Sing For Me

by Grace, Trisha

  She hated such situations.

  The colors rushed by, bringing about a dizzy spell. She closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers against her forehead.

  “Getting another headache?”

  She took a deep breath and moved over to the couch. “What brought this on?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I just miss you, and I wish I can see you more often. I wish I didn’t have to take a nearly ten-hour flight just to see you.”

  “We see each other when I’m in the States.”

  “You’re not there enough,” he said and paused. “I have to leave in a while, but I want to do this first.”

  “Do what?” She dropped her hand and opened her eyes.

  Jason stood, reached into his pocket, then got down on one knee.

  Chloe sprang to her feet. “What are you doing?”

  Jason’s eyes flitted to the side for a second, then he looked back at her. “What do you think I’m doing?” he asked with a wry smile while holding a black box in his hand.

  “Proposing?”

  “Yeah, that’s about right.”

  She took a step away from him. “We’ve only been dating for two years.”

  “That’s long enough for me.”

  Not for her. “No,” she said.

  Jason stood and stuffed the box back into his pocket. “Why not?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t give him an answer. Sighing, she shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s too fast.”

  “So it isn’t a no? It’s a I-need-to-think-about-it?”

  She took a deep breath.

  “Okay.” One of his shoulders twitched. “Think about it.” He took her hands. “I love you, and I want to be with you. I’ll do anything to be with you, except move to Rome,” he said and winked. “I have to be where the company is. I’m sure you understand.”

  She wasn’t going to leave Rome.

  “You can even stay in Rome if you want.”

  She frowned. “Then why can’t we just remain the way we are?”

  Jason didn’t feel that strongly about her. Whenever he talked about them, the color was never intense.

  “Because I want more,” he said while checking the time on his watch.

  The color of his words indicated otherwise.

  She couldn’t tell him that, though. She had never told Jason about her condition, so she didn’t want to have to explain how she knew his feelings for her weren’t intense enough for him to want more.

  “I have to go.” He walked toward the door. As he passed the dining table, he paused and picked up the black folder. “Working on songs that you won’t let anyone sing?”

  She took the file from him.

  “Are you keeping those songs for yourself? I can make it happen for you if you want,” he said and winked.

  “They aren’t for me.”

  He laughed softly. “All right.” He stopped right outside the door. “I’ll get myself to the airport. Remember to think about what I said.”

  Jason leaned in to kiss her, but she turned away, and his kiss landed on her cheek.

  “See you soon.”

  She smiled and closed the door, leaning back against it.

  Did he fly all the way here just to propose to her?

  She sighed and looked down at the file she was hugging. She was supposed to think about Jason’s proposal, but all she could think of was her conversation with Josh.

  What should she do?

  Chapter Two

  A cool breeze swept across Chloe’s face as she got out of the taxi. The chill was more frosty in Dunsmuir. Even with the sun, the breeze tingled against her skin.

  She stood with her suitcase in hand and gazed up at the house’s Alice-blue wooden panels as the taxi drove away.

  She stared at the back of the taxi as it turned the bend, then returned her focus to the house in front of her.

  The house used to be in another shade of blue, a darker, more whimsical shade; and the window frames used to be white. Now, the frames were dark gray, just like the roof.

  She glanced around at the houses around her. The houses didn’t look as daunting; the trees didn’t appear as tall.

  One thing still felt the same, the feeling of being the odd-one-out.

  She still wasn’t sure what she was doing here.

  Sighing, she gave her suitcase a tug and dragged it across the broad driveway, each side flanked by a row of emerald green arborvitae trees. There used to be only four of them on each side, shielding the garage door from prying eyes.

  Now, the trees stretched all the way down the driveway and along the curve of the smaller walkway leading to the main door.

  She loved the added trees, of course. There probably wasn’t anyone staring at her, but having the tall trees around her made her feel covered and safe.

  When she got to the door, she hesitated for a moment. Her knuckles were almost touching the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock it.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood outside the door, but another wave of icy breeze brought back the common sense that seemed to have ditched her.

  There was nowhere else for her to go. She couldn’t possibly call a cab and wait outside like an idiot. It was freezing. Besides, though she didn’t want to admit aloud, she’d prefer to avoid Jason; at least until she knew what to say to him.

  She knocked on the door and waited.

  When the door opened, she found herself looking up into the deep-sea blue eyes she hadn’t seen in eight years.

  Her heart rate picked up, and she forgot how to speak; she forgot how to breathe.

  She hadn’t been this close to him for a long time, but she could still remember how it felt to be in his arms.

  Whenever she was upset, whenever she didn’t know what to do with her pent-up frustration that grew too much for her to handle, she would go to him and he would always be there for her.

  With one of his arms pressed against the doorframe and another on the door handle, she almost took the one step to close the distance between them and rest her head against her shoulder, just as she’d always done.

  Licking her lips, she pressed her heel down while still staring at Christopher, and he looked right back at her, equally dumbfounded.

  She closed her eyes for a moment. There wasn’t a need to be nervous. No, she should be frustrated—no, she should be nonchalant.

  Adjusting her scarf, she cleared her throat. “Hi.”

  His chin tipped a few times before he said, “Hi.”

  “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  Christopher continued staring at her.

  “I’m here for Josh’s birthday party.”

  “He …” His chin tipped and jerked a few times. “He … went out … with his friends … to …”

  His stuttering seems to have gotten worse. Besides his eyes, everything about Christopher looked different. His hair was much longer than he’d ever kept it, and the growth around his jaws and cheeks aged him significantly. As she gazed into his eyes, she realized even his eyes were different. There was a sense of ruggedness, as if he were jaded with everything the world had to offer.

  “To get … camping equipment.”

  She gazed down at her scarf and fiddled with it. “Camping equipment? He invited me to his party.”

  “And you came.”

  She looked back at him. The three simple words sparked bright red. “He called and asked,” she returned in the same tone.

  He nodded, stepped aside for her to enter, then headed up the stairs.

  “Are you angry with me?” she asked when he was halfway up the stairs. He had no right to be; she should be the one sulking.

  Christopher licked his lips and shook his head. “You … you came back … for his birthday just … just because he asked.”

  “Yes, because he bothered to call and invite me. He bothered to pick up his phone and text or Skype me throughout the years.”

  Christopher turned back to her with
a frown. “Are you … angry with me?”

  She threw her hands into the air. “Yes!” Bright red sparks popped into and disappeared from the living room.

  She didn’t know she was until this moment, and she couldn’t believe they were having a fight after having zero contact with each other for eight years.

  “You just left,” he said while he took two steps down. “You … just left.”

  “No, I didn’t. You let fame get to your head. I waited, every day, for your call or letter or something.”

  “Is everything all right?” Christopher’s mom, Mrs. Hunter, asked as she came down the stairs. “What’s going—Oh, Chlo! You’re back.” Mrs. Hunter shot him a glare, then gave her a tight hug.

  Mrs. Hunter released her from the hug and stepped back with the widest grin. “Where are you staying?”

  She hadn’t figured that out. “I’m sure there’s a hotel or bed and breakfast nearby.”

  Mrs. Hunter waved it off. “I’ll get you the key to your parents’ house.”

  “No,” she said. “I’d rather not. I don’t want to get you into trouble.” She knew Mrs. Hunter was keeping the key to her parents’ house, and her parents were paying her to make sure that the house stayed clean and to keep an eye on the tenants.

  “They’ll never find out.” Mrs. Hunter winked at her.

  “I don’t—”

  “I’ll get the key.”

  Christopher followed his mom up the stairs without another glance at her.

  She exhaled heavily through her mouth and turned away. What an absolute disgrace she’d made of herself.

  “Here you go.”

  She smiled and took the keys. “Thanks, Mrs. Hunter.”

  “You’re old enough to call me Amy,” she said and tilted her head to the side. “Are you all right? He’s been—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I can’t believe you actually came back for Josh’s birthday. He told me about it, but I thought he was joking. Surely you knew he was joking.”

  She knew, but there was something in his voice when he talked about Christopher, and she was stupid enough to be concerned.

  She shrugged. “I was planning to come back anyway; not here, but I’m supposed to be in L.A. in a week.”

  “So who are you working with this time?”

  “I’m just meeting a friend for a chat.” She glanced up the empty stairway, then back at the door. “I should get going. I’m rather tired.”

  “Of course. You’ll join us for dinner, right?”

  Chloe laughed softly. “I’m old enough to call you Amy, but not old enough to take care of my own dinner.”

  Amy narrowed her eyes.

  “I’m kidding. I think I’ll be sleeping, so I’ll give dinner a pass. But thanks anyway.” She waved the key in her hand and went out the door.

  “All right, have a good rest. Oh, here.” Amy reached into the turquoise glass bowl that looked exactly like the one she’d seen when she used to live here and pulled out another key. “You can use my car while you’re here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Amy nodded. “I’ll be fine. If I need the car, I know where to find you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And Chlo, when you’re free, you should check out the basement.”

  Chloe yawned and stretched her back as she woke. She ran her hand through her hair while her stomach growled. Reaching over, she grabbed her cell phone to check the time.

  It was around dinnertime. There would be food at Amy’s house, but she didn’t want to see Christopher again.

  She sighed and pushed herself off the bed. She’d just drive out and get something to eat.

  A sense of dread crept up on her as she thought about that, but there wasn’t anything to be worried about. She would be in the car, no one would see her.

  She took a quick shower, changed, and left the house.

  She kept her head low as she headed to the car, just as she did when she got to the house.

  The neighbors had always looked at her weirdly, especially after her stay in the psychiatric hospital. Her mother’s loud tirades in public never helped either.

  Pulling the seat belt over herself, she remembered the place she used to escape to whenever she wanted to be away from everyone.

  A small open space by the river surrounded by firs and pines.

  She could almost see the scene now, see the colors caused by the water that sometimes streamed down from higher grounds and spilled out from among the trees into the river below.

  Sometimes she’d close her eyes and listen to the sound; sometimes she’d simply sit for hours and watch light, ethereal colors fill the place.

  It was her secret paradise. Her second place of refuge.

  The water in that part of the river was too strong for fishing, and the spot was off the usual tracks that hikers usually took.

  She and Christopher had discovered it by accident when they were young.

  The desire to see the place overtook her hunger, and she turned the car, wondering if her paradise had remained the same.

  She was hopeful. After all, in the short drive from her parents’ house, she noticed most of the houses looked the same. Even Mr. Bailey’s red beat-up car that had the most choppy engine was still parked outside his house.

  As she turned the car into the familiar road, she unbuckled her seatbelt, ready to park the car. That was when she noticed the road that cut into the woods.

  That road didn’t exist when she was living here. There was a hiking trail nearby, but not a road.

  She drove up to the road and noticed the sign, Private Property.

  Oh well, she wasn’t sure where this road led anyway, and she might end up lost.

  As she got out of the car, she pinched her lips and wondered if someone had built a house by the river.

  No, please don’t let that be true. That was her place.

  It wasn’t really hers, of course. She didn’t own the land, but she had always thought of it as hers—and Christopher’s.

  She tipped her head back and stretched her hands over her head as she took a deep breath. This was the one place in Dunsmuir she could relax.

  Here, she didn’t have to pretend she didn’t notice the strange stares people cast over their shoulders. Here, she didn’t have to ignore the murmurs about her sanity.

  She especially loved to hike through the trail in winter. Everything was so still, so quiet. She could always come here to escape the explosion of colors either from her parents or from the rest of the world.

  She could see the colors wafting around her as she got nearer to the river.

  The colors created by nature, despite how colorful they may be, were usually soothing. The colors didn’t carry any hint of darkness, and they always felt light and airy. Even in severe storms, the colors only got more intense, but they never gave her headaches or overwhelmed her.

  The colors floated closer to her as she breathed in, and her smile broadened as the river finally came into sight.

  She missed this place so much, but as she stepped out from the trees, her heart sank.

  A modern rectangular two-story house stood right beside where she and Christopher used to lounge.

  Who built this house? She squinted from where she was, trying to peer into the house through the full-length clear glass panels that framed most of the house.

  She adjusted her scarf as heated air rose from her chest to her neck, but almost as instantly as the anger rose, it subsided while an aching sadness took over.

  I want to look out at the river while I write. She could almost see herself talking to Christopher as they sat by the river.

  That was years ago, when they were still young and naive.

  Who was she kidding? This wasn’t her place. It was simply a place she and Christopher escaped to.

  She shook her head as she thought about the row they had. It was so silly, so childish. He was no longer eighteen, and she wasn’t seventeen. Eight years had passe
d between them. She should’ve gotten over his disappearance from her life.

  They were only friends. He didn’t owe her anything.

  She looked back at the house and stuffed her hands into her jacket’s front pockets.

  She wished the house was hers. With all the glass windows, she could definitely write her song while gazing out at the river.

  She shook her head. She should let go of this place. She and Christopher had both moved on in life.

  And I want to have a balcony so I can spend all day sitting and gazing at the river. She walked right up to the edge of the river and looked toward the house. She hoped the owner built a balcony. It was such a beautiful place, and it deserved to have someone sit and admire its beauty every day.

  She broke into a small smile when she saw the balcony. At least the owner has taste.

  “What … are you … doing here?”

  She spun around, and the first thing she noticed was the deep-sea blue eyes.

  It was so strange to see her standing by the house.

  Even after eight years, she still looked incredible. Her ginger hair contrasted against her fair skin, probably explaining the subtle glow he always felt she had. Then there were her eyes, he’d always loved how her light blue eyes gazed at him. They always seemed to look right into his soul.

  Maybe it was due to all the colors that were always trying to distract her. Whenever she focused, her gaze always felt penetrating.

  It wasn’t threatening or scary, though.

  She had always been accepting. While people usually shunned him or looked at him with pity in their eyes, she never did. His stuttering never bothered her. To her, that was just part of who he was.

  Her brows puckered as she stared at him. “Is this yours?”

  He blinked and his gaze followed her finger to the house. His chin jerked involuntarily. “Yes,” he said after a moment.

  Her frown deepened and she shook her head.

  He wasn’t sure if she was angry or in disbelief, so he stood where he was while she turned to the house.

  “Why didn’t you call or write to me? You couldn’t be bothered to do that, but you built this house.” She turned back to him, and her eyes bore into his. “Why?”