The Amethyst and Avery’s Heart

One day last week, I spoke at the Black Dog, a local coffee house. It was a big step outside my comfort zone, and, never confident, I wore my favorite amethyst necklace for luck. I saw some friends, Savanna and Bryce, before the talk. They introduced me to Avery, their little girl. Before I “went on,” Avery gave me a little red heart to keep. I slipped it into my pocket, pushed the comfort zone into the corner, and started to talk. 

I wondered how I would fill an hour because, you know, I’m just not that interesting. But it was something like an hour and twenty minutes later that Scott, the owner of the coffee house, suggested we wind it down. A responsive audience made the whole experience so much fun I’m still thinking about it days later, still reaching up to touch the stone in my necklace and remembering. Still stroking my thumb over Avery’s heart.

I write romance novels, and when I finish a book, I tend to think of the hero and heroine staying where I left them, probably sitting on the couch in front of the fire smiling into each other’s eyes. As time goes on, they’ll have children, she’ll gain a few pounds, he’ll need bifocals. The cat and dog in the picture will change. The carpet on the floor will go over to hardwood and then on to a large area rug. 

But it will be—I hesitate to use this word because how it sounds isn’t what I mean—static. Although they’ll argue, because that’s what couples do, and sometimes there’ll be a lonely space between them there on the sofa, there won’t be big unhappy things. No one will throw anything. No one will cheat or lie or withhold love from the other. No one will say, Do you want a divorce? Or even the slightly less devastating, Do you think we should separate for a while? Because that kind of thing doesn’t go on in happily-ever-after, right?

Come on, am I right?

No. Of course I’m not.

Because it doesn’t work that way, does it? There may be people who are in love every day, who never have times of coolness and distance with friends, and who don’t occasionally wonder what they were thinking when they signed up for being a couple and becoming a family, but they aren’t people I know.

The heart Avery gave me is smooth red plastic, but in reality, our hearts have all kinds of cracks and scars on them. The seams are zig-zaggy where all the pieces wouldn’t go back together right and some of the color is worn off from being broken so many times. But, scars and all, we’re still in love and we still cherish our families and friends. Our kids—and their kids—are the reason we breathe. Our hearts, battered as they are, are what keep us connected. 

We all know, don’t we, that happiness, including the ever-after kind, is comprised of moments. Not decades or years or even months. It’s not in the grand gesture or the public avowal or the get-a-room variety of public displays of affection—not that kind of moments. It’s not even in those deepest ones that stay in your heart forever, when children are born or graduate or marry. When grandchildren are born. Or when grief creates a new visceral bond between you that you hoped never to feel.

Rather, happiness is what comes in the middle of despair and saves us. It’s a small brushstroke on the big picture, where the sun peeks between the clouds to reassure us that we’ll see it again soon. 

For me, it is in the amethyst, that makes me happy and makes me feel lucky when I wear it. I remember standing there in Gilbert’s Jewelry Store when my husband bought it for me, and crying months later when I thought I’d lost it. I remember Duane standing in the kitchen with it draped over his hand when he found it, just looking at me and laughing. The day of the talk, my stylist, Denee, both did my hair and fastened the necklace’s clasp for me because I can’t anymore. It was a moment of friendship in the middle of the day.

It is in the little red plastic heart. A week later, I smile every time I think of it and Avery’s smile-lit face. The heart lives in my wallet and I see it every time I open it. She gave me the gift in what was probably a thirty-second meeting. I can’t count the thirty-secondses of happiness it’s given me in the days since.

So, I wish you all happily-ever-afters. That promise is one of my favorite parts of writing romance. Even more, though, I wish you many happy moments—thirty-second segments that provide that bit of sun, the brushstroke you need to complete your big picture, and the kind of joy that comes with an amethyst necklace and a little girl’s heart.

Bio:

Retired from the post office and married to Duane for…a really long time, USA Today bestselling author Liz Flaherty has had a heart-shaped adult life, populated with kids and grands and wonderful friends. She admits she can be boring, but hopes her curiosity about everyone and everything around her keeps her from it. She likes traveling and quilting and reading. And she loves writing.

Email: lizkflaherty@gmail.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorlizflaherty/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/LizFlaherty1

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lizkflaherty/

 

THE HEALING SUMMER

When Steven Elliott accidentally rides his bike into Carol Whitney’s car at the cemetery, the summer takes on new and exciting possibilities. Long friendship wends its way into something deeper when their hearts get involved. Feelings neither of them had expected to experience again enrich their days and nights. But what happens when the long summer ends? When Carol wants a family and commitment and a future, Steven isn’t so sure. He’s had his heart broken before—can he risk it again?

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing