Shattered Hearts

by Coral McCallum

“Said what?” called out Grey, raising an eyebrow as he stared at them.

  “I said you’d buy them all pizza for dinner on the way home.”

  “Pizza! Pizza!” shrieked Linzi, jumping up and down excitedly.

  “Thank you, Mr Power.”

  “My pleasure,” joked Jake, giving Becky another hug. “You best go rescue your old man.”

  Soon after Grey left, Maddy announced that they should be heading home too. Pre-empting Jake winding the twins up, she promised that they would be stopping for pizza on the way home.

  “Oh, you spoiled my fun, Maddison.”

  “I know you too well, Jake,” replied the band’s tour manager. “And I know your munchkins would just love pepperoni for dinner!”

  “Pizza!” screamed Jesse shrilly. “Cheese fries! Want cheese fries, Daddy!”

  “Touché, Maddison,” laughed Jake as he shook his head. “Yes, kids, we’ll get pizza too.”

  Two large empty pizza boxes and an empty carton that had contained cheese fries lay discarded on the table as the sun set. While Jake lit the citronella lanterns and candles, Lori took Jesse indoors for a bath before bed. Quietly, Melody slipped indoors unnoticed. As Jake sat back down to finish his beer, his young daughter stepped back out onto the deck carrying her guitar.

  “Daddy,” she began hopefully, “Can we play?”

  “Did you go into the basement without an adult with you?” asked Jake sternly.

  Her bottom lip quivering, Melody nodded.

  “You know the rules, Melody.”

  “I know but everyone has been all sad all day. I wanted to make you happy. You said you like our lessons. Said they make you happy,” said the little girl with tears brimming in her eyes. “I didn’t touch any of your stuff. Promise.”

  “Our lessons do make me happy,” agreed Jake. “You know you did wrong though by breaking the rules?”

  Melody nodded as a single tear ran down her cheek.

  “No tears, angel,” said Jake softly, “There’s been enough of them around here today.”

  “Why’s everyone so sad?” asked Melody innocently.

  “Because we’ve lost Uncle Rich,” replied Jake, trying to find the right words to explain things to her.

  “Can’t you look for him?”

  “I wish we could,” sighed Jake, running his hand through his hair. “We don’t really know what happened yet. An accident maybe. Uncle Rich was found dead yesterday. The police and the authorities are trying to work out what happened to him.”

  “So, he’s never coming back?” asked Melody, her big blue eyes wide and tear-filled. “My friend’s Grandpop died. She said he went to heaven to be an angel.”

  With a smile, Jake said, “I can’t see Uncle Rich as an angel, can you?”

  Giggling, Melody said, “He’d look funny with big white fluffy wings.”

  Visualising the Silver Lake guitarist with large feathery wings, Jake laughed, “He sure would.”

  “Will you still be a rock star without Uncle Rich?”

  With a child’s innocence, Melody had voiced the one unspoken question that had hung in the air all day. What did the future hold for Silver Lake?

  “It’s my job,” replied Jake, trying to dodge giving a real answer.

  “Being a rock star isn’t a job!” giggled Melody. “You go to an office to do a job.

  “You don’t do all jobs in an office,” countered Jake. “Teachers don’t work in an office. Police officers. Paramedics, Doctors.”

  “Hmm,” mused the little girl, thinking. “I guess not but being a rock star isn’t a job, is it?”

  “It’s a fun job,” answered her father honestly. “My dream job. Yes, I’ll still be a musician but I’m also a teacher so, what are we playing tonight, Miss M?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Show me what you’ve been practicing.”

  Confidently, Melody played through the various chord progression exercises that her father had shown her. She now had seven chords that she could play and moved between them with a skill far beyond her years. Impressed with her playing, Jake demonstrated how to pick out some of the notes from the chords then set her the challenge of playing the chords she knew but also picking out some notes from each on his command. He was testing not only her ability but her listening skills too.

  Father and daughter had been playing for almost an hour when Lori came back out to join then.

  “Sounding good, angel,” praised Lori as she stretched out on one of the sun loungers.

  “My fingers hurt,” said the little girl, rubbing at the tips of the fingers of her left hand.

  She handed Jake her guitar. It felt tiny to his long fingers but, having brought it back into tune, he began to play Stronger Within. He played the start of the Silver Lake ballad then stopped, as he felt a fresh wave of grief approaching.

  “Time for bed, Miss Melody,” he declared, setting the guitar down carefully. “Your guitar’s too narrow for me. I’ll play for you tomorrow if you practice hard again. You did great tonight.”

  “Deal!” agreed Melody, reaching out to hug him. “Night night, Daddy. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  While Lori took Melody indoors to get her ready for bed, Jake picked up his daughter’s guitar. Playing the Silver Lake song had felt wrong. True, he had written it for and about Lori, but hearing it when the wounds of grief were still so open and raw had been too painful. As he gently strummed the half-sized guitar, a new melody came to him. Struggling with the narrow neck, Jake played the melodic hook over a few times then began to expand on it and develop it further. He could hear lyrics in his head but decided against going inside to fetch his journal. Allowing the music to consume him, he sat playing and working on it, oblivious to the world around him. When he eventually stopped, Lori said, “That’s quite something.”

  “Didn’t hear you come back out,” commented Jake as he carefully laid Melody’s guitar down.

  “I’ve been back out here for a while,” confessed Lori softly. “Didn’t want to break the spell. That was beautiful.”

  “Thanks. Started off just playing then it all came together,” replied Jake. “Will try it later on my own guitar. Melody’s is a bit on the small side.”

  “She’s doing really well with it though, isn’t she?”

  “She sure is. Lots of natural talent in that young lady. I just don’t want to push her too hard. Music should be fun,” said Jake. “I don’t want to destroy that.”

  “She said she asked you if you were still a rock star. She’s worrying that she upset you.”

  With a wistful smile, Jake said, “She did indeed. Kind of voiced the question the rest of us avoided all day.”

  “And are you?” quizzed Lori quietly.

  “I’m not sure. Too soon to commit to that,” admitted Jake, running his hand over the Silver Lake dragon emblem on the small guitar. “I still have my Weigh Station role so I suppose I’m still a rock star. Lord knows what the future holds for Silver Lake.”

  “There’s no need to think about that for now,” soothed Lori softly. “All of you need space and time here to grieve and to heal.”

  “How do we heal from this?”

  The question hung in the air unanswered.

  The following couple of weeks were hard for the three surviving members of Silver Lake. Once the record label and the band’s management team issued a statement to the media, breaking the news of Rich’s sudden death, journalists began to plague the band requesting interviews. Stepping in to protect the boys, while putting their own grief to one side, Jethro and Maddy asked that the remaining members of the group be given some privacy, promising that the band would hold a press conference when the time was right. No timelines were promised. Each band member was grieving in their own way and that was going to take time…. a long time.

  Surrounding himself with the love of his family, Jake stayed close to the house. In the first light of dawn, he would slip out and run, pounding mile afte
r mile along the sand. During the day, he’d play “Daddy”, entertaining his young children and indulging their whims. Sensing he needed this time with them to heal the wounds of grief, Lori let him spoil them a little, turning a blind eye to the number of ice creams that ruined their appetites for dinner and to the late bedtimes that were creeping in.

  After dinner each evening, Jake and Melody would spend time together either on the deck or down in the basement, focussed on the little girl’s guitar lessons. Investing the teaching time was proving to be therapeutic for Jake and he never ceased to be amazed by his daughter’s dedication to her lessons. She was soaking up everything he taught her. Not every lesson came easily to her but Melody had her mother’s stubborn streak, refusing to give up on the trickier exercises Jake set her until she had mastered them.

  Out with the sanctuary of the beach house, the world kept turning and arrangements were made for Rich’s funeral service. Both Jethro and Maddy had helped Maria Santiago with the formalities of getting Rich’s body released then transported back home. Initially, Maria had wanted to take him to Florida but then changed her mind, saying she wanted her brother laid to rest with their parents and grandparents. Eventually, the arrangements for a private funeral service and burial were in place. Details of the service were kept from the press and only those invited to attend were privy to the date, time and location.

  The mercury levels were touching ninety degrees as Jake and Lori drove up the Coastal Highway to the cemetery. At Maria’s request, there was to be no church service, merely a few words over the grave. She stated that, as Rich had long since stopped attending mass, she didn’t want him haunting her if she took his body inside the chapel first. Details had been discussed with the local priest and, in the circumstances, he had agreed to deliver a short service at the side of the grave.

  As they approached the cemetery, Jake spotted Grey’s SUV behind them then spied Paul and Maddy a few cars ahead of them. In convoy, the three vehicles drove down the long straight narrow avenue that led to the heart of the cemetery. They parked side by side in the car park under the shade of a canopy of trees. Just as the Silver Lake party was preparing to walk over to join the others at the graveside, a silver Mercedes pulled up and Linsey stepped out. With tears in her eyes, she hugged each of them then followed as they all walked sombrely down the path towards the freshly dug grave.

  There were less than twenty people gathered in the shade of a tree that grew beside Rich’s final resting place. In the past, his father had had the foresight to buy a section of the graveyard for the family. Rich was to be laid to rest between his mother and beloved grandmother.

  Holding Lori’s hand tightly, Jake listened as the priest delivered his short eulogy. When she had brought Rich’s body home, Maria had asked Jake if he would read something at the service. Her words of guidance had been vague – “something appropriate”, “nothing religious.” She had ended the call by saying she trusted his judgement. Feeling his throat tighten with nerves, Jake hoped that the verse he had chosen was what she had had in mind.

  While the priest read a short passage from the bible, Jake listened to the birds in the surrounding trees, hoping that in his last moments Rich had succeeded in seeing the sun set over the valley in the Smoky Mountains; hoped he’d found the peace he was so desperately seeking.

  “Jake,” said the priest quietly, indicating that he should step forward.

  Squeezing his hand, Lori whispered, “Showtime.”

  Letting out a long sigh, Jake slowly stepped forward to stand at the foot of the empty grave. To his left stood the plinth supporting Rich’s walnut casket. In a few short minutes, along with the rest of the band and close friends, he would help lower his friend to his final resting place. A fresh wave of grief crashed over him as he slipped his prompt card from the back pocket of his black pants. On impulse, he pulled the black cord from his ponytail and shook his long sun-bleached hair loose. His hand trembled noticeably as he looked at the small group of mourners. Clearing his throat, Jake began,

  “Feel no guilt in laughter; he’d know how much you care.

  Feel no sorrow in a smile that he’s not here to share.

  You cannot grieve forever; he would not want you to.

  He’d hope that you could carry on the way you always do.

  So, talk about the good times and the way you showed you cared.

  The days you spent together, all the happiness you shared.

  Let memories surround you, a word someone might say.

  Will suddenly recapture a time, an hour, a day.”

  Jake paused, feeling his eyes fill with tears. With a few deep breaths, he composed himself and continued,

  “That brings him back as clearly as though he were still here.

  And fills you with the feeling that he is always near.

  For if you keep these moments, you will never be apart.

  And he will live forever locked safely within your heart.”

  Quiet sobbing echoed round the still cemetery.

  With his emotions in turmoil, Jake took the cord in his hand as directed and along with Grey, Paul, Todd, Scott and Jethro, they lowered Rich’s casket into the ground. The coffin was heavier than anticipated and the six of them took care not to bump the sides of the deep grave. With a gentle thump, the box came to rest on the bottom.

  As the priest offered up another short prayer, Maria stepped forward, dropped a single white rose onto the top of her brother’s casket and a small handful of dirt. Taking it in turn, the members of Silver Lake also tossed in a handful of soil accompanied by their own final quiet message for their friend. When it was his turn, Jake reached into his pocket, pulled out a few guitar picks and tossed them in followed by the card with the poem and a handful of dirt.

  With a final blessing, the priest brought the ceremony to a close.

  It was over.

  Their final farewells said.

  Without a word, Jake led Lori away from the grave. They had barely taken half a dozen steps when Maria called him back.

  “Jake,” she called, her voice husky. “Wait.”

  “Maria,” he replied, turning to embrace her. “I hope that was alright.”

  “It was perfect,” replied Rich’s sister warmly. “I’ve booked lunch for everyone at the hotel where I’m staying. Will you and Lori join us?”

  Jake nodded then listened as she told him which hotel they were to meet at. It was the same hotel on the Coastal Highway where the band had launched their first album; the same hotel where he’d sat with Gary’s young brother during a thunderstorm.

  The buzz of conversation, interspersed with chinking of glasses, filled the small private dining room at the hotel. Three round tables had been set for them, close enough to allow them all to chat. As was to be expected there were tears but, gradually, they all began to share memories and smiles and laughter crept into the room.

  Seated beside Jason and Jethro, Jake only half-listened to their conversation about the band. To his right, Lori was sitting chatting to Maddy, both of them deep in conversation about pre-schools and kindergarten classes.

  “Jake,” said a soft voice behind him, bringing him back to the present.

  “Maria,” he said, flashing her a smile. “How you holding up?”

  She smiled, a smile so like her brother’s that it tore at Jake’s heart. “I’m ok. Having everyone here and listening to all their stories helps. He meant so much to folk in so many different ways.”

  “Rich was one of the good guys. Always a teacher at heart.”

  “Always,” echoed Maria with a wistful smile. “Can I beg a huge favour from you, Jake? Feel free to say “no” but you’re the best qualified to help here.”

  “Happy to help if I can,” said Jake, curious to learn what Maria wanted from him.

  “Hear me out first,” suggested Rich’s sister quietly. She paused before she began to explain, “I got a call from Dr Jones at the high school to offer his condolences. Seems Rich had signe
d up to teach a two-week course for their music department’s summer school programme. Dr Jones was going to call you later in the week about it but I said I’d try to speak to you first. Will you fill in and take the class?”

  Momentarily lost for words, Jake could only utter, “Me?”

  “Please? It would mean a lot to me to know those kids would still get to learn some of the Silver Lake magic through you.”

  “Let me talk to Dr Jones and find out what’s involved. I’m not promising anything here but, if I can, I’ll see what I can do,” vowed Jake, stumbling over his words. “It’s been a long while since I was up the front in a classroom.”

  “Guess I can’t ask for more than that. Thank you,” said Maria, her brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Teaching still meant so much to him. Rich always said you were the best music teacher he’d ever worked with.”

  Before Jake could reply, Maria moved on to the next table to talk to Scott and Dr Marrs.

  Down in the basement, the air was cool. Surrounded by the calm familiarity of the rehearsal space, Jake was busy restringing his Mz Hyde custom guitar. It was a chore he had been putting off since he’d come back from the tour but Melody had asked him to “play the guitar Mommy painted” and he’d had to explain he couldn’t as it had a broken string. He’d broken it during the encore at the final Silver Lake show and finished the tour on five strings.

  Over the years, he had grown superstitious about letting others touch the instrument, preferring, when possible, to care for it himself. Todd, the band’s guitar tech, was the sole exception to that rule.

  With a fresh set of strings added, Jake sat down to pull it back into tune. He liked to test his pitch and tune it by ear first before resorting to using his tuner pedal. It was a game he played regularly with himself. Smiling as he checked his handiwork, Jake confirmed he had all six strings perfectly in tune.

  Keeping the volume on the amp down low, he began to play. Soon, he was lost in practicing some of his solos from the various songs on the Silver Lake set. Eventually, he came to play the song he had worked out on Melody’s half-size acoustic.