Another Little Piece of My Heart

by Tracey Martin

  And that’s what this is—years of unspoken words spilling out. I can’t stop them. “I’m still a part of this family, and I did what I did with Jared for Mom because I wanted her to be happy and less stressed. It sure didn’t make me happier. I don’t even know why I’m telling you because you don’t care, but I just feel like you should finally know.”

  Afraid of how much I’ve revealed, I hurry into the house, grab my keys and drive off before anyone can stop me. When I reach the highway, I crank the stereo. I’m hollow inside now that I’ve gutted myself of all those things I’ve been carrying around, but a pounding bass line and angsty vocals work wonders on my soul. The music slips over me like silk, and I relax as I feel it refilling my emptiness with pain and joy, cynicism and honesty.

  I drive until I reach Maine, which isn’t all that far, then drive some more before I’m ready to turn around. My music therapy session helped, but it’s going to take some time before I recover completely. Until then, I don’t have the capacity to face my family.

  Chapter Ten

  A couple days pass. My dad and I avoid each other as much as possible, and I finish recovering from my outburst. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I begin to suspect I inherited my tendency to hold everything in from him. My mom was the talker, the one who handled all the squishy emotional stuff, and after she died, it was Grandma B who swept in and smothered me and April with affection. Stoic to the core, my dad tried to carry on around us as if little had changed. It was his way of coping, I guess. Plowing ahead with life makes it easier to hold in grief and other strong feelings.

  Maybe I really do take after my dad. Scary thought.

  While I ponder my genetic makeup, Hannah leaves as little to chance as possible. She must have realized I never agreed to this joke of a date because she tells Zach and Jared all about it for me. My last, best hope is that Jared won’t be able to get additional tickets or will choose not to get additional tickets. But the lure of taking Hannah to the concert must prove stronger than his unhappiness that I’ll be tagging along. It’s a done deal faster than I can say “syrup of ipecac.”

  Lucky for me, I have a wannabe psychotherapist on speed dial.

  “Greening’s Brothel. Show us the money; we’ll show you some honey.”

  I choke on my plum and juice sprays from my lips. “You’ve sunk to new lows. You know that?”

  “You love me.” Kristen sounds fully alert this time. Thank God there’s no Delirium playing in the background. “What’s up? Have you kicked Jared in the groin yet? I keep waiting for a video to show up on YouTube.”

  “If I do, you’ll be the first person I call.” I’m walking down the street so I can have our conversation in private. This leaves me without a napkin or a tissue, so I wipe my juice-stained hands on my jeans. “Something horrible’s happened.” Then I remember that plenty of horrible things have happened since I came to New Hampshire, so I add, “Again.”

  “Oh, God. I’ve been waiting for this call. Don’t worry. I’ve gone over this intervention with my dad. He says it’s solid. First, we review the top ten reasons why Jared Steele sucks lime—”

  “Not that!” I plop to the curb, a fair distance from the beach house. “Give me some credit. No, my cousin Hannah has a date with him, and I’ve been....” Been what? Tricked? Suckered? Bullied? “Been drafted into going along on a double date.”

  Kristen sucks in a breath. “Your cousin, your own flesh and blood, has a date with your evil ex, and she’s dragging you along? Dear God. How could she? She deserves to be burned at the stake or stoned. At least bitch-slapped a little.”

  “She doesn’t know he’s my ex. Jared hasn’t said anything, and I definitely don’t want to explain.”

  “Oh. Even still, that’s so not right.”

  I rub my eyes. “It’s partly my fault. He’s taking her to see Vamp Dust on Saturday.”

  “Ooh! Really?” After Jared got me into listening to Vamp Dust, I passed the love on to Kristen.

  “I was stupid and had to say something about wanting to see them, and it all blew up in my face. What am I supposed to do?”

  “What do you mean ‘supposed to do?’ You’re supposed to go, ignore Jared and have a fabulous time at the concert. I wonder if they’re coming down here.”

  I hear typing in the background and suspect she’s going online to check the tour schedule.

  I lower my head to my knees. “This is going to suck. I need you.”

  “And you know I’d drive straight to New Hampshire and be there for you—hello, it’s a Vamp Dust concert—if I could. But I have to be somewhere Saturday night.”

  “Where?”

  “Some local alumni group is hosting a barbeque for incoming freshman and their families, and my parents want me to go.” She sounds sheepish. Kristen and I used to talk about college all the time, but since she found out I’m not going this year, she tries not to bring up the topic around me. I don’t know whether to be touched by her consideration or feel bad for making her uncomfortable.

  I pick at a hole forming in my jeans. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Yeah, right. Barbeque with a bunch of strangers and my parents, and I’ll be stuck eating tons of corn on the cob because it’ll be the only vegan thing served. I’d much rather be going with you.” She sighs. “All right, forget my problems. This is about you. You said it’s a double date, right? Is your date that Zach guy you told me about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, then you’ll be fine. You said he’s cute. Here’s what you do: You take two cars. You go with Zach; your cousin goes with Jared. You stay as far from Jared as possible during the concert, and once you’re there, who cares? You’ll be rocking out to Vamp Dust so you’ll forget all about him. It’ll be very little actual time spent with Jared, and you’ll be with a hot guy at a cool concert. This sounds like it could be pretty win. I’m jealous.”

  I suck on my lip. Kristen’s logic seems okay. Maybe I’ll survive this after all.

  “Claire?”

  “I suppose that might work.”

  “Trust me. Be strong. Oh, and I’m going to email you this list of techniques for coping under stress that I found. I think it’s for people with addiction issues, but they look useable for anyone.”

  I swat a mosquito. “I don’t suppose any of them involve bashing your ex on the head with his own Grammy?”

  “No, but if you decide to cope that way, please, I’m begging you, get it on video.”

  * * *

  Kristen’s consoled me enough that, although I’m still not looking forward to the concert, I rearrange my schedule with Ben for Saturday. Since I am going, I want the time to shower and change before leaving.

  Hannah is dolled up in a frilly pink top, jeans and heavy makeup. Her silver sandals have three-inch heels.

  I frown at them, thinking they look vaguely familiar. “Are those Nikki’s?”

  “Yeah.” Hannah stumbles, reaching for her purse. “She said I could borrow them. Aren’t they gorgeous?”

  I suppose they are if you’re into designer shoes. Pity Nikki didn’t teach Hannah how to walk in them.

  I wince internally for Hannah as I check over my appearance in the living room mirror. I’ve conceded to the date-like spirit of the night by wearing a black tank dress and the purple sandals I bought in a New York City boutique a couple years ago. They look like a cross between combat boots and gladiator shoes, and I adore them. All the more so because the rest of my family makes funny faces when I wear them.

  “What are you doing?”

  Hannah’s dumped the contents of her purse on the sofa. She runs her thumb wistfully over her pack of cigarettes then sticks them on the table. “Jared said he hates smoke, so I’m not bringing these with. That way I can’t be tempted to light up.”

  “You’
re quitting smoking for him?” Maybe I’ve misjudged Hannah’s interest in Jared. This sounds almost serious.

  “Not quitting, quitting. But not smoking around him. I want him to kiss me.” She grins.

  Of course. I fight the image of the two of them lip-locked.

  “So how do I look?” Hannah asks, wobbling around in a circle. “Think he will?”

  “Don’t see why he wouldn’t.” It’s as truthful as I can get, and even that’s enough to unsettle me. I consider being kind and warning Hannah that Jared hates pink, but before I can, a car pulls into the driveway.

  “They’re here!” Hannah grabs her purse.

  I check out the window. “There’s only one car.”

  “Yeah, Zach said we should carpool because it can be hard to find parking.”

  My stomach slides to the floor, and I think it hits every buckle on my sandals as it goes. “I’ll risk it. I’m driving too.”

  “You can’t. Zach’s driving since he knows where we’re going. He’s from Boston.”

  Great. I’m going to hurl and I never even drank the syrup of ipecac. My worst-case scenarios are all coming true. What next? We get stranded on the highway somewhere?

  I throw open the front door and hurry outside because I’d like to lower the odds of Jared running into my dad.

  Hannah shouts our goodbyes, then grabs my arm. “Thanks for offering with the two cars.”

  Yeah, I’ll just let her think I did it for her.

  The drive to Boston—or, more accurately, one of the surrounding towns—takes about an hour, and I keep my mouth shut for most of it. Hannah’s only too happy to talk and so is Zach.

  “So do you know these people?” Hannah asks Jared. “I never heard of them. Are they big in Australia?”

  “Know them, like personally?” Jared laughs. “No. I used to spend a lot of time in this music store back home, and one of the owners was big into indies. She played them for me once; hooked me from the first song.”

  I know which store Jared’s talking about. It’s the one he took me to when he helped me buy my first guitar.

  “Yeah, they sound good. Claire played me their album.”

  “Did she?”

  I wonder if Jared’s going to say something to me, but he starts talking about the band instead. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or insulted. Surely, someone should think it’s odd that he didn’t follow up on Hannah’s comment.

  But maybe not. When Jared talks music, it’s hard to quiet him down and he can derail a conversation easily. I’m riding shotgun since Zach’s driving, and I can’t see into the backseat, but I can imagine Jared’s expression. He always gets this dreamy gleam in his eyes when he talks about music that he loves.

  I breathe deeply, thinking of Kristen and yoga breaths, and wish I’d taken the time to read that list of coping techniques she sent me. How am I going to survive the night?

  “Cool,” Hannah says, finally. “Yeah, the lead singer does have an awesome voice. So, cuz, how did you find out about them?”

  “Some loser I dated liked them.”

  I’m hoping for a retort from Jared but he says nothing. Point for me. Maybe I should keep score. It might make the night more interesting.

  Zach only has to drive around for a couple minutes before he snags a spot that requires some serious parallel-parking skills to conquer. Much as I despised the car ride, I’m glad I didn’t drive after all. I’m totally turned around, and I’d have never wedged my car into that space.

  We’re a short walk to the concert venue, but it takes forever because infants walk with more grace than Hannah in heels. The theater looks like it was built in the 1920s, complete with an old style marquee. Vamp Dust is lit up in golden bulbs.

  It’s not going to be a large concert by any means, but the crowd is already gathering outside. Finally, my orange hair no longer stands out like a ferocious zit. I’m tame-looking compared to the girl with the pink spikes and guy with the four-inch Mohawk. Hannah is the one who looks out of place.

  The air buzzes with preconcert electricity that sets my nerves tingling. Kristen would so be jealous. In spite of everything, I can’t help but bounce on my feet as we wait in line to pick up our tickets.

  My giddiness fades away, though, once we get through the theater doors. Inside, the heat is overpowering. To my left, the concession stand does a brisk business in cold drinks, and a booth is set up with Vamp Dust merchandise.

  At last, we break free of the swarm, and Jared steps out of line. Hannah’s hanging on his arm, and he waves to me and Zach to follow. We join them by a roped off doorway.

  “Someone’s supposed to meet us here,” Jared says. He scans the lobby, but avoids looking in my direction. It must be killing him to have me here.

  I’d forgotten that Hannah said something about Jared getting VIP tickets, and wonder what that means at a concert this size. Soon enough, I find out. A black-clad guy with a yellow security badge wanders over. “You guys can come with me,” he says.

  He moves the rope for us, and we follow him up a dark, narrow staircase. At the end, it opens to a roped-off balcony that’s already filling with people. The security guy keeps us moving past it and opens a door at the end of a dingy hallway for us instead.

  We step out into a small, separate balcony, what once must have been the theater’s equivalent of box seating. Across the way, I see two more similar balconies. The lower one holds a camera crew, while the upper one has a sign with some radio station’s call letters draped over the side. That one is packed.

  “You enjoy the show,” the security guard says. “The band’s invited you down afterward so I’ll look for you then.”

  We get to meet them? Sweet. I don’t care if this is all Jared’s doing, I’ll have to run down and buy albums for me and Kristen so that I can get them signed later.

  Meantime, I have more important issues to contend with: my intention of staying far away from Jared during the concert has been ruined. Our little balcony is, well, little. I stake out the far corner since it’s the best I can do.

  Over the next several minutes, the theater fills. I struggle to talk to Zach because for one, Hannah leans over Jared so that she’s in his face as they talk, and two, we really have nothing in common. So far, I’ve learned he’s a Patriots fan, while I don’t care about sports. He’s into gaming. I’m into music. He talks about college. I try not to get mad at my father. Hannah and Jared are laughing about something, and I have the urge to run into the bathroom and never come out.

  At last, Vamp Dust takes the stage and the crowd goes nuts. We might be a small audience, but we’re appreciative, and the group deserves every lung-tearing shriek of our adoration. They really are as good live as people claim. Without the studio to constrain them, the guitars swoop and soar. The energy is intense whether driven by their epic, quasi-orchestral pieces, a techno-metal dance tune or a gritty ballad. And above it all, lead singer Wanda Gibbons’s voice soothes the soul, as rich and smooth as buttercream.

  I’m on my feet dancing the whole time, trying to soak up their newest songs. For a blissful hour or more, I completely forget that Jared stands less than ten feet away. If only he hadn’t introduced me to their music, I’d have forgotten about him all together.

  By the end, I’m pumped full of adrenaline, and my mind buzzes with ideas for songs of my own. Vamp Dust’s new album—appropriately titled Mythic—draws on Greek and Celtic stories as ways to sing about love or betrayal or jealousy, and I wonder why I never thought of doing that myself. So many possibilities. I might even be able to find inspiration for finishing that stupid “forsaken” song that won’t leave me alone. I’m desperate to go home and listen to their new album all over again so I can absorb more.

  Even more than that, I’m determined to hold on to this buzz. Seeing another band perform live has reminded
me how long it’s been since Stabbing Shakespeare’s done it. I need to get on with organizing some practice sessions so we can do the competition.

  “What did you think?” I ask Zach when the lights come back on and the band’s finished their final encore.

  He stretches. “Pretty cool.”

  I can’t tell if he’s humoring me. He certainly doesn’t sound enthusiastic enough for my taste. Now I have to wonder what kind of crap music Zach’s into. If he prefers the Stones over the Beatles, we have problems. If he doesn’t like either, we’re through.

  “I have to go get their album so I can get it signed,” I tell him and dart off.

  I’m not the only one with that plan. The crowd takes forever to disperse through the lobby, and the line at the merchandise booths are long. It’s another five minutes until I make it to the counter and hand over my money for two CDs, one for me and one for Kristen.

  Only when I step out of line do I remember the security guy saying he’d come back for us so we could meet the band. I swear under my breath. Zach won’t leave without me, but damn it—I don’t want to miss this chance. Vamp Dust is only interested in Jared, no doubt. If I’m not there when security comes, I’ll lose out.

  I push my way through the chaos, fearing I’m too late. Someone’s already blocked our stairwell off with the rope.

  “Claire!”

  I spin around. Zach’s by the theater’s main doors, Jared and Hannah with him. The security guard is also there. I try not to seem too relieved. Dignity—I must retain some.

  Hannah punches me in the arm. “Where did you go?”

  “CDs,” I mutter because Jared’s finally deigned to look at me, and I can’t figure out his deal. Is he laughing at me or pitying me?

  The security guard clears his throat. “There’s not much space backstage because of renovations, so they’re meeting everybody out front. Bunch of people who won some radio contest are getting autographs.” He holds open the door and stands aside.