Page 22 of A Boy Called Lovesong

Margot shook her head. “Not with Brad and Mike. I think it’s fair to say that contract has sailed. You know they’re going to talk to other publishers about this. This isn’t something we can hide under the rug and hope nobody trips over it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She rubbed my hand. “You don’t have to be sorry, my darling. I’ve never been to the place you are right now. I try to imagine it,but I know I don’t even come close. I wish I could do more, but I don’t know—”

“There’s nothing you can do.” My tone was matter-of-fact. Resigned yet not defeated. Tearless, now that the well was dry and waiting for the next top-up of emotions.

Margot paused and turned her face to the sun, its warmth fading in the lateness of the season. “I just wish I could fucking hug you till this whole thing is over. I want it all to be over. This fucking grief. This craziness. This unhinged version of Noah that I don’t know.”

“It’s still the same me. Some pieces have just been switched out for other things. Things neither of us were expecting. Like crying myself to sleep instead of dinner plans. Or having no idea what time it is before realizing that I don’t even care. Or the days of silence, endless fucking silence, instead of the sound of the Steinway, or the constant humming of showtunes that sometimes drove me nuts, or the yelling and fighting over stupid little things that didn’t even matter. What I wouldn’t give to fight with him again… just to hear his voice… just to say I’m sorry.”

I closed my eyes and turned my face to the feeble sun too.

“I have a friend who’s a counselor,” Margot said. “A good one. I’m kicking myself for not making you go and see her earlier, but I think she could really—”

“I don’t want to see a counselor.”

“You need to talk to someone. If not a counselor, join a group. There are groups out there. There are people who can help you.”

“Actually, I think there’s only one person who can help me.”

“Who?”

“Lovesong. His name is Lovesong Valentin. He lives in Louisiana, at least that’s the address he wrote on the tape he sent to Joel.”

“What tape? And who the hell is Lovesong Valentin?”

“That’s what I need to find out. He sent a cassette tape to Joel for an audition and Joel wrote a letter—”

“Wait. He sent a cassette tape? As in…”

I nodded. “Yes, as in an actual cassette tape. Hannah from Joel’s work gave it to me. Joel had written a reply and was trying to mail it the day he died.”

“Oh shit. Did the guy ever get Joel’s letter?”

I shrugged. “Nobody knows. Hannah says there’s been no response from the guy, so I can only guess the original letter never made it into the mailbox. All that’s left is the stupid tape he sent. I’ve been sitting on it for months now, taking it out of its box every night and just staring at it, not knowing what to do with it.”

“Have you listened to it?”

“Are you kidding? No. I’m not sure I want to. All I want is some kind of answer, although I don’t even know what the question is. I just need… something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t fucking know. Closure. Enlightenment. Vindication. Revenge. A pin prick to let the steam out before it blows me wide apart. I need to know who this person is. I need to know why Joel died… why he was at that mailbox that day. I need this person to see that he’s broken my whole fucking world and nothing’s ever going to put it back together again.”

“Why? Noah, listen to yourself. Ask yourself, what good could possibly come of this?”

“What good is left? There is no good left. There’s only rage… and the sound of me smashing things… or the sound of me crying… or no sound at all, just a deafening silence that fills every corner of the fucking house. Do you have any idea how empty that feels? Fuck, I don’t know who’s lonelier, me or the dog. And so, we’re leaving. I’m covering the furniture andpacking a suitcase… and the dog… and renting a car. We’re driving to Louisiana and nothing’s going to stop me.”

Alarm set in on Margot’s face. “Oh, Noah. This is a bad idea. You can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because you don’t know this guy at all. You don’t know how he’s going to react. What are you even going to say to him? ‘Hey asshole, my partner got hit by a bus trying to mail you a letter?’ How the hell is someone supposed to respond to that? What are you even trying to do, spread the misery? Make this guy feel guilty for something he’s not responsible for?”

“What the fuck do you mean by that? Of course he’s responsible. The only reason Joel was there on the street that day was because of this guy! The only reason Joel isdeadis because of this guy!”

Margot shook her head. “Noah, it was an accident. Joel was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

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