Page 26 of Wildfire (Owl Creek #1)

Again, days fly by. I practice every day by myself and with the band. And every night, I eat dinner with Cole, and we fuck all night. He doesn't mention that I am leaving anymore. Just acts like everything is normal and we are a couple in love.

If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck…Is there any way it's not a duck?

I don't want to talk to him about my feelings because I don't want to confuse things more than they already seem.

He is busy working on keeping the town safe and calm after the fire at Georgia's, and I am getting ready for my first tour.

The elephant in the room is that we both seem to savor, above all else, the moments we are wrapped up in each other's arms. Hot, sweaty, and blissfully relaxed after another orgasm.

And we talk into the wee hours. I haven't slept in my "own bed" in days.

I'm basically living with him, and it feels right. Natural.

But so do playing music and pursuing my dreams. Can I have both? Do I have to choose like my mother once did? I don't want to give up my passion and purpose like she did, but I can’t imagine never being with Cole again.

Tonight is my last night in Owl Creek, and Cole brings home a big bag of groceries for a special meal. I had grabbed candles and massage oil in town while he was at work and artfully placed them in the bedroom.

We chat about our days and he tells me that Georgia is doing well. She's going to need some surgeries, but she's strong and recovering. It lightens the load I'm still carrying about my good fortune at the expense of hers.

"I almost forgot to tell you. This package was in the mailbox for you."

Curious, I reach for the paper-wrapped parcel. I figure it is from Zoe, but shock wracks my system when I look at the handwriting.

The package is from my father. Zoe must have talked to him and told him where I was.

I hesitate to open it. What if there is a letter inside asking me to return? I can't deal with that the night before I embark on my dream.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

Tears are forming in my eyes. "I…I can't."

Cole walks over and brushes a hair out of my face. "Why not?"

"It's from my father. I'm afraid of what's inside."

"Want me to open it for you?"

That seems like a good plan. Cole can be a buffer for me. "Yes, please."

He tears the top off and reaches inside. He pulls out a binder with a note taped to the top. He reads the note and then looks at me with such care. "You should read the note."

He slides it across the kitchen island toward me, and I look at the letter in my father's characteristic scribble.

Renée,

I know I haven't been the best father. And for that, I will always be sorry. When you left, it was the shock I needed to wake up and make a change. I've started going to the local AA meetings. I'm 6 days sober.

Zoe came to see me and told me you're about to live your dream. I'm so proud of you and know your mother would be too. I begged Zoe to give me your address, and I hope this package makes it to you in time. This is your mother's songbook. I know she'd want you to have it.

Dad

The tears drop in puddles on the letter I hold in my shaking hands. Cole gently releases my grip on the paper and leads me to the couch with the songbook in his hand. He holds me tight as the tears fall, wetting his shirt and washing me clean.

These are tears I didn't know I needed to shed. They are tears of relief. Of release. Of self-forgiveness.

He grabs a tissue for me, and I clean up my face before I open the book.

Most of the songs were written before she met my dad and during their courtship, but at least three were written after they married. Each date was around the time each of us kids was born. I had no idea she'd written songs for us. As far as I could remember, she'd never played them.

I read the words and feel close to her. My arms get gooseflesh from feeling like she is standing there with me, reading these with me.

The songs are all her. I almost hear her singing them as I look over the notes and melodies.

The one thing that stands out above all else is that through her music, I can see something plain as day—she never regretted her choice.

She chose us and never looked back. We were her world as much as she was ours.

No wonder we fell so completely apart when she died. She was our sun. She was everything.

"I think I need to call my dad."

"Why don't I start dinner while you do that?"

I nod and go into the bedroom to find my phone.