by PJ Sharon
Heat crept up my neck. “Yeah, I did. I know it’s probably not very good, but putting words to the music in my head helps me get all the crap out, you know?”
Ethan sat down on the piano bench.
“Why would you think that wasn’t any good? It was better than most of the stuff I hear on the radio. It was fantastic actually...and so...real.” He studied me carefully, sending an uncomfortable shiver across my skin. “You didn’t mention you had a sister.”
“I don’t,” I said too quickly. “Not anymore.”
“Um...do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” I snapped. I took another deep breath, afraid the emotions I’d stuffed down for so long would bring a flood of embarrassing tears screaming to the surface. “Sorry. Amanda...” I started, then stopped, suddenly unable to sit still. I set the guitar on its stand and began to pace like a cornered cat. A few people wandered in. If I was going to spill my guts to Ethan, now was as good a time as any, but the Crow’s Nest wasn’t right for such a painfully serious discussion.
“Why don’t we go to the Loft?” Ethan suggested, sensing my unease. “Since you and I are basically the only non-seniors on the ship, the spot is pretty much always empty.” He raised a conspiratorial brow so I let him take the lead, wanting nothing more than to find a place where we wouldn’t be disturbed. If I was going to tell him the whole sad story, I needed privacy. My heart thundered as we passed a group doing tai chi on the upper deck. Sweat lined my upper lip as the sun beat down on us, and I wondered how I was going to explain my sister’s death in a way that wouldn’t make Ethan see me differently. The way my friends in school had—like I was damaged or broken somehow.
Ethan and I ducked into the Loft, a cool, funky space dedicated to teens, complete with video games, a karaoke machine, and a small library of books and music to choose from. Computer screens lined one wall, and a Ping-Pong table filled the center of the room. I crashed onto an overstuffed chair in front of a window with a view of the open sea.
“So what was she like?” Ethan started.
Grateful for the introduction to what would likely be an excruciating conversation, I let out a sigh. “She was...everything I’m not.” A sad smile took over. “That about sums up my whole life story in a nutshell.” I hugged a throw pillow and tucked my feet under me, letting my flip-flops drop to the floor. “Amanda was smart, funny, pretty, and notoriously popular in school. You know the type. Cheerleader, class president, voted most likely to succeed. She was three years older than me and I was like her shadow. All I ever wanted was to be like her,” I said softly as I stared blankly out at the quiet expanse of water.
“So, what happened?”
My gaze shot to his, the green depths drawing me in as powerfully as the sea. I swallowed hard. Then the words tumbled out. “She started drinking in junior high school. Typical party type stuff. Sneaking booze from the liquor cabinet, hooking up with older guys who could always get their hands on a case of beer. Somehow, she kept up her grades, but I knew she was drinking...and doing other stuff, too. She hid it from everyone...and I helped her do it. Mom was kind of wrapped up in her new relationship with Mitch at the time.” I turned away to escape my guilt and paused to organize my thoughts, unwilling to place all the blame onto my mother. “When Amanda went off to college,” I continued, “I guess the pressure got to be too much for her. She almost flunked out her freshman year. Mom totally freaked about it and tried to force her to come home and go to the community college in town, but Amanda refused. She promised she would do better, try harder...whatever.” By now, my throat ached from dryness and the pain of holding my emotions in check.
Apparently seeing me struggle, Ethan asked, “You want something to drink?” He pointed to a vending machine in the corner.
“A water would be great,” I said, relieved for the break. When he sat back down a minute later, I took a long swig off the cold drink and recounted the story as I’d replayed it in my mind a thousand times. “One night, Amanda went to a party with a couple of friends at a house off campus. They said she was playing some dumb drinking game and then wandered away from the group. Her friends didn’t know it until hours later when they found her behind the house where she had passed out. By the time they got to her, it was too late.... The Medical Examiner’s report said that there were no other drugs in her system, but her blood alcohol was .4...something like twenty times the legal limit.” I raised my head to see Ethan’s eyes filled with concern and sadness—just the response I didn’t want. I turned my gaze out the window again.
“That’s rough...I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am,” I said, bitterness rising. I looked back, expecting to see hurt in his expression, but instead, there was understanding. “I didn’t mean to be...”
“It’s okay. I get it. Nobody wants to be pitied. I hated how people treated me after my mom died. Everyone walked on eggshells expecting me to fall apart at any minute. There is nothing anyone can say or do to make it better, so it seems it would be easier if they said nothing. All those stupid sayings, they’re in a much better place, or time heals all wounds, are just crap people say to make themselves feel better.”
I nodded agreement since I’d had the exact same thought myself more than once. I took a deep cleansing breath and released it slowly, noticing that it came easier than it had in a while. A lightness spread through me as if a dark cloud had been lifted. Maybe the Medusa Lady was onto something when she’d said that talking might help. But it was more than talking about Amanda. It was sharing her story with someone who understood the pain of grief and loss. Someone who wouldn’t see me as being as broken as I felt. Someone who saw the me no one else knew.
Chapter 11
“Hurry, Lexi. We don’t want to be late for the tender to shore.” When I came out of the bathroom, Maddie was stuffing sunblock into a giant floral bag. “You are going to love Barcelona. It’s one of my favorite cities in Europe. The art, the history, the people—it’s simply too much to take in in one day.” Her exuberant grin turned to a frown as she got a good look at me. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”
I examined my shorts, tank top, and flip-flops. “I was going to.”
“You have all those lovely skirts you bought in Portofino. And I know you have more supportive shoes than those ridiculous flip-flops. This is a walking tour, my dear. Did you put on any sun block? Here, you’ll need this.” She tried to hand me a baseball cap that said Ocean Pacific Cruise lines on it. I stared at the black and yellow cap and made a face, hoping I wouldn’t have to follow with an actual refusal. She rolled her eyes and dropped the hat on the bed. “Suit yourself. You’re as stubborn as your father was. He never listened to a word I said.”
The barb caught me in the chest and my jaw tightened. I bit back a sarcastic remark and instead asked a question I’d wanted the answer to for a long time.
“What was my dad like...besides being stubborn and being an alcoholic?” Two things I’d heard repeatedly from my mother, who refused to talk about him in any other context. Eventually, I’d stopped asking.
Maddie’s face twisted into a pained expression, making me wish I could take back the question. “Are you sure you really want to have this conversation now?”
I shrugged. “Now’s as good a time as any, but if you don’t want to...”
“It’s not that. I’d love to talk to you about Nicholas. It’s just...well, I’m a little surprised you want to. Your mother said it was a sore subject with you. She asked me not to discuss him.” Maddie’s face turned stony when she mentioned Mom.
My ears perked up. “You talked to her?”
“Yes,” she said carefully. “I had to get her written permission to take you on this trip, so I phoned the hospital before we left. She seemed glad you were coming with me, but she did ask that I not...burden you with reminiscing about your father.”
A choked laugh spilled out. “Sounds like her. Always trying to hide the truth from me.”
“I don’t need protecting,” I grumbled. “I’m not a little kid anymore. Besides, I’d like to have more to remember my dad by than only the bad stuff, you know?” My voice sounded small. I sank onto the edge of the bed, twisting a finger into my hair, and then tucking it behind my ear.
Maddie sighed and sat down beside me. “You are so much like him.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about the stubborn part most of my life.”
Maddie flashed a sad smile. “It’s more than that. You have his soulfulness. Like you, he loved music. And there was a kindness in him. He hated to see anyone in pain. I can’t tell you how many wounded birds, stray kittens, and lost dogs he brought home when he was a boy.” She shook her head and stared off as if seeing into the past. “He was a sweet and passionate young man with a bright future ahead of him, but...I was busy with my career, your grandfather was busy with the shoe store. Perhaps Henry expected too much of an only son.” Maddie studied her crooked little finger, the joints knobby and swollen with arthritis. “He could be a hard man, my Henry. He was a strict disciplinarian when Nicholas was small—rigid about church-going and quick to anger.”
I had a moment to wonder if that meant my dad got his fair share of beatings when he was a kid. That seemed the way old school parents did things back then. Before I could muster the courage to ask, she went on, “Your grandfather believed that once a boy reached his teen years, he should be old enough and mature enough to make his own decisions and to live with the consequences. I’m afraid we just weren’t paying attention to Nicholas and he...slipped away from us. Before we knew it, he was drinking himself into oblivion and there was nothing we could do to stop him.” She sighed, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. “I wish I’d been a better mother. He was a good boy and he deserved so much more...” By now, her eyes were tearing up and her voice shook, making me regret dredging up the past.
“Don’t blame yourself.” I patted her hand. “Most alcoholics are hereditarily predisposed,” I recited the Medusa Lady’s lame reason for not taking responsibility for someone else’s drinking. She used to pound home the credo you didn’t cause it, you can’t control it, and you can’t cure it, a notion that hadn’t helped me in the slightest when it came to feeling less guilty that I hadn’t done more to help my sister.
“You sound as if you’ve studied up on the topic.” Maddie collected her bag and stood, clearly ready to move on from the conversation. She hung a sweater over one arm and checked the mirror one last time, wiping away a smudge of eye liner. “Henry did like his gin, but that was the way of it back then. A cocktail after work, one before dinner, a glass of wine at the table, and maybe even one more after dinner drink. In my day, it wasn’t called alcoholism if you got up and went to work and supported your family. We were social drinkers.”
“I’m not interested in blaming anyone for my dad’s drinking. At some point everyone has to take responsibility for who they are and what they do.” Another of Medusa Lady’s lessons that finally made sense when I thought about it in the context of my dad—a lesson, ironically, I’d refused to hear in regards to myself. I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with the realization. “I just wanted to understand him a little better. Thanks for filling in some blanks.”
Maddie turned back to me and smiled, blotting moisture from the corner of her eye with a tissue. “Let’s do this again when we have more time.”
To smooth over the tension, I changed into my sneakers. We silently made our way down to the lower deck to catch our boat into port, both of us ruminating on our own memories of Nick Hartman, a man I barely remembered, yet one who had left an indelible mark on my life.
If my dad was abused or neglected as a child, and he saw his own parents burying their problems in booze, it would explain why he turned to alcohol as a teenager. But I wasn’t willing to hold all of his failings against Maddie, especially since she obviously carried enough guilt to sink a ship. I let go of the painful thoughts attached to memories of my father, a man who used to say he loved me so much he would hang the moon and the stars in the sky for me. The man who tucked me in at night and read me stories and taught me to pray. A memory I’d almost forgotten. I wondered if I even remembered the words anymore.
Ethan was waiting in the crowded auditorium as we entered. Being the only male passenger in the room under the age of fifty, he was easy to spot. His face lit up when he saw me, and he waved us over to join him. The sight of his grin, his dark hair, and even the preppy polo shirt he wore had a grin spreading across my face. My mood lightened instantly.
“You ladies look lovely, today.” Ethan smiled his best Ashton Kutcher at Maddie.
“Thank you, my dear boy. And you’re looking handsome as always.” Maddie did the unthinkable and pinched his cheek. To his credit, he tolerated the embarrassing display, but a red flush crept into his ears. When he grinned appreciatively, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was as starved for attention as my father had been.
∞∞∞
Barcelona was as amazing as Maddie had promised. We toured the city with stops at such famous places as the Cathedral de la Sagrada Familia—arguably Gaudi’s finest and most spectacular creation, with its dozens of spires piercing the sky. Afterward, we stopped to have lunch at a small bistro where Flamenco dancers entertained us with music and dancing like I’d never seen.
A young woman with a long, thick braid and stunning blue eyes, tapped her booted heels to a feverish beat. Several men on stage played drums and guitar while she whirled her black velvet skirt as if trying to entice a raging bull. The red ribbon in her dark hair matched the festive colors woven into her ruffled top. Each player on stage came to the forefront, showcasing his talents and entertaining us with song and dance that brought to life my inner muse. The guitarist strummed mercilessly on the strings, his fingers moving too fast for me to even begin to try to memorize the chords for later. Finally, the show came to an end, and I was left breathless and totally envious of the skillful musicians and dancers who seemed so at ease performing their art for the enjoyment of an audience.
Later as we stood in the square, only yards away from medieval buildings and an original Roman wall built around 100 AD, I had a chance to take pictures. Maddie and Ethan posed in front of an old stone palace where we were told Columbus himself had visited the royal family. Ethan insisted on snapping shots of every door and archway we passed.
“What is it with you and doorways,” I finally asked.
“Every door is different.” He turned his camera on me, walking backwards to capture Maddie and I making faces at him, neither of us keen on having our picture taken up close. “You never know what’s behind them. The possibilities are endless,” he said as he spun and captured another shot of a huge set of ancient wooden doors carved with intricate designs. I smiled inwardly at his child-like enthusiasm and his contagious optimism.
“I’ll never look at a door the same way again,” I said, and the three of us laughed. We took turns making up stories to go with each of Ethan’s pics, imagining who and what might be behind each door. Whether it was a modern day family sitting down to a meal or a long forgotten medieval knight hanging his armor on a wall after a hard fought battle, the infinite possibilities gave the doors on the buildings and houses an air of mystery. Each one symbolized a different past, present, and future, representing in my mind at least, a sense of hope that time and life goes on. A surprising feeling of comfort and wonder washed over me as I snapped several shots of huge ornate wooden and wrought iron doors.
The narrow streets, cobblestoned and unfit for automobile traffic, were lined with shops and outdoor markets, brimming with designer clothes, leather goods, fine jewelry, and Spanish porcelain. Artists displayed beautiful sculptures and paintings on every corner and the local people called to us to stop into their stores as we passed by. The brightly colored clothes, fascinating architecture, and hidden gardens filled with greenery and fragrant flowers scattered
throughout the village held me captive at every turn.
“This place is amazing!” I said, twirling around to take everything in all at once and feeling dizzy with excitement. I wanted to stay forever—become a part of this new and different culture that seemed so full of music, life, and passion.
“I knew you would love it,” Maddie gushed. As if reading my mind, she added, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go to school here for a semester? You could study art, literature, history. If I had to do it over, this is where I would have attended school. They have some excellent exchange programs.”
My mood shifted and I caught Ethan watching me curiously. I avoided thinking about college, which immediately brought up images of Amanda. I still had another year of high school, and the idea of being set adrift to tackle all the pressures of adulthood froze my insides—although I’d been told by my guidance counselor at year’s end to start considering my options. I figured with Mom sick, my lame grades, and Mitch on the edge, I’d be lucky to make it to community college anyway. The possibility of studying abroad seemed terrifying and way beyond reach.
Ethan spoke up. “There are plenty of awesome schools not far from where you live. You should check out the music programs in New York. Or there’s a great one right in Connecticut. It was close by where I went for Prep School. You might even be able to get in on a scholarship. You play well enough. Have you ever heard her play?” he asked Maddie.
“No, I haven’t. But I’m sure she’s very good.” Heat rushed up my neck as Maddie studied me with a quizzical eye. “Music is in her blood. I was quite the crooner in my day. Did I tell you about the time I sang back up for Bob Hope’s USO tour?” She stopped to poke her head into a gallery filled with exquisite sculptures made of metal and iron. “It didn’t pay much but boy did we have fun.” Then as if realizing she wasn’t helping her case, she cleared her throat and continued. “Pursuing a career in music, or any of the arts for that matter, is not for the faint of heart. It can be a tough and demanding business. I’m not sure I would wish it on anyone—let alone my granddaughter,” she added as she smiled at the store clerk and examined the price tag on a modern art piece. “The lives of artists, performers, and musicians are destined to be fraught with heartache and disappointment. Music is a lovely pastime, but it’s better to be practical when considering a profession,” she finished.