My sixteenth birthday was my first without my father.
There were very few nights that I could remember clearly from when I was in high school, most of them blurring together in a mix of piano recitals and evenings spent reading classical romance novels or playing Scrabble with Mom. I’d always been a home body, preferring to spend time with her, my close friends, or just with myself.
But the night my mom had to wake me up and tell me my father was gone was a night I’d never forget.
You don’t prepare for the death of a parent, not that young, maybe not ever. It didn’t make sense to me, that he could be there for dinner, go out to a fundraiser event for work, and never make it home. The more I searched for answers, the more hurt I was, because answers never came.
There were no answers for why the young boy, only a few years older than me, shot my father in the process of robbing a convenience store.
That was the first catalyst in my life, the first thing that happened that really changed me. My life was different before he was gone, and the person I became after he’d passed was one I never knew before. The same was true for Mom, who threw herself into work to cope with the pain. She booked evening sessions with clients, something she swore she’d never do, and even started doing video chat sessions that kept her working until after I went to bed. Our evenings that were once filled with family dinner and games turned into me doing homework, playing piano, or reading while she worked.
I was never mad at her for that.
She had to grieve the best way she knew how, and she was always there for me when I needed her. It didn’t bother me that she wanted to stay busy. If anything, I understood — I just threw myself into piano instead of work.
That fluorite crystal that hung from my neck was meant to bring me peace in anxious times, its swirls of blue and purple meant to keep me grounded and focused. It was to remind me that not all answers can be seen, but that everything happens for a reason — a reminder to trust in myself and life’s journey.
At twenty-one, I no longer saw it as an accessory, but as an extension of myself — like an extra, essential limb.
“You always know how to take something I’m so uneasy about and make me feel silly for ever worrying in the first place,” I mused. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with why you’re a therapist, would it?”
“I don’t want to make you feel silly,” Mom said. “And, believe it or not, I try not to therapy you too much. You’re my daughter, after all. I just want to be Mom to you.”
I smiled.
“But, I’m glad I can help ease the anxiety,” she continued. “You are the most incredible pianist I know, mwen chouchou, and I believe this Mr. Walker wants to help you.”
I smiled at the endearment in my mother’s native tongue. I’d never learned the Haitian Creole language, but I loved to hear her speak it. Sometimes, I would close my eyes and try to picture her as a young girl on the island, working with her parents on the farm, her own mother using that same nickname she used for me. My pet.
“That reminds me, I think Uncle Randall is giving everyone a minor heart attack by introducing me as his niece,” I said. “They are very confused by our… differences.”
She let out an understanding sigh. “I can only imagine. I remember when your father first introduced me to his family as his girlfriend.” She chuckled. “If you think they look at you with a confused look, imagine how it was for me. For him.”
I chuffed, trying to picture that beginning time for my parents. I knew they were both brave to be in an interracial relationship, especially when my father was in the political circuit in small-town Georgia. But, they never hid, never made excuses. Their love spoke for the both of them, and it was so loud, it was impossible for anyone to refute.
“Ah, but you know what?” Mom said after a moment. “Your differences are what make you so beautiful.”
“They also make me stand out like a fish trying to blend in with the birds.”
“I had a dream about a flying fish once,” she said. “Perhaps it was a vision of you.”
I smiled, heart squeezing in my chest as I reclined more, hand still wrapped around my crystal. “I miss you, Manman.”
“And I miss you. We’ll be together again, soon. For now, focus on this dream of yours. I have no doubt that, like the fish in my dreams, you will soar.”
My heart ached a little at her words, because I heard what she didn’t say, too. She missed me, but she knew something had happened to me at Bramlock. She knew I needed this time with Reese not just to study and overcome my injury, but to heal, to find my love for music again. My mother was a therapist, and I knew just as well as she did that her daughter dropping out of college a semester before graduating, moving home, changing her entire wardrobe and shaving her head didn’t just happen without cause.
There was a reason. And she knew it.
It had to hurt her, to see her daughter hurting, struggling, and not be able to help. She was doing everything she could within the realm of what I’d asked of her. That was what I loved about her most — she respected me, and my wish for her to let me deal with it on my own. I assured her I would tell her more one day, when I was ready. And thankfully, she hadn’t pressed.
She was my supporter, even when I couldn’t give her all the answers. My warrior. My one and only teammate.
I stayed in bed once we ended our call, eyes on the ceiling and fingers dancing over my crystal. I wanted to believe my mom when she said everything would be okay, that I would achieve what I set out to when I came to Mount Lebanon, but inside, I heard my own voice questioning every aspect of it.
Could I really overcome my injuries and play the way I used to? No, play better? Could I get to Carnegie Hall without the normal trajectory most people take to get there? Could I hold myself to Reese’s standards, or were all his warnings about how impossible this all was a glimpse into my future?
I didn’t have the answers for any of it, and being in a new town with a part of my family I usually only visited at holidays, I didn’t have any comfort, either. Nothing was familiar. Nothing felt like mine.
The bed I slept in was Aunt Betty’s guest bed. The clothes I wore were the ones I begged my mom to take me to get after I got home from Christmas break, when I was determined to hide away, to not be seen. My hair that I once loved and spent hours grooming was now gone. I was in a town where I was the new girl, but not even in a way where anyone cared. I was just passing through, a guest, and to top it all off, I was a guest who didn’t fit in.
My wolf told me I would never make it without him. He wanted me to believe I had to give up my mind, body, and soul if I wanted even a chance at sitting on that piano bench in New York City. I told myself when I left Bramlock that I didn’t believe that. I told myself I could do this without him.
Now, I wasn’t so sure.
I sighed just as a soft knock rapped on my door, and Aunt Betty creaked it open a few inches, making sure I was decent before she let herself all the way in.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, a sweet, genuine smile on her face as she folded her hands in front of her. It was odd how much of my uncle I saw when I looked at her. It was as if spending years of their lives together had combined them slightly, like they were one person cloned instead of two individuals. “Was that your mom on the phone?”
I nodded. “Yeah, we were just catching up a little. I told her about my first lesson with Mr. Walker.”
“Ah,” Aunt Betty said, crossing the room until she sat at the foot of the bed. “And how was that first lesson?”
“It was… interesting.”
She smiled at that, as if she knew that answer was coming before I gave it to her. “Well, Reese Walker is interesting, isn’t he?” She sighed. “That boy has been through a lot, what with everything that happened to his family. And then there’s…” She paused, fingers floating up to her lips like she wanted to physically stop her next sentence. “Well, he’s just had to endure a lot of hea
rtache in his life. Poor man. But he sure does seem to throw all of that hurt into his music, doesn’t he?”
I sat up, leaning my back against the wall of pillows. “What happened with his family?”
My aunt’s brows bent together then. “I’m not sure that’s my story to tell, but I bet he will talk to you about it. When he’s ready to.”
I nodded, both of us falling quiet as I thought back through the videos I’d watched of Reese. They were mostly recent ones at The Kinky Starfish, and none of them really offered much detail about the man playing. I was sure I could get online and do some searching for his family, but the thought of invading his privacy like that made my stomach knot.
I knew what it was like to be invaded, and I never wanted to impress that feeling upon anyone else.
“Sarah?”
I blinked, snapping back to the moment. “Hmm?”
Aunt Betty’s eyes softened, her hand reaching out to touch my arm. Even though I saw it coming, I still flinched involuntarily, and that made my aunt frown more. “I just want you to know that your uncle and I are so happy to have you here, and we love you very much,” she said. “I know it must be hard being away from your mom, and from your school… and I just wanted to say if there’s anything I can do to help you get acclimated here, don’t hesitate to tell me.”
The way she spoke, I wondered if she’d overheard my conversation with my mom on the phone. Did she hear me expressing how I felt in their home, in their town?
It hit me then that out of place was the last thing I should be feeling when my family had reached such a gracious, welcoming hand out to me.
“I know,” I said, squeezing her hand where it rested over my arm. “Thank you so much, Aunt Betty. I couldn’t do this without you and Uncle Randall helping me.”
“Oh, posh,” she said, standing. “You could. You’re the most determined young woman I’ve ever known. I would be scared, if I were Reese Walker.” She winked. “He’s certainly not prepared for Sarah Henderson.”
I chuckled.
“Anyway, wash up and come to the dining room. I made the most fantastic vegan spread.” She smirked. “Much to your uncle’s disdain.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I offered with a cringe. “I could have cooked my own.”
“Don’t be silly. Your uncle and I could both stand to eat a little better, anyway. Lord knows we’ve had enough dairy and meat to last a lifetime.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Aunt Betty. For everything.”
She just winked again, closing the door behind her when she’d gone.
I peeled myself out of bed and into the guest bath, washing my hands and splashing some cool water on my face. When I looked in the mirror, dabbing the water off with a towel, my eyes skated over the young woman staring back at me — the smooth head, the dark skin, blotted with freckles and completely free of makeup, the high cheek bones and thick lips.
She somehow felt years older than the girl who had stared back at me in December.
I wondered if I’d ever see that girl again.
CHAPTER FOUR
* * *
Sarah
I went back to Reese Walker’s house the following evening, and this time, I was alone.
I thought my hands couldn’t shake more than they did when I stood on his porch, waiting for him to open the door after I knocked. I thought I couldn’t get any more nervous than I already was to be alone with him — a man. An older man. An older man who could easily overpower me, if he wanted to. And I thought my stomach couldn’t wind up any tighter than it already had as I drove across town to his place.
But when he opened the door, every sensation doubled.
Everything about Reese’s presence was large — his stature, his muscles, his energy. His hair was swept back in a loose, knotted-like bun, a few strands falling behind his ears, and he was dressed like he’d just gotten home from school — khaki pants, hunter green button-up, the sleeves bunched at his elbows. He smiled, stepping aside to let me through the door, but all I could do was stare at the space with my feet glued to his porch.
He’s not my wolf.
I tried to soothe my racing heart, tried to assure my labored lungs that there was nothing to be afraid of. But how could I be sure? I wanted to trust Reese, to trust anyone, but the truth was nothing had been earned yet.
And I’d learned my lesson about giving trust to someone just because of the position they held.
Reese cleared his throat. “It’s safe, I promise. Cleared out the boogie men right before you got here.”
I sighed at that, shaking my head at myself as I scooted past Reese and into his foyer. He shut only the glass door behind us, leaving the big door open so the evening sun could stream through the living room. I adjusted my messenger bag on my shoulder, offering him a timid smile.
“Sorry,” I said. “I get a little nervous in new environments.”
It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t necessarily a lie, either.
“Hey, no need to apologize. I think it’s smart of you to be wary of your surroundings. But, hopefully, I can make you feel comfortable the more we work together.” He slid his hands in his pockets. “Would you like something to drink before we get started?”
“Water would be nice.” My throat was still dry, hands clammy.
“You got it. I’ll meet you in there,” he said, pointing to the piano room. Then, he turned, leaving me alone in the foyer.
I took my time making my way into the room where his piano was, surveying the paintings on his walls and the lack of any personal photos. There was only one that I’d noticed, and I’d seen it two nights before during our first lesson — a photo of an older couple and a beautiful young lady that sat perched on top of his piano. Judging by the man’s strong jaw, by the smile of the woman to his left, and by the eyes of the young girl that stood in front of them, I could only guess that it was his family.
My aunt’s words from the night before had me staring at that photo a little longer this time.
I wondered what happened to them. I wondered if he’d ever tell me. The urge to search online to find out hit me again, but I subdued it, reminding myself that Reese Walker was a human just like the rest of us. I wouldn’t want anyone digging up information on my father when I could be the one to tell them myself.
It was unnerving, how much of our past could be exposed by a quick Google search.
I sat my messenger bag on the piano bench, trailing one finger along the wood before I crossed the room to the set of bookshelves by the window. They were small, only about twenty books or so filling them, and I eyed the spines with my hands folded behind me.
Agatha Christie.
Edgar Allen Poe.
Lee Child.
John Grisham.
Stephen King.
It was like a gathering of mystery and thriller, of horror and suspense. The bookshelves in my room in Atlanta were much different — brighter, lined with romance and poetry and fantasy. Of course, I hadn’t been able to read a single book since I left Bramlock. I tried, but every time I opened a story and started reading, I found myself rolling my eyes.
How could romance be real?
How could it be that someone could care about you enough to put you ahead of everything else in their life? How could it be that someone could touch you, kiss you, love you if you were like me — damaged, used.
Fucked up.
I once believed I’d find my prince, my one and only soulmate who would make all the pieces of my life fall perfectly in place. Now, the only love I believed in was the love I felt for the piano.
And even that relationship was strained now.
“Do you like to read?” Reese asked, his voice startling me a bit as he handed me a full glass of water.
I took a tentative sip, embarrassed by the way I jumped when he spoke. “I used to.”
“Used to?” He cocked a brow. “I’ve never heard of someone falling out of love with reading.”
&nbs
p; I shrugged. “Well, let’s just say I outgrew it.”
Reese was quiet a moment, and my eyes stayed on the books as his assessed me.
“What did you used to read?”
“Romance, mostly. Some fantasy. Poetry.”
He nodded. Then, he reached forward for one of the books on the top shelf — one with a large mouth on it, a broken-toothed smile.
“Read this,” he said, offering it to me.
I took the book from his hand, one brow lifting as I read the title. “Fight Club? As in, the movie with Brad Pitt?”
Reese scoffed. “Come on, now. As a fellow bookworm, I know you don’t believe the movie is ever as good as the book. Have you seen the movie?”
“No.”
“Even better. Just, trust me on this,” he said. “Maybe you fell out of love with romance books and fantasy books because you want something a little more real, a little less perfect, a little more messy. I think you’ll like this.” He thumped the hardback in my hands with his knuckle. “Plus, Palahniuk is a phenomenal writer. He’ll make you think.”
I smoothed my hand over the cover, and for some reason, a gentle ease came over me. I knew how precious all of my books were, and I couldn’t imagine offering one up to a practical stranger. It was a special gift to have a book purchased for you, but to have one lent to you, to have someone trust you to take care of a piece of art so precious to them?
That was rare.
“Thank you,” I said, turning back toward the piano. I slipped the book in my messenger bag, placing my glass of water on the coaster on top of the piano before I met Reese’s eyes again. “And thank you again for letting my uncle accompany me the other day. I’m sure that was a little out of the ordinary.”
“It didn’t bother me at all,” Reese said quickly. “Invite him any time.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
My eyes slipped to the piano, to where the wood panel covered the keys. I let my gaze wander over the rich wood, the smooth edges — and with every second that passed, I felt my heart picking up speed.
Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series Page 55
