by Mary Carter
Sing her pain . . .
What? Was he actually saying her songs didn’t count if she didn’t lose her dog, her truck, and her lover in the very first stanza?
But what if he was right? That’s what really got up her grill. He was right. Her songs did have less depth than a dog bowl. Wait. Was he saying her songs had less depth than a dog bowl, or she had less depth than a dog bowl?
Don’t listen to him, Gracie, her mom had said. She was having one of her “clear moments,” and she had noticed Grace was upset. Grace had read her the review. Jody had taken her hand and looked her in the eye. Your songs are wonderful. What does he know? Just be yourself.
Thanks, Mom. But what if she wasn’t good enough?
She shouldn’t think like that. Especially not here, on a free holiday. Her mom was right. It was enough that her songs inspired a smile or two. People loved entertainment. All she had to do was look around her. This was the epicenter of having a good time. People tango danced on the streets here! Plopped their boom boxes down on the cobblestone streets, pushed PLAY, and danced while the crowds cheered them on. They weren’t whining over lost dogs, or lovers, or trucks. If you dropped your gelato in Barcelona, you wouldn’t cry. You’d go back for more. Life to the fullest. In the moment. That’s it. Grace could choose not to let Marsh’s criticism bother her.
She was on holiday, and she was going to soak up the pain.
Spain, she meant Spain. She was going to soak up Spain.
To hell with pain. She wasn’t even going to think about it, let alone sing it. Tell the truth, Grace. She’d certainly had her share of pain. But she had no intention of using her mother’s condition or ripping open wounds from the past in the name of art. Where was the beauty or truth in doing that? Besides, the past was the past was the past. She’d worked too hard to put it behind her. Poor Little Match Girl.
Stop it, Grace. Empty your mind of all your worries.
She drank some more wine and soon felt warm and floaty. The sound of Spanish guitar music drifted over her. She loved Spanish guitar. She’d never tell Jake this, but there were few things sexier than handsome men playing the Spanish guitar. Of course she couldn’t see who was playing, so she didn’t know for sure that he was handsome, but once notes like that came out of a guitar, the player instantly became beautiful to look at as well. Seduction at his fingertips. A male siren song if there was such a thing. And why shouldn’t there be? I’ll crash on your rocks.... Grace laughed again. Okay, probably time to lay off the wine. The entire day was stacked up in front of her like sweetly wrapped gifts. Which one would she open first?
She might stroll down the street and look at the artists’ wares. She might make it all the way to the beach and dig her toes in the sand. The Miró Museum was down that way too, but she would go with Jake. She might meander the other direction and hit La Boqueria, the mesmerizing food market. Or, she might just sit here all day eating jamón and cheese sandwiches. In Nashville she’d be going to work just about now. Serving the drinks instead of drinking. She had never minded bartending on the side because she had known she wouldn’t have to do it forever. Just until she was making real money from singing. And she had truly believed that day was just around the corner. That is, until Marsh Everett came along. He’d ripped her belief in herself right out from under her. She knew she shouldn’t let him, couldn’t let him, but she just didn’t know how to repair the damage. He’d ripped open a gaping wound, and it was festering. No wonder she was thinking of Carrie Ann lately. Like her daddy used to say—“Bad news likes to hang out with worse news.”
“Would you like another glass of wine?” The waiter stood politely over her and smiled. Grace smiled back.
“No thank you. Have to keep on my toes in case that eagle-thing follows me home.” Grace pointed in the direction of the street performer, then noticed the waiter’s puzzled look. Nothing there but a tree. The eagle-thing was gone. She looked in 360 degrees, but there was absolutely no sign of him. How did a stilt walker vanish into thin air?
“Have you lost your friend?” the waiter asked.
Or my mind. “No. Do you remember that eagle-thing that was right there?” Grace pointed to the tree. “On stilts?” She lifted her arms as if they were wings. Why did she do that? The waiter looked more confused than ever. It was hard to do “stilts” while sitting down. “Or is he supposed to be Wolverine? A flying Wolverine?”
“Señora, you are finished here?”
“Yes. Gracias.”
He picked up her empty wine glass, but stood staring at her for several seconds. “You are American? On holiday?”
“Yes. It’s our third day.” Not that the waiter cared about the details of their itinerary. He seemed more concerned about her mental health. He glanced at the empty chair beside her. Then, he shot another look at the lone tree. He thought she had invisible friends all over the place. She had never realized how swiftly one could be labeled as “off her rocker.” Loco. “He’s in the room. Reading,” Grace said. “We agreed to just do nothing today.”
He looked at the empty chair and nodded. She held back a laugh; she didn’t want him to think she was laughing at him. “You are here in July,” he said. “Very, very hot.”
“Sí. Muy calientes.” She hoped she had said that right. Maybe he hated when tourists tried to speak Spanish. Especially since Catalan was the official language of this region, but she didn’t understand the difference, and rudimentary Spanish was the best she could do.
“Too hot for your visit.”
“I know. We didn’t have a choice.”
“You could choose September.”
“Right, right. I just meant my boyfriend won this trip from work. In a raffle. The dates were set in stone.” The look the waiter gave her was also set in stone.
“So, you are finished here?” he said again.
Finished. Soon forgotten. She almost missed the demented eagle. “Yes,” Grace said. “Finito”. She picked up her purse and stood. “Gracias,” she said again.
“You are most welcome,” he said. “Thank you for being finished.”
CHAPTER 5
Grace headed down the alley and took a right under an arched walkway. From there it was a short stroll down a second cobblestone alley to the entrance of their apartment building. Grace was thrilled with the location and the accommodations. Knowing how cheap the veterinarian group could be, she and Jake had been expecting a low-budget hotel, or even a hostel. So they were completely surprised that it was a furnished two-bedroom, two-bath apartment. A full-time tenant of the building had greeted them upon arrival with the key and basic instructions. When Grace walked into the lobby now, she found him sitting at the same desk as when they had arrived. It seemed he was the doorman. Who didn’t open any doors.
Grace gave him a smile, but his expression remained neutral. He was a short man in his early thirties, not much older than Grace and Jake. He had beautifully tanned skin and spikey black hair. His eyebrows were bushy, and his teeth crooked. He was half-beauty, half-beast.
“Hola,” Grace said with a smile. She wanted to ask him about the deranged stilt walker, and she was curious about who owned the apartment they were staying in, but the extent of her Spanish was saying “Hello” morning, noon, and night, and asking directions to restrooms, train stations, and libraries.
He openly stared at her. Just like the street performer. It was just cultural. She was a foreign object. “Bona tarda,” he said finally. God, everything about Spain was just so lazy and sexy. She loved it. She smiled and felt his eyes on her until she disappeared up the winding stairwell behind him. She opened the door quietly in case Jake was asleep. Instead, she found him pacing the living room, cell phone jammed in his ear. She couldn’t catch what he was saying. He turned, saw her, and shoved the phone in his pocket.
“Hey,” he said, wrapping her in a hug. “I missed you.”
“I was only gone an hour.”
He kissed her. “A lifetime,” he said.
&
nbsp; She flopped on the oversized sofa. The television was on in the background, tuned to the local news. She resisted the urge to lecture. They were in Spain and once again he was watching TV. But with all the other problems in Grace’s life right now, she certainly didn’t want to start a fight with Jake. Besides, at least it was foreign TV. It was always fascinating to watch the news in other countries. There was a beautiful female anchor in a red dress, and a handsome male co-anchor in a gray suit. They were smiling, so it must be the two-minute happy-news section of the program. The lull before the storm. That was the common denominator about news; it was usually bad.
“Who was that?” Grace asked. She propped her feet up on the coffee table. Jake took the seat next to the sofa, lifted her legs, and planted them in his lap.
“Dan,” he said. She was surprised. Dan had assured them he wouldn’t be constantly calling Jake while he was on vacation. Grace could tell from the look on Jake’s face that it wasn’t good news.
“What’s wrong? Is it Stella?”
“Stella’s fine. At least I assume she is. I didn’t even talk to Dan. I was just leaving him a message.”
“You called him?”
“I tried.”
“Why?”
Jake sighed, patted Grace’s leg. “Do you mind if I don’t want to bring this up right now?”
“Is there a surgery scheduled today that you’re worried about?” Jake and Dan were both skilled in emergency surgery, and it kept them both on their toes. But Jake could hardly help from here.
“No, it’s nothing like that.” Grace pulled her legs in and sat up straight. Jake was not the type to beat around the bush. “How was your adventure?” He was making an effort to sound upbeat.
“I drank Malbec in the middle of the street.”
“Yes.” He smiled and held out his fist. She bumped it.
“And was stalked by a shaggy mime on stilts. Or a deranged Wolverine-eagle.”
“Wolverine-eagle?” Jake perked up. Men.
“I wasn’t really sure who he was supposed to be.”
“When in Spain.” He tried to smile; it didn’t reach his eyes. Jake was such a handsome guy. He had ash-blond hair—but it was dark, like sand when you finally dig to the bottom—and big hazel eyes, and obnoxiously long eyelashes. His face was strong and suited his six-foot frame. She intimately knew all of his looks. He was definitely worried about something.
“Tell me,” Grace said.
Jake sighed, ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I really don’t want to alarm you.”
“Oh God. You just alarmed me.” Was there another criticism about her in Country Weekly? Jake was almost more upset by that review than she was. She loved how protective he could be of her.
Jake strode over to a small desk against the wall, where his laptop was set up. “I shouldn’t have read my e-mail.”
Grace couldn’t sit still. She approached his laptop. “You were supposed to be reading your novel.”
“I know. I know.” Jake gestured to his screen. His e-mail was open. “It’s from Dan. Read it.”
Grace leaned in as Jake enlarged the message.
Jake and Grace,
Just wanted to say hey. By now you realize I played a part in the surprise ambush! Like the vet group could actually raffle off a trip to Europe. You fell for it, buddy! Who’s getting married? Hope it’s someone you like, ha ha. If not, dump them and enjoy Spain with your gorgeous gal. Sorry about my part in the deceit. Do the tango for me! Adios!
Dan
“Surprise ambush?” Grace said.
“I knew there was something funny about that raffle. Didn’t I say it? Didn’t I say I couldn’t believe those cheap bastards paid for a trip?”
“You did. Verbatim.” And I couldn’t believe Dan would be so generous, Grace thought. There was no use throwing that in Jake’s face right now.
“A surprise wedding. Can you believe it?”
It was hard to believe. Was this part of some elaborate proposal Jake was planning? Just last month, when they were at the mall, he had stopped at the window of a jewelry store. “Would you say you’re more of a gold or a platinum girl?” he’d asked her.
“Are we talking records?” she teased. “Definitely platinum.”
He had laughed, and that was all that was said on that matter. Did he bring her here to marry him? In Spain? Grace felt a rush of excitement.
“Why are you smiling?” Jake said. He seemed so serious. If this was a surprise engagement, he was doing a good job of hiding it.
Yes, she thought. I’ll marry you. Maybe outdoors? At Park Güell? She’d seen pictures, and it was gorgeous. Or the beach? Or in the middle of La Rambla? Could they get permission to get married at Sagrada Família? Probably not. They weren’t even Catholic. And even if that didn’t matter, the famous unfinished cathedral would probably cost them a fortune. Heck, just about anywhere in Barcelona would be special.
They could get married in front of a gelato shop for all Grace cared. They could get married on stilts. Stick their betrothed heads up from dinner tables and collect money for the honeymoon. This was kind of like the honeymoon already. Situate themselves near tango dancers so they could double as the entertainment. Grace could even put fake snakes in her hair or wear a dress made out of recycled bottles. Something to really remember the day. Would she change her name? Maybe Grace Sawyer wasn’t country but Grace Hart was. It would be a brand-new start.
Would she get a wedding dress here? Wait. Would her mother be well enough to fly out here? Maybe a wedding would give her a burst of energy. Grace couldn’t imagine getting married without her parents. “A surprise wedding,” Grace said. “Very exciting.”
“It doesn’t make any sense. Who do you think it is?”
“I don’t have a clue.” She hoped Dan would bring Stella. She could be the little ring bearer. Shoot up the aisle on her skateboard.
Jake opened his arms. “Is it wrong that I’m annoyed with this?”
“Oh,” Grace said. Jake wasn’t that good of an actor. Thoughts of her surprise Spanish wedding evaporated. “What did you say in your message?”
“I just told him to call me back ASAP.”
“What time is it in the US?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t even think before I called. It just—kind of freaked me out, you know?”
“Maybe it’s a client.”
“You think?”
“Some woman at work who is madly in love with you?” Grace said.
“And so they invite me and my girlfriend to Spain?”
“Good point. Still—could be someone from work. Someone grateful that you saved Fido—”
Jake laughed, and Grace was relieved to hear it. She always referred to every dog he worked with as Fido and every cat Fluffy. She loved that he still laughed at it after all this time. See? In life, it was the little things.
“I can’t think of any clients who are engaged,” Jake said.
“Maybe it’s a canine wedding. That would be hilarious. Know any betrothed poodles?”
Jake wrapped his arms around her. Kissed the top of her head. “No, I don’t know any betrothed poodles. Just a couple of lovesick beagles.” They both laughed. They kissed again before Jake moved away. He was so good to her. He loved her. And boy, did she love him. She trusted him more than any man she’d ever met. She couldn’t marry him when he didn’t know the truth about her childhood. And maybe he wasn’t going to ask her in Spain, but they would get married someday. She should get a jump on things by opening up to him. She should tell him about Carrie Ann. She should have told him a long time ago. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t. Of course she didn’t want to be judged. She didn’t want to be pitied either. Not that Jake would judge or pity her. What was it then? Maybe the part of her that still wanted to keep Carrie Ann to herself. And of course, there was the shame. Shame had a way of silencing people. She would definitely tell him about Carrie Ann during this trip. But not this very minute. He w
as way too distracted. He went to the window, parted the curtain, and glanced out, as if he might be able to spot whoever summoned them here. “Besides—even if someone I know is engaged,” Jake continued, “why would he or she pay all our expenses?”
Because they know we’re broke? Grace’s only paying job was bartending, and, even though Jake and Dan were doing well, most of the money went back into keeping their business going. “Maybe they’re filthy rich.”
“Well, that eliminates our clients, all family members, and my friends,” Jake said.
“It’s definitely weird,” Grace said.
“So—what? We just wait around until we hear from this mysterious couple?” Jake said.
“No,” Grace said. “It’s their responsibility to get in touch. This is still our holiday, and I don’t want to waste a second of it. Let’s just go about it as we initially planned, and wait for the happy couple to reveal themselves. If it’s someone we like, we’ll go to the wedding.”
“And if it’s someone we don’t like?”
“We’ll disappear. This is Barcelona, baby. Plenty of places to run and hide.” Run and hide. Just like she’d been doing most of her adult life. Just like Marsh Everett thought she was doing with her songs.
Jake rubbed his hands. “So much for our day of doing nothing. I’m energized now.”
“Me too,” Grace said.
Jake took Grace in his arms again. “I think we’ve no choice,” he said. “Plan B. We’re just going to have to go out and do something.”
“Such a heavy burden,” Grace said. “Gaudí, Miró, or Dalí?”
“How about the beach?” Jake said. “I want to see you in your bikini.”
“Can we drink wine on the beach?” Grace said.
CHAPTER 6
After a lifetime of dreaming of tango dancers, and tapenades, and trendy shops, and sexy Spanish men on every corner turning to give her bedroom eyes, here she was, in the thick of it, and unable to enjoy any of it. Instead, Carrie Ann was virtually a prisoner in this flat. She couldn’t even dream of doing anything until she saw Grace. She’d been pacing the flat, fanning herself with whatever was handy.
