Just One Song

by Lynn, Stacey

  He takes another deep breath and leans back, his voice lower and huskier. “I know I've said this before, but it was cool as shit when you had no idea who I was the other night. I got to just be me – even after Mia ratted me out. It's not often, if at all, really, over the last few years I've felt like that with any one, except for maybe my band."

  He makes me sound like a buddy and I’m not sure why that disappoints me.

  "They seem like really great guys," I reply in between bites of my delicious pad thai lunch while I think about what he just said. I can't think of anything else to say with all he disclosed to me, but I’m glad that my earlier impression of him was correct and that he isn't the guy Mia reads about it. Listening to him talk, and hearing the sincerity in his voice, makes me totally believe him. I glance at him occasionally, but mostly keep my head down and finish my food.

  “Where are you from?” I ask eventually, mostly to break the silence. He chuckles and I’m pretty sure he’s laughing at me again.

  “What?”

  “I forget you don’t know anything about me. I’m not often asked that, but since you did, I’ve lived my entire life in Los Angeles.” He gently runs a hand through his light brown hair and smiles at me. His eyes are sparkling, and I almost cringe at knowing he’s bemused with my social inadequacies.

  I’m guessing anything people want to know about him can be found on Google. I bet he has dozens of fan pages set up all over the internet world with all of his most personal information.

  Eventually, we finish our meal in more comfortable silence peppered with questions about his family and mine, although I try to steer him away from asking questions about my family and listen to him mostly talk about his.

  “Tell me more about your sister."

  Zack snorts a little bit thinking about her, but his eyes instantly light up. "Sammy's twenty-two and an accountant at a firm in Palm Beach, she just graduated from UCLA this past Spring. She's also my biggest fan and my biggest annoyance. But she doesn’t treat me different and still gives me crap just like always, telling me when my songs suck, or when I’ve gotten caught making an ass out of myself." As he tells me more about his family, I learn that Zack's dad left when he was ten years old and he’s had no contact with him since. The more I listen, the more I like him. Others may see Zack and see a rock star. I simply see a laid-back, kind and incredibly attractive man. And I feel….safe with him.

  I clear the plates from the table when we’re done eating. "Would you like some coffee?"

  "Yeah, let me help me."

  "No, that's okay. It'll just take me a minute, go have a seat in the living room and make yourself comfortable. I'll be right there." I start a pot of coffee and load up the lunch dishes. When the coffee finishes brewing, I take two cups to the living room. I smile to myself when I see Zack looking at a stack of photographs from my most recent photo shoot. The little girl is five years old and one of the most precious little children I’ve photographed. She has this long blond hair full of bouncing curls and the widest blue eyes I have ever seen. She’s surely going to be beautiful when she grows up. Besides her physical beauty, the entire family was friendly and easy to work with. I probably have more perfect shots with them than any family I’ve photographed yet.

  "Coffee's ready," I quietly say to get Zack's attention.

  "Wonderful. Thanks, Nic." He takes his coffee mug from the tray and I sit down on the couch facing him.

  “These pictures are incredible.”

  “Thanks. That family was easy to photograph.”

  He holds up a photo and shows it to me with a slight grin. It is one of my favorites and needed almost no editing. The little girl’s mom had just taken her hand and they were getting ready to stand up and start walking away from me over an old wooden bridge towards the sunset. The dad is standing just off to the side, facing them. The lighting was perfect, and in the moment where the mom reached for her daughter’s hand, I caught the look. You can practically see sparkles coming from both mother and daughter’s eyes. And in the background, the dad is smiling down on both of them with a look of utter admiration and love. It’s the exact shot I try to get with all my clients. It’s the real affection a family has when they see one another.

  “This is it.” I appreciate instantly that Zack sees what I see. “It’s absolutely mesmerizing; the way this girl looks at her mom. You’re incredibly talented.”

  “I think in this case it was all due to the family, but thank you.” I sit quietly, drinking my coffee while Zack finishes flipping through the rest of the photos.

  Eventually, he looks up at the bookshelves lining my wall and nods toward the pictures. "Is that your family?"

  Without waiting for my answer he walks toward a bookshelf filled with photos. Some are of Mia and me in college, and my parents and me growing up. But most are of with Mark and Andrew. I tense as he scans them all wondering what he’ll ask.

  I feel heat on my neck and cheeks when he picks one up and turns to me. It’s a photograph of me as a young pre-teen girl, complete with glasses and braces. I look hideous and the only reason I have the photo showing is because it was the last time I saw my grandma before she died of cancer. He bites his lip to contain his laugh but a sound escapes sounding much like a hiccup.

  “Is this you?”

  “Spare me,” I say, while laughing at his horrified expression. But his eyes are sparkling and I’m starting to really like it when he looks at me like this. “Tell me you never went through an awkward phase.”

  He sets the picture down and turns to me. His eyes are full of mischief. “I am a rock star. There is no such thing as an awkward phase for guys as cool as me.”

  I roll my eyes and smile. He’s lying. I can totally see it in his eyes, but I let it go when he turns back to the photos because I know he’s soon going to ask me about the ones with Mark and Andrew. I can practically hear the Jeopardy theme song counting down as it nears the time to decide what to tell him. I feel safe with him, but can I trust him? Does it matter anyway?

  “I take it these are your parents?”

  "Yes, they’re pretty great.” I smile tightly and wipe my sweaty hands down the sides of my thighs. And it’s like he can sense my sudden tension, because he just picks up a picture and brings it over to me; sitting just far enough on the couch to give me space, but it still feels a little bit intimate. I’m not sure how I feel about being so close to him with that picture in his hands. It’s as if he knows – that this one photo is the reason why I’m such a huge mess. I wipe my hands and blink quickly several times unable to take my eyes off of it.

  “Who is this?” He sets the picture down in between us and leans forward a little bit to face me.

  We sit in silence for who knows how long while I stare at the photo in between us. I know it’s awkward, but I’m internally debating how much to tell, when to tell, how to even begin to tell him what happened. And he’s just watching me, patiently waiting. I admire it beyond belief that he would give me the time and space I need to either speak or not. The decision is mine.

  It’s subconsciously made for me when I quietly blurt out, "It's my husband and son."

  "You're married?" His mouth drops down almost to his knees.

  I shake my head in response.

  I study his expression. I watch him as he sighs and leans forward again. One hand briefly rubs the back of his neck before returning to his knees. His hands clasp together and he looks like he’s figured it out. “You’re divorced.”

  Except he’s so very, very wrong. I take a deep breath to tell him the truth. To tell him the words that took me six months to say out loud. I know nothing will prepare him for the words I’m about to say, so I don’t bother softening them.

  "No. They're dead."

  His entire body freezes. Tears bubble to the surface of my eyes as I bite my bottom lip in an effort to hold them back. No such luck. I wipe my cheek when I feel one escape while I completely avoid his gaze.

  "What?"


  "Please don't make me repeat it." I can’t look at him. I sniff my nose, wipe my eyes and once again try to stop tears from falling. I feel the weight shift on the couch and a hand on my lower arm.

  "I'm so sorry, Nicole. I had no idea...God, I'm so sorry...I knew there was something.” His voice trails off when I snap my head in his direction.

  “What?” Confusion covers every feature on my face.

  Zack looks at me intensely. So seriously I can feel it from my toes to the tips of my fingers and I don’t understand how I can be so physically affected by another man when I just told him what happened to my family. “You’re sad…but too proud to show it. Your laugh doesn’t reach your eyes, ever. You sometimes seem scared, but then strong enough to fight through it. It’s impressive and amazing watching you.” He pauses and the hint of a smile reaches his lips, “And Mia may have mentioned she’d skin me alive if I hurt you. She said you’re in a pretty vulnerable place.”

  I am briefly annoyed at the warning from Mia. She had to have known I wouldn’t like her saying anything about me. It’s a true warning though; she’d bring major physical harm to anyone who hurt someone she loves. But it’s not her warning that causes me to blush.

  I can feel the crimson heat travel up my neck onto my cheeks. Zack has just admitted to watching me…closely. “You make me sound like a puzzle.”

  He chuckles softly. Even in the stress of the moment and the little information I just shared, I like it. “Maybe you are, a little bit.”

  I cock my head to the right. Silently thankful that he’s taken my mind off what we were talking about before. I wonder if it was his plan.

  “What happens once you solve the puzzle?”

  A devilish grin appears, playfulness in his eyes. “Frame it, hang it on my wall, and keep it forever?”

  Forever. I swallow down the cough in my throat before I can do or say something idiotic to ruin this moment. I don’t even know how to take it. But I know I feel entirely too warm, hot, sitting next to this man who can so easily disarm me.

  Zack has been able to put me at ease or make me feel tied up in knots with a single look ever since I met him. Right now, thinking of what I just told him, and how he’s looking at me with so much compassion and sorrow filling his eyes; I’m tied up in a thousand knots.

  Zack looks back down at the picture and then up to me. “Can I ask what happened?”

  I don’t answer. Instead, I stare at the picture. It was taken at my parent's lake. Mark and Andrew had just got back from fishing and were on the dock holding their catch. Andrew was still in his pajamas, and they had a look of one hundred percent pure innocent joy on their faces as they held the fish stringer full of the perch and sunfish in front of them. Mark is kneeling next to Andrew with his dorky fishing hat and swim shorts, one arm thrown over his son’s shoulder and the other holding an end of the stringer. He looks amazing and so proud.

  I pick up the picture and caress the faces that I miss every day with all of my heart. I hold the photo reverently in my hands as if just holding it could make it break into a hundred pieces. "This is Mark and my son, Andrew. I took this at my parent’s house just two weeks before they died."

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “Yeah…they are. Or were.” I walk over to the windows along one wall needing some space and more time to figure out what else to say. For several minutes I just stare out over the city. My view is amazing, and one of the main reasons I bought this place. I can practically see the entire city from here, including a park where I take my photography clients. The view calmed me the instant I looked at this place and right now, I need it to calm me again. I place one hand on the warm glass, hoping it will help.

  “Mark and I met in college during our sophomore year. Mia is actually the one who introduced us. It took one cup of late night coffee and I was done for. After that night we were inseparable. We were married two weeks after college graduation, bought a house in the suburbs, and Andrew was born less than a year later.

  "Last summer, Andrew was playing baseball and the night of his last game, I had the flu and couldn't go watch. After the game, they stopped at Dairy Queen to celebrate and on their way home, a car crossed the yellow lines. The impact from the SUV threw Mark's car into a ditch rolling it several times. They died instantly." I don’t go into the specifics of the horrific photos I saw of the crash. The way that Andrew’s car seat was thrown from the window of the car because it apparently hadn’t been installed correctly. I close my eyes and try to forget the agony and wretched scream that left my mouth when I collapsed onto my knees the first time I saw their bodies in the morgue. I can still hear the noise today; a noise that sounded more like an animal than anything that could have ever left my lips. I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger in an effort to calm myself down before my emotions take over completely.

  "Oh shit....." I cut him off by holding out a hand telling him to stop but not turning my face away from the windows.

  "I don’t want your pity, Zack.”

  His skin is warm when he places his finger on my jaw. I flinch slightly from the contact but he doesn’t let go. I’m not even sure I want him to. With his thumb, just barely touching my chin, he pulls my face towards him gently until we’re facing each other. Pure genuine sadness covers every one of his features. I bite my inner cheek to keep my tears, and all the emotions I’m feeling for him at bay.

  “I don’t pity you, Nicole. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve gone through.”

  I lean into his hand, thankful he didn’t pull away. It’s as if he senses I need someone to touch me; to hold me and to soothe me, but too much would scare me away. Eventually I take a small step back, instantly aching at the loss of contact with him.

  “That sound check of yours last week was the first time I've been out, socially, besides just my dinners with Mia. I didn't mean to cause such a scene, the music was just so overwhelming for me and brought back so many memories of Mark...we used to love going to concerts. That song you sang….” My voice trails off as I wait for him to realize which one I’m talking about. The one that caused me to run out of the stadium like a lunatic. “The night of the accident, they were dancing that song in our living room right before they left for Andrew’s game.”

  I watch as understanding finally fills his eyes. “That’s why you don’t listen to music anymore.”

  I nod sadly. It’s a part of it, but I leave the rest alone for now. He knows my reasons for my hesitancy over the last few days. It’s all out there, well, most of it is, but the rest can come with time. Except, he’s leaving and there isn’t time, so a part of me is glad I didn’t share too much. This is more than I have told anyone since the accident and I’m amazed I am not more of a wreck.

  Maybe I’m healing more than I thought.

  "The night of your concert was the first time I realized that Mark would want me to go and have fun. It was the first night since the accident that I had gone out and danced again with Mia."

  "Who knew a Zack Walters concert could be so therapeutic."

  I laugh silently and shake my head. He has no clue how right he actually is. “I'm surprised you haven't run out of here yet. You didn't come here to hear all my baggage."

  “You don’t scare me.” His voice is gruff, and just above a whisper. “I’m here because I wanted to see you again.”

  “Why?” I ask, and then want to smack myself again. I don’t want to sound doubtful or insecure, but I can’t help myself. I’m not particularly beautiful, or special.

  Zack smirks at me again and shrugs a shoulder. “I wanted to solve the puzzle.”

  “Did you?”

  He shakes his head and smiles, but it’s a different smile than I’ve seen yet, and I feel it….everywhere. “Not even close.”

  Without missing a beat, he takes one of my hands and leads me back to the couch. The gesture equal parts comforting and protective. Like if he holds on to me, we’ll both be stronger. I don’t bot
her questioning why I suddenly want that hand around me. It just feels right.

  And it scares me, just a little, that I don’t feel scared.

  Hours later, after we sit and talk more about Mia and his best friend, Brian, and even some stories of Mark and Andrew, I know our time is coming to a close. Soon he’ll have to head on to their next stop in Chicago

  “What time do you leave tonight?” I choke the words out, because honestly, what I realize is the last thing I want to do is say good-bye to Zack. Not after the day we just had. I want something more from him and I shake my head briefly in disappointment with myself that I would allow myself to think this way.

  “Our bus leaves in a few hours. We’ll drive to Chicago overnight and get there in the morning.”

  There’s an awkward pause where I want to thank him for coming, or thank him for listening, or for not running, or giving me the most fun experience I have had in over a year. But nothing comes out, because what I really want to say was, ‘don’t go.’

  I struggle to not say something completely stupid when I watch him take a hand and rub the back of his neck. Back and forth, slowly, with his eyes closed. He looks like he’s trying to solve the problem of world hunger in my living room.

  “I shouldn’t say this.” Nothing good ever comes from a sentence starting that way. And he still looks nervous. “After everything you told me today, I’m not sure….”

  I had been waiting for this moment. The moment when the reality of the baggage I carry with me scares him away. He’s trying to figure out a way to get out of my house without hurting me. At least he’s a nice enough guy to try to come up with some excuse.

  I drop my eyes into my lap and resign myself to him getting ready to walk away. I don’t bother analyzing why the thought hurts me. I’ve only known Zack for a couple of days, but there is something about him. Something that makes smiling easy. And I like it.