Page 47 of A Bookish Story

Ryan is such a good guy. He didn’t press me on the driving thing even though he understood something must have happened on that road. He deserves to know. Today was the first time I’ve opened up to him and I know far more about him than he knows about me. The thing is, I don’t talk about the accident anymore, not even with Sofia. With anyone. It was so long ago now that it feels like it happened to another person. But whenever my mind lands on that event, that excruciating part of my life, an agonizing pain pierces my chest.

Some of my friends have told me it might help to talk about it since my family refuses to discuss it. And as much as I’ve refused therapy or anything else that might lead me to talk about the event, tonight I want to talk about it. With Ryan.

I pick up my cell and dial his number. Ryan might like to write his emotions, and maybe that’s why he’s a great author. But for me, some things need to be said.

Ryan picks up, sounding distracted as usual. “What.”

Now I know this is his way of saying hello and don’t take it personally.

“It’s me. Luci.”

“I know. Hello, Luci.”

Oh, a hello! He’s encouraging me. I can almost hear the smile in his voice and I smile back.

“Hey there. I’m calling because I have something…something I want to tell you. I want to explain.”

There’s silence and I realize Ryan is simply waiting. No prompts, like “yes?” Most people would wonder what I want to ask but that’s not Ryan’s way. It’s as if he’s a character in a book who doesn’t put in a word of dialogue unless it advances the plot.

“See, there was an accident on Highway 17. A bad one. But it was nighttime, and raining, and someone wasn’t driving safely. Someone was speeding.”

Ryan is quiet, but I can feel him…waiting. “We don’t have to talk about this. It’s okay.”

In this moment I sense a strange kind of permission. Not from him but from myself.

“It wasn’t me. My father was in an accident on that highway and…that’s how he died.” I swallow the sob in my throat and a tear comes rolling down my cheek instead. I brush it away.

Ryan lets out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s okay, after reading your book, you might be the only one who can understand.”

Ryan knows about grief, or he couldn’t have written about it so convincingly in his book. Yes, maybe it was just his incredible research, or maybe just writing about the end of a marriage, but he understands. He knows what it’s like to have someone ripped away from your life. It might be better, somehow, if you’re prepared. But when you’re not expecting it, it comes straight to your soul like a slap, tearing into you, leaving pieces of your heart tossed everywhere.

“I understand more than you know,” he says.

Ryan’s voice is so sweet, so calm, so endearing. It feels like a hug.

Oh God, this block isn’t working!

“That was the first time I’d ever driven that road,” I say, biting my lower lip to keep it from quivering.

“I wouldn’t have let you if I’d known that.”

“I know. That’s just the point. Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you. It’s not up to you. Sometimes, I’m learning, you have to face your fears.”

“You’re a far braver person than I am.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“Write about it. Put all that pain on the page. It’s the only way.”

He’s not wrong. I need to stop holding back so much because it hurts.

“Ryan? I’m going to hang up and write now.”

Afterward, my new words come easily, fingers flying across the keyboard. It’s taken me all this time, but I finally know what’s missing from my book.

My heart.