Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue)

by Andrea Randall

  “Hey,” Adrian called gently.

  When I looked up, I saw him lift my suitcase and a bag onto the bed.

  “How did you . . .” I paced toward my things.

  “When I brought Bo back to his house he had me wait so he could get your things . . .” Adrian shrugged uncomfortably.

  “Adrian, I’m so sorry for dragging you into this. I need to call Monica to come pick me up. I need to call my boss to tell her about everything. . .” Dissolution of the relationship . . .

  Adrian sat next to me and put his arm around my bare, wet shoulder, “I’ll call Monica. I’ll just give her the basics and tell her that you’ll fill her in in the morning. I’ll take you home, but you need to get some sleep first. About your boss, Bo said he was heading inside to call David Bryson to tell him about the blackmail. David and Monica will fill your boss in. Don’t worry about it tonight.

  “Just like that . . .” I whispered.

  “What?” Adrian lifted my chin.

  “Nothing . . . I’ll get dressed. Sleep sounds divine, I’m sore as hell.”

  “Here’s some ibuprofen, take it.” Adrian handed me the pills and a glass of water. “You’re a tough shit, November Harris, I’ve never seen anyone so . . .”

  “Pissed?” I laughed as I swallowed the pills.

  “Yeah, pissed. Look, I’m sorry about what happened with Bo, I can tell how much you mean to each other.” He pulled me in for a hug.

  “Meant. And, I’m sorry you had to witness all of that.” I spoke weakly into his chest.

  “It was intense, that’s for sure. But, I’m glad to know you can hold your own, Blue, that was something.”

  I stood to bring my clothes to the bathroom, but Adrian excused himself to the hallway so I’d have privacy and he could make phone calls. As I gave in to sleep, I could hear Adrian’s muffled voice in the hallway, “Hey Monica, it’s Adrian . . . yes, Adrian Turner. Look, something happened tonight. No don’t freak out, everyone’s OK for the most part . . .”

  * * *

  I woke early, thankful for a dreamless sleep. Stretching out in bed I could feel the pain of last night in every muscle of my body and soul. When I sat up on my elbows I smiled at the sight of Adrian Turner sleeping in the desk chair. His head rested at an awkward angle against the wall, and his arms folded in front of him. The crinkle of the comforter as I swung my legs over the bed startled him awake.

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  “How’d you sleep?” He rubbed his neck.

  “Great, actually. Turns out being chased, and trying to kick someone’s ass really takes something out of you. Why didn’t you sleep in the bed?”

  “OK, Ember, you break up with your boyfriend and I slide in to bed with you that night? I’ll pass on going straight to Hell, thanks,” he laughed as he stood.

  “Can we get the hell out of here?” I pulled my Princeton hoodie over my head, “or do you have all kinds of DROP shit to attend to today?”

  “I’m taking a personal day. So, yes, let’s go . . . Do you want to talk about last night?”

  “Adrian, have I ever wanted to talk about any last night?” I smirked.

  He stifled a chuckle, “I’m serious. That was some heavy shit . . .”

  “I know . . . and I’m not ready to think about it again, yet. Can we get the hell out of here?”

  The truth is, all I’d done since I woke up was think about it. I thought about love, loss, betrayal and pain. Bo trampled my trust, and I still couldn’t piece it all together in my brain. I couldn’t look at him anymore; not the same way I did that first night at Finnegan’s. It was all different now. None of it could be taken back. Adrian caught my pensive stare at the wall and proceeded to load our things in to his car.

  I thumbed through my phone as Adrian started his car and pulled down Main Street. I had a text from Monica that she sent last night:

  Monica: Ember, I talked to Adrian. Get sleep, I’ll be at your apartment waiting for you tomorrow.

  I had an email from my boss:

  November,

  I received a call and email from David Bryson very early this morning. I also spoke with Bo. Take the week off and call me when you can. I’m sorry all of this happened. –Carrie.

  Finally, there was a text from Bo:

  Bowan: I know you’ll ignore me if I call, and I don’t dare try to see you in person right now. I love you November. When I said forever, I meant it. I’ll never stop loving you. Please forgive me. Forgive me.

  Sleep didn’t erase the emotional pain, and I bit my lip as I slid my phone back in to my bag.

  “Hey, what’s in that bag?” I asked Adrian, noting a paper gift bag on top of my suitcase.

  Adrian shrugged, “Bo said it’s yours - that you never opened the card. If you want me to take it-”

  “No,” I interrupted, “I’ll just open it . . .” I hesitated as I ran my thumb under the seal.

  The square card held a CD. I gestured to Adrian to put the CD in his player as I read the note Bo wrote:

  November Blue,

  You’ve given me the most perfect ten days that anyone could ever dream of having. I love you more each day, and plan to love you more for however many days I have left on this Earth.

  The note slipped through my hands and hit the floor of the car as the music started, and familiar voices filled the space around us,

  “Don’t know what time it is, I’ve been up for way to long

  and I’m too tired to sleep . . .”

  “That’s me . . . and Monica . . . and Bo, from the first night we sang together at Finnegan’s. It was the first night I met him. It’s The Wailin’ Jennys - Josh must have recorded it . . .” I pushed Adrian’s hand out of the way when he tried to turn off the music. “Don’t . . . we sounded awesome.” I managed a grin as I leaned in to the headrest and watched Concord fly past my window.

  “. . . then maybe I’ll walk a while, and feel the earth beneath me . . .”

  The song slapped me across the face as I heard Bo’s voice join mine, a cappella, through the speakers. I reached for the card on the floor and opened the composition book to slide it in. As I opened the front cover, I noticed there was writing on the left side, opposite Bo’s transcription of the lullaby:

  “There is the kiss of welcome and of parting, the long, lingering, loving, present one; the stolen, or the mutual one; the kiss of love, of joy, and of sorrow; the seal of promise and receipt of fulfillment.” ~Thomas C. Haliburton

  I didn’t feel Adrian pull the car over, but I knew we were stopped. My face was buried in his chest; his embrace tried to hush my body-quaking sobs right there on the side of the road.

  My soul felt more battered than my body, but it begged me to stay; to find Bo and try to understand just one more time. My mind, however, couldn’t process anymore hurt - any more lies. I handed my soul to Bo Cavanaugh, and was given bloodied knees and a busted face in return. I was broken. For the first time in my life I was broken, and it was at the hands of the cruel temptress “Reckless Abandon.” Our souls had gone out ahead of us and made plans they couldn’t promise they’d keep, and I was left in a sobbing heap.

  “Shh,” Adrian whispered in to the top of my head. “It’s going to be alright.”

  “What if it’s not? I loved him, Adrian. What am I supposed to do?” I had no strength to pull my head from his chest - I kept sobbing.

  Adrian rested his chin on the top of my head, and I felt him shrug. There weren’t any words that could resuscitate my soul - not today.

  Somewhere, in between my incoherent wails and whispers of reassurance from Adrian, loneliness let herself in and swallowed my soul.

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, I have to thank my husband, Scott, for fully supporting my dream. Thank you for putting up with a dirty house, lots of take-out dinners, sometimes sleeping alone when I stayed up way too late to write, and my attitude the next day. Thank you for helping me schedule time to get out of the house to spend hours
writing, reading, editing, and editing, and editing. I love you.

  Thank you to my parents for always encouraging my writing, and showing excitement over reading this book. Dad, I really hope you didn’t read Chapter Six. Mom, don’t let dad read Chapter Six. Please. Oh, Brian (my brother), if you happen to read this book, you also may not read Chapter Six.

  Thank you to Ruth Moody of The Wailin’ Jenny’s for granting permission for me to use the lyrics to ‘Heaven When We’re Home.’ Receiving your e-mail was one of the highest points of writing this story.

  Evan Spinosa- Thank you for the gorgeous photograph and cover design.

  Jessica – You read each chapter as I finished it. You read some righteous crap and loved it anyway. I loved hearing you beg me for more. I hope you read it again, I promise it got tons better.

  Jennifer Roberts-Hall- Your editing wizardry left me in awe. Thank you for cleaning up this work, chatting with me about line and word choices, and being so gracious and selfless. I bow in your honor.

  My Beta Readers: Michelle Pace, Michelle Mankin, and Melissa Perea – Every step of the way. On every step you helped me find words, colors, senses, and feelings. You were my personal cheering section online, on the phone, and on Skype. Your encouragement held my hand and my heart. Mankin – I love that you’re a huge fangirl for Bo. Your encouragement and praise through the whole process has been humbling. Pace – Your Adrian love makes my heart smile. We must schedule time for my friends to meet yours in Jefferson Point. Perea – Thank you for helping me trickle angst through the rainbow of love. Keep reading, Pix, there’s more.

  Maggi Meyers, Leslie Fear, Melissa Brown, and Dave Newell – Late night chats, honest critiques, and the necessary videos and songs at 1:00am helped me stay just this side of sane. I wish absolute and stratospheric success for all of your novels – you deserve it.

  Melissa Perea – Yea, you get two. I can’t thank you enough for hours of late-night book banter, critiques, deep discussions, and a promise to never let each other publish anything less than our best. I hope this lives up to our pact.

  The Indie Bookshelf – You ladies are amazing. It feels wonderful to be part of a group supporting independent arts. Thank you for your support, and the chocolate :). Check them out at www.theindiebookshelf.blogspot.com.

  Starbucks – Thank you for the swanky office space, free wifi, delicious energy, and support for this book.

  To all the Indie authors who have helped pave the way and are still keeping the streets clean – You are all rock stars to me. I want to specifically thank J. Sterling, Colleen Hoover, and Tarryn Fisher. Without you, and the road you paved with rainbows, butterflies, pumpkins, strength, and venom, this book wouldn’t exist.

  BA Ladies (and Fred) – Your unwavering support for Indie Lit. is encouraging; spread the love.

  The Clapp Memorial Library in Belchertown, Massachusetts - Thank you for your teen book group when I was in high school, and your summer reading program. Your efforts poured the foundation for the will of this book.

  Finally, to everyone with a dream and a will – If it scares you, you must do it.

  About the Author:

  Andrea Randall lives in Upstate New York with her husband and three children. She holds a B.S. in Development Sociology from Cornell University, which, she promises her parents, was put to good use in writing this novel.

  Connect with her via Facebook at: www.facebook.com/AuthorAndreaRandall, or on Twitter: ARandallAuthor. If you liked this book, write a review online. Better yet, tell a friend!

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