Page 30 of A Wish for Us

I finished off my Corona, but all I kept hearing was her laugh. The pink of her laugh. That and the fact it’d been aimed at me. I never thought she’d smile at me that way. Then again, I never thought I’d be here tonight. My body was taut as I waited for her to bring up the music room. To ask me questions. To push me about our composition project. But she didn’t.

“You want one?” Bonnie held out a piece of licorice. I shook my head. “What? You don’t like candy?”

“Not American candy, I don’t.”

“What?” she said on a single laugh. I turned my head back to the stage, tolook at the setup. I always did. Bonnie pulled on my arm, forcing me to look at her. “No, I have to hear this. You don’t like American candy?”

I shook my head.

“Why?”

“It’s shite,” I said honestly.

For a minute, Bonnie’s expression didn’t change from shocked. Until she dropped her mouth and burst out laughing. She pulled back the sweets box she was holding and held it to her chest.

That feeling was back in my stomach. Like a stab, which started moving to my chest until it had taken over my whole body. She wiped her eyes. When she could talk again, she asked, “Okay then, what British candy is good?”

“Just about any of it.” I shook my head at the memory of the first time I’d tried American chocolate. It was bloody awful. I hadn’t touched it since. I was waiting on a shipment of the good stuff from my mum.

Bonnie nodded. “I have to say, I tried it when I was over there this past summer. And I agree, it’s amazing.”

The orchestra started retaking their seats. People began rushing back to their spots on the grass. Bonnie watched the musicians with rapt attention before shifting her gaze to me. “So you reallydolike classical music?” I froze. “I know we’re not allowed to talk about it. About you. That night.” Sympathy spread on her face. “And I have to respect that.” She shrugged. “But you’re here. At a classical concert.”

I was picking the label off the Corona, but I met her eyes. I didn’t speak, because the answer to her question was obvious. I was here. That said everything.

She must have got that I didn’t want to answer, as she pointed at the orchestra. “They’re incredible. I’ve seen them so many times.”

They were okay. Good at best.

“Well?” she said.

“What?”

Bonnie took in a deep breath. “You like classical music, don’t you? By now…after everything, you can admit that to me.” I heard the plea in her voice. A plea for me to just give her this.

Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” poured from the orchestra, the colorsrushing through my head like the paint Easton had sloshed onto his canvas. I tried to push them from my head. But sitting here with Bonnie, I found they weren’t going anywhere. She made them fly freer somehow.

“Cromwell—”

“Yes,” I said, exasperated. I sat up straighter. “I like it.” A long breath rushed out of me as I admitted it. “I like it.” The second admission was more to myself than to her.

I looked up at the crowd watching the orchestra, at the musicians on the stage, and felt completely at home. It had been a long time since I’d felt this. And as I stared up at the conductor, I saw myself in his place. Remembered how it felt to be in a tux, hearing the orchestra play your work back to you.

It was like nothing else.

“I haven’t been able to get your music from my head,” Bonnie said, pulling me from the orchestra and my thoughts. I met her eyes and felt my heart sink at the fact she was talking about this. “The few bars you left on the table last week at Jefferson Coffee.” My stomach tightened.

“Cromwell,” she whispered. I was surprised I even heard her voice over the music. But I did. Of course I did.

It was violet blue.

My hands balled into fists. I should have just got up and walked away. Christ knows I’d done it enough before. But I didn’t. I sat there and met her eyes. Bonnie swallowed. “I know you don’t want me mentioning this.” She shook her head. “But it was…” She paused, struggling for words, just as the string section took the lead. I didn’t give a shit about the violins, the cellos, and the double basses right now; I wanted to know what was going to come from her mouth. “I liked it, Cromwell.” She smiled. “More than liked it.” She shook her head. “How did you… Did you just think of that right then on the spot?”

I swallowed and put my hand in my pocket for my cigarette. I pulled it out and lit up. I saw a flash of disappointment from Bonnie, but I was on my feet before she could say anything else to me.

I went to the tree and leaned against the trunk. I only half watched the orchestra. Bonnie held the rest of my attention. Her focus was back on the musicians, but her slim body was slumped. She was dejected. And it hadbeen my reluctance to talk that had made her this way. She chewed on her licorice, but I could see she was no longer lost to the music.

I’d robbed her of that joy.

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