Page 121 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

Me: Sorry, I can’t do this right now. Just give me the day to get my head on straight.

Then I power down the phone.

***

Half an hour later I storm into the airport, the long drive with the windows down having done nothing to fix my foul mood. I hate how out of control I feel—like my chest might pop. My heart is pounding wildly.

I’m an asshole, avoiding Penny like this. But I’m no good at this stuff. I never should have agreed to be her fake boyfriend. Never should have let myself believe we could be something real. I’m my father’s son. As much as I might think I’m in love with Penny, one day I would ruin it. Thinking about my dad possibly stringing my mom along now fills me with rage.

If I was actually a good guy, I’d catch the next flight to New York and leave before I do any more damage.

I’m scanning the terminal—searching for the airline’s office, my jaw locked and my fists balled—when I hear the first chords of the piano. I groan when the damn piano man starts to play “L.O.V.E.” again.

My gaze snags on the way the man’s shoulders shift as he dances to his own music. He’s swaying with a joy very few people can muster when playing for a crowd of one.

There’s not a single other person in the terminal, and yet he plays like this is the performance of his life.

I try to ignore him, try to walk by to the airline offices. But as I pass, I spot the smile he’s wearing in my peripheral vision.

I’m just angry and irrational enough to turn around and glare at him. His happiness is offensive. Which says far more about me than it does him.

“You don’t have to play for me,” I can’t help but say.

The man continues tapping on the notes. “I’m not.”

I glance from side to side to emphasize how no one else is here. “They pay you to play for no one?”

“Oh, I don’t get paid to play.” I watch as his smile grows. “I’m playing for my wife.”

I scan the empty luggage-claim area. “Your wife?”

He gets to the last note and then drops his hands to the bench, spinning around to face me.

“Yup. Married for forty-nine years to my sweetheart.”

I frown. “Is she watching on a camera or something?”

“That’d be pretty hard from heaven.” He chuckles. “But maybe.”

And now I feel like the biggest dick. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I had forty-six beautiful years with my Susie. ‘L.O.V.E.’ was our wedding song and I used to play it for her every day. After she died, I couldn’t shake the need to still play it, so when I saw the piano at the airport after traveling to visit my daughter, I asked around about who normally uses it. No one did, so they said I could come in and play whenever I want.”

I lean against the piano. Unable to help myself, I ask, “Was it worth it?”

He frowns in confusion. “Was what worth it?”

“Marrying her. Loving her. She’s gone and you’re here, alone, was it worth it?”

Maybe it’s a harsh question; it’s definitely an odd one to ask a stranger. But I’ve never been able to bring myself to ask Vovo. I’ve never had the courage to speak to anyone about this crippling fear of loss. Until now.

And I’m sure I’ll look back and feel like an ass—I already sort of do—but after the past twenty-four hours, I can’t hold the question in any longer. Is joy worth the eventual pain? Is love worth it?

The man beams at me as he sets his fingers back on the keys, playing a pretty tune that I don’t recognize. “Best decision of my life.”

I nod, trying to figure out how he looks so damn happy when he’s lost the love of his life.

As if reading my mind, he pauses the tune and says, “She loved me until her last breath, and I love her still.” He gives me a knowing look. “That’s the dream. Or at least it was ours. Would I have loved to go first? Of course. I miss her like crazy. But we don’t get to pick the endings of our stories, so I’m making the best of mine.”