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31
PHOEBE
I felt gutted. Sitting on Harmony’s sofa even two days after leaving Ransom’s place, I held the framed picture I bought at the hobby shop and clutched a pillow to my chest ugly crying until I was out of tears.
A little voice startled me. “For you.”
My eyes flew open, my heart racing at being startled. In front of me was Omar. “Oh, hey, pal. Could you just put it on the table?”
He dropped a box on the table and skipped away.
Even though I was a little curious about what was in the box, I didn’t move. Harmony sat on the table in front of me with a mug of tea. “Omar was excited to bring you the box. Want to open it?”
I swiped at one of my eyes and shook my head. “Thanks for letting me crash here.”
She nodded. “Of course. I’m glad being here helps. But why are you here and not at Ransom’s?”
I pressed my eyes closed. “I thought we were in one place, turns out we aren’t. I felt convenient. Someone he romanticized in his head, but didn’t feel as much for as he thought he would.”
Harmony narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
I sighed. “We’ve known each other forever. I’ve been in love with him since high school, so when he said he loved me too, I thought it was beyond the I’ve known you forever so I love you by default thing. But he was just horny and looking for someone to take off the edge. Otherwise, he would have told his family about me.”
“Were you in it for the long haul?” she asked softly, looking down at her hands. “Did you see yourself with him for the next fifty years?”
The truth hit me like a physical blow. “No. He’d find someone else.”
Harmony took one of my hands in hers. “Oh, sweetie. You have to believe in it before he will.”
Silent tears streaked down my face. I understood now. Why he couldn’t go all in. Why it felt like we were just a casual fling. Why nothing felt permanent. I hadn’t believed in us, seen us together in the future, so why would he?
Harmony turned and handed me the box Omar brought in. “This is from him. It’s either good news or bad. But really, why would he send something bad?”
Holding the box, I shook it a little. “He’d be more the type to ghost me than to send me something.” So, I pulled the tear strip and gasped. “It’s a book of Shakespeare sonnets.” Tears welled up in my eyes again. When I opened the front cover, a note fell out. “It’s his handwriting.”
She placed her hand on mine. “Do you want me to stay or go?”
I looked up at her and grasped her hand. “Stay.”
Taking a deep breath, I opened the paper and read the world’s best and worst poem of all time. With tears streaming down my face again, I was a blubbering mess. So, I handed it to Harmony to read.
“Well, there you have it,” Harmony declared. “Never in the history of ever has there been a hockey player who wrote such heartfelt and horribly beautiful poetry.”
When I looked up, I saw how her eyes teared up too. Then we both descended into a fit of snotty giggles.
Omar raced into the room. “Funny? What funny?”
Harmony took one of his hands. “How hard we can love someone sometimes, bud. Like when you sing those beautiful songs for me.”
With a giant smile, Omar looked over at me. “I sing!”
Drying my tears, I tried to mop up as best I could. “Oh, well, I’d love to hear you sing.”
He darted over to the stereo and pushed the play button. With the music low behind him, he belted out a tune better than most men. So, I settled in to listen to the music as I hugged the book of sonnets close to my heart.
* * *
After Harmony assured me I was in no way overstaying my welcome to crash in her guest bedroom, I spent the next several days completely shut off from the rest of the world. With the exception of getting coffee or the bacon-wrapped food Harmony brought from the food truck, I spent days staring at my research and constructing exactly why I was certain there was a killer in New York and why these cases couldn’t be suicides.
