“No, Lys.” I chuckle. “I didn’t see Madame Eunea.”
She pouts and stomps her foot. “Aw man!”
“But I did see the price tag in this information packet,” I add, tilting it toward her. “Sweetheart, I know you really want to go on this trip, but $2,000 is a lot of money. I’m not sure I can—”
“Mom, relax,” Lyssa cuts in. “I already thought of that.”
I blink. I hadn’t expected her to already be hatching a backup plan. “You have?”
“Uh, yeah,” she retorts. I balk at her sass. She arches a brow, as if the solution is staring us both in the face. “I know you can’t afford something like this.”
Okay. Ouch. Where is this arrogance coming from? No sooner does the question cross my mind than an acidic feeling coats my throat. Evelyn. I don’t care how rich or famous Grayson’s family is. My daughter is not turning into some spoiled brat.
I clear my throat and give her my best glare. “Excuse me, young lady, but how do you know what I can and can’t afford?”
Lyssa rolls her eyes. “Mom, you change jobs like, every other week. You don’t have a car. And we still live with Aunt Megan.”
My jaw goes slack and I fight the lump in my throat. What? Is this really what she thinks? I’m a job-hopper who can’t afford to keep a roof over her head?
Why not? It’s true.
“I thought you liked living with Aunt Megan?” I thank God when my voice comes out calm, if a bit shaky.
Lyssa’s eyes widen and she sucks in a breath as her top teeth catch her bottom lip. I do, it’s just. . .” She turns away so her long hair hides her face. My heart lurches in my chest and I lean forward to place a hand on her knee.
“What, baby?” I wait a beat, but Lyssa sighs, combing her hair behind her ear.
“Never mind. It’s not important.”
I scoot closer and take her hand. “Honey, if it’s upsetting you, it’s important.”
Lyssa bites her lip and peeks at me through her curtain of hair. “I wish I could have friends over, and I didn’t have to ditch every party early because of the stupid bus schedule and—”
“Lyssa,” I interrupt. “You can have friends over. Aunt Megan said—”
“No, I can’t. They already make fun of the fact that we live in an apartment, but if they saw it?” She shudders. “No way.”
I frown. When did she become self-conscious about the apartment? Sure, it isn’t in the best shape, but it isn’t a shack.
Every time I turn around, I find something else she doesn’t like about her life. I hate it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lyssa shrugs, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “It’s not like you can do anything about it.”
I bite my lip. “I could—”
She stands up. “Besides, it doesn’t matter, I already decided. I’m gonna ask Grandma and Grandpa for the money.”
My hands tremble and the room tilts, but I clench my fists and exhale. Apparently, I need to teach my daughter a lesson in materialism.
“You most certainly will not,” I shoot up and place a hand on her shoulder. She gapes at me.
“What?” she gasps. “Why not? They have the money, they can—”
“Lyssa,” I say sternly, squatting so I’m closer to her level. “I know how exciting all of this must be.”
“Mom,” Lyssa moans.
“And believe me, honey, I want you to go as much as you want to be there, but an expense like this is not something you just ask for.”
Lyssa stares. “But Grandma said she would give me anything I wanted. And I want to go on this trip.”
I place my fingertips on my temples and close my eyes. Of course Evelyn would say that. And of course Lyssa would take it literally.
How does she not understand the concept of working for what you want? Oh, right. Ever since she met Evelyn Thomas, she hasn’t had to.
Ugh. Why did I let her back into our lives?
Because you didn’t want to risk what might happen otherwise?
True. But I don’t want her turning my daughter into an entitled heiress either. Even if, as far as Evelyn is concerned, she should be.
“Lyssa,” I repeat. “This is not up for discussion.” I flip through the packet again. “Look, it says right here there are all kinds of fundraising opportunities for those who need a little extra help with the finances.”
Lyssa growls and stomps her foot. “But Mom, I don’t need help. I have Grandma and Grandpa!”
The school is nearly empty, and I exhale through my nose as we head for the door.
“Alyssa Margaret, enough. If you want to go on this trip, you’re going to have to earn your way.”
“That’s not fair!” she shouts, marching behind me. “All my friends have parents who can pay for them, why can’t I—”
“Well, honey, our family isn’t like your friends’ families.”
“It could be!” she protests. “If I lived with Dad, he would’ve already said yes!”
I freeze a few steps from the door. Sweat dampens my palms and I wipe them on my skirt.
Oh, no. No, no, no. I knew it would come to this. Grayson insisted it didn’t matter, but I knew better. My daughter thinks I’m a failure.
My heart palpitates to the rhythm of Getting Married Today from Company. “Wh-what did you say?” I rasp, whirling to face her.
Lyssa deflates, but I don’t miss the tears swimming in her eyes as her spine straightens. “We talked about it already. Grandma and Grandpa and Dad said I could stay with them any time I wanted.”
My ears ring. “Lyssa,” I choke out. This time, I can’t hold back a sob. My vision blurs as hot tears leave sticky foundation and mascara tracks along my cheeks. “Sweetheart, please, let’s talk about this.” I try to step forward, but she sniffs, shakes her head, and dodges my touch.
“I’m calling Dad to pick me up,” she says, voice a few octaves lower and clogged with tears as she fishes her cell (another gift from Evelyn) from her dance bag. “You go ahead, don’t miss the bus.”
“Lyssa, I—” But she ignores me, dialing Grayson’s number. I stick around long enough to hear him pick up but can’t bear to relive the argument as she explains. With one last, solemn glance at my daughter, I push open the door and step outside.
“Catie! Catie!” Grayson’s steps thunder over the sidewalk a few minutes later, and I up my brisk walk to a slow jog. I can’t deal with him right now. Whenever I turn around, he’s giving me that look. The one where his eyes go round and his brows dip downward and his head cocks to the side.
“The Look” has followed me since I left rehab. On top of everything else, it doesn’t help to feel like some porcelain china doll who everyone’s terrified will shatter the moment they turn their backs. Ugh. Thinking about it makes my skin crawl. Never mind the endless stream of condolatory questions and comments.
“Can I do anything?”
“I’m here if you need me.”
“Do you want to talk?”
Shut up already!
“Catie, wait up!” Glancing over my shoulder, I groan.
Grayson never could take a hint, but I’ve been walking for ten minutes, and I thought I lost him blocks ago. Since Lyssa isn’t behind him, I assume he told her to wait in the school once he arrived and found out what happened. Turning one final corner, I make a beeline for the bus stop. The 7:20 is screeching to a halt. I climb aboard before the doors open all the way and maneuver through the wall of passengers to a window seat, resting my head against the cool glass.
I know he wants to help and he didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But no, I don’t want to talk. To Grayson, or anyone else. I want to go home, take a scalding hot shower and—my phone vibrates in my pocket. Sighing, I pull it out.
Five missed texts. All from Megan. All within the last thirty minutes.
7:02 Megan: Where are you guys?
7:05 Megan: I’m making Lyssa’s favorite for dinner
&n
bsp; 7:15 Megan: Um, hello? Isn’t her class over by now? You guys get lost on the bus?
7:18 Megan: Earth to Catie. U OK?
Ugh. If I go home now, she’ll grill me. That’s the last thing I need.
But if not home, where?
A glance at the tank top peeking out of my tote gives me an idea. I scroll through my contacts. I need a distraction. I need to get out of my head. And I need to do it with someone guaranteed not to bring up this whole Lyssa disaster.
One number catches my eye. I let my thumb hover over her name for four heartbeats. Then I take the plunge.
The line rings, high and sharp. Once. Twice. Three ti—
“Hello?”
I beam as her voice echoes through the speaker.
“Hello?”
My fingers clutch the sides of my cell as words stick in my throat. God, what am I doing?
“Is someone there, or?”
No, please don’t hang up.
“Addie?” The word is hitched, syllables filled with gravel and barely louder than a dog whistle.
The line goes quiet. Crap.
Did she hear me?
The aching is back, and this time it has brought suffocation with it. My closes up and tears blur my vision. If she doesn’t speak, my emotions might swallow me.
“Catie?”
Oh, thank God. The disbelief is unmistakable, but right now, I don’t care. Her voice helps me inch back from the edge of the cliff.
I guess some things never change.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” Addie echoes. “Um, what’s up?”
I let out a breathy laugh. “Not much.”
“Are you okay?” She hesitates but the question still sends a warm flood of energy through my limbs. Strange, how it’s not patronizing when she says it.
“Not really,” I admit, sniffing. “But I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Oh.” Then static.
Uh-oh. Did she hang up on me?
“Well,” her voice floats through the speaker again and my shoulders sag. “I have something that might cheer you up.”
“Yeah?” Good luck. Still, it's sweet of her to try. “What?” I rock forward as the bus lurches.
“We finished going through the audition applications yesterday,” she says. My heart picks up. “You should be getting a phone call before tomorrow night.”
“Really?” I mean it as a squeal, but it comes out sounding suspicious.
Addie hums. “Yep.”
“That’s great, Lyn, thanks.” And it is. Lyssa and I fought about my needing a better job, and Addie’s handing me a callback on a silver platter. A buzz runs through me. It’s not made of enthusiasm. Tiny beads of sweat flatten my bangs against my forehead. Don’t mess this up. One misstep and I might as well be plunging Juliet’s dagger straight through my heart.
“Really?” Addie asks. “Because it doesn’t sound great.”
I sigh and rest my forehead on the seat in front of me. “No, it is.”
“But?”
I sit up and take a deep breath. Now or never. “Listen, I could use a distraction. Are you up for an adventure?”
A pause. The shock radiating through the speaker is palpable. “Um, sure. What did you have in mind?”
I pull the phone away and send off the address with a whoosh. It pings on the other end. “Meet me there in an hour?” I ask, bringing the cell back to my ear. “I need to head to the library first.”
Addie laughs. “Sure. What’s over there?”
This time, I smile for real. “You’ll see.”
“In twenty-five feet, turn left,” intones my GPS.
I frown. There’s barely anything out here, save for a strip mall and a few late-night eateries. Not what I thought Catie meant by adventure. I glance at my dashboard one more time, but the little yellow arrow keeps blinking, daring me to turn into the barely-there gravel driveway to my left. It’s in shadow thanks to the overgrown redwoods flanking its path. I guess those trees haven’t gotten the fall memo yet. Still, is this where Catie wants to go? Pulling up her text, I cross-check the address with the one I punched in. A perfect match.
“Turn left here.” All right, all right. I’m going. Damn. When did my GPS get so pushy?
My forehead crinkles, but I flick on my blinker and swerve onto the street. I drive until the shadowy foliage thins out to reveal a parking lot leading to a cluster of stores. A few collections of cars crowd the front rows. As I circle to find a spot, I scan the neon names above the buildings, many of them half lit or missing letters. A shoe store, a few bargain clothing outlets, a deserted Italian restaurant. About the only one that doesn’t look like an exterior from the set of a cheap-ass western movie is the hibachi place taking up the biggest piece of the block. Every single light is on and people stream through the doors like they’re turnstiles at a roller coaster.
Well, that can’t be it. Catie hates sushi. Being a strict vegetarian ever since she visited the zoo with her first-grade class, she and I have gotten into more than a few arguments over the merits of eating raw seafood.
My gaze skips over each possible venue, and still nothing. There’s not one place here Catie would ever step within a hundred yards of, let alone—
“Lyn!”
My head snaps to the right. Catie’s coming toward me from a few blocks down. I forget to breathe.
As she walks, her blond hair, pulled back into a high ponytail, swishes over her bare shoulders, rhythmic and fluid as a metronome. A bright red gym bag slung over one of them thumps out a steady beat in time with her hips. Her white tank top accentuates her toned arm muscles and exposes an impressive six-pack. I swallow a whistle as my gaze travels down. The street lamps highlight her thin, but sculpted ballerina legs, covered by a pair of red sport-shorts. Her skin has lost some of its sun-kissed tone, but the rosiness in her cheeks makes her more breathtaking.
“You okay?” she asks.
“What?” Fuck. “Oh, yeah.” Thank God, it’s dark out. My dark skin makes it harder for people to tell when I’m blushing, but from the hot flash overtaking my senses, I’m breaking all the laws of physics. I gesture to her outfit as sweat beads on the back of my neck. “You look great in gym wear.”
Catie ducks her head but offers a sly smile that sets my heart fluttering. “Thanks. You may be a bit overdressed.”
Overdressed? I roll my eyes and turn a scoff into a chuckle. “Gee, thanks.” Pinching the hem of my faded Billy Elliot shirt between my fingers, I grin. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. All I had to go on was ‘adventure’.” I put air quotes around the word, makes Catie giggle. The sound making my nerve endings tingle.
Am I missing something here?
“You’ll be fine.” She reaches out with an upturned palm and I try not to grin like an idiot at the current of electricity skipping up my arm as our fingers lock.
“Okay.”
She leads me toward the section of storefronts I’d thought were abandoned. “Where are we going?” I ask. Crickets chirp as our feet pound against the pavement.
Catie winks and gives me a conspirative grin. My stomach flips. She points to the single lit building in the center of the left strip.
Shooting her a look, I cross my arms. “Ha, ha, very funny.”
But she smiles wider, tugging on my arm. “I thought you were up for an adventure!”
I stumble forward, still half-attempting to turn the scramble of letters into something else.
What the actual fuck?
Even with the AC blasting in this tiny gym, my loose-fitting T-shirt has become a sticky ball and chain. The twenty other women struggling not to press against one another is not helping the humidity situation. After faking my way through eight rounds of fancy footwork, not to mention the jump roping, lunges, and leg-raises combined with medicine ball sit-ups, my jeans might rip open. Note to self: Denim is not made for boxing. Then again, neither am I. It hasn’t been an hour, and my diaphragm burns like Hellsworth forced us throug
h eight consecutive run-throughs of Les Mis with no water break.
Halfway through our second round of sit-ups, Catie catches me looking over at her. “Fun, right?”
I fake a smile. Fun? Are you fucking kidding me?
Catie winks, never breaking her rhythm. Since when did she get so good at this? And how the hell can she keep going without falling over? I lock my jaw and push harder, pulsing to the beat of the ’80s techno blasting from the instructor’s Bluetooth speakers.
I hate ’80s music and sweating, but anything you can do, I can do better.
Or not. My legs are on fire.
When the instructor finally tells us to rest before we launch into work with the gloves and “technique pads”, I sit up and dive for the complimentary water bottle they handed out at the beginning of the class, downing most of it in one gulp. My breathing is still raspy and shallow when something thin and jittery dances along my shoulder. I whirl around and thrust my right hand outward to slap it away.
“Watch it!” Catie’s blue eyes go wide as she scrambles backward. “Save the hitting for the pads, not me!”
“Dammit, Catherine!” Letting out a long breath, my shoulders sag as I take another swig of my water. “You scared me!”
“Sorry.” She laughs and takes a sip of her own water bottle. “You like it?”
“Um, uh.” I’m dying here. Can’t you tell?
Her forehead is drenched in a sheen of sweat and her hair is damp. She looks the same way she did when she used to run straight into my arms after nailing a difficult dance sequence and posing to thunderous applause. Down to the stray tendrils of hair having slipped out from her updo to fall over her eyes. Radiant. Powerful. Flawless. Perfect.
A spark of wanton coils in my stomach. My feet shuffle across the floor and I sweep her curls behind her ear. My fingers tingle as they brush over her temples. I try not to smile when she shivers beneath my touch.
“Lyn, what are you doing?”
Her cheeks pinken, and my heart does a tiny cartwheel. I allow the tantalizing warmth buzzing in my core to cloud my common sense for no more than a millisecond, inching one of my feet closer. Her eyes dart over my face, an ocean of emotions raging behind them. My palms itch with the urge to cup her cheeks, but she steps back. Her gaze darts to the floor and she shakes her head.
Duet Rubato Page 5
