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He was perfect as he told me a story I would never know, yet completely understood.
Cromwell Dean was in so much pain that it took away his joy to play music that he’d once loved. Pain that caused him to shed tears.
Her voice was violet blue. I closed my eyes. It was my favorite color to hear.
I had to forget it ever happened. But when my eyes wandered to Bonnie again, to her pretty face and thick dark hair, I felt like I was back in that room, with Bonnie’s hand on my arm.
Manners cost nothing, son. Always be gracious with those who want to help.
“Cromwell?” I turned. “What’s your favorite? Your favorite color to see?” I didn’t even think before I spoke the words. “Violet blue.”
“Cromwell?” I asked, and he turned my way. “What’s your favorite? Your favorite color to see?” “Violet blue,” he said in an instant. Violet blue. His favorite color to see . . . and also the sound of my voice. If my failing heart hadn’t let him in before, it did just then.
She was my God-given gift. The girl that brought me back life.
“Cromwell doesn’t speak much with his voice, but he screams what he feels with melodies and notes and the change of keys.”
I fought it. But the truth was, I wanted to sink. I wanted to close my eyes and disappear and stop the fight. The fight to want to live, when for as long as I could remember, all I’ve wanted is to let go.
my breathing stuttered. Because this was how he saw me. Then, from the background came the sound of an offbeat heart.
It was my heart. My old heart.
