Unsung Hero

by Barbara Ankrum

  Fresh out of lies for the night, she sniffed and shook her head. She really, really didn’t. “We’re not…Steven and I aren’t really together or engaged anymore, despite the ring. We broke up the other night. I’m sorry I lied about that. We were trying to avoid dumping our drama onto our friends’ wedding.”

  “That explains a lot. Glad to hear it,” Nio said. “He’s kind of a dick.”

  “He wasn’t always like that. More of a recent development.”

  “A telling, recent development.”

  She nodded miserably.

  “So,” he said, “splash some cold water on that beautiful face of yours and let’s get out of here.”

  Outside the door, someone knocked and jiggled the doorknob, wanting in. “Hello? Is anyone in—?”

  “Occupied!” Nio shouted.

  Becca could almost hear the shocked intake of breath on the other side of the door at the sound of a male voice coming from here. She looked back at Nio. “It won’t look right. I can’t leave with you.” She swayed against the sink, feeling light-headed. “And I definitely shouldn’t leave with you. I’m a little bit drunk, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “That’s why I’m driving. For right now, what do you say we put aside our past and whatever you feel about me and let me help you? No strings. I’ll just take you home.”

  Home. It was too late to get Milo from her mom. The thought of prowling around that empty place tonight, alone with her thoughts until she fell asleep, did not appeal. Today had been a conflagration of emotions all rolled up in a soon-to-be happy ending for her friends. One she could genuinely be glad about. And…selfishly, sad, after her own trajectory had suddenly gone so far off course. Yet, here was Nio, the former love of her life, offering solace. Or at least a ride. She could refuse, but why? It would just make her petty and dumb to be seen still scrambling around in their ancient bruises as if they still mattered. On the other hand…

  “I can’t—” she began, turning back to the mirror, to look at him without looking directly. “I don’t want to go home. Yet. Will you take me somewhere else?” What are you doing? Do not say another word.

  He blinked. “Name it.”

  “Anywhere.” Idiot. “Where’s your car?”

  “Parking lot.”

  You are going to seriously regret this. “Give me five minutes.”

  “Done.” With a half-smile—that one she remembered from so long ago—he left the restroom, passing Lilah’s mom, Ruth, who looked befuddled by his exit.

  “Becca?” she said with some alarm, once inside. “What was Antonio doing—? Dear, are you crying? Did he do anything to—?”

  “No! Absolutely not. We were just talking.” She’d known Lilah’s mom almost as long as she’d known Lilah, and knew if there was one person she could trust at this party, it was her.

  She still felt tipsy and wasn’t thinking clearly. But what about this whole night was clear or wise? Certainly not the part where she’d lied to most of her closest friends. And definitely not the part where she was going to let Nio drive her anywhere.

  “What’s wrong, Becca?” Ruth asked, with a hand on her arm. “Is this about you and Steven?”

  “I can’t tell you right now, Ruth, but please don’t tell Lilah you saw me like this. This is her night. I don’t want to spoil it. But if you’ll do me one, tiny, very secret favor?”

  *

  Nio’s ride was the beat-up gardening truck his father had driven for years, and he saw the instant she recognized it as she came walking across the parking lot. Leaning against the fender, he unfolded his arms at her approach and opened the side door for her. It creaked a rusty complaint.

  She smiled mischievously and slid in. He hopped in the other side and a minute later they were cruising down Pacific Coast Highway with the windows wide open and the warm breeze tugging at their hair.

  “This truck,” she said, turning to look at him. “It’s your father’s.”

  He nodded. “Old times, huh?”

  She ran her hand over the worn seat. The scent of seaweed drifted on the night air and moonlight still cascaded like a skipped gold coin across the expanse of black to the west. Like him, she was no doubt remembering all the dates they’d had in this antique.

  “First things first,” he said. “You need some food.”

  Half a mile down the road, he put his signal on and turned into Ruby’s Diner, where they loaded up on burgers, fries and a milkshake before pulling back out on the road. Becca popped a fry in her mouth. “I couldn’t eat that dinner. I don’t know why. But I’m starving now.”

  “Mop up some of that wine,” he said, grinning at her as he downed a fry.

  As he drove, she found her appetite and wolfed down the burger and half the milkshake.

  “So, were you taking photographs of me this morning at the beach?” he asked.

  A fry froze halfway to her mouth before she said, “Not intentionally.”

  He grinned, not quite believing her. “My form needs work.”

  “You looked…good out there.”

  “Thanks.” It had felt good to be back in the surf again after a long break. “Show them to me sometime?” She frowned, not following. “Your photos.”

  She stared out the window at the moon gliding over the ocean. The warm breeze from the open window brushed her cheek. “Photography is just a hobby now. Something I do to relax. That’s all.”

  “I remember your photos. You were good even then. Lilah said you had a show once up at a local gallery here—”

  “Almost,” she corrected him, simultaneously registering Lilah’s complicity in their meetup this weekend. “Almost had a show. It was…canceled before it ever opened.”

  He frowned at her. “Canceled?”

  “My father’s trouble…” she explained. “They…thought it best to do it another time. Which never came.”

  The unfairness of it made his jaw go tight. “I’m sorry.”

  Becca shrugged and shook her head. “Sometimes things work out. Sometimes they don’t.”

  “Now you’re taking pictures of surfers?”

  She took a sip of the milkshake, then passed it to him. “The ocean. Surfers are just…part of the landscape.”

  It was a little thing, but as he took the drink it felt like a small victory. “You remember that night in the parking lot at Ruby’s?” he asked.

  “There were lots of nights in Ruby’s parking lot,” she answered, glancing at him sideways.

  “I think her name was…Carissa Mayne and she was a year younger than you.”

  A flash of memory crossed her expression. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

  “I think that was the night I really fell for you.”

  Becca blushed. “After I busted Nora Jane Kelper’s lip? I was grounded for three weeks for that little faux pas.”

  “She deserved a takedown for lots of reasons. But it was how you stood up for Carissa that got me.”

  Becca sighed. “She had nobody. Those girls were awful to her. I can’t believe I ever called them friends. It was just luck you happened to pull into the parking lot just then or she and I would have been walking home.”

  “Carissa followed you around like a puppy after that.”

  Becca smiled. “You know, she ended up at Princeton? A doctor? She’s a cancer researcher now.”

  “And you’re an artist.”

  “Starving artist, make that.” She stared out the window at the ocean. “I had the chance for a full-time job up in L.A. doing product photography but…”

  “But what?”

  “I couldn’t leave my mom alone. Not after everything. So here I am. Taking pictures of waves.”

  “Where to now?” he asked.

  She leaned her head out the passenger window with a sigh. “It’s still early,” she said. “Only eleven o’clock. I know a place if you’re game.”

  “Game for what?”

  She smiled a little wickedly.

  *

&nb
sp; Bar None was a little hole-in-the-wall place nestled in a mini-mall down in Dana Point, but the parking lot was jammed with cars. A banner strung across the doorway announced that it was karaoke night and drinks were half priced.

  “Karaoke?” he’d mouthed as the screech of a microphone and bad singing assaulted them on the way in.

  “C’mon. It’s fun. Everyone loves to sing.”

  Not me. Not in front of a crowd.

  “This is no different than us sitting in front of John Hughes or Cameron Crowe movies and singing along with the soundtracks like we used to do in your father’s place.”

  “With no audience.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never done this before.”

  “Never. Not once.”

  “You have been in a cave somewhere. Well, there’s a first time for everything, I say.”

  “You go ahead,” he shouted over the noise. “I’ll watch.”

  “Where’s the fun in that? You said it was my choice. This is my choice. My choice is that you’ll get on that stage and sing a song. I’ll go first, just so you don’t feel weird.” She signaled the bartender for two long-necked beers, which the guy cracked open and slid down the bar to her.

  Nio slid money back at him and narrowed a disconcerted look at the cornerback-sized guy on stage belting out a rowdy Garth Brooks song about friends in low places. He had the crowd singing with him.

  Becca thrust the beer into his hands with a smile that nearly stopped his heart. God, she was breathtaking when she smiled. But if he wasn’t mistaken, there was mischief behind this one.

  “So, this is payback, right?” he said.

  “What?” she shouted, as if she hadn’t really heard him. A little smirk on her face, though, told him he was right.

  “I get it,” he said. “Your way of avoiding the elephant in the room.”

  She took a drink of beer and smiled, her eyes still sparkling with earlier tears. “Elephant? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nio.”

  “Us. I mean us, Bec. You and me.”

  “There is no us, Nio. C’mon.” She laughed and grabbed his hand, tugging him over to a table that had just been vacated by a foursome. “Sit.”

  The DJ, a middle-aged guy with long hair, grinned at her and sent her a wink when he spotted her, and she left Nio at the table to go whisper something in his ear. The DJ nodded while checking Nio out as the singer on stage wound up his song.

  After the applause and whoops of laughter died down, the DJ leaned in to his mic. “Next up, I’d like to welcome a friend of mine to the stage. Say a big hello to Becca Janes!”

  Janes? She was using a fake name?

  Nio took a long slug of beer.

  The crowd cheered for her and she walked up on stage, still dressed to the nines and looking like she could break the heart of every man in the place. The crowd quieted down as the music started and Becca began to sing Helen Reddy’s standard, “I Am Woman.”

  The audience whooped appreciatively and Nio sat up straighter as Becca’s voice tore right into him. Damn. She could sing.

  And just as she was getting to the chorus, she waved her hand at the DJ and stopped singing. “Wait, wait, wait. No… I can’t—can I change songs, Dylan?” she said into the microphone, directing her question at the DJ. “Not that there’s anything wrong with roaring about our womanhood. Am I right, ladies?” The females in the crowd whistled and clapped, and Dylan held up his hands in question. “But tonight, I’d rather do another one.”

  Becca knelt down near him and gave him a different song title. The man tipped his head with a grin and hooked her up. The music started and Dylan leaned in to his mic and growled, “‘River,’ by Joni Mitchell.”

  She sang, closing her eyes as the spotlight shone down on her, about Christmas trees and reindeers, and frozen rivers. Nio didn’t recognize it at first. Then he did. It was a song he remembered his mom playing when he was young. But Becca’s sweet, strong voice found every note like a wind chime, and every bit of chatter in the audience disappeared when she sang.

  But then her gaze flicked to Nio and for a moment, it felt like there was no one else in the room but her, singing to him.

  She seemed to lose herself in the song and there, on stage. As if she had disappeared into that other persona of Becca Janes, so different from the girl he’d found in the bathroom, crying.

  He had no real experience with karaoke before, but he’d been under the impression it involved bad singers making fools of themselves up on stage. Not so in her case. The DJ seemed to know her. Did she come here often and sing? Was this where she came to put everything bad that had gone on in her life lately behind her and just be Becca again?

  There is no us, Nio.

  Well, that much was true. But the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to change that.

  When she finished, the audience roared with applause; some—including him—even got to their feet. Dylan, the DJ, leaned in to his mic again. “The beautiful Becca Janes, everyone!”

  As she made her way back through the maze of tables, her eyes were only on him. A charming blush colored her cheeks. Gone were the days when they’d howled along with countless movie soundtracks of eighties Brat Pack movies they’d watched in marathons together in his father’s apartment: St. Elmo’s Fire, The Breakfast Club, and their favorite, Say Anything. All of them movies about teenaged rebels doing what they themselves fancied they were doing. She had a woman’s voice now and it was something else.

  “You are a constant surprise,” he said, leaning close to her ear as she sat down beside him. He inhaled her scent and felt it stir him in ways he hadn’t been stirred in a while.

  “Yeah?” She picked up her beer and took a sip. “Well, singing is just a—”

  “—another hobby?” he finished, and she laughed.

  “Yeah.”

  “If that’s your story, I think I’d definitely better have a look at your photography. You’re really good, Becca.”

  “Well, thanks. I love that song.” She put down her beer and flicked her hair out of her eyes, but dropped her face into her hands for a moment. “So…know any icy rivers nearby I can skate away on?”

  “Wrong time of year.”

  She gave him a crooked smile as another singer started in up on stage. “My timing has always been impeccable that way.” Reaching for his hand, she curled her fingers around his as she took another sip of beer. Her gaze traversed him, studied him as one might a puzzle box. “I might say the same for yours.”

  “Touché.” He liked the feel of her fingers on his. He wanted more. Much more. “What’s with Becca Janes?”

  She shrugged, leaning closer so he could hear over the music. “It’s anonymous. No one knows me in this crowd. I like it. Some days, I don’t want to be known. I have friends here who might not be friends if they knew my history.”

  “Your father’s history, you mean.”

  “Same difference, isn’t it? I am my father’s daughter. I had a name to be proud of.”

  “You still do,” he said.

  She made a sound that was sort of a laugh. “I still can’t wrap my head around why he thought he needed to…do what he did. Fixing cases. We were fine. Better than fine. But somehow he got in deep with someone he shouldn’t have. And that was that. But he was a judge. I know what he did was wrong. Terrible, even. The people he wronged…our family, even. My mother. I know all that. But,” she continued, her eyes suddenly watering, “to me, he was my dad. And I really can’t bear to hear another bad thing about him. I just want to remember him as my dad. The man who loved me. You know? It’s all I really have left of him.”

  Nio pulled his fingers from hers and shifted his beer into that hand. He’d come prepared to tell her everything. The hows and whys of his leaving. All of it. And with those simple words, he realized it would be like heaping salt onto an open wound to tell her now. And maybe she would never forgive him that. Maybe she’d never forgive him any of it anyway.

&nb
sp; “How’s your mom doing?” he asked, changing the subject.

  Becca sighed. “Elaine? She’s in a small apartment over in North Laguna that I help her with, when I can. Her friends, the ones who remain, take her to lunch sometimes. Talk about the glory days, which depresses her. She watches a lot of television.”

  “And you?” he asked. “How are you with all of it?”

  “With the reckoning, you mean? I’m okay. I’m a survivor. That life…it belonged to them, really. Now I get to create myself. On my own.” She looked at him with an over-bright smile. “So…name your song.”

  He’d hoped she’d forgotten. “You don’t really expect me to sing, do you?”

  “You chickening out?”

  “No.” But singing wasn’t on his radar, except in the shower, and a sharp stick in the eye sounded preferable to him right now.

  Tipping her beer at him, she glanced over at Dylan who nodded back at her in some secret code they must have. “You’re up next. Better choose.”

  He’d chosen long ago. He’d chosen her. But the prospect of singing in front of people made him want to run. Still, he wasn’t about to let a little thing like stage fright screw up this chance with Becca. Hey, it was all for fun, right?

  The bearded singer on stage was winding up his rowdy rendition of “Honky-Tonk Women,” a little off key.

  “All right. You asked for it.” He’d done scarier things in his time—like asking venture capitalists for money when his company was just a start-up. He should be able to handle a mic and a small tavern crowd.

  The audience applauded the last singer and Dylan signaled Nio up on stage. With a feeling of impending doom, he left Becca behind and headed to the stage, leaning down to Dylan to make a request.

  “Welcome to the stage a first-timer, ladies and gentlemen, Nio Reyes!”

  The lights lowered again and the spotlight fell on him. His heart banged against the wall of his chest as he opened his mouth and started to sing Billy Joel’s “She’s Always A Woman.”

  His voice grew steadier with each note and he looked down at Becca, blocking out every other person in the room. He wanted her to know this song was for her.

  *

  From her chair in the audience, Becca watched him sing the Billy Joel ballad and felt herself melt a little. He was singing it to her. And he was singing it well. For all his objections, he had a good voice, true to the notes and more. Deep, with unexpected gravel to it. He had the attention of every woman in the room, but his eyes were only on her.