“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jared stalls, drinking more coffee. “You’re not the kind of person who needs others’ approval or opinions to do nonmusic things. So why do you need others to lean on when you perform?”
“Aren’t you the one who wrote a song accusing me of listening too much to other people and not thinking enough for myself?”
“Yeah, well. I might have been angry at the time. I think I inherited my father’s temper. I’m not proud of that.” He digs a hole in the sand with his sneaker and buries a seashell.
I gulp my tepid coffee, heart twitching as if I’ve been zapped with electricity. “Did your father ever apologize for running off on you?”
Jared shakes his head.
“Then you’re not like your father.” When he doesn’t respond, I wonder if this has gotten way too personal for two people who don’t officially like each other anymore. “You think I can perform by myself?”
Jared takes his time answering, carefully smoothing sand over the shell he buried, a process that seems to require his full concentration. “I think you’re awesome. You’re the only one who’s ever doubted it.
Luckily, Jared’s phone goes off, saving me from the need to find words. “Mike’s ready to leave,” he says, tucking the phone in his pocket. “I have to get back to your house.”
We turn in that direction. Jared’s pensive the whole way home, which is fine by me. He keeps his gaze on the ground. So do I. I don’t know what to make of this conversation, but I’m pretty sure Jared’s wrong about one thing. I do need another’s opinion on my playing. And the only person who could persuade me to try performing alone just gave it to me.
I have no clue what to say, but I’m finally warm from head to toe.
Chapter Eighteen
Even though Beth’s called in sick, Ben sends me home early the next night because the store’s so quiet. I expect I’ll get to eat with my family—a nice change—and that Hannah will pounce with more questions the moment I’m through the door. She wasn’t too impressed with my boring answers last night, nor my protests that there wasn’t much to say. To be fair, once she stopped beating on me with a pillow, Hannah took the news better than I expected. It was Lisa who marched me into her bedroom and lectured me about how I shouldn’t have kept everything a secret when I knew Hannah liked Jared. She shut up quickly, however, when I demanded to know why she didn’t warn me about Zach.
But when I get home, I find everyone had plans except for my uncle. It’s just the two of us. I take Jayna out to the deck because the weather’s perfect. If I’m going to try performing solo, I need to rethink how I play some of my songs. Not all of them are cut out for it. Also, Erica and I used to switch off on who played rhythm and who played melody, so I’m struggling to figure what works best alone for each one.
I go through my favorite songs methodically, deciding which will be more trouble than they’re worth, and which I have to keep. “Romeo Must Die” makes the keeper list. Most of my angry, anti-Jared rants, unless they make excellent solo pieces, get the boot. It seems like bad karma to bother with them.
I jot down thoughts in my notebook, skipping over the pages that have my notes on the “Forsaken” song. If I figure it out eventually, so be it, though it kills me that given all the angst and drama I’ve endured over the past few weeks, I haven’t completed a single, decent song about it.
Half an hour into my practice, I’m having serious doubts about whether I should trust Jared’s opinion. It’s not just that one of the neighbors shut his window; I’m trying not to take that personally. It’s more that I don’t feel confident playing any of these songs. And if I’m not confident playing them alone in my backyard, then how can I play them in front of a crowd? The songs are supposed to be performed by a group. That’s how I’m used to them, and they all sounds wrong without Stabbing Shakespeare: weak, thin, low energy. Ugh.
Maybe if I had new songs, ones written to be solo pieces...but I don’t.
When my cell phone chimes with a new text it’s such a reprieve that I grab it right away. And blink. It’s Zach.
Was wondering if you wanted to do something tonight?
I stare into space for a minute as I decide whether to bother responding. Eventually, I decide that ignoring him will be less interesting than engaging him. Can’t. Busy. Sorry.
Too bad. You free tomorrow?
Sorry, nope. But Nikki should be around tonight.
It takes him some time to respond. That’s your dad’s secretary, right?
Yeah, the one’s whose mouth your tongue was in last night.
Another long pause. I imagine him cringing. You upset?
I smirk. Nope, it’s fine.
Let Zach parse through the implications of that. I tap my fingers against my guitar. This conversation is no longer interesting. I got what I wanted to know out of him. Now I should get back to my music.
“Your aunt called,” my uncle says, and I spin around, wondering when he showed up. “She and Hannah are on their way home with Thai food for dinner. Nikki’s with a former college friend in Boston, so it will just be us.”
I put my phone aside and pick up my guitar. “Good. Maybe she’ll find a nice guy her age and stop playing my dad.”
“Claire.”
“I’m serious. He’s making an idiot of himself. I don’t even know what Nikki’s after anymore. A summer vacation? I mean, it all made sense when my dad was rich. But now? He probably doesn’t even know he’s being played.”
My uncle cracks open his beer. “Give your father some credit. He’s not dumb.”
“Someone who’s not dumb doesn’t sink money into remodeling a condo that’s in fine condition when he’s been forced to sell his house. He doesn’t pay to keep some secretary in a string bikini around or buy his youngest daughter four-hundred-dollar shoes to wear to some party when he had to sell the boat. He doesn’t—”
“I’m not saying he isn’t vain and self-absorbed. I’m saying he isn’t dumb.”
“There’s a difference here?” I grab the phone again, pull up the photos of Nikki and show them to Uncle George. “See?”
He pushes the phone away. “Lovely. Claire, look. Yes, on one hand, your father’s attempts at keeping up appearances are petty and vain. On the other, keeping up those appearances helps him stay in the right social circles. Those circles are his best bets for landing a new job.”
“Nikki’s not helping with that.”
“Actually, she’s not as useless as you think. She does have a business degree. She’s in the business of marketing your father right now.”
“Yeah, and marketing herself.”
“If your father wants to be silly, let him be silly.” He checks over his shoulder, listening to the announcer on TV. The game must be back on. “He’s had a bad patch of luck. He’s stressed and concerned about you and April. If he needs to do something...juvenile to feel good about himself, it’s not hurting anyone.”
I pluck at Jayna’s strings. “Yet.”
“You think Nikki’s going to break his heart? Hardly.”
“No, guess not.” Absently, I start strumming “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away.”
“Don’t show your father those pictures. It’s not worth it. He’s already in a bad mood, and if he’s being juvenile, you need to be the adult.”
“Being the adult sucks. Isn’t that why he’s mad at me? Because I was the adult and refused to quit my job to go to his stupid party?”
“When he gets back on his feet, he’ll appreciate your responsibility.”
I’m not so sure about that.
“I realize this has been a tough summer on you,” my uncle continues. “I’m sure running into Jared didn’t help.”
I let my arm fall to my side. “Wow, word spreads fast.
”
“Actually, your aunt and I already knew about the two of you. It was only a revelation for your cousins.”
“Wait, what?” He has my full attention now. John Lennon’s voice stops echoing in my head, and I shift in my seat.
My uncle gives up on the game. He crosses the deck and sits on a lounge chair. “Your mother talked a lot about it to your aunt when you two were dating.”
“What?” I’m stuck on repeat.
“Your parents were very concerned about Jared’s influence on you. They said you were spending too much time with him and neglecting your friends. They feared your schoolwork was suffering. That Jared didn’t have any ambition and it was going to rub off on you. And, Jared’s appearance made them worry about drugs and—”
“What?” I need to stop that. “Okay, yeah, I spent a lot of time with him, but I was the one forcing him to do more schoolwork. And he had plenty of ambition—look where he is now. And drugs? Seriously? His mom’s sharp as a knife. If my parents hadn’t been so stuck up, they’d have realized the biggest druggies I knew all went to my private school, and they all got their drugs by stealing them from their respectable parents. But it was much easier to make assumptions because Jared had long hair and drove a rusty pickup and lived in a house the size of my parents’ garage and...”
I can’t go on. I need to breathe.
My uncle sets the beer down. “I’m not saying your parents made the best assumptions, and I’m not saying the guilt trip they laid on you was a good thing. But they were genuinely concerned. They didn’t try to make you miserable. They cared. They might have screwed up, but that’s what parents do. Go easy on your dad, Claire. Everyone makes mistakes. And these mistakes were made from the best of intentions.”
I remain planted in my seat after my uncle goes back inside. The Beatles aren’t doing it for me anymore. For once, I’m not sure what will. I don’t have a song in my repertoire to convey my mood. I feel pulled in twenty directions.
My uncle has a point about the Nikki situation. Maybe my dad’s merely going through a stupid phase. I remember how I like to speed down the highway, blasting music when I’m depressed or angry. Also stupid and self-destructive. Why would I expect adults not to act the same way? Because they’re more mature? Ha.
It’s easier to forgive my dad for that than it is to forgive him—and my mom—about pressuring me to break up with Jared. But the more I think about it, the more I’m forced to relent a bit.
I always spent my time with Jared at his house. Partly, that’s because his mother worked nights, and we’d have the place to ourselves. But it was also because Jared didn’t want to come to my house. He claimed he was afraid he’d break something.
Maybe he was. Or maybe he was intimidated—I wonder now.
The first time Jared saw where I lived, he started to say something about how I didn’t seem like...and then cut himself off. I guess I was supposed to be a snob because my house was bigger. Much bigger.
But the thing is—I loved hanging out at Jared’s house. It was one story, had only one bathroom and the bedrooms were the size of our closets, yet it was cozy and homey. I loved his mom’s lumpy sofa and the thinning rug, and that I could run from the kitchen at one end to Jared’s room at the other faster than it would take me to run up the stairs at my house. I could be myself there and belong in a way my attitude and style never belonged among my parents’ marble floors or leather couches. Even his mother was awesome—a tough-talking, no-nonsense woman who’d give me huge hugs whenever we met.
I never told Jared that though. Should I have? All that time could Jared have been comparing my house to his and believing his was inadequate?
He did his best to avoid running into my parents after the first couple times, too, and the more we stayed away, the more critical and prying my parents got. “What were you two up to today?” “Why doesn’t Jared come over here more?” “How come you didn’t answer your phone the instant we called?” The more prying they got, the more I clamped up.
And the more I stopped talking to them, the less they included me in the family conversations. All the things April knew that I didn’t, all the plans no one clued me in on—if I’d made the effort to be more of a member of the family, would they still have forgotten me?
I rub my eyes, wishing I could put this all behind me and move on, but I can’t unless I’m being honest with myself about what I’m moving on from. So it’s time to face some hard truths.
Truth number one: I miss Jared. Horribly. Even my fury over his lyrics has subsided to a minor annoyance. Of course he had to vent. Of course, in order to make a song work, you sometimes have to sacrifice literal honesty for emotional honesty. From Jared’s perspective—if I’m right about him feeling intimidated around my family—then me dumping him because he wasn’t good enough made perfect sense.
Truth number two: everyone makes mistakes. That means me, my parents, Jared, Hannah, everyone. Sometimes people get hurt from them. But if the hurt is caused by an honest mistake, carrying a grudge only prolongs the pain. In other words, you’re not perfect, either, Claire, so let it go.
Truth number three: the band is gone. I might be able to form another; I might not. In the meantime, the only way to find out whether I can perform on my own is to grow some courage and give it a try. I might never have a better opportunity than that open-mic thing at the coffee shop. If I fail spectacularly, it doesn’t matter because I get to leave soon after.
Truth number four? Well, truth number four is that I can’t handle any more honesty at the moment. I have enough to ponder.
I take Jayna and my notebook inside. My brain needs time to process all my thoughts, so I plop down on the sofa next to my uncle and put my feet up. “What’s the score?”
“Tied one-one.”
“If you knew about my history with Jared, why didn’t you say anything when Hannah went out with him?”
“Because you seemed intent on keeping it a secret, so I wanted to respect that.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness. If I’m supposed to be all adult, can I have a beer?”
“No, but as of September first, I’ll allow you to register to vote, and to celebrate we’ll bake you a cake and give you presents.”
I chuck a pillow at him and settle in to watch the game.
* * *
My dad and April return in the middle of a thunderstorm. From the attic bedroom, I watch their car pull up as my phone starts playing The Clash.
I don’t bother with hello since that’s Kristen’s theme music. “How was vacation?”
Kristen groans. “Over. Last time I ever go on a family vacation. Promise me you won’t let me change my mind. I don’t even care if my parents are whispering sweet nothings about the French Riviera. Got it?”
“That good?”
“Better. So what did I miss from New Hampster?”
I push the guitar aside and hug my pillow. Where to begin? “I’ve accepted the fact that I’m still in love with Jared.”
Kristen screams. “I knew it. I knew this was going to happen. Damn it. Do I need to come up there and run an intervention? Crap. Where did I put my plan for how to deal with this?”
“No need. I have the top-ten list on my computer. I’ve been reading each night before I go to bed.” For all the good that seems to do when I’m with him.
“This is tragic. How could this happen?”
“I don’t know. But after the band split—”
Another scream. “Of course! You poor baby. No wonder you think you’re falling for Jared again. You’re in emotional turmoil. It could happen to anyone. You’re regressing, clinging to something happy from your past in light of the recent tragedy.”
“Lay off it, Dr. Freud. It started before then.”
“Claire, work with me. I’m trying to help you thr
ough this.”
The bedroom door opens and a soggy April stomps in, sulking.
“I’m working through it fine. I’ll be home in a week. We’ll go nuts the weekend before you leave for college, and it’ll pass.” Thunder rumbles outside. “I gotta go.”
Kristen growls at me. “Fine. But if I have to come up there and beat some sense into you, I will.”
“Freud would not approve.” I hang up and watch April dump her suitcase on the bed. “How was the party?”
“Boring as usual until Kaitlyn Michelson caught her boyfriend groping some other girl and she pushed him in the pool, tux and all. You should have been there for that part.” She sits on the bed with a thump and shoves the clothes to the floor. “Also, Sam Cohen got fat, Shannon Bell’s on academic probation, Melissa Sanderson got busted for selling pot out of her dorm room, and Chase Donaldson totaled his dad’s Porsche. By comparison, we’re saints. Dad was bragging about us. Even you.” She wrinkles her nose.
“What did he say about me?”
“Oh, that you’re so talented and responsible, and how you learned guitar from the Jared Steele. Suddenly, it’s all cool to know Jared because he’s famous. Dad got to tell everyone what a nice boy he is.” April pretends to gag. “You’d better have done something useful while I was gone. Is Nikki still alive?”
I run my fingers over my phone. April needs a better role model in her life than our dad, and since Mom isn’t around anymore, I guess that means it’s my job. “Yup. She went to Boston to visit a friend. Nothing much happened here.”
Chapter Nineteen
Beth’s at her register for the first time in days when I get to Milk and Honey. She makes all kinds of silent but frantic gestures at me as I walk by en route to clock in and get my till. I interpret these to mean “Holy crap, we need to talk.” Judging by her customer’s face, he interprets them to mean “Holy crap, my cashier is possessed by a demon.”
If only.
Beth has a legitimate reason to think I owe her explanations, but I’m getting tired of them. Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t own up to knowing Jared in the first place. But then I suppose I’d just have needed to explain things then instead of now. There’s got to be a lesson about the evils of procrastination in here.
Another Little Piece of My Heart Page 19