Chapter 14: Rise and Reckoning

                                    

                                          
1983
London, England


***BENNY


For the first time in years, I slept peacefully. It felt strange yet comforting to be in Frida's home, with only the walls between us. It was surreal—a piece of the past laid out in the present, the way things might have been if life had gone differently.


A few sounds drifted from the hallway, and I realized Frida was already up, likely starting on breakfast. I got up, took a quick shower, and grabbed a clean shirt from my duffel bag, feeling a bit more refreshed and more grounded.


When I stepped into the kitchen, she had her back to me, her hair loosely gathered, and a calmness around her that I'd missed. "Good morning," I mumbled, still groggy but warmed by the sight.


She was startled for a second, then glanced over her shoulder with a polite nod. "Oh, good morning, Benny. There's coffee if you want." She pointed to the counter with a wooden spoon, focused on the stove.


"Thanks," I replied, pouring myself a cup as the delicious smell of something sizzling filled the room. My stomach growled loudly, breaking the quiet. She turned around with a smirk.


"Hungry, are we?" she teased, her tone light but her gaze soft.


I laughed a little, rubbing the back of my neck. "Guess so. Smells too good to resist."


"It'll be ready in a minute," she said, looking down as she stirred whatever was cooking.


"What are you making?"


"Frittata." She smiled, watching my face to see if I remembered.


The word alone brought a rush of memories. Frittata was one of our comfort foods during our touring days. Those mornings when we'd be too exhausted to go out, Frida would whip one up, filling the kitchen with the smells of sautéed veggies and melted cheese.


"You remembered," I said, a bit surprised. My voice softened as I watched her plate the food. I could still picture the younger Frida, her apron slightly askew, humming as she cooked. Those were simple moments, but they'd always meant the world to me.


She placed the frittata on the table, breaking my reverie. "I don't forget things so easily, Benny." She smiled faintly, sitting down across from me.


We ate in comfortable silence, both of us savoring the familiar flavors. I wanted to say something, to start a conversation about what had happened yesterday, but somehow the words felt too heavy. She seemed content, her eyes drifting occasionally to the window, a small smile lingering on her face. There was something about that look, a certain peace that hadn't been there before.


Finally, I set my fork down and took a breath. "Frida... about yesterday. I didn't mean to ambush you like that."


She paused, glancing up at me. "I know. But Benny, this isn't something that can be fixed with words alone. We're not who we used to be."


I felt my heart clench a little. "Maybe not. But I think... I think we can find something new, something better. We've both grown, Frida."


She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes thoughtful. "But have we grown apart?" she asked quietly.


The question hung in the air, heavy with the years between us. I leaned back, thinking of all the moments I'd tried to hold onto—the laughter, the music, the shared dreams. But there had been so much hurt too, mistakes that couldn't be erased with good intentions.