by Cassia Leo
“What happened?”
“What kind of way is that to answer the phone?” I say, descending the last few steps and heading straight for the kitchen.
“Sorry, I’m just a little desperate to find out what’s going on over there. Is Abby there yet?”
“No, she’s still on her way.” I grab a pad of paper and a pen out of a junk drawer in the kitchen and I head for the pantry to make a grocery list. I’ll text it to Chris as soon as I’m off the phone.
“What are you planning to do with her? Just pretend like the last eighteen years never happened?”
“I can’t erase the last eighteen years and, honestly, I don’t want to. They’ve taken such good care of her, Senia. You have to come down for the bonfire next weekend. You have to see how beautiful she is. And she’s so smart and… I just don’t know what I’m going to do when she goes home.”
“Oh, Claire. I’d hate to see you get your heart broken again.”
I jot down a few missing items on my list, then I come out of the pantry and head for the kitchen sink. I gaze out the window at the waves breaking on the sand and I try to imagine what it would be like to lose Abby a second time. But I can’t.
“I know it sounds crazy, but I think you have nothing to worry about. Just promise me you’ll come for the bonfire on Saturday. I need to introduce Abby to her Aunt Senia.”
“Oh, you slut. You made me cry.”
After I end the call with Senia and text the grocery list to Chris, I lay my phone on the kitchen counter and step outside through the front door onto the porch overlooking the ocean. The sun has almost set, so the evening breeze is starting to pick up, lifting the hairs around my face. I admire the waves while I make a mental list of things I need to do to prepare for the bonfire.
“Mom?”
I spin around and Junior is standing in the doorway. “Yes?”
He smiles and steps outside, then he wraps his arms around my shoulders. “Just wanted to give you a hug.”
He’s already an inch taller than me, so I squeeze him around the waist as hard as I can. “You’re getting so tall. Pretty soon you’re going to leave me, too.”
“I won’t leave you, Mom.” I squeeze him hard and he laughs. “I swear. I’m not going anywhere.”
I let him go and Abby and Caleb are standing just inside the open front door. But she’s not looking at Junior and me. She’s mesmerized by the ocean. She steps outside slowly, her gaze fixed on the crashing waves.
I want to take her hand and wade out into the water with her, the way I used to do when the kids were too small to go in the ocean alone. But that would be awkward at her age. Wouldn’t it?
I reach out my hand slowly and she stares at it for a moment before she takes it. “Come on. The water’s very warm at this time of day.”
She nods and we head down the long wooden ramp toward the beach, Caleb and Junior following closely behind us. The breeze gets cooler and the briny smell of the ocean gets stronger the closer we get to the shore. When we reach the water’s edge, Junior and Caleb strip off their T-shirts and shoes, then they race into the waves in their shorts. Abby and I kick off our sandals and she looks a bit apprehensive about going into the water.
That’s when I remember something someone once told me when I was a bit scared of the roaring surf at this beach.
“A good friend of mine once told me to pay attention to the rhythm and movement of the water. Once you figure out the pattern, it’s not so scary.”
I hold out my hand to her again and I’m surprised when she takes it. We head for the water, her in her shorts and me in my knee-length skirt. But the moment the water touches her feet, she yelps.
“Oh, my God. Something touched me!”
I chuckle as a piece of seaweed washes ashore next to her foot. “It’s just seaweed. Are you okay?”
She laughs and steps away from the limp sea plant. “I’m fine.”
We take a few more steps, until the water kisses the hem of my skirt. She yelps a few more times when some more seaweed gets tangled on her ankle. And I have to admit that I’m almost glad for the seaweed when she grabs onto my arm with both hands, as if I can protect her from the slimy plants.
With each tiny wave that crashes into our legs, I see her relax a little more. Until finally, she’s gazing at Junior and Caleb, who are about twenty yards farther in, and she smiles. “This is beautiful.”
“This is yours, for as long as you want to stay here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
RYDER AND I come home to find everyone, except Jimi, sitting in the living room watching TV in their pajamas. They’re all sporting damp hair, which tells me they must have gone to the beach then showered. Claire smiles and jumps off the sofa to greet us at the door. Caleb quickly removes his arm from around Abby and stands up.
“Do you need some help?” he offers, and I try not to look annoyed when I nod.
It makes no sense for me to be upset that Caleb is so important to Abby. It’s not as if he’s taking my little girl away from me. She was never mine, until she showed up at my house yesterday morning. I just can’t shake this feeling that she’s only here temporarily. And if she’s sitting there, curled up on the couch watching TV, it should be my arm around her. Caleb will probably always have her, but this may be my only chance.
Once we get the groceries inside, Claire takes the pillows upstairs to get the freshly laundered linens on Abby’s bed in Jimi’s bedroom. Abby, Caleb, Ryder, and Junior head back to the living room to finish whatever they were watching, but I stop Caleb before he can leave the kitchen.
“We need to talk. Come with me.”
Abby and Ryder look over their shoulders at Caleb as they continue toward the living room, both of them wearing a look of pity for poor Caleb. I watch as Ryder seizes the opportunity to sit next to Abby on the sofa and the sight takes my breath away. I might as well be dreaming. None of this feels real. Well, except for the unfortunate conversation I’m about to have with Caleb.
“Come on,” I beckon him as I head toward the door on our right. The library.
The beach house isn’t big enough for a studio, so I had the acoustic insulation installed inside the walls of the library and this is where we keep the baby grand piano and the guitars. I shut the door behind Caleb as he enters and his eyes are wide as he looks around the room.
Three of the four walls in the library are covered from floor to ceiling in bookshelves, which display Claire’s enormous collection of books. The outside wall has two large bay windows with bench seats for reading nooks. The portion of wall between the two windows is covered in frames displaying gold and platinum albums. Right in front of that wall is the baby grand piano. Off to the left is a mahogany leather sofa; to the right are two leather armchairs. In the corner is a display of five different guitars on stands.
“This is amazing,” Caleb remarks as he’s pulled toward the guitars. “Is that a… Is that a ’68 Stratocaster?”
I laugh at this. “Yes, it’s a ’68, but it’s not the ’68 Stratocaster you’re thinking of. Not that I haven’t tried offering the Allen family ridiculous sums of money for Jimi’s Strat, but they aren’t interested in money. Sit,” I say, pointing at the sofa.
He swallows hard then heads over to sit down. “Is this about Abby? I didn’t even realize I had my arm around her. I won’t let it happen again.”
I shake my head as I sit on the piano bench with my back to the keys. “It’s not about you having your arm around Abby’s shoulders. This is about you…” Oh, God help me. “This is about you and Abby having sex… while you’re here.”
“No, sir. We don’t plan on doing that. I swear. We haven’t even had sex yet.”
I hold up my hand so he doesn’t go into further detail. “Okay, I believe you. I just want to make sure you know that I can’t have that in my house. As much as I’d like to believe that Abby is my daughter, at this point, I’m just her steward. So while you two are here, it is my duty to make sure Abby do
esn’t do anything that she wouldn’t do in her… her other parents’ home. You understand?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Good. You’re excused.”
He eyes me warily as he stands from the sofa as if I’m trying to trick him into turning his back on me. Once he’s standing, he doesn’t head for the door. He just stares at the guitars in the corner.
“Do you think it would be okay if I played it? Just to try it out?”
“The ’68?”
He nods and a boyish grin spreads across his face. I shake my head as I stand from the piano bench and head over to grab the ’68 Strat off its stand. I pick up the guitar and, since I’m already there, I grab my ’59 Les Paul Standard. I tread carefully toward the sofa and hold out the ’68. Caleb grabs the strap first, then he grabs the neck. We both plug into the amp, which stands on the floor between the piano and the guitars. Then he slings the strap over his head and across his back, looking pleased that he doesn’t have to adjust the length.
I strap on my Les Paul and immediately begin tuning it. This goes on for a couple of minutes before I realize there’s no sound coming from Caleb’s guitar. I look up and he’s just staring at me.
“Something wrong?”
“I can’t believe I’m about to play with Chris Knight. Is that an original ’59 Les Paul?”
I purse my lips at this question. “I don’t do reissues. Is that thing tuned?”
“Oh, yeah.”
He begins testing each string. After a few minor adjustments on the tuners, he nods at me. I nod back and I take the lead, playing the opening guitar solo of “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix with heavy overdrive. If Caleb can answer back on this song, then he will officially have my approval. By the second measure, I can see he knows what I’m playing. By the fifth measure, he joins in. We only make it to the eleventh measure before Ryder and Abby walk into the library smiling.
“I knew that was you!” Ryder says, pointing at me. “I want to play.”
Abby gawks at Caleb, who’s grinning from ear to ear. “You were playing, too?”
“We were until you interrupted us.”
“Oh, well, don’t mind me. Please continue your jam session.”
“Where’s your guitar?”
“Upstairs.”
Caleb slips the guitar strap off and tightens it a bit before he holds it out to Abby. She shakes her head. She’s being shy.
Ryder heads straight for the piano. He’s been taking lessons with Rachel, my other best friend Jake’s wife, for three years, but he prefers the guitar. So it’s odd to see him choose the piano. He must have a particular song in mind.
I glance over at Abby and Caleb and they’re both staring at Ryder. Then he plays the first note and I instantly know what it is. I walk over to stand behind him as he plays the opening to “Imagine” by John Lennon. When the first verse starts, I sing along with him. By the third line, Caleb has joined us and Abby is giggling uncontrollably. Caleb doesn’t have a very good singing voice, but what he lacks in talent, he makes up for in enthusiasm. At the first chorus, I play a soft accompaniment on my Les Paul while Caleb and Ryder continue singing. Abby sidles up to the piano, tapping her foot to the beat.
“Come on, Abby. You know you want to dance,” Caleb says, and Ryder laughs as he continues playing. “Just do it. Dance like nobody’s watching.”
Caleb raises his arms above his head and does a little pirouette. Ryder laughs so hard he loses track of the melody.
Abby punches Caleb in the arm. “Shut up.”
I beckon Abby to come closer. “Come here.”
I nod toward Ryder and she sits next to him on the bench. He shows her how to tap out a single note while he plays on the other side of the keys. He starts singing the first line of the second verse, and my heart soars when she joins in on the next line. When the song is over, I notice Caleb is staring at her with the same starry look I’m probably wearing.
I guess John Lennon was right. We’re all just a bunch of dreamers. And I hope we never wake up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SHARING A BEDROOM with Jimi for six days has been beyond awkward. I almost left the beach house to go home on two different occasions this week.
The first time I felt like leaving happened on the first morning after we arrived on Sunday evening. When I went to bed on Sunday, Jimi pretended not to hear me enter the room, and I went straight to sleep. But the following morning, I was awakened by the sound of Jimi’s alarm at six a.m. It took her at least a minute to turn off the incessant beeping. Then she scurried about the bedroom, banging closet doors and dresser drawers as she looked for something. I guess there wasn’t enough light in the room, so she groaned and complained aloud, “Ugh. I can’t see anything in here.” Then she pulled the curtains wide open so the bedroom was flooded with light. The whole time, I kept trying to convince myself that I should throw off the covers and say something to her. Offer her some help finding whatever it was she was looking for. But I was just so angry. I was afraid I’d say something rude.
Caleb convinced me to stay when I told him what happened. And everything seemed fine the rest of the week. She hasn’t spoken to me much, but she did show Caleb and me how to check the electrical breakers in the basement when the amp Chris let us borrow wasn’t working when we plugged it into an outlet in the living room. Then last night, Jimi’s friend Sydney arrived and I absolutely wanted to leave. Over a fairly uneventful family dinner, Jimi asked if I could sleep with Caleb in Ryder’s room while Sydney was visiting for the weekend. Of course, I had no idea she was going to make this request. When I looked up at her from my plate of pasta, she was smiling at me.
“That’s what you want, right? To sleep with Caleb?”
My heart pounded so hard with anger and shame, I had to take a Nitrostat. I wanted to pack up my stuff and leave right then. I went down to the basement to fetch my empty suitcase, but the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs stopped me. I expected to see Caleb or even Chris or Claire. But when I turned to see who had followed me down, I was surprised to see Ryder descending the last few steps into the humid basement.
“Please don’t go, Abby.”
The disappointment in his wide brown eyes and the frown on his pink lips broke my heart. I was so tired. Physically and emotionally. But something inside me wanted to keep fighting for this little guy.
“It’s a little more complicated than coming or going, Ryder. There’s a lot of stuff going on underneath. Stuff that even I don’t understand. And I don’t want to hurt anyone. Including myself.”
He stared at my black suitcase for a minute, then he looked up. “My dad said pain is what makes us stronger. If you stay, maybe your heart will get stronger and you won’t have to take all that medicine.”
I chuckled at this. “So you’re saying I should tough it out? That it will be worth it in the end?”
He nodded at first, then he shrugged. “Does that mean you’re staying?”
How could I say no when my eleven-year-old brother begs me to be strong for him? I put my suitcase back on the shelf and tried not to feel too guilty when Jimi opted to sleep on the sofa bed with Sydney last night. But I woke up this morning with a new resolve to endure and enjoy this summer with the Knights.
I’m in the kitchen helping Claire put together some trays of campfire foods: hot dogs, chicken skewers, and all the components for s’mores. Jimi and Sydney are at the grocery store picking up some more soda and napkins. Caleb is out on the beach helping Chris and the boys get the fire started. Tonight is the big bonfire where I get to meet more people who’ve been dying to meet me.
“Can you put some foil over that tray, sweetie?” Claire says, nodding at a tray of hot dog buns on the counter next to the kitchen sink.
I secure a couple of pieces of foil over the tray then turn back to her. “Can you remind me who I’m meeting today? I don’t want to forget their names.”
“Oh, don’t worry about forgetting their names. They
’ve had eighteen years to remember yours. No one’s going to get upset if you don’t have their name down on the first day.”
I take a deep breath as I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jean shorts. “Well, do you think you can tell me what happened to… to your mom?”
Her back is to me as she grabs some tongs out of a drawer on the kitchen island, but for a moment she’s frozen. Then she sets the tongs down on the cutting board in front of her and slowly closes the drawer. When she turns around, she’s wearing a faint smile that just barely hides the pain in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wondered why I’m not going to get to meet her.”
She lets out a regretful sigh. “Oh, she would have loved to meet you. I’m sure of that.” She pauses for a moment and I consider telling her to forget I asked, but she finally looks up and her eyes focus on mine. “My mother died of a self-induced drug overdose when I was seven years old. She… She took her own life. She had a very difficult childhood and she just couldn’t hang on any longer. But there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t wish she could have been stronger for me. But…” She smiles a bit to herself. “I may have never met Chris and your Grandma Jackie if my mother had been stronger. Jackie Knight took me into her home when I was fifteen. I had no home. No family. No friends. I had nothing. Jackie gave me all those things and more. She’s an incredible woman and the kids adore their grandma. I can’t wait for you to meet her. And Joel, too.”
“Did somebody say my name?”
We both turn toward the hallway and a man with a gray beard and full head of gray hair is holding out his arms for Claire.
“Hey, Grandpa!” Claire says, hurrying to him to give him a big hug.
A woman with short, stylish auburn hair squeezes around them. “Where’s—”
She sees me before she can finish her sentence and I have a feeling she was going to ask for me. Her brown eyes widen and I can see the resemblance between her and Chris. Yes, I have her eyes.