Porcelain Keys (37 page)
Authors: Sarah Beard
I squinted through the morning mist to make sure I wasn’t mistaken, and as he turned his head slightly in my direction, I knew I wasn’t.
It was Thomas Ashby.
I didn’t remember rising to my feet, but I found myself standing and moving slowly toward him. My heart pushed against my chest, urging me forward, but my feet insisted on a snail’s pace. He didn’t see me. His attention was still
on the object in his hands. He lifted it to his ear, and my phone rang.
I paused and looked down to see Thomas’s number gracing the screen of my phone. I turned it off and dropped it in my pocket. Like I was approaching a bird, I inched my way forward, fearing that if I made the wrong move, he would take to the sky. I heard his voice saying my name into his phone, a sound more beautiful than the swelling violins in
The Moldau
.
I drew nearer and nearer until I was standing beside him. He glanced down at me with a double take, then without taking his eyes off me, he lowered his phone and slipped it in his pocket.
“You didn’t go,” I said.
He stared at me in disbelief for a moment, then said softly, “You came.” His eyes were brighter than I’d ever seen them, seeming to be illuminated from within.
“I thought you’d gone out to sea.”
“I was . . . until I got your message.”
“Don’t they need you?”
“They’ll survive.” His expression turned curious. “How long have you been here?”
“I flew red-eye to Rotterdam last night, from Colorado Springs.” I paused, letting my eyes soak in the sight of him. His hair was still damp and slightly ruffled from the morning breeze. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his coat. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and the beginnings of a smile tipped one corner of his mouth. I realized he was waiting for an explanation. I reached into my bag and pulled out his journal. “I found this.”
He took it, his brows knitting slightly. “You came five thousand miles to return it?”
“No. I came five thousand miles to tell you what I want.”
His lips parted as if to say something, but nothing came out. Instead he kept his gaze on me and waited, his expression brimming with anticipation.
I pulled out his painting and handed it to him. He tucked his journal under his arm and slowly unrolled the painting. When he saw what it was, he bowed his head and a quiver rippled across his chin.
I pointed to the dark haired boy on the porch swing. “That boy there,” I said. “He’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”
His eyes filled with tears, and I dropped my bag and closed the small distance between us. I unzipped his coat and slid my arms around his waist to draw him near. His arms enfolded me, fastening me to him. His body was warm and inviting, like cozying up to a blazing hearth after being out in the cold. I tipped my head up to gaze into his glistening eyes. “I love you, Thomas Ashby.”
He lowered his forehead to mine, and a single tear trickled down his cheek.
“Don’t cry,” I murmured.
“I thought I’d lost you forever.”
“You never lost me,” I said. “I have always been yours, and nothing will ever change that.”
“Even if I—”
I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Even if anything.”
A smile slowly spread across his mouth and brightened his eyes. “Even if anything,” he echoed solemnly before bringing his lips to meet mine again. Everything I thought I’d lost was in that kiss, reassuring me that the past didn’t matter, because my future was full of him.
I
want to take a moment to express my sincere
gratitude to all those who contributed to the completion and publication of this book. In the early stages of this project, I was fortunate enough to join a wonderful critique group, The Point Writers. Shauna Dansie, Sabine Berlin, Kylee Wilkins, Ami Chopine, Terri Barton, Chris Weston (C.K. Edwards), Darren Eggett, Alyson King, and Garrett Winn, you reined in [some of] my cheesiness, pointed out the things I did well, and weren’t afraid to tell me when I could do better. I have gained vast quantities of knowledge from you and I can say with certainty that this book never would have seen the light of day without your guidance and enthusiasm.
Thanks to the wonderful staff at Cedar Fort who saw potential in my manuscript and helped make it the best it could be. Angie Workman, Melissa Caldwell, Alissa Voss, Kelly Martinez, you made the publication process smooth and painless. Kristen Reeves, for designing a gorgeous cover and enduring my fickleness.
A huge shout-out of thanks goes to my brilliant astrophysicist cousin, Amanda Ford, who patiently answered all my questions about astronomy and gave me feedback on an early version of
Porcelain Keys
. To Garrett Winn for proofing my Dutch, and Mike and Cindy Kemp for proofing my French.
To the girls of Real Writers Write, who saw me through
the publication process, provided encouragement, friendship, and grammar help. Heather Clark, Janelle Youngstrom, Sabine Berlin (again), Juliana Montgomery, Rebecca Scott, Caryn Caldwell, Nikki Trionfo, and Shari Cylinder, you guys took me in like family and made me feel right at home.
To my dad, who taught me about redemption and who shares my love of writing. To my mom, who taught me unconditional love and who shares my love of books. And to my sister and brother, who encouraged and supported me along the way, who never seemed to grow tired of my book-talk. You guys are the best family a girl could ask for.
Many thanks also go to other friends and family for their kindness and support during the writing of this book.
Over the years that I worked on
Porcelain Keys
, I grew to know and love the characters of Aria and Thomas. As I wrote down their story, I cried their tears and celebrated their triumphs. So even though it feels like acknowledging imaginary friends, I want to thank Aria and Thomas for telling me their story and for pressing me to finish it.
And last but not least, I want to thank my first critique partner and biggest fan, Keith. It has been a long journey, and you have cheered me on from the very beginning. You changed diapers and folded laundry while I slaved over my laptop, and each time I emerged from my office after a writing marathon looking like a writer (synonym: vagrant), you smiled and told me I was lovely. You gave me honest feedback that helped me improve the story and my writing. You have been the one unmovable, dependable thing in all this crazy business of getting published. You picked me up off the floor and said the words I needed to hear when I thought I couldn’t take one more rejection. You came up with a beautiful title for my book, and believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. You were the first to read my finished book, and it says a lot about you that you read it in one sitting, with a flashlight, because the power was out. My heart is yours to keep; you have earned it a thousand times over.
S
ARAH BEARD
graduated from the University of Utah with a degree in communications, and she splits her time between writing and freelance editing. She enjoys reading, composing music, and traveling with her family. She lives with her husband and three children in Salt Lake City, Utah. Her website is
www.sarahbeard.com
.
