Can't Stop the Music (The Soul Mate Tree Book 2)

by C. D. Hersh

  Anthony needed to tell her face-to-face about Kelly. Not be ambushed by a jealous ex.

  He dialed Rosemary. Still no answer. He left another pleading message to see her, and told her he wouldn’t be at school. Then he hung up and headed to Kelly’s room.

  As he entered, he bumped into the doctor coming out.

  “You must be Kelly’s dad.” He held his hand out.

  He shook the doctor’s hand. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “We got her appendix out in the nick of time. The darn thing burst in my hands as I placed it on the surgical tray. She’s a lucky little girl. A week in the hospital to be sure her incision is well on the way to healing and there’s no infection, and she can go home. She’ll need to be careful until the stitches are removed. Otherwise, I don’t expect any complications. Everything went well.”

  Expelling a whoosh of air, Anthony pumped the doctor’s hand. “Thanks. That makes me feel a thousand percent better.”

  When he released his grip on the doctor’s hand, the surgeon clapped him on the shoulder. “Go home and get some rest. Your daughter is in capable hands.”

  The suggestion sounded good. Every muscle in his body ached. However, until he saw some rosy color in Kelly’s cheeks, no way would he leave. The only problem was he wouldn’t be able to talk to Rose.

  When the telephone stopped ringing constantly, Rosemary rewound the answering machine. Anthony’s voice, pleading for her to pick up, pricked her heart like shattered glass. He sounded sincere and distraught.

  Had Susan embellished on what she saw at the hospital? He’d told her he was divorced. He claimed he had proof. And she had told him she didn’t want to know about his past relationships when he wanted to talk about them. If she were being honest with herself, in the clear light of day, after two long, unhappy nights without him, she should at least give him that much credit.

  Should she trust him enough to listen to any further explanations if he produced the divorce papers? Even if she did, divorce papers didn’t explain the ring.

  Susan would say she shouldn’t. However, her vehement rant on dating married men seemed a bit personal. Rose wasn’t sure she should trust her judgment on this matter.

  She replayed the last recording, jotted down the number he left, and stuffed the note in her purse. She’d think about it. Time and distance from the anguish might give her more clarity.

  Susan pounced on her as soon as Rosemary entered the teacher’s lounge.

  “DeMarco’s not coming in today. When I was in the office earlier, getting a contact list of booster parents, I heard the principal call for a sub.”

  “I know.”

  “You talked to him?”

  “He left me a message.” She dropped her purse on the table where Susan sat. “A lot of them.”

  “Stick to your guns, Rosemary. He’ll try to weasel his way back in.”

  She stared at Susan, marveling over the bitterness in her voice. “Just because a man hurt you, doesn’t mean Anthony is like that.”

  “Do you hear yourself? You’re defending him just like you defended Principal Patrick. Where did that get you?” She shook her head, leaned closer, and whispered, “Trust me on this, Rosemary. He’s married, and you need to stay away from him.”

  “He says he’s not. He claims he’s divorced.”

  “Have you seen the papers?”

  “He wants to bring them over and show me.”

  “Ask him to explain why he had on a wedding ring he tried to hide from me.”

  Rose dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her temples where a headache pulsed. “I’m so confused. I want to believe him, but the ring doesn’t make any sense to me. His only excuse was, ‘It’s complicated.’”

  Susan snorted. “Complicated my ass. He’s playing you, Rosemary, and it’s time you wake up, smell the stink of his lies, and move on.”

  The fifteen-minute bell rang, filling her with relief. Susan’s battering wasn’t helping. Scooping her purse from the table, she stood. “Thanks for the advice, Susan.”

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  Rose bit her tongue. Friends were for holding you up, not tearing you down. After their conversation, she felt lower than a drummer’s foot pedal. And just as beaten.

  At lunchtime Rosemary slipped into the main office and dialed the number Anthony left. A woman’s voice answered.

  “St. Vincent Hospital. Second floor nurses’ station. May I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Anthony DeMarco,” she said. “He left this number and said I could reach him here.”

  “Just a minute. Let me see if I can spot him.”

  The line filled with innocuous, elevator-style music. She recognized Barry Manilow’s ‘Ready to Take a Chance Again’ and burst into tears. She’d put everything on the line with Anthony—her love, herself, her body. Before he came back to her, life was okay, but not spectacular. Not the mind-blowing, surrealism of this weekend. Though her heart hurt badly, she wanted him. Wanted the passion he’d brought to her life.

  The music cut out as the nurse came on the line. “I can’t find Mr. DeMarco. Do you want to speak to his wife?”

  For a split-second time stopped as she considered the question. Then she squeaked out, “No!” and hung up.

  The office secretary jumped as she slammed the handset onto the cradle. “Is everything okay, Miss Sterling? You look awfully pale.”

  Covering her mouth with her hand, she mumbled through her fingers, “No. I think I’m going to be sick.” Then she bolted for the teacher’s bathroom and locked herself in the last stall.

  Dry heaves choked her as she desperately tried to assimilate the conversation. His wife? Someone at the hospital claimed to be his wife?

  Rose knelt on the gray and blue speckled tile floor and laid her forehead on the wall of the cold, metal enclosure.

  What kind of crazy double life was Anthony living?

  Chapter 20

  As Anthony passed the nurses’ station on the way to the room from his late lunch at the cafeteria, the nurse on duty stopped him.

  “Did your wife mention you received a call earlier?”

  The question almost knocked his knees out from under him. Rosemary was the only person who knew where to reach him. “Did they say who they were?”

  “No. When I asked her if she wanted to speak with your wife instead, she responded ‘no’ and hung up.”

  He grabbed the edge of the desk wall to steady himself. “You suggested she speak with my wife?” The words warbled like an electric guitar’s volume control in a strung-out rock ‘n’ roller’s hands. He scraped his hand over the hair dipping across his forehead, then gripped the long strands at his neck with desperate fingers.

  The nurse had unintentionally screwed over any chance of convincing Rosemary he didn’t have a wife. He needed to get to her now and explain everything before anything else went haywire. He headed to Kelly’s room to check on her before he left.

  “You look like crap,” Gloria said as he entered the room.

  “Thanks to you.”

  “Me? What have I done?”

  He crooked his finger at her and led her to the hallway. “Besides lie to the whole hospital and our daughter, and make me lie to the most wonderful woman I ever met?”

  Gloria raised her eyebrows at him. “You’ve got a girlfriend?”

  “Don’t act surprised. I’m single. Did you think I’d wait around moaning over losing you? Kelly, yes, but you—not a chance. Now because you told the whole hospital I’m your husband, just so you could cover your butt with our daughter, I’ve got a crisis I have to settle with the woman I love. Somehow I’ve got to tell her about you two and make her believe I’m not still married.”

  “Sounds as if I wasn�
��t the only one keeping secrets if she didn’t know about us.”

  He scowled at Gloria. “Don’t even go there.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about all this. Honest. Why don’t you just show her the divorce papers?”

  “I’ve already mentioned them. She wasn’t convinced. Besides, they show I was divorced three years ago. Because the nurse asked if she wanted to talk to my wife, she won’t believe three-year-old divorce papers.”

  Gloria gave him an I’ve-got-an-idea look. “Do you have last year’s tax forms?”

  “I’m not trying to show her how much money I made.”

  “They’ve got your current marital status on them and the number of dependents you claim. You can’t claim me as a dependent if you’re not married to me. Only an idiot would lie to the IRS. And you’re not an idiot, Tony.”

  Her backhanded compliment surprised him. Perhaps she’d changed over the years. “It’s worth a try. If nothing else, I’ll stack up more proof on my side.”

  Anthony entered the room and stood beside Kelly’s bed. “I’ve got to take care of something, baby. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He bent and kissed her forehead.

  “Okay, Daddy. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He loved Rose as well. He would not relinquish what they had, the love they’d waited for so long. The kind of love he had for her was worth fighting for. And he would fight.

  For over an hour Anthony stood in front of Rosemary’s house ringing the bell, pounding on the door, pleading for her to open up even just a crack so he could talk to her and slip her the papers which would prove his innocence. His impassioned requests met with either silence or shouts for him to go away.

  The next-door neighbor, who’d chased him off the other day, parked himself on his front porch, tapping his baseball bat on the edge of his wooden rocker. As darkness descended the old man shouted, “She’s not letting you in, sonny. I think you’d better skedaddle for the night.”

  “You gonna call the cops on me?”

  “Not if you go peaceable-like.”

  His hand sore from pounding and his voice hoarse from calling through the door, he retreated to his car and started the engine. The old man, apparently satisfied he was leaving, went inside.

  Anthony drove home and checked his answering machine for messages from Gloria. When he found none, he returned to Rosemary’s house, parked his car in a new spot across from her door, and settled in for the night.

  The first streak of dawn broke over the windshield and woke him. Stretching, he exited the car and straightened his rumpled clothes. Then he climbed over the chain link fence, sneaked into the backyard, and peeked in the open kitchen window. The scent of coffee wafted through the screen.

  Good. Rose was awake. Now all he needed was to figure out how to get her to open the door. He hopped the fence and returned to the front of the house, running different scenarios through his head.

  A boy on a bike, with a bag of rolled-up newspapers hung from the rear of the seat, stopped in front of the house and dismounted. As the paperboy started up the front sidewalk, he stopped him.

  “Are you delivering Miss Sterling’s newspaper?”

  The kid nodded. “She likes the paper on the stoop. I ring the bell so she knows it’s here.”

  “I’m headed there. I’ll take it for you.”

  The boy studied him. “You look familiar, mister. Do I know you?”

  “I’m Mr. DeMarco. The high school band teacher.”

  “Oh, yeah. My brother plays in the band. He told me about the cool version of The National Anthem you played on your first day at the high school.” He held the paper out. “I guess it’ll be okay if you deliver Miss Sterling’s paper.”

  Anthony took the paper and gave the kid a dollar tip.

  “Thanks!” He mounted his bike and rode away.

  When he could no longer see the delivery boy, he strode across the walk, laid the paper on the stoop, and rang the bell. Then he hid, out of sight, to the side of the door.

  As soon as she bent to retrieve the paper, he leapt from his hiding place, forcing her into the house. When he secured the door, he backed away, holding his hands in the air.

  “I just want to talk, Rose.”

  She pointed at the door. “Get out or I’ll scream.”

  “If you do, you won’t hear my explanation.”

  She crossed her arms, closing herself off, but didn’t scream. “Are you going to tell me Susan lied? Or the nurse at the hospital?”

  Encouraged she opened a dialogue, he pressed forward with an explanation. “Yes and no.”

  Her mouth twisted in disgust.

  He hastened to add, “She did see me with a wedding ring on. However, she doesn’t know the whole story.” He drew the divorce papers from his rear pants pocket. “I’m divorced. Have been for several years now. These are the papers to prove I’m telling the truth.” When she didn’t take them, he opened the document, smoothing it out on the entry table. Pointing to the lines pronouncing him divorced, he declared, “Look.”

  She inched forward, glancing at the writing. “Those could be fake.”

  He flipped to the page with the official seal. “They’re not.”

  Whirling away from him, Rose headed for the kitchen. He followed. “If those papers are real,” she said over her shoulder, “why did the nurse say I could speak to your wife?”

  He pulled his tax return from his other hip pocket.

  “She didn’t know I’m not married.” He thrust the form at her. “See? Single.”

  She glanced at the papers then handed them to him. “Still doesn’t explain why Susan saw you wearing a wedding ring at the hospital. Was the sick relative a lie?”

  “No.” He broke out in a sweat. If she couldn’t believe official papers right in front of her, how would she ever believe the ridiculous ploy Gloria cooked up? His stomach roiled. For a second he thought he might hurl.

  “Then why did the nurse say I could speak to your wife?”

  Grabbing her shoulders, Anthony turned her to face him. “This is going to sound crazy, but I swear every word is true. My daughter is who I visited Saturday night. She had an emergency appendectomy. She was crying for me, so my ex called me to come to the hospital.”

  “Your daughter? Oh, my gosh, Anthony. Is she okay?” Her face crumpled in sympathy, then hardened. “You didn’t tell me you had a daughter.”

  “For crying out loud, Rose.” His voice rose in frustration. “I wanted to tell you about her, and my ex, but you kept insisting we not talk about the past.” He brought the volume down. “I had planned to tell you Saturday night. Susan Markham beat me to it. With incorrect information, I might add.”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t let you talk.”

  The hard lines of her face eased a bit, as did the knot in his stomach. Was she finally hearing him?

  “However, you still haven’t explained the wedding ring.”

  “Our divorce was messy and loud. Kelly was staying with her grandmother during the proceedings. We wanted to protect her from all the stress. She was only four at the time. When I went to pick her up and bring her back home to explain about the divorce, Gloria had already run off with her. I’ve been looking for them ever since.”

  Her face softened, and he pressed forward. “I didn’t know until Saturday night Gloria kept our divorce from Kelly. When I got to the hospital, Gloria wouldn’t let me see my daughter unless I put on the wedding ring and pretended to still be married. She didn’t want to be the bad guy. What should I have done? Walk away? Kelly had been crying for me. Gloria carried her lie about us into the hospital and told the staff we were married. She thought someone would slip and say something to Kelly.”

  Compassion flooded Rose’s face. His anxiety
level dropped. He stepped toward her, but she backed away, bumping into the sink.

  He shoved the divorce paper and tax form into her hands. “I know the story with Gloria is unbelievable, but you can’t ignore this physical proof. I’m not going to lie to the IRS about my marital status.”

  She took the papers, her gaze cutting from the documents to him. “I don’t know, Anthony,” she whispered in a voice as shaky as her fingers. “I have to think about this. I want to believe you, but your story is out there. I mean, what kind of mother would lie like that to her child?”

  “An insane woman. A vindictive woman. A woman who thinks about herself first.” He sighed, the emotion in the action ripping his chest. “She’s Melody all over again. I was—no, I am—glad to be rid of her. Please, Rose. You have to believe me. I love you, and I want what we had. What we have. I want to be your soul mate, forever. The man who will love you unconditionally.”

  A breeze billowed the café curtains at the kitchen window. One of the pots on the windowsill fell onto the counter, shattering. She swiveled toward the sound, stopping mid-movement. Suddenly, she bolted toward the kitchen door.

  “Rose,” he shouted as she ran past him. “Where are you going?”

  Rosemary skidded to a stop at the edge of the lawn, falling to her knees in the grass. In the center of the yard, where she’d buried the Woodstock memorabilia and leaves, stood a replica of the tree she’d seen at the music festival.

  The large, gnarled tree dominated her minuscule yard. Light green leaves on the spreading branches rustled in the wind, tipping their silvery bottoms to the sky with each breeze.

  She sank onto her heels, dazed, and stared at the apparition in front of her. Anthony squatted on the ground facing her. “What is it, Rose?”

  “That wasn’t there last night.”

  “What?”

  She raised her hand toward the center of the yard, uncertain if she gestured to empty space. “The tree.”