“Mom asked me once what it would take for me to believe in God. I told her if I could meet one person who seemed like he was created in God’s image, I would start believing. And then you.”
They stared at each other as if they were two people who’d met in a dream and upon waking found they still saw each other.
“They say there are no atheists in foxholes. I can’t imagine there are many of them in symphonies. God created Beethoven and Beethoven created this…. You can hear hints of the melody in a much earlier work called the ‘Choral Fantasy.’ He dreamed of it long before he wrote it. Even the angels bend their ears to earth when the ‘Ode to Joy’ is performed. When you hear music so beautiful it gives you chills, those are angel wings brushing against you.”
“I have chills now,” she whispered.
“Angels have haloes and wings. We have free will and Beethoven.”
“I think we got the better deal.”
Søren smiled into the distance.
“Beethoven was deaf when he composed this piece. He couldn’t hear his own masterpiece anywhere but in his own head. But we are all deaf in a way. Life is a symphony composed by God, played by us with preludes, themes, movements, passages … and wrong notes, so many wrong notes. Heaven is where we get to hear the music played perfectly for the first time.”
“I think life is a book,” Eleanor said. “God writes it. We’re His characters. He knows what happens on the next page, but we don’t. Heaven is where we get to read the book cover to cover and see how it all makes sense.”
Søren cupped the back of Eleanor’s neck and she rose up on her knees to meet his lips.
“No one down there can see us up here, can they?” she whispered after the kiss.
“Even if they could, I don’t care today. Happy birthday, Little One.”
“Thank you, sir. Now, I believe you said something about two presents?” She batted her eyelashes at him.
“I do have a second gift for you. Pick a number between one and five.”
“Oh, I love this game. Five, five, five,” she said.
“Are you sure about that?” His gray eyes twinkled mischievously at her.
“I told you, I’ll always pick the biggest number. I’m greedy.”
“Very well. Five it is.”
Søren reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out five white envelopes, each of them with a number on the front, the numbers one through five.
“There are five dates on cards inside the envelope.”
“Dates for what?”
“Our first night together.”
Eleanor looked at him then back at the cards.
“You mean—”
“Open the card.”
With trembling fingers she picked up the card marked with a five. She resisted the urge to rip right into it. She could do this. She could be calm. From inside the envelope she pulled a piece of paper.
“And the winner is …” she said, opening the note.
“Holy Thursday,” Søren said. “Less than three weeks away.”
Eleanor stared at the words and forced herself to breathe. She’d been in love with Søren for four years and now in front of her was the day written in ink.
“I can’t wait.” She pressed the card to her heart. He cupped her face and she grinned up at him. This was happiness—simply being with him.
“I should go. I’m needed back in Wakefield.”
“Yeah, I have swim practice. I should go to that.”
“Eleanor, about that.”
“What?”
He said nothing and he didn’t have to. From the look on his face, she understood.
“Okay. I’ll quit the team.”
“I wish it could be another way.”
“This is how it is. I’ll tell them today.” If she and Søren were going to be lovers, she’d have to spend the rest of her life learning how to hide her bruises and welts. No way to hide bruises in a swimsuit. She knew there’d be a price to pay. This was a small one.
“Jeg elsker dig, min lille en.”
Søren kissed her again.
“I’ll see you soon,” he promised. “You should open the other cards and see what your options were.”
“Sadist,” she said, smiling against his lips.
Søren left her alone in the balcony with the four remaining unopened cards. She shouldn’t open them. She knew she shouldn’t. They were the roads not taken, so why even given them a second thought?
Fuck that, she wanted to know.
She opened envelope number one and nearly swore aloud as she read the one word written on it.
Tonight.
If she’d picked number one, she would have lost her virginity on her birthday.