The Heart That Breaks

by Inglath Cooper

  “This is my friend Ann-Elizabeth and Henry. We’re going to practice some music.”

  Mom walks over and sticks out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ann-Elizabeth. And Henry.”

  Henry’s tail thumps against the tile floor. “Does Henry like peaches?” she asks, looking at Ann-Elizabeth with a smile.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “He’s never had one.”

  “May I?” Mom asks, holding up a slice.

  “Sure,” Ann-Elizbeth says, with a look of appreciation on her face. And I know it’s because she’s not used to Henry being treated this way by anyone other than her.

  She holds the peach out. Henry sniffs it for a second and then tentatively takes it from her hand. We watch as he chews it slowly and then sits, looking up at Mom as if he’s ready for another.

  Mom laughs and offers him another piece. “What a sweet boy he is, Ann-Elizabeth.”

  “He is,” she says, and I realize my mom has already found a way straight into Ann-Elizabeth’s heart.

  “If you two are heading to Dad’s studio, Henry can hang out here with me.”

  “Are you sure?” Ann-Elizabeth asks.

  “Absolutely,” Mom says. “The truth is, I’ve been trying to talk Dad into getting a dog for some time now. I’ll enjoy the company.”

  “That okay?” I ask Ann-Elizabeth.

  “Sure,” she says, giving my mom a shy smile.

  “All right,” I say. “We’ll be out back, Mom.”

  She gives Henry a pat and tells him she’ll be back in a bit, then follows me out of the kitchen, a slightly worried look on her face.

  “Sure you don’t want to bring him with us?” I ask.

  “His favorite place is the kitchen,” she says, a note of sadness in her voice. “He’ll love it.”

  I realize again how unfair it is that she can’t keep Henry inside her own house, and the injustice of it gnaws at me. For now, I decide to focus on what we came here to do though and determine to get her mind on it as well.

  Dad’s studio is at the corner of our backyard. I lead Ann-Elizabeth across the grass, opening the door and flicking on the light.

  “If the kitchen is Henry’s favorite place,” I say, “this is mine.”

  I glance at her, see the smile that lights her face, and I’m really glad I brought her here today.

  “It’s incredible,” she says, glancing at the guitar-covered walls and the big table at the center of the room that holds my dad’s recording equipment.

  “Yeah,” I say. “My heaven on earth.”

  “I can see why,” she says, running her hand along the face of one of the guitars.

  “That belonged to Vince Gill.”

  “Oh, my gosh. I love ‘One More Last Chance.’ It’s one of my favorites.”

  “He co-wrote that with Gary Nicholson.”

  “Didn’t he write a lot of music with Willie Nelson too?”

  “Yeah, he did,” I say, surprised that she would know this, although I don’t really know why. “You sure you’re not writing songs as well as singing them?”

  She shrugs. “I love the idea of writing. I’m just not very good. I’ve studied a bunch of writers, trying to figure out their secrets. Do you think there is a secret?”

  “My dad says the only secret is living. And holding up a mirror through your words to show others your life experience.”

  “Guess we don’t have much of that yet, huh?”

  “Actually, I think we do. Being a teenager has never been an easy thing, no matter what time period you grow up in.”

  “Easier for some,” she says, running a hand across one of the guitars.

  “Ouch.”

  She looks at me and shakes her head a little. “Sorry. I really didn’t mean for that to be directed at you.”

  “Who then?”

  She shrugs, refuses to meet eyes with me. “No one in particular. I’d be lying though if I denied the fact that I’ve wondered what it would be like to be in your crowd at school.”

  “Is that how you see it? My crowd?” I ask the questions not out of irritation but just because it’s never really occurred to me that it was something she would care about.

  “It just seems like it would make it all easier, being one of the kids that other kids wanted to be.” She shakes her head and adds, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything.”

  “It’s cool. But maybe other people look at you and see something they’d like to be.”

  She laughs a little. “Which part? The trailer park address? Or the stellar stand-in step dad?”

  I hear the attempt at lightness, but feel the truth beneath the words. Without giving myself time to edit the gesture, I reach out and brush the back of my hand across her cheek. “I don’t see any of that when I look at you.”

  “What do you see?” she asks softly, her gaze snagging mine.

  I stare down at her for a string of seconds during which my heart thumps hard against my chest. “I see a girl I’d really like to kiss.”

  Her eyes widen and then soften. And I know she wants me to kiss her. We stand there, studying each other, thinking about it, picturing it happening.

  But then she takes a step back. “Um, we came here to sing, I think.”

  “Yeah,” I say, not bothering to hide my disappointment. “And Matt should be here any sec.”

  As if on cue, a knock sounds at the door, and Matthew is striding into the room, drumsticks in hand. “What’s up?” he says, playing them in the air. “Y’all got this band thing started yet?”

  “We just got here,” I say. “Why don’t we sit down for a few and talk about how we’re gonna do this?”

  Matt looks at Ann-Elizabeth. “So I hear you can sing?”

  Her laugh is nervous. “I guess we’ll see.”

  “Well, all right then,” he says. “Let’s get on with it.”

  *

  Ann-Elizabeth

  WE SIT AT the round table for an hour or so, tossing out songs we like, discussing bands we think are cool, how we’d like to be perceived when people listen to us, and I feel like I’ve landed on another planet. All of a sudden, I’m hanging out with two guys who obviously love music as much as I do and who seem eager to hear what I think about everything we’re discussing.

  Nathan wants a list of twenty songs we can learn, and once we’ve gotten that together, he says, “Let’s take a stab at our mutual favorite.”

  It’s a Barefoot Outlook song called Keep on Reachin’. And all of a sudden, I’m nervous and certain there’s no way I’ll ever do CeCe MacKenzie justice.

  As if he’s picked up on my nerves, Nathan grabs his guitar and looks at me with a reassuring smile. “We’ll all be rough at first. But gotta start somewhere.”

  And now I’m dreading singing in front of these two. What was I thinking to act as if I could come here and live up to their expectations? “I think maybe I should get home,” I say.

  Nathan glances at his watch. “Come on, let’s give this a shot.”

  I want to. I really want to. So I take a deep breath and decide risking permanent mortification is the only way I’m going to know if anything can come of this. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

  Nathan and Matt give each other a high five. “I’ll print the lyrics,” Nathan says, tapping the computer keyboard.

  “That’s okay. I know them,” I say.

  “Cool,” Matt says.

  Nathan looks at me with an appreciation that I can’t deny feels good. He picks up his guitar and strums the intro. I’ve loved this song since the first moment I heard it, and my fingers tap against the table of their own accord.

  Matt’s at the drums now, and he finds the beat behind Nathan’s playing. They start the intro over again, leading me into the first verse.

  I close my eyes and think about the first time I heard the song and the way it made me feel about my own hopes and dreams and how badly I want them to come true.

  I somehow manage to forget th
at I’m sitting in a studio with a guy I have a crush on and his best friend who seems at best suspicious of my reasons for being here.

  The words to the song are imprinted on my subconscious and I sing them as if they are my own. When I let the last few trail from my lips, I open my eyes to find Nathan and Matt looking at me with wide eyes.

  “Did that suck?” I ask, my heart dropping.

  Nathan shakes his head, looking as if he doesn’t know what to say.

  “No,” he murmurs finally. “It didn’t suck.”

  “Wow,” Matt says.

  “Actually, that was incredible,” Nathan says.

  “Really?” I ask, unable to stop the smile that takes over my face.

  “Really,” Nathan says, putting down his guitar, and all of a sudden, he’s out of his chair and standing in front of me, throwing his arms around me and lifting me up, swinging me around in a circle. “Dang, girl. You can sing!”

  I laugh, happiness lighting me up from the very center of my heart. I loop my arms around his neck, telling myself it’s for the simple reason that I have to hold on, but it’s more than that. I pull back a little, smiling down at him. “So we’re gonna be a band?”

  “Heck, yeah, we are,” he says, looking up at me with a grin that I absolutely cannot resist.

  I’ve wondered how a person would know if they were falling in love. If it would be an obvious feeling. Or if it would be one that came with a question mark. I think I have my answer.

  “We need a name,” Matt says, and we both turn to look at him.

  “Got any ideas?” Nathan asks.

  We go back and forth for a bit, throwing out ideas and words. We all agree on Wild. And then spend another half hour debating what to add to it.

  “How about Getaway?” Nathan throws out.

  “Wild Getaway,” I say. ‘I like it.”

  “Has a good ring to it,” Matt says.

  “Wild Getaway it is,” Nathan says with a grin.

  I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s five forty-five. My heart leaps in my chest, and reality comes crashing back in. “I have to get home,” I say, trying not to panic at the thought of Lance beating us there.

  “I’m on it,” Nathan says, getting up and putting his guitar in its case.

  “I gotta go, too,” Matt adds. He grabs his backpack and heads for the door. “See you two at school tomorrow.”

  “See ya, Matt,” Nathan says.

  “Bye,” I call out, reaching for my own backpack and looking at Nathan, anxious now. “I really have to go.”

  “Can I just say one thing?” he asks, putting a hand on my arm.

  I meet his gaze, wishing we didn’t have to go yet, but knowing I’m already pushing it on getting home. “Sure,” I say.

  “I really want this to work.”

  “Me too,” I say, and I can’t deny that I really do.

  “Your voice is crazy good,” he says.

  “It’s not polished. I have a lot to learn.”

  “You’ve got the part that has to be a gift. We can all work hard to get better, but surely you know what kind of voice you’ve got. I mean, you’re like Carrie Underwood good.”

  I smile and shake my head. “Now I think you’re stretching it.”

  “I’m not,” he says, dead serious.

  “I’m glad you think so, but you and Matt are a lot to live up to.”

  “We’re gonna make a great band,” he says.

  Hearing him say that makes me realize just how much I want this, how much I want to belong to something meaningful, something that has some place to go.

  I think about my mom and instantly feel guilty. I know she’s tried to give me things she never had, and maybe I shouldn’t want more. I don’t want it in place of her though. I’d love to be the one to give her more.

  “Thank you, Nathan. For asking me. For giving me an opportunity to be a part of this.”

  He looks at me for several long seconds, and I can see that he’s struggling with whether or not to say what he wants to say. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and husky. “It doesn’t stand a chance of being much without you, Ann-Elizabeth.”

  “I’m not sure I agree with that,” I say.

  He reaches out then, touches the back of his hand to my face. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you?”

  I try to force words up from my throat, but they won’t come, and I can only stare at him, caught in a web of want and need like nothing I’ve ever felt.

  He takes my non-answer as the answer it is, leaning in and softly brushing his lips across mine. My entire body comes alive, as if for the very first time. My eyes slide closed, and I bend toward him, like a newly planted tree to the sun.

  His arms slip around my waist, and he pulls me up close against him. I slide my hands up his chest, pressing them to his shoulders and holding on the way I would on an amusement park ride that I know is going to take me somewhere I’ve never been.

  I’ve never been kissed before, and I wonder if he can tell, if I seem inept and inexperienced. But he tightens his hold on me and deepens the kiss, and I don’t feel anything from him except that he wants more. I want to give it to him, and I hold onto him as if not doing so means blowing away in a strong gust of wind.

  The very last thing in the world I want to do is remind him that I have to get home, but I do have to, and so I pull back, reluctant, my voice not even recognizable to me as I say, “I have to go.”

  “I know,” he says, on what sounds like a groan of reluctance. And I love feeling wanted like this, wishing we could explore it more, afraid that letting it go now will mean never knowing it again.

  “Promise me we’ll pick up where we left off?” he asks softly.

  And I’m laughing a little, wondering if he just read my mind. “I promise.”

  *

  WHEN WE WALK into the kitchen, Mrs. Hanson is stirring something in a frying pan on the stove. Henry is lying on the floor next to her feet, looking up at her with the certainty that there is another treat coming. Whatever she’s cooking smells wonderful, and I’m overcome with a desire to stay here in this house, a place where Henry is so clearly welcome. Where we’re both welcome.

  He looks up and spotting me, thumps his tail against the floor. “Thank you for watching after Henry, Mrs. Hanson,” I say.

  She turns from the stove with a smile. “It was nothing but my pleasure. Henry is a doll. And I have to say he loves my cooking.”

  I smile at her, truly thankful for the way she has treated him. At the same time, I’m overcome with guilt at the fact that I’m going to be taking him back to that stupid blue barrel where he’ll be tied with a chain. I can barely stand the thought of it, but I know I don’t have any other choice, so I pat the side of my leg and call Henry to come.

  He gets up, glancing back at Mrs. Hanson as if he realizes that he’ll be leaving this very comfortable place and the woman who seems to like him enough to want him in her kitchen.

  Nathan tells his mom he’s taking us home, and I thank her for her hospitality.

  “Come back anytime, Ann-Eizabeth. And you too, Henry.”

  Once we’re in the BMW, Henry in the back seat, I make a pretense of rearranging the contents of my backpack so that I don’t have to look at Nathan.

  We’re driving down the street when he says, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say, but my voice cracks a little, and he reaches across to squeeze my hand.

  “What is it?”

  I shake my head, managing, “Your house is wonderful. And so is your mom.”

  He leaves his hand on top of mine for a moment, then turns it so that our fingers intertwine. “You can stay. Both of you.”

  I can’t bring myself to look at him. I know if I do, I’m going to burst into tears and make a complete fool of myself. “We have to get home.”

  “I mean for good, Ann-Elizabeth.”

  I do look at him then, unable to hide my surprise. “Surely you know how crazy that s
ounds.”

  “Crazy is taking you back to a place where you don’t feel safe and your dog has to stay outside all the time.”

  “I never told you I don’t feel safe.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I can tell.”

  “We’re fine. I can take care of us.”

  “And that’s supposed to reassure me?”

  “Nathan, we haven’t known each other long enough for you to feel any kind of responsibility for me. Besides, that’s not what I want you to feel for me.”

  I stop there, realizing I have given far too much of myself away.

  “What do you want me to feel?”

  I look out the window and try to find a light note. “Nathan. This needs to slow down.”

  “We can do that. But I need to know you’re safe at night.”

  “Lance is a jerk, but he’s not completely stupid.” Even as I say the words, I wonder if I am deceiving myself.

  Nathan lets go of my hand, opens the glove compartment of the BMW and pulls out a phone and a charger cord. “I got a new one for my birthday. This one is scuffed up a bit, but I had it reactivated. Will you take it so we can touch base when we’re not in school?”

  I stare at the phone and then let my gaze find his. He glances back at the road, and I can tell he’s not sure if I’ll be offended by the gesture. But that’s not what I am at all. I’m a little mortified that it’s so obvious how different our lives are, but there’s really no denying it, so I guess it doesn’t do any good to be embarrassed about it.

  “You really shouldn’t have done that,” I say softly.

  “I wanted to. And if you ever need anything, if things ever get out of hand at home, you can call me. Anytime. Okay?”

  I nod, a lump in my throat. “Why are you so nice?”

  “I like you, Ann-Elizabeth,” he says, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “It’s not complicated.”

  It is though. I don’t say the words out loud, but somehow they hang there in the air between us anyway. Because it really is.

  *

  Nathan

  I HATE LEAVING her.

  I know it’s crazy to care this much already. But I do.