Technically she still had Deep Haven to herself for three more days, but it was too painful to stay. For the remainder of the afternoon, she alternated between crying and fuming, never stopping to lie down or sit down and weep, but in constant, almost furious, motion. She swept the kitchen and took out the garbage, packed her giant suitcase and her smaller duffels. She called her mother and left a message saying she’d be three days early. And everywhere she looked, there was Zach.

Zach in her bedroom, leaning against the doorway and asking her to come have a glass of Scotch. Zach in his bedroom, running his fingers over her body as she recited “My Spot.” Zach on the porch massaging her feet. Zach in the studio kissing every inch of her body on the sound room floor.

He was everywhere and nowhere, and Violet was breathless with longing.

She finally locked the front door and slid the key under the mat. The sun was starting to set now, just as it had the Friday before last, when she’d first arrived. She remembered how she’d stared out at the harbor, thinking about Shep, wishing that she could let him go. At least she’d gotten one thing right on this roller coaster of a sojourn. Now she looked out at Winter Harbor again, at the boats bobbing lightly in the cold, dark water, and knew she would probably not be back again.

“Good-bye, Shep,” she murmured and was relieved that her eyes didn’t well up. She leaned on the railing, looking at the boats bobbing lightly in the cold, dark water. “You were a good man. Thank you for loving me.”

And just as he had last Friday, Zach Aubrey invaded her thoughts almost immediately blowing Shep out of the water of her mind.

When you told me you loved me? It was the first time, the only time, anyone’s ever said that to me. In my whole life.

Now her eyes did fill with tears as she thought about Zach as a little boy, forced to practice and compose mercilessly with only his twin sister for comfort and affection. Violet had suspected as much but hadn’t known for sure. He spoke so little of his family—at Yale and now—it was hard for her to get a bead on his relationship with them. Suddenly it was crystal clear why he’d been so confused about her feelings in college, why he was so desperate for their return now. Her heart wept for the little boy who’d never been told he was loved.

As though on the breeze, soft and tentative, she heard her own voice whisper, “I love you, Zach.”

And then she closed her eyes tightly and curled her fingers around the porch railing. She breathed in the sea air deeply and waited for a wave of nausea or panic or regret. But those feelings weren’t forthcoming, and she was strangely pleased with herself that she felt only peace.

The words were small and soft and not very sturdy, but they belonged to him. It was a start.

Her heart dropped as she turned away. She had two long months to do better.

***

Three days later, Violet was packing up her things again to return to Connecticut. She’d had a nice visit with her mother, although Jalyn Smith, who’d gotten into the habit of working long hours to take care of her daughter, had worked two double shifts while Violet was visiting. Violet had had ample time to think about Zach, and one memorable conversation with Sophie as she strolled around the grounds of the apartment complex.

“He left you? Again? Oh my God, Violet! If I ever get my hands on—”

“It’s not like that,” said Violet, sitting down on a bench at a park near her mother’s apartment building.

“Then what’s it like?”

“He loves me. He does. I’m sure of it. He’s giving me space.”

“Oh, Vi. You didn’t say it, did you? You left him dangling there without the ‘I love you.’”

Violet swallowed. “I . . . I couldn’t.”

“Why not? You feel it, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I’m scared. That’s all there is to it. It’s so permanent once you say it. You can’t turn back. It’s out there. You’re committed. You’re in.”

“Don’t you want to be in, Miss Havisham?”

“I was with Shep, you know? I mean, we were together for years. And I never said it. I could keep that piece of me to myself. I could keep it safe. I liked keeping it safe. I got used to keeping it safe.”

“Safe, Vi? Alone!”

“No, not alone. I was with Shep!”

“Nah, honey. You were alone. You were two people who lived together and went out to dinner together and took vacations together and had sex together. But you weren’t with him. You were two alone people sharing air and a nice prewar apartment.”

Violet swallowed. Sophie might be right.

“I’m sure it felt safe,” her friend continued. “No one can hurt you if you’re alone. But you told me how different you feel now, how alive and aware and excited about your new contract and letting go of your old life to start something new. And that’s all because of Zach. He’s the one who got you to start writing your poetry again, who gave you the courage to remember who you used to be, who you want to be. Didn’t that feel good? Not to be alone?”

“Yeah.”

“So he’ll be back in a few weeks, right? If I were you, I’d be ready. I don’t know how long you can make him wait. He loves you right now, and he’s taking a beating.”

Violet winced at Sophie’s choice of words because they resonated.

She changed the subject, asking about Sophie’s new book and promising to call her as soon as she was back in Greenwich. Sophie said they’d celebrate the new contract, and Violet said she’d buy Sophie dinner for being her free shrink. And then they hung up.

Fall leaves swirled around her legs as she walked back to her mother’s building, and her phone vibrated in her pocket again. Probably just Sophie leaving an encouraging text. Violet dug her phone out of her back pocket and swiped the screen.

 

Vile, I got a new phone.

I know I’m supposed to be giving you space but I can’t.

If you really hate me and we’re really finished, don’t write back.

It’s up to you.

Z

PS Write back, I miss you like crazy.

 

“Zach,” she whispered, smiling at the phone, slowing her pace to reread his words over and over again. Every time she got to “I miss you like crazy,” her heart flip-flopped and she felt like weeping with relief. Just hearing from him was enough to make her heart sing, make her body shiver, remembering their time at Yale, their time at Deep Haven.

It also made her remember his quick exit both times. She typed quickly, reviewing her message before finally hitting send.

 

I’m so mad at you, Z.

I hate it that you took the tour.

I was almost there.

I just needed a little more time.

(Not two months apart!)

V

 

Damn, Vile, I’m so happy you wrote back.

Baby, I’ll never leave again once you tell me that you love me.

Until then, I’m going to keep rolling.

I’m sorry I ruined your good news on Monday.

I’m so fucking proud of you.

Z

 

I looked up your tour online.

35 cities? How is that possible?

My mom picked up a last-minute double shift.

Driving back to CT today.

Still mad at you.

Also, still shocked I actually got a poetry contract.

V

 

I’m not.

Your writing is the most beautiful stuff I’ve ever read. Always was.

Flight leaves tonight. Connecting in London, then on to Croatia.

35 isn’t bad. 60 is bad.

I guess you’ll just keep being mad at me until you aren’t anymore.

Safe travels, Vile.

Z

 

Safe travels, Z.

It’s hard to stay mad, but I’m not happy either.

What I am, is home. But it doesn’t feel like home.

I miss Deep Haven.

I miss you.

V

PS What’s it like playing onstage to a major crowd?

 

Played Zagreb tonight.

A groupie came backstage with wild hair, all different colors.

Missed you so fucking much I couldn’t breathe.

I walked out of the meet and greet and went back to my hotel.

The stage feels hot and bright and electric.

(A lot like you, Vile.)

Z

PS How does it feel to be a “real” poet?

 

Met my editor today.

His name’s Herman and he’s old school (to say the least.)

Can finally buy out my “Us After We” contract. (Relief)

Being a poet feels exciting and new, yet so familiar and so right, I’m breathless.

(A lot like you, Z.)

V

 

Vienna is so fucking beautiful but it’s totally wasted on me.

Wish you were here, baby.

We’d take in the sights and then I’d warm you up in my hotel room.

Speaking of warm, being away from you is hell.

And I hope Herman is ugly as sin.

Six more weeks.

Z

 

Herman (who is 63 and married) asked for another anthology of poems!

Can you believe it?

I’m busy writing again and this time, it’s like honey.

My dreams are coming true.

If I didn’t miss you so much, life would be perfect.

V

 

I’m just about ready to break down and buy you a ticket to come to Paris tomorrow.

Would you come if I did?

Remember at Yale when I walked up to you?

I should have told you that I loved you. I should have just said it.

I loved you then.

Right this minute I love you more.

Z

 

I must have reread that message 100 times.

And every time I read it, I want to cry over wasted chances and lost time.

I want to cry over how much you love me.

I have a deadline on Monday, but fuck it, I need you more.

I bet Paris is beautiful in November.

(Too bad I’m only planning to see your hotel room.)

V

 

You have no idea what that message did to me.

I could barely get through the set tonight, thinking about you, what I want to do to you.

But I can’t let you miss your deadline, Violet-like-the-flower.

Stay where you are. Write the best stuff you can.

Send me some lines.

My whole body misses you.

My heart most of all.

(Another body part is calling bullshit on that last line.)

Z

 

I should be waking up in your bed this morning.

Tell your parts – all of them – that I’m waiting for them and they’d better do the same, no matter how many groupies with wild hair show up backstage.

This is what I was working on at Deep Haven:

(Then. Now. Still.) You were mine all along.

(Then. Now. Still.) No matter what we do.

(Then. Now. Still.) Now you before me.

(Then. Now. Still.) Then me before you.

It’s called “Nash & Veronica.”

What do you think?

V

 

I think I’m already working on the music. Send me more.

I’m sick to death of heavy metal.

How about a little folk?

Z

 

Sounds good to me.

(Who’s going to buy all these folksy songs?)

How’s Stockholm?

I miss sleeping next to you. I miss writing with you. I miss you all the time.

Be safe and come home to me soon.

V

 

Answers to your questions:

Someone who wants to win a Grammy.

Desolate without you sleeping next to me.

Wherever you are is my home, you crazy beautiful girl.

Just open the door and let me in.

Z

 

I should have waited for you. I should have.

I loved you so much, I should have waited for you.

I’m trying to fix the past too, Zach.

I didn’t wait for you then, but I’m waiting for you now.

V

 

PS - You’re probably still onstage.

I’m a little drunk (Glenlivet) and all I can think about is you.

Found a video of your Madrid show on YouTube and hated myself very much for not being in the audience. But the music was very, very yelly.

You looked so hot onstage. I can’t stop thinking about the floor of the sound booth now and that thing you did to me with your tongue when you braced my body between yours and the wall.

Tempted to buy a ticket to Zurich.

V

 

Between sets.

Tour got rearranged. Headed for Berlin tonight.

You’re killing me with these texts.

Are you drinking alone?

I’m calling you on the way to the airport.

Z

 

Wish I hadn’t slept through your call. (Was wasted)

Loved hearing your message.

Made me cry to hear your voice, but I listened about 20 times.

This is getting harder, Z, not easier.

V

 

You want me to stop texting?

Would that be easier?

I don’t want to hurt you.

Z

 

Fuck that.

Write back.

Z

 

Do not fucking do this, V.

Write back.

Z

 

I left my phone at Sophie’s house and she went out of town for the weekend!

If she’d been gone another day, I would have broken a window to get to you.

I’m so sorry you worried. I wish I could crawl into your arms right now.

I need you so much and I miss you so much and I’m a mess without you.

Where are you now?

Belfast, right?

This sucks, Zach. It sucks so bad.

V

 

I know I said I’d give you space, but fuck it.

I’m calling you right now.

Z

 

He didn’t know why the ringing made his hands sweat, but it did. He hadn’t heard her voice in six and a half weeks, but she had just texted five minutes ago, so she had to have her phone on her. Three rings . . . four…

“Zach?”

“Violet,” he breathed. His eyes closed slowly at the sound of her voice, waves of longing almost making him dizzy. “God, I miss you, baby.”

“Me too.” Her voice was small and broke a little bit. “So much.”

“Are you okay?”

“Aside from my date with a bottle of Glenlivet last Thursday night? Yeah, I’m okay. And you know?” She sniffed softly and he hated that she was probably crying. “I’m actually writing good stuff. I always write better when I’m sad.”

He clenched his jaw until it ached. “I’m sorry you’re sad.”

“If I tell you I love you, will you leave Ireland right this minute and come home?” Her words came out in a rush.

He winced, lifting one booted foot against the wall behind him, letting the back of his head rest on the cool cinder block, one hand on top of his guitar.

“I, uh, I’ll be home soon,” he said softly, his world rocked by her unexpected question.

“Yo, Zach!” Zach looked up to see Severin Slade, lead singer of the Mechanics, approaching him. “We’re on in two!”

“Yeah, Sev. I’ll be there.” He swallowed. He didn’t want to hang up. He never wanted to hang up. “I have to go. I’ll be back on Christmas Eve, Vile. Only a week and a half.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be at my Mom’s in Portland. Would you consider . . . I mean, would you—”

“Anything, Vile. Just ask me.”

“I know you’ll just be getting back to New York, but would you consider driving up to Maine? For Christmas?”

“My flight arrives late on Christmas Eve. I’ll rent a car at the airport and leave on Christmas morning.”

“Thank God,” she half-sighed, half-sobbed and he clenched his eyes hard, overwhelmed by the relief he heard in her voice.

“Violet, I—”

“I miss you so much,” she said, and her voice broke again.

“I miss you too,” he said, then tore the phone away from his ear and pressed end, rather than prolonging the torture. He felt unraveled and undone by the quick conversation.

If I tell you I love you, will you leave Ireland right this minute and come home?

She had surprised him when she said that, taken him totally off guard. And then asking him to spend Christmas with her. They were getting close. They were getting so close to forever. He could feel it.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Zach didn’t love clichés, but he’d do whatever it took—he’d have gladly spent eternity on his knees to hear Violet say she loved him again.

It was going to happen for them. Finally. He was sure of it.

Ten days. Only ten more days.

“Yo, Z!”

He grabbed his guitar and headed for the stage.