“Beth?”
She starts, her jaw hanging open.
“Can you bag for me?”
“Oh, right. Sure.” She gives me odd looks the whole time, which I suppose I deserve.
Sighing, I try to focus on the task at hand. There’s a song in that whole conversation, or there should be, but I’m not in a mood to write it because it deserves to be funny. Yet as I scan my customer’s box of cake mix and premade frosting and colored decorating goo in a tube, The Beatles’ “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” is what plays in my head.
All I feel is confused.
Chapter Seventeen
I stay as late as possible at work, then drag my feet leaving. I’ve lucked out in one regard. The store got crazy busy after Jared and company left, so Beth never had the chance to bug me with questions. But my luck is about to run out. I already have a text from Hannah.
OMGWTF! I hate u, cuz. Why were u holding out on me?
Unsure how to respond and yet tempted to try it all in abbreviations, I stick my phone away. I’ll deal soon enough.
Dean’s Pizza is a five-minute walk from Milk and Honey. That means five minutes to brace myself for what’s sure to be an onslaught. It’ll be even worse if Jared’s there. I sit on the bench outside Milk and Honey, resting my elbows on my knees and wracking my brain for snappy explanations for my silence, but none come to me.
Next to the bench, a community bulletin board hangs on the wall. I’ve walked past it countless times, noticing the flyers and photos stuck to it but never truly seeing them. I read them now as I procrastinate. There’s a schedule for the community theater’s summer performances; advertisements for a photographer, a doggy daycare, and housepainters; a drummer offering lessons. And a notice about The Bean Factory’s open-mic nights.
I swallow and turn away. Something in me is tempted, drawn to the idea of it. But I call it desperation and bid it to leave me alone.
My stomach rumbles, assaulted by the smell of food from every direction. I might as well get this over with. I’ll have to answer Hannah’s questions eventually, so I’ll just hope Jared and Mike aren’t there, too.
And Zach. Oh, boy. This could be epically uncomfortable.
As I walk, the setting sun turns the sky a brilliant orange-gold, and a chilly breeze sweeps in from over the ocean. I pull a light sweatshirt on. Along the beach, the gulls swoop low and prance around on the sand, which they have mostly to themselves. The sun worshipers have all left. Now only couples stroll along the water’s edge or people walk their dogs, and the last few children hurry to finish their sandcastles. Someone’s blaring a classic-rock station and my stride changes to match the rhythm of Janis Joplin lamenting Bobby McGee.
It’s not my favorite Janis song. That would still be “Piece of My Heart,” despite how I made it my anti-Jared anthem. But, as I listen to the lyrics to “Me and Bobby McGee” this evening, I get them in a way that reverberates right down to my bones. Finally, I understand the yearning to trade one’s tomorrows for a single yesterday. Me and my trifecta of loss could have written this song if I were only half as talented.
I sing along under my breath as I approach Dean’s. The pizza place is surprisingly busy for a Thursday, and the heat from all the bodies and the brick oven roasts me. Clamping down on my tongue, I press deeper inside and search for my family, my stomach knotting in anticipation of the dinner conversation.
But I don’t see Hannah, or anyone else, anywhere. I wade into the crowd that stands in line to order slices, and pop into the table seating in the back, but still no family. Confused, I return to the front of the restaurant and pull out my phone. It’s almost eight. Lisa said they were going to meet at seven-thirty. Did they change plans and forget to tell me? They can’t have finished already.
Or did Jared convince them to leave without me, like he did with the movie? He’s probably angry with me for blurting out our past in Milk and Honey.
Giving up, I step outside and text Hannah. While I wait for a response, eighties pop assaults my eardrums, and I dredge up Janis’s voice in my head to keep me company.
Two minutes. No response.
Five minutes. I’m going to kill someone.
I call the house and get no answer. I should have known something like this would happen, so I go to the counter and buy my own pizza before my stomach eats itself.
Another three minutes later and I’m sitting outside at one of the plastic tables with a slice of veggie lover’s and a bottle of Pepsi. All at once, it’s gotten darker. The children are gone from the beach. The sky glows turquoise, and the clouds form indigo stripes that slash through its iridescent perfection. Besides pizza and the usual ocean smell, a scent of sugar hangs in the air—cotton candy and taffy. The evening is sweet. Even the cool air feels heavy and ripe with promise as it blows my hair around.
I think some more about the open-mic night, try to picture myself performing, and doing it well. I’ve played at plenty of piano recitals; this shouldn’t be any different. Yet it is, even if it’s only in my head, and I don’t know why.
Pushing these thoughts aside, I eat quickly before my pizza gets cold. When I get up to dump my plate in the trash bin, a familiar blond head catches my eye—Nikki. She’s heading down to the beach and doesn’t see me.
Nikki wanted to go to the gala in my place, but my dad said no. At least he had that much sense. Yet silly me had assumed she’d return to Connecticut with him anyway. I’m shocked my aunt and uncle allowed her to stay. I mean, my dad’s only gone three days, but who wants his overtanned, underdressed secretary hanging around without him? They must have been too polite to bring it up.
So the bigger question here is: did Nikki not go to dinner with everyone else?
I take a swig of soda, watching. In defiance of the chilly breeze, Nikki wears a bikini top and a wrap-around skirt. She stops and turns, clearly waiting for someone.
Zach appears in my sight a moment later and catches up to her. Aha. Jared had said something about Zach getting stuck talking to Nikki earlier, but there’s nothing sticking him to her now except his own free will.
Ew.
I think of April and smile as an idea takes hold. Operation Bust Nikki is back on.
Keeping my sights focused on Nikki’s bright pink bikini, I creep along the road and close some of the distance. So long as there’s enough light, I can take pictures if she and Zach are up to anything skeevy. And this is Nikki. Of course she’s up to skeevy.
They cut across the sand to a rockier section of shore. I’m dying to hear what they’re talking about, but even if it weren’t for the flapping of my flip-flops or the jumble of voices around me, I’m too far away. I weigh the benefits of creeping closer with the odds of being spotted. James Bond, I am not.
Then Nikki stops and Zach leans in for my perfect shot. It’s almost cliché. Two people on the beach, surrounded by seagulls with the ocean behind them—under normal circumstances it would be a totally romantic photo. But when is my life normal? I’m like the world’s lamest paparazzi, chasing non-famous, boring people.
My fingers fumble over the phone. Zach’s hand is on the small of Nikki’s back, practically grabbing her butt. Gross. He touched me with that hand. He kissed me with those lips. I want to wash my mouth out with soap.
Yet five seconds and three photos later I have my evidence. Thanks to the dim light, the pictures aren’t great, but it’s clearly Nikki locked at the lips with some guy. My dad will have to see the light now. He’ll have to do something. And neither April nor I will have needed to dye Nikki’s skin blue to accomplish it. Not bad for a couple minutes’ work.
My hands shake from the thrill as I put my phone in my bag. Still no return text from Hannah, I notice. Well, whatever. I ate, avoided awkward conversations and succeeded in busting Nikki. I’d call that a win.
I st
and with my hands tucked into my sleeves for warmth, watching them for another minute. I guess I hadn’t needed to be so sneaky after all. They’re totally oblivious.
They seem to be having fun too. Normal, right? People are supposed to like kissing each other. Except I never liked kissing Zach, although I tried, so I suppose that’s why I don’t feel hurt. Just relieved that I don’t care. And victorious.
I rub my neck, which begins to tingle with that weird sensation that says someone is watching me. Probably someone thinking I’m a perv for spying on the makeout session. I turn and discover Jared standing several feet away. Surprise renders me mute. I gape at him, wondering how he found me.
Jared smiles kind of awkwardly. “I’m not the reason you didn’t come in to Dean’s, am I?”
“I went to Dean’s. You guys weren’t there.”
“We were in the far back room.”
Far back room? I thought I’d checked them all. Maybe my subconscious missed one on purpose. “I didn’t see you. No biggie. I ate by myself.”
And if that doesn’t sound loserish....
“Ah, I saw you leave. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”
I shrug. “Just didn’t see you. Anyway, it’s Hannah’s questions that I’d rather avoid.”
“Yeah, good luck with that. She put me through the third degree. I’d have headed out before dinner, but Mike wanted to go. Actually, I think what he really wanted was for me to have to confess everything. But either way, he’s my ride so I was stuck.”
My phone chooses that moment to blast a few bars of a Paramore song. Hannah. Finally.
We’re done. Too noisy. Didn’t hear u. Where did u go?
Figures.
“Hey, is that...?” Jared’s squinting at Nikki and Zach.
“My dad’s so-called secretary and your roommate? Yup. It’s a like a herpes medication commercial.”
Jared’s lip twitches. “Sorry.”
“For what? My dad being an idiot?”
“Well, that too.” He coughs and kicks at the ground. “Your dad didn’t waste much time, did he? That sucks. I’m really sorry about your mom. I know we didn’t exactly get along, but....”
A lump rises in my throat. I pick at my calluses until it’s safe to speak again. “Thanks.”
We stand in silence for a minute. My mind races, wondering what I should say or if I should simply leave quietly.
Then Jared makes the choice for me. “What about you and Zach?”
“Me and Zach aren’t anything that belong in the same sentence together.”
“Oh.” He stares at them a little longer and I try not to stare at him. “I should have kicked his ass on Saturday for what he did to you.”
“I told you, he didn’t do anything. At least, he didn’t have the chance to.”
“Good. ’Cause even if he didn’t do anything, he’s still an asshole.” Jared tucks hair behind his ears in defiance of the breeze. “Lisa told me he harassed one of her friends last year.”
“He did? She never told me that.”
“I think she didn’t want to say anything to you in case her friend had made a bigger deal out of it than it was. But yeah, apparently Zach’s not too good at taking no for an answer.”
I stare stupidly for a minute, then decide I really don’t want to follow that train of thought. Thank you, Lisa, for not warning me.
I nod toward the coffee shop across the street, Jared nods back, and I take off too quickly, unable to bear the thought of walking next to him on the beach
“Claire.” Habit slows my feet down enough that Jared catches up to me by the door. “This afternoon. What I said...”
While he pauses, I hurry to the counter. “Medium house blend, please.”
“Same,” Jared says and puts down the money before I can dig out my purse.
“I can afford to buy my own coffee.”
“But can you graciously accept when someone else offers to buy it for you?”
I’m not sure what he means by that. “Fine. Considering you made a fortune by telling the world I dumped you for a car, two dollars for a coffee is the least you can buy me.”
I’m expecting a sarcastic remark, but Jared keeps quiet.
I add milk to my cup and offer the pitcher to Jared. He shakes his head. “Since when do you take it black?”
“Tour.” Jared puts a lid on the cup. “It’s crazy hours, and I’d take coffee however I could get it. I had to learn to drink it black because sometimes that was the only way it came. I like it better that way now.”
“Oh.” I sip my coffee. I’m curious about touring and everything’s he done in the last two years, yet it hurts too much to ask about it.
“I never thought that song would be the most popular one on the album,” Jared says as we wander back outside. “I always thought of it as bit of a toss-away. Surprised the hell out of me when everyone else loved it.”
“That makes two of us then. I don’t get it, either.” At dusk, the gentle roar of the ocean is so calming. It brings out the honesty in me. “I take that back. I hate the song, but I get why people like it. It’s got a good hook. It’s weirdly relatable. I get it, really. There’s just much better songs on your album—‘Misery’s Company’ has a more sophisticated style, and ‘Slammed’ has much better guitar work.”
“You listened to the album?”
“Of course. I had to see what other lies you were spewing about me.”
“I had to vent.”
“Understandable, but did it have to be so public?”
I’ve let Jared lead me onto the beach. Sand seeps between my toes, and I grit my teeth and bear it. I can do this. I can walk on the sand with Jared. We can have a normal conversation. This is all good for me—therapeutic or something. Part of the healing process.
Then the wind whips his hair in his eyes, and he pushes it away, and I’m staring at him, tasting my heart in my mouth. I am so not over him, and I never will be if this keeps up. He’s too close and so far, and I can’t handle the combination. If there’s any chance of me getting over him, he has to be far far.
I hear Kristen’s voice in my head: remember the peanut breath, the eyebrow hair, the slacker school ways, the...
Wait—what else was there on the top-ten list? I can’t remember.
Jared stops abruptly. “I didn’t expect that would be the first single released, or that it would get so big. I never gave out your name. Except for a few friends who know the truth, I always kept it vague when people asked. When it all happened, I felt so bad and so stupid. I kept waiting for your name to show up online or in some tabloid.”
“So did I. People talked back home, but Kristen and I spun a story. I’m just surprised it worked so well.”
“Yeah, I know. The one about an old friend helping with the lyrics?”
I choke on my sip of coffee. “Yeah. So you did hear about that?”
“Heard? I confirmed it on my end. I really did try to protect you.” He grimaces. “I figured you knew how I write songs. I hoped you’d know I didn’t mean it literally. I’m really sorry.”
I rub my toes together, irritated at the sand stuck between them. Yeah, I knew. But it was still personal, still a nasty swipe. I don’t know how to respond, though, because his apology shocks me. It must not be too late after all, because it makes me feel better to hear it.
I hold my cup between my hands until the heat is almost unbearable. If I could only transfer some of that warmth down into my freezing feet. “When are you leaving?”
Way to sound hopeful.
“Not sure. I have to be gone soon because Mike’s real roommate is moving in, but I still wouldn’t mind your opinion on a couple songs. And Hannah said something about your band playing next week? I’d stick around for that.”
&nbs
p; “You would?”
“Yeah.” He sounds surprised that I’d doubt it. “I told you—I want to hear you play. Besides, how can I pass up the chance to tell people that I taught you everything you know?” He smiles, trying to goad me, but everything in me turns to ice when I think about the band.
I take a deep breath. “Well, it’s not happening. Band broke up.” My throat threatens to close up on me just from saying it.
“When? Why?”
“Last week. ’Cause everyone else is going off to college, and it’s kind of hard to stay together when you’re spread across four states. So.” I shrug and my coffee splashes around in the cup. “It totally blindsided me. I was so stupid, and I don’t know what to do now. I thought we could make it work, but they don’t care enough to try.”
“That really sucks. You guys were good. It was all you, I’m sure, but it was good.”
“How do you know?” I’m not sure whether to die of shock, embarrassment or happiness.
“I might have stopped by your site a couple times over the years.”
It’s a good thing the breeze has temporarily died down because it might have knocked me over. “What do you mean it was all me?”
Jared laughs. “Just that. I could hear you in all of your clips. That was your writing, your sound, your influence. Come on, Claire. Just because I haven’t talked to you in a couple years, doesn’t mean I don’t remember you. Your band didn’t break up, because you are the band. Am I right?”
I shrug again. Although I might have done most of the writing and arranging, it was a collaborative effort. Most importantly, my bandmates were equal partners in performing. I couldn’t have done that alone.
I try my best to explain that while my coffee gets ever colder.
“What exactly about them do you need to perform?” Jared asks.
“Them.” I don’t know how else to put it. “I’m not capable of doing that alone.”
“You think that why?” When I don’t answer he shakes his head. “You don’t need to rely on anyone else. You’re plenty capable of holding your own, musically and otherwise. I thought you’d figured that out.”
Another Little Piece of My Heart Page 18
