to hear you finally say it, though.”
“Jesus, James.” I shot him a look. “You know I don’t mean it like that.”
“Do I?”
I dropped my bow to the floor. “What the hell is going on with you tonight? Did you honestly lure me over here to gift me a cello and fuck up the moment, or is this about something else?”
“The cello isn’t your gift,” he said, pulling open a drawer and picking up a cardboard box. “This is your gift.”
Intrigued, I stepped closer and took it from him. “What is it?”
“The point of a gift is to open it for yourself, Kate,” he said, his voice cold. “Although, in your case, I doubt you’ll like what you receive.”
I set the box on his bookshelf, not wanting to open it with a message like that, but I couldn’t resist. I pulled the flaps open and my stomach immediately dropped.
There was a newspaper clipping about my engagement, a worn copy of The Edgewood Times that featured me and my ex-husband’s picture, and a copy of my wedding program.
“This is like a little box of pain, James.” I looked at him. “Why would you keep all of this? Better yet, why the hell would you give this shit to me?”
“It’s not all pain. There’s some happier stuff at the bottom.”
I pushed around the reminders I never needed, and saw copies of every single postcard James had ever sent me. Underneath those were old photos of James and I swimming in the lake, postcards I’d sent to him while he was away, and—I stopped when I found a stack of pink and purple postcards that looked completely unfamiliar.
They were addressed to him, from me, but none of them were in my handwriting. They were imitations at best.
~November 5th, 2009 ~
Hey James,
Just letting you know that I’m still waiting for you.
Kate K.
~December 5th, 2009 ~
Hey James,
I love you so much. Hope you know I’m still waiting for you.
Kate K.
~December 15th, 2009 ~
Hey James
I miss you more than you’ll ever know.
Still waiting for you.
Kate K.
I WOULD NEVER SIGN my name like this…
“For the record, Kate Kensington, I’m not over you.” He looked into my eyes. “But I’m over your lies and your betrayal.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“We can talk about what happened nine and a half years ago until we’re blue in the face, but I’ll never forgive you for marrying someone else. Ever. Especially, when you married him months after you were writing about waiting for me.”
“James, this isn’t my handwriting.”
“Okay, Kate. I’ve officially heard it all now.” He shook his head. “You can take your cello and go. I just wanted to properly end whatever ‘this’ is and let you know that I will be one hundred percent professional at work from here on out.”
My blood was boiling and I was seconds away from slapping the hell out of him for being so damn cold. For luring me over here to break my heart again.
“You’re so wrapped up in your own pain,” I said, my chest heaving up and down, “that you can’t bear to believe that I’m suffering, too.”
