A Pessimist's Guide to Love (Heartsong Duet Book 2)

A Pessimist’s Guide to Love Heartsong Duet Book Two Jennifer Hartmann Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Epilogue Author’s Note Acknowledgments Playlist Connect More From Jennifer About the Author A Pessimist's Guide to Love Copyright © 2023 by Jennifer Hartmann All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Cover Designer: Hartmann Media Group, LLC First printing edition 2023. Chapter 1 Lucy Age 13 The Night She Never Came Back A scream wakes me from the dead. At first I think it’s the fever—I’ve been fighting a respiratory infection for days. I don’t feel sweaty or shivery, but screams like that don’t happen in real life. It was just a fever dream. A nightmare. I roll over, burrowing deeper into my bed covers. That’s when I hear it again. “No! No, please, no!” My eyes pop open as I jolt into a sitting position and glance at the window beside my bed. Raindrops slither down the glass, the wind making a loud shrieky sound, almost like it’s screaming right along with the lady. A storm rages. My heart races. Something is wrong. I toss off the blanket and slide out of bed, adjusting my cotton nightgown as I pace to the window. The tree branches are jerking back and forth to the storm, doing a spooky dance. Angry wind causes one of them to smack against the siding, and I jump back, frightened. “My baby! My baby!” Swallowing down my fear, I rush forward and press my nose to the glass pane. Police lights catch my attention first. Blue and red. Blurred by the drizzle. Squad cars are parked along our neighborhood street, right in front of the Bishop house. And Mrs. Bishop is collapsed in her driveway, clinging to a policeman’s ankle. My whole body starts to tremor with something far worse than a fever. Emma. Cal. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I don’t think. I don’t grab a coat or shoes or an umbrella—all I do is run. I shouldn’t be running into the rain right now, still weak and fever-drained, but I can’t help it. My bare feet pound the stairsteps as I fly out of the house, the harsh wind and furious rainfall almost knocking me over. It’s trying to keep me inside. It doesn’t want me to find out why Mrs. Bishop is sobbing in her driveway, begging for her baby to come back. Maybe I should listen to it, but I don’t. I keep running, straight through the grass, to my favorite house on the left. Relief swims through me when I see Cal standing near his front porch. He’s okay. Cal is okay. “Cal!” I shout over the booming sky. “Cal, what’s going on?” I’m out of breath already. My heart is thundering louder than the storm. I slow down when my lungs feel wheezy, coming up beside Cal on the lawn. My white cotton nightgown is drenched, and the bottom of my foot stings after stepping on a stone. Mrs. Bishop starts wailing again as an officer crouches down to comfort her, and I pop a hand over my mouth, a feeling of dread sinking to the pit of my stomach. I glance around and find Mr. Bishop sitting in the soggy grass with his head in his hands, rocking back and forth. Returning my attention to Cal, I’m afraid to ask him what’s wrong. I’m afraid to know the truth. Where is she? Where’s Emma? I think I know, I think I know, but I don’t want to know. Cal finally glances at me with a look I’ll never forget. Not for the rest of my life. Dark brown hair is matted to his forehead as the rain pours down, his eyes glazed and haunted. When lightning flashes, brightening the sky in muted yellow, he says to me in a low, low voice, “She’s gone.” The air leaves me in a sickly rush of breath. “G-gone?” I stammer, my bottom lip wobbling as I start to shake all over. Maybe I misheard him. Maybe the wind mixed up his words. “What do you mean? She was going to Marjorie’s. She’s at Marjorie’s.” I insist it. I need it to be true. She’s not gone, she’s just at Marjorie’s. Cal looks away, staring down at the grass. “I should’ve been with her. It’s my fault.” Swinging his head back and forth, he balls his hands into fists at his sides. “Holy shit, Lucy. Holy shit…she’s gone. She’s gone, and it’s all my fault.” No, I don’t believe it. I refuse. Tears prickle behind my eyelids. My throat burns with strangling disbelief. “No…no, Cal, she’s fine.” I look around the yard, at the lights, at the anguish, at the rain falling down like grief. She’s not fine. This isn’t fine. Rage and sorrow take over my body, and I lunge at him, pounding my fists against his chest. “You’re lying! Take it back. Please take it back…” He catches my wrists, lifting his chin in slow motion, his eyes reflecting every awful thing I’m feeling inside. All he does is shake his head, left to right, right to left, his features twisting with horror. I’m so hysterical, I think