by S. M. West
My voice cracks, and I have to pause. Daisy wraps her arms around me, burying her face into that space between my neck and shoulder. Her tears wet my skin, and I want to kick myself. I didn’t mean to make her cry.
“Daze, sorry, I’ll stop.” I tilt up her chin and she jerks out of my arms, gaze boring into mine.
“No. I want to hear this.” Her hand splays against my bare chest, right over my heart. “Please go on.”
“A man got Robin onto the shore, but it was too late. They couldn’t save her. And my mom…she was gone. She must have realized or feared she’d be blamed. Maybe even charged. She’d left two minors unsupervised in the water.
“Later, the police took me to where our tent was, but they were gone. And after, when I’d given them her name and they drove me to the trailer, our home—nothing. Not a trace of her. That was last time I saw her, when she stood on the shore and watched her daughter drown and son scream for help.”
“Oh my God, Gray, I don’t know what to say.” She clings to me, lightly kissing my neck and whispering words of love and comfort.
“I didn’t tell you this story to make you sad but to show you just how horrible my birth parents are, and I have their blood in my veins.”
“You’re nothing like—”
“That’s my point. I was exposed to my parents, lived with my mother for six years, and I am nothing like her. I know this as sure as I know I need air to live and breathe. And the same goes for Henry.” I cup her face in my hands, and her pale eyes sparkle in the dim light. “Whatever happened to you was horrible and the man who did it, despicable. I wish I could hurt him, give you justice, but know this—your son is nothing like him.
“Henry will not be like that man. He’s a sweet, loving, smart, funny little boy, and he’s influenced by those in his life.”
“That’s true.” Her tone is relieved, almost happy, and I pull her down with me until we’re lying on the bed, arms wrapped around each other. “Thank you for telling me about Robin. When you’re ready, I’d love to hear more about her.”
“I’d like that.” I kiss the top of her head. “Let’s try to sleep.”
“Night, Gray. I love you.”
“Love you too. Sweet dreams.”
Daisy falls asleep faster than usual, and I lie there, listening to her slow, steady breaths and let thoughts of Robin wash over me. It isn’t often I relive that dreadful memory, but not a day goes by that I don’t think of my sister.
The next day is bright and sunny, and we spend the morning lazing around, eating a breakfast of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and toast. I don’t need to be in the studio until ten and only for two hours. Daisy and Henry are coming with me for a bit. Henry wants to see me on the drums, and then we have one last interview, hopefully, with our nanny-to-be.
When we arrive at the studio, India’s on us before we even make it down the hallway.
“Gray, you’re finally here.” She bounces in her flip-flops, eyes glittering and movements frantic. Is she high?
“Yeah, I told you I’d be in around ten and I was bringing Daisy and Henry.” My hand, resting at Daisy’s lower back, rubs in gentle circles. “India, you remember them both, don’t you?” I tilt my head toward Daisy. Henry’s run ahead and is chattering with Silas who is crouched to his level, laughing.
“Yes. Hi.” She gives Daisy barely a glance and grabs at my forearm. “I’ve got the most brilliant idea ever.” She tugs me forward, urging me away from Daisy, but I’m reluctant to move. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”
“Hey, India, calm down.” Silas moseys toward us while Henry squats on the floor, playing with a toy car.
The songstress rolls her eyes and cocks a hip, placing her hand on her waist. He pays her no attention, nodding at me as he nears. Then Silas takes Daisy gently into his arms and squeezes her tight.
While he hasn’t seen her nearly as often as Pansy has, his concern isn’t masked very well. His brows crease and lips climb half-heartedly into a faint smile. India wrinkles her nose at the whole display as if she’s more than had enough with any and all attention not on her.
“So, Gray, as you know, as soon as the album releases, we’re going on tour.” India’s a steamroller oblivious to anything in her path, and once more, she grasps my arm and pulls me forward.
“Yeah.” More annoyed than interested and too slow to dodge her, I dig in my heels.
She frowns, unable to move me even an inch, and eventually, she drops her hand, giving up any attempt to pull me away or get me all to herself.
“I want you on the tour.” Her face is a neon sign, bright, garish, and hard to ignore. “You’d be amazing on drums and think about the publicity. Trojan’s drummer joins India Holt on World Tour.”
Hands up and open, she slides her palms outward in arcs as if imagining a headline. “We’d draw in not only India fans but think of all the Trojan fans who would kill to see you play again. The crowds would go insane!”
26
Daisy
None of that compares
Gray on tour. India’s tour. If memory serves me right and he goes on tour, he’d be gone for easily a year. India had mentioned they’d be stopping on every continent, and she’s right. The fans—they would go berserk for a chance to hear from another member of Trojan.
Jared had a brief albeit very successful solo career after Trojan retired. The fans were wild, and yes, it was Jared Grange so there is that to consider, but the fandom was almost more intense than their Trojan days.
My head whips to Gray the second India’s done trying to sell him on the tour. His expression is blank, although somewhat stunned. In some ways, I’m sure he’d love to go on tour.
I had agreed to watch him play this morning even though he was only going to be gone for a couple of hours. This visit would be bittersweet. I knew that going in, because Gray gets this ethereal, faraway look to him when he plays. It’s like he’s in another world and wherever he is, it’s the best place on earth.
There’s no way anyone can compete with that. I’m almost envious of him, of what he finds when playing the drums or creating music. And when Trojan decided to retire, Gray said he was fine with it and even wanted it, but he misses performing, making music.
And while producing records fulfills some of that, it isn’t the same. It doesn’t feed all of his passion.
“Tour?” The dreaded word slips from my mouth before I have a chance to get control of it, and I wince.
Maybe it’s better this way. The tour would be good for him. I’m a mess. My business is at a standstill. So much so, some of my photo shoots have fallen through for no apparent reason, and I can’t bring myself to do anything about it.
The calls for new work keep coming in, and I’m putting off booking anything for the future. I can’t seem to move forward.
I’m stuck…stuck on that stupid week in Paris. No matter how hard or how long I sit silently and rack my brain, going back through those days and hours and minutes, trying to recreate every moment…
Nothing stands out.
Nothing is off.
Nothing is different.
“India, ah, that’s an amazing invitation, but I can’t accept.” His tone is grave, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
“What? You can’t say no.” India is on him again like a fly to shit. Hand stroking, face inches from his, and I swear she does it to deliberately bother me.
I’m not threatened by her, as much as I hate seeing her hands on Gray. He isn’t hers. I trust him, and there’s nothing between them.
Heck, even on India’s part, she doesn’t need to steal someone else’s man, nor do I believe she wants to. But she has this need, it’s huge and unavoidable, and doing stuff like this, fawning all over Gray, seems to feed it, fill it. Whatever.
“He’ll think about it,” I chime in, and Gray’s head snaps in my direction. India starts clapping her hands and jumping up and down like a happy kid at a birthday party.
Hi
s gaze narrows on me. “No, I’m not.”
I grab his hand, squeezing it and giving him my best, most encouraging smile. His expression remains stern, and sensing the mounting tension, Silas steps in between all of us.
“Hey, India, why don’t we give them some time alone.” Silas pulls at her shoulder, and she grudgingly turns around to head down the hall. “I’ve got Henry. You two talk.”
It’s as much a reassurance as a warning. Gray’s crushing blue eyes never stray from mine. In the deep, endless flecks of silver and gold of his irises, I can almost see his deliberation about how best to tackle this…me.
“I’m not going on the tour.” He’s going with the direct approach. “I don’t want to go, and I’m not leaving you and Henry.” His hands latch onto the curve of my waist, fingers curling into my skin.
“You should think about it.” My tone is composed and just as direct. “You love to play. Think about how much fun it would be. And Henry and I would come out and visit you.”
His head shakes vehemently from side to side, blond hair falling across one eye, as he leans into me. His lips are a breath away from mine, and I stop breathing while his eyes hold mine.
“No.” He’s close enough for me to see how his eyes glitter with determination. His voice drops to a low growl. “You and I both know what it means to be on tour.”
I gave birth to Henry while they were on Trojan’s last tour. Our friendship had been young at the time, and we were only just starting to get to know each other. But there had been days at a time when I wouldn’t hear from him or Pansy, who had also gone with them on the tour.
Sometimes, it was the time difference plotting against us and never quite lining up, and other times, our schedules would rain down chaos. As a new mother, I had to steal sleep any chance I could get, and his schedule was just unpredictable. Yeah, I knew what a tour would do to us.
“It’s long and grueling hours, and I’d have hardly any time for the two of you. I barely know what city we’re in, and there isn’t any time to go out and explore or enjoy the sights.” He’s exasperated having to remind me and maybe a bit confused as to why I’d even suggest that he go. “You and Henry are the most important thing to me.”
His words heat me to the core, turning my insides to liquid. And in the same breath, I’m panicking as my heart leaps into my throat. I can’t hold his life hostage, too, while I figure out my crap—and that is if I ever figure it out.
“Gr—”
He cuts me off. “I get to play on this album, and that’s awesome. I get to work with amazing artists every day, creating fantastic music. That’s awesome. But none of that compares to you. To spending time with you and Henry.” He presses his forehead to mine. “None of it. Do you hear me?”
Before I can say a word, he kisses me hard. Then he pulls away and follows Silas and the others, leaving me breathless.
The next few hours go by fast. Gray plays the drums, and Henry loves every minute of it. He’s wired, thrilled to see Gray performing, and to be expected, at one point he insists on playing the drums too. Silas, India, and Gray are all too agreeable and give my son free rein of the instruments.
My phone vibrates, and I step from the room when I see it’s Sasha. “Hi, how are you?”
“I was calling to ask you that very question.” She’s become a lioness watching over her cub. “Are you with Gray? At the studio?”
“Yes. Henry is having a blast, and everyone is spoiling him.”
“Good. Listen, I have something to tell you but I’m thinking I should do it when Gray’s with you.”
My feet stop, and I press my back into the wall for support. Did she find something?
Sasha has been ruthless in calling models, makeup artists, designers, or anyone we can think of who might remember anything from that time in Paris.
All my muscles freeze. “Sasha, tell me. I can handle it.”
“Fine. Do you remember Apollo?”
“You mean the model from London?” I couldn’t forget him. We’d shared many photo spreads and runways.
“Yes. He sort of became the international poster boy for hipsters because of his iconic beard.”
“I know who he is. We were friends and worked a lot together. Don’t you remember, we had that hugely successful campaign in France for Milton, and after that, all we seemed to get were bookings together.”
“I remember. The two of you even went to Sandrine demanding solo go-sees and gigs.”
“Yes. We didn’t mind working together, but we also didn’t want to be pigeonholed as a couple.”
“Are you sure he felt the same way?” she asks in a way that causes a shiver to run down my spine.
“Sasha, quit stalling. What are you getting at?” Flutters like nervous snakes slither through my stomach.
“He was at our party that night.” She means the night we think something happened. It’s the only night where Costa and I weren’t together for several hours.
“Okay, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
So many memories of Apollo rush through my mind. We were friends. We even flirted, and he’d asked me out once, but I turned him down because I was with Costa.
“I’ve talked to a lot of people these past few weeks.” She pauses and my gut clenches at how much she’s done for me, even delaying her return to Paris. “And several people have mentioned how much he adored you. Some even say he had a wild crush and was obsessed. Totally bummed when you went to Sandrine to ‘break up your duo’ as one person put it.”
“What?” I don’t remember him like that. Was I blind? It feels like there was so much I didn’t see.
“Honey, I know this is a lot to take in, but we need to talk to him.”
“To Apollo?” My throat is intensely dry, and suddenly, I feel sick.
Since Costa came back into my life, I’ve wanted nothing more than to know what happened.
Until now.
Now, the idea of finding out the truth terrifies me. Even as I know logically it doesn’t change the past. It’s like I can pretend it never happened if I never get answers.
The answers I so desperately seek.
“Yes. I’ve made some calls, and it turns out he’s in New York. He’s working one of the same fashion shows as Costa. I’ve booked a flight for us to go in three days. He’ll still be there, and I think we should surprise him.”
“Oh my God.” My legs shake and I slide down to the floor.
“Daisy, are you okay?”
“Do you think it’s him?” The very thought, let alone the words, eats at my insides.
I can’t reconcile the Apollo I trusted and worked with, the funny man I spent hours with, sometimes practically naked, with someone who took so much from me.
“I don’t know, but it’s our first real lead. We’d be stupid not to follow through on it. I’ll be with you every step of the way. And you know Gray will be there too.”
“Gray.” My voice cracks thinking about him and how to tell him we might be toward the end.
The end of what? It doesn’t feel like an end, but like another dark passage.
“Daisy, Daisy.” Sasha’s insistent voice cuts through my thoughts.
“I’m here. What?”
“Where’s Gray right now? Is he with you?”
“I’m out in the hallway.”
“Okay. Stay where you are, and I’m going to call him. I’ll fill him in and you just chill.”
I’m nodding and realize she can’t see me. “Okay. And Sash…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. You’re really good at this taking care of people thing.” A laugh, strangled by a cry, springs from my mouth.
She snorts before getting serious. “There isn’t anyone else I’d do this for.”
She ends the call and I sit there. For how long, I couldn’t say. Even as I dig through the past, unearthing moments with Apollo, I have a hard time with the possibility. The sense of betrayal and shame is overwhelming.
&n
bsp; Gray eventually finds me, and he sits with me in the hallway for a while. And like Sasha said, he’s already making arrangements to be in New York with me.
Eventually, we leave, and Henry passes out as soon as I buckle him into the car seat. He’s still sleeping when we arrive, and Jocelyn, the nanny candidate, waits at our front door.
A flame of wild red hair surrounds the tall, lean lady on the front step. She smiles down at Henry cradled in Gray’s arms. Silent greetings are made, and we settle in the living room while Gray puts Henry to bed.
I excuse myself and splash cold water on my face, pushing any thoughts of the upcoming trip out of my mind.
“Henry usually sleeps for a little under two hours,” I say as I walk back into the room. “So he could go for a little longer, or his eyes may pop open the second his head hits the pillow.” I place the coffee pot onto the trivet before sitting across from her on the couch.
“Yes, that can happen.” Jocelyn scoops some sugar into her cup. “Naps are important.”
“That’s for sure.” Gray strolls into the room and sits beside me, taking my hand in his.
Suddenly I’m overcome with panic. To this woman, we look like a family. Are we a family?
I mean, I’ve wanted that for as long as I can remember, but then everything has changed. Nothing makes sense anymore, and I’m not even sure who I am.
And if Apollo is the person we’ve been looking for, what changes? Nothing.
My art and career in photography no longer brings me much joy. Sure, I’m still working, even if the pace is slower. But I don’t always have the vision that I once had.
I no longer have the ability to see the image before it’s shot. Every aspect of a great shot—the angle and the light—used to talk to me. It all came so naturally to me as if a part of me. And now? Nothing.
No, there are days when I go through the motions with everything, all the while stuck in a chamber of what ifs and dark imaginings. Even with a potential answer. A name. A person. I still have no knowledge or recollection of what may have happened to me.