Page 7 of Speechless

I gently untangle the pendant from her hair. It’s even softer than I imagined earlier. The necklace is an interesting shape, curved like a rising sun and studded with tiny shimmering stones. I feel something engraved on the back but let go before I invade her privacy any further.

“It’s quite pretty. What’s the symbol?”

“It’s a rainbow, an abstract one I guess. My mom got it for me right after, umm, after she got sick. It’s supposed to represent our favorite song. See?”

She turns it over and I see the wordsomewherestamped in cursive on the back. How lovely. My mum adores that song as well. It was one of the first pieces she taught me to play.

“She told me as long as I wore this, I would always have hope.” I see her eyes turn glassy but she’s smiling. A good memory, I take it.

“Your favorite song. Are you sure? I don’t believe I wrote that one.”

She gives me a slight chuckle. “I have a feeling you could write a version of it I’d love. I’ve never heard it performed by a whole symphony orchestra.”

My God, this girl is flattering. I’m tempted to write the music for it now, have it ready to record and play for her before she disappears.

“I just have to ask. You said your moving plans have fallen through. When we arrive in LA, what will you do?” I’m trying to be delicate, but I see in her face that I just reminded her of something she did not want to think about.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Her tone is all nonchalance, but I know I’ve struck a chord. “I guess we’ll grab a cab, find a hotel nearby . . .” She pinches her eyes closed. “And I guess tomorrow I’ll go car shopping, because I’m not in Boston anymore, so I’ll need some way to get around. Any models you recommend? I haven’t needed a car in years, but I should probably just pick something quickly. Ubering from one dealership to the next all day with Rowan sounds like a dream.”

Now she’s slowly banging her head back against the seat, pinching her eyes shut. I watch her entire body grow tense, the anxiety taking over, something I’m all too familiar with.

She seems lost. Lonely, maybe. I can see it in her eyes, like she’s given up, like maybe she used up every last bit of optimism she had left.

“Lucy, can I ask you something?”

She doesn’t open her eyes but gives me a muted “sure.”

“What is it about my music? I’m not fishing for praise or anything, but I’d like to know what it is that you feel connected to. Why was it able to have such an effect on you? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Umm.” She still hasn’t opened her eyes, and her head is tilted back in her seat. “So that sci-fi movie you did, like forever ago.”

Huh, one of my first major films. I must have recorded that over six years ago. It was just after I’d won my first awards, when real producers were courting me and James fucking Cameron asked for a meeting.

She continues, “I went to see it with my ex, and I thought the movie was good, kind of confusing, but I liked it. But I could barely keep my eyes open. I just wanted to listen to the music. I felt like when I closed my eyes and just listened, I was truly floating through space, traveling through time. It was—ethereal. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I downloaded the soundtrack as soon as I got home, and I listened to it constantly, especially when I was in pain or when I was stressed, and it just helped everything else melt away, like there was nothing in the world but me and the music.”

I exhale a bit too audibly, realizing I’ve been holding my breath. How is this possible? How am I randomly meeting this woman who can somehow see into my brain? I’ll never forget that project. It was some of the most inspired work I’ve done, even to this day.

I clear my throat, swallowing my emotions. “So, is that your favorite score then?”

“No. My favorite is from your holiday movie,The Christmas Swap, I love that one. I don’t usually like those kinds of movies to be honest. I always prefer books, especially when it comes to romance. But the music is justsogood.” She smiles and tilts her head back even further when she saysso. “I have to watch it every year. I don’t know what it is. I think your music made the actors seem more in love somehow. I’ve written books to that score. It’s like the most perfect soundtrack for a happily ever after.”

I don’t tell her this is my favorite as well. In actuality, it is. But I doubt she’d believe me.

It feels like we met today for a reason, like I’m somehow meant to help her through whatever it is she’s dealing with. Or maybe nothing’s meant to be and I justwantto help her.

I clear my throat and hope for courage. “Hey, look at me.”

She turns and when I look into her eyes I have trouble finding my words again. My gaze travels and snags briefly on her lips, bright pink, full and smooth with a perfectly pronounced Cupid's bow. I have a strange urge to drag my finger across them, to feel how soft they are.

“Lucy, I think . . .” Fucking hell, am I really going to do this? “What if—come live with me for a while.”

Her eyes go wide and then immediately squint at me incredulously. I might as well have just asked her for a shag.

“Sorry. I feel as though I might have frightened you?” She’s still staring at me, but her face has softened ever so slightly. “I just thought you could use a mate right now, and I’d be happy to be that person. You did say my music helped you through a tough time, but it looks as though the tough time isn’t over. I thought maybe I could help directly this go around?”

“That’s really nice of you, but you don’t even know me. And I don’t know you either.”

Is that true? It feels like I know her.

---