Part 1

"Thanks Jude. You can come back in here."

Delicately, she placed the cumbersome headphones into their home and quietly exited the soundproof booth. Her producer was at the soundboard, his headphones still muffling his ears as he fiddled with the levels. She sat down in the accompanying chair and waited. She followed his worn fingers as they flowed naturally, the gleam of the wedding band catching her eye. Finally he finished and turned to her, his aged, watery blue eyes meeting hers.

"Jude, I want you to listen to this." Jude knew by the way his mouth turned down and the way his wrinkles were pronounced in his face that he was disappointed. His fingers flicked a button and turned a knob and soothing music entered the room. She closed her eyes like she did every time she listened to a track for the first time and with her jaw resting in her hand. And she loved the instrumental of this piece, it seemed to float and dance and hang and wrap around her like a touch from an intimate friend. Soon her voice filled the air and she was pleasantly surprised. She was in tune and clear, the lyrics mature and sensitive. Automatically her head weaved with the music, her mouth mouthing the words. She jumped as Malcolm's warm hand rested on her knee. And when she opened her eyes, they met his enquiring ones. He was like the grandfather she never had, kind and thoughtful, brilliant and helpful, and he could certainly read her like he had known her her whole life. His eyes were still a brilliant blue underneath the effects of time.

"Hun, I've got be honest. I think," Malcolm's hand wrapped around her dry, calloused ones and gave a tight squeeze, "I think its time for you to go back to Toronto."

Her shock and confusion kept her quiet. Jude replayed the music in her head. The song was everything she thought it would be. The lyrics, unequivocal and candid, her voice, like crystalline, the music, inspiring. Malcolm got up to grab a fresh tea and left Jude to think. He returned to Jude fiddling with the levels.

"I can't figure out what is wrong!" The head phones covered her ears as she replayed the song once again, her brows knit in thought. Malcolm gently pulled the head phones off her head. "Jude. Listen to me for a second. It is not the song. It is you. Your heart is not in it anymore."

"Are you kidding me!' She exclaimed. Her heart was definitely in it. How else did she come up with the lyrics? Yes, maybe she was still getting over being lonely in England but she felt like everyday she was more normal than the previous one. She had come too far to be sent packing and definitely not for putting enough heart in it. It was the only thing she had left. Her embarrassment was overwhelming but her anger was hotter. And Malcolm was going to get an ear full.

And she thought it rained a lot in Toronto.

From her leather maroon office chair, she watched as the rain pelted hard against the pavement creating streams that were already overflowing the street gutters.

She signed as she went back to her notebook and to the words she had scribbled and crossed out. Sometimes the words that were in her head never sounded right once they were on paper and that often caused frustration. And sometimes she would come up with a brilliant line only to forget it because it reminded her of someone and then all thought left her head but him and she would start remembering, fantasying, hoping that he could read her thoughts and walk through the rain and enter the studio soaking wet, his eyes that blue color that only got that way when he was only looking at her, telling her that he loved her and she shouldn't have left him…

Done staring at the blurr of truth, she shook her head trying to concentrate, and let it fall to back, to the side, to the front.

Dumping the notebook back on the desk, she swivelled around and walked over to the window, to watch as the world started to wash away. It was winter now, but the rain was even worse then Torontonian winter, flooding England. Back in Toronto, the snow would be keeping students joyously home from school. However, rain was her life now. Her heart squeezed in silent regret.

She watched as her breath hit the window forming a cloud. Her finger automatically drew two squiggles forming an odd shaped heart.

Maybe that was her problem. Her heart did not work like others. It would give all it could but it was never enough.

Her British relationships were a joke; even she could laugh at them. They always seemed to end after the first date. The dates were usually maladroit and suffocating, and she never knew what to say. Everything used to just creep out of her mouth unprovoked. Now, she was always lost in thought; of home, of him. Comparisons always ran wild.

And now her producer told her that her heart didn't seem to be in it. Her snappy 'then where the fuck was it' was replied with 'maybe back in Toronto'. She couldn't help the sharpness of her voice. The truth was painful and she was not going to admit anything about her heart. The heart that she used to wear on her sleeve now seemed to be buried deep within her jeans pocket, lost amongst the lint.

But he was right. Back then, she could feel her music run through her hands, her fingers, her veins, her heart. Now they were just words strung together, completely perfected and so right.

Or maybe she felt it all too much. So much that it was easier to just sing it as the numbness of over-feeling set in and release a quiet hum and riddle pleasing to the listener but not truly to the creator.

So now she was face with the fact that she was given a new fate. Finding her misplaced heart.

She was okay with planes. She was okay with turbulence. She was okay with airports. She was not okay with the sound of people hacking away like it was there last breath. What really got her was the sound of the phlegm catching in their throats only to be coughed out later. It made her cringe and want to over her mouth with her sweater or maybe even her pillow. She now understood why some of the flight attendants wore surgical masks at all times.

She was relieved to get out of the plane and enter Pearson International. As she stood on the flat escalator, she fished through her bag finding her Ray Bans and black knit cap. No one needed to know that she was back in Toronto.

Briskly she marched out of the Toronto airport and into the fresh winter weather and almost immediately into a waiting cab.

Her childhood home was a mere skip and a jump from the airport and within minutes the cab had pulled up in front of the cream house. Immediately she noticed that it looked just the same as it did almost a year before, when she left. Her dad was now back from travelling, and from the looks of the smoke flowing out of the chimney, was at home. She carefully walked up the snow cleared path to the front door.

She stepped into the house and immediately dropped her bags by the stairs before sitting down on them and removing her Bear Claws. She heard the shuffle of slippers on hardwood and a smile broke out on her face as she saw the shocked look over take her dads.

"Jude! What…what?" His long arms enveloped her in a warm huge and she wavered in the smell of home and him. "Is this my christmas present?"

Holding him tight to her, she said "Nah, I'm not staying that long. I'm just here to find some things that I left behind." Stepping back she saw the disappointment on his face and quickly tried to atone, "But I've got three days so no worries."

"Jude, I'm just so glad to see you." His arm wrapped around her and pulled her into the kitchen. "Let's get you some coffee. Tom's just stocking up some more fire wood out back, he'll be in in a minute. He'll be happy to see you." Stewart started filling the coffee maker with water as Jude tried to sift through what he'd just said.

"Tom? As in Quincy? "

The sledge hammer slipped and just missed the wood that stood vertical on the stump, sending it into the snow. Tom straightened up and looked back to the house. He heard his name and he was sure it had been Jude's voice. He didn't think Stewart had mentioned Jude visiting though. Unless it was a setup… He shook his head and his sweat dripped farther down his face. Nah, Stewart now understood where he and Jude stood. An ocean apart. They were just two people who changed. Both asking themselves, is this who you really are?

Tommy and Stewart's friendship was strange. Even Tommy knew that. One afternoon several months after Jude had left, he had driven by and had seen Stewart's car in the driveway, pulled out from the garage, and decided to see if Stewart had heard from Jude and see how he was doing, maybe only out of politeness. Stewart automatically led him inside and they caught up like old buddies and soon they were watching hockey games and he was shovelling snow like the prodigal son.

Tommy collected an armful of wood and headed back to the house. The cold air made his face tingle and the snow was almost up to his knees. He arranged the cedar into a neat pile, in reach from the back door. He could see Jude from where he stood and his natural reaction was to run away. He couldn't do this. He wouldn't.

But Stewart was expecting him back inside. She would know that he had made a run for it. He needed to act like the mature one.

"What's he doing here?" Jude's inquisitive voice could be heard clearly through the door.

"Tom's a good guy Jude. And can't I have guy friends too?" Tommy felt it was a good time to interrupt before anything unnecessary was said.

Pulling the door closed behind him, he removed his flannel jacket and hung it up on the coat rack, feigning ignorance to her arrival. He dusted the snow from his jeans and tucked his hands under his armpits trying to warm them.

"Tom, look who's stopped by!" Steward smiled widely.

Automatically he thought she looked good. She had kept her hair short but maybe she was thinner then he'd remembered underneath the plaid button up she wore. He mentally berated himself for thinking about her wellness. He and Jude were two separate people, uninvolved.

"Jude, it's been a while."

He watched as her face flushed and her body tensed before approaching him, and he backed off showing her his hands, "Let me wash up."

She watched as he pulled up the sleeves of his shirt as he waited for the water to heat up. He looked way to good being domestic, her stomach was swirling tightly and she felt her self flush. She could not remove her eyes from him as he moved towards the sink. She loved his forearms, the thin layer of hair, the muscles flexed under his skin, the tendons causing resistance and the veins bulging from the heat of the house. The heat rose even more to her cheeks and she turned to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water and breaking the cap, her eyes fixed to the label.

"There should be enough wood there for the week. I should get going though. Let you two catch up." Jude head snapped up and she looked at Tommy who was making his way to the front door, her dad behind him.

She was tracing circles on the counter when her father returned. "Well, that was a warm welcome," she muttered sarcastically.

Steward barked out a laugh, "What did you expect Jude? For him to take you into his arms and follow you back to London?"

"No." Jude said seriously, watching as Tommy pulled his H3 off the curb and into the road. "I just wasn't expecting ice cold." She turned back to the stairs where she left her bags, "I'm going to unpack."

"Jude?" She stopped mid step and turned back to her dad, "Just give him time, he'll come around."