Page 80 of Unspoken Words
“Sure. Not a problem.” I took it from her and handed it to the hostess.
My seat-neighbour thanked me then lifted her tray table and secured it to the seat in front. “That’s better.”
I smiled, secured my own tray table and then pulled out my notebook and opened it to the page that contained scribbled information about Saxon Reed, an unknown musician who’d just been signed to Sony and who’d requested a meeting and possible lyric partnership with me on his current album. According to the email sent from his agent, his sound was ‘sombre and organic’ and he wrote and performed from the heart, which I thought most musicians did anyway. His agent also stated that Saxon’s songs mostly spoke of heartache and longing, and with my help he hoped to shine a bit of love and positivity into the mix. To be honest, Saxon’s brief confused me, but it was undeniably intriguing. The job also paid a lot, more than I’d earned to date, and the prospect of working with new talent, unique talent, and talent saleable enough to be represented by one of the countries biggest recording labels, was probably the most exciting hook of all.
“Oh, what a delightful notebook you have there. My granddaughter would just love that.”
Smiling sheepishly, I rotated the multi-coloured, sequin-covered book in my hand and shrugged. “You’re never too old to like rainbows.”
“You’re quite right. Who doesn’t like rainbows?”
I laughed. “Actually, my boyfriend doesn’t.”
“Well, dear, boyfriends can be boring at the best of times.”
I grinned, agreeing, because Byron was rather boring. He was sweet and loving but settled in his safe and repetitive monochromatic ways—khaki for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He used the same shampoo, always; the same orange juice, always; and he preferred Hawaiian pizza minus the pineapple.
Minus. The. Pineapple.Who does that?
But I loved him as much as my broken heart could love, and he, too, loved me. A bit like a boa constrictor loves it prey: tight and unyielding. Which was why this trip, despite the location and the apprehension it stirred within me, was good timing.
Swallowing dryly for possibly the one-hundredth time since taking off, I opened my notebook to ease my nerves. They’d been raging and raving ever since I’d found out the job was based in Melbourne.
Melbourne meant home.
Melbourne meant Connor.
After fleeing to Darwin shortly after graduating High School, I’d tried desperately to do what he’d successfully done—let us go. Because holding on to something that could never be only tore the gaping hole it created even wider, and that served no good purpose other than to hope for the hopeless or to mourn what you would never have. But telling your heart not to yearn was easier said than done, for our hearts know and our minds think, and my heart knew only Connor.
So I lied, every day, to myself, my family, my friends, and to Byron. I played happy pretend in a life of consolation.
Turning the pages of my notebook, I stopped at the very back to a pocket that held a letter Connor had sent me the day before I moved. It contained lyrics to a song he’d titled ‘Ever After’, part of it comprising what he’d written in the notes he’d given me when I’d found out he’d slept with Lilah. It was his unspoken words. His plea. It was words he’d never say, but that were forever said.
Sliding the note free, I unfolded it and read it for the second time. Truth be told, I didn’t need to read it because it was tattooed to the part of my heart he would always own. Yet, for some reason, I did read it … thirty-four thousand feet above sea level.
The wind blows through this
And I don’t want to miss
A second of your time
So I will wait here for all of this life
My dreams will fade away
If you choose not to stay
You’re my ever after.
How long?
Only if there’s time.
You’re my ever after.
I know.
Only if it’s right.
