Page 97 of Mending Hearts

She’d been gone almost four months. Four months since I’d seen her in person. Four months since I’d heard her whisper in my ear just before sleep took over. Four months since she’d held our daughter.

I had to be careful about answering the door even with a bodyguard, about navigating around town with our daughter. Whenever Mia came to New York State for anything, the press assumed she’d be coming here as well. They’d camp out on my doorstep, and I’d either be housebound, or I’d be stuck at a family member’s place until it was clear she wouldn’t appear. The reports in the press were a mixture of vitriol toward Mia for abandoning me and Victoria, understanding over the stress of the trial, and sprawling narratives about secret meetings between the three of us. There’d been no meetings.

But I wouldn’t call us out of touch either.

“Grady,” I said, swinging the door back. Gerald kept his gaze focused on the street, scanning for trouble, ignoring our exchange. I’d thought Pasha was a man of few words, but Gerald had him beat.

I peered around Grady, trying to determine if he’d come alone or if Maggie was somewhere behind him. Although Grady had been reassigned to New York, he’d been spending a lot of time traveling to Nashville to meet artists, executives and so forth. He’d told me once that the traveling was a waste of money. The label could do so much virtually, but they were in a PR nightmare with Kenny Connors and needed to soothe old wounds in person. Mia trusted Grady, and he’d been in the right place at the right time. It meant a lot of responsibility was being loaded onto his broad shoulders.

“Mind if I come in for a moment?” he asked, an envelope in his hands.

“No, yeah, of course. Victoria’s sleeping, so we’ll have to keep it down.” I moved back to let him in the house. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Grady said with a smile. “Just playing the middleman again.” He waved the envelope and slid it onto the island.

“That’s from Mia?” I snatched it off the granite surface and ripped it open. Inside was a USB stick. I frowned and turned it over.

“Files. From her new album. She wanted you to hear them before anyone else.” Grady took one of the stools at the island and straddled it. “She’s written some fucking brilliant stuff.”

“Yeah?” I clutched the stick in my hand and wished Victoria was awake so I could play them right now.

“You two haven’t talked in person? Email? Text messages? Nothing?” Grady raised his eyebrows. “You’re still the person she talks about the most. That and music. But the two are so closely linked right now, what with the albumand all.”

We hadn’t spoken in person, not once since she left. I had social media accounts set up under an alias. The privacy settings were tight, and there was only one follower, who called herself theoriginalprettyboylover. Mia’s alias account she’d made up while she was living with me was alive and well. She never posted, but she watched everything I uploaded, sometimes multiple times.

Mostly, I stuck to Victoria’s milestones and things I thought Mia might wish she’d seen. Occasionally, I’d film myself, and I’d fill the video with inside jokes and rambling stories to make her laugh. Maybe she needed some lightness with all the darkness she faced.

When I’d given her the link to the account, I’d done it through a letter I’d sent with Grady. I’d written the letter about five times before I thought I’d struck the right note. Having her return to us had to be because she wanted to, because we were the life she was choosing, but I struggled not to present a case, to argue, to persuade. In the end, all my note had said was,In case it might help to know, and I’d signed it with love.

To my surprise, the next time Grady had come to town, he’d had a letter from her for me. She’d written about her mother, about going to therapy, about missing me but not feeling ready yet, about her plans for the future, about the album. Pages and pages of feelings scrawled in her handwriting that must have made her hand ache. My heart had ached reading it. I’d almost memorized it now.

Every time missing her got to be too much to bear, prodded me to do something rash or stupid, I read it. She was taking control of her life, and I clung onto the pride that swept over every time I read her words. Staying with me, having me step into Laura’s shoes, sticking Band-Aidson all her feelings would have been the easier thing to do. Instead, she was taking the hardest, most difficult path.

I was praying that path led her back to us. But I couldn’t be sure until she either showed up or didn’t. The wait was excruciating, but I didn’t resent her for it.

“Are these songs about…” I cleared my throat. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. Me? Victoria? Her mother? The life she wanted? How much was I meant to read into the lyrics if she needed me to hear them first?

Panic squeezed my chest that she might be saying goodbye in these songs. Her last and only letter had been two months ago. A lot could happen in two months. She’d never made any promises.

When she’d lived with me, I’d spent countless hours listening to her dissect lyrics from her favorite songwriters and artists, her voice breathless with excitement and enthusiasm. To her, every phrase, every word meant something. She loved putting Easter eggs in her own lyrics and videos for super fans to find. There was no doubt I’d ponder what she’d written for days, weeks, but I prayed it wouldn’t be years.

“She didn’t want me to tell you anything—she wanted you to listen.”

“How’s she doing? Really? I’ve been following the trial on the news, and it’s…”Horrific.

“Rumors swirled about Kenny for years. Whispers. People implying things. Never anything definite.” Grady rubbed his face and leaned on the island. “No one ever said it had happened to them. It was a friend of a friend of a friend. But it sounds like most of the women didn’t say anything at all. Did Mia ever talk to you about him?”

I’d read or watched everything I could find on the trial. Those women were being crucified for their silence. Mia’s sweeping speech at a women’srights march had played on my laptop for days after she made it. How could women win in a system where they were vilified for coming forward and equally so for staying silent? Give women the space to speak their truth and then believe them.

Her voice had cracked and broken at the end, and I’d yearned to be there for her, to be standing behind her, helping to keep her up. But I supposed the point of all this was about her learning to stand on her own feet, keep herself afloat. She’d let other people both hold her up and keep her down for too long.

“No. Not really.” I sighed, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and passed one to Grady. “I knew something happened, but any time I tried to prod, she shut me down.”

“The whole thing is just…”

The wordawfulhung between us.

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed.

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