Sing For Me

by Grace, Trisha

  “Why did you just … leave?”

  “Why do you keep saying that?” She took a step toward him. “I didn’t just leave. I was seventeen; I didn’t have a choice. I explained everything in my letter.”

  “You knew … you knew you were … leaving. Why didn’t … you tell me … earlier?”

  “Because I didn’t want to distract you from the competition. You were so close to winning. I knew you could do it, and I didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize your chances.”

  He studied her expression. He never understood her faith in him, but it never failed to warm his heart.

  He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t get any letter.”

  Her gaze remained fixated on him. “Even if you didn’t see the letter I left you, I wrote another letter to you. Your mom said she handed it to your assistant.”

  He frowned. He couldn’t remember ever getting a letter from Chloe. He’d seen and replied to many letters from fans, but never one from her. “I … I never … got anything from you.”

  She closed her eyes and one of her shoulders twitched. “Whatever, that was years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said as she strode toward him.

  She walked past him without giving him another glance.

  His chin jerked as he tried to speak. His stuttering always worked against him whenever he was in a hurry to speak.

  Chloe was always patient with him, but that was when she could see him struggling. She wasn’t looking at him now.

  Despite years of willing himself to forget her, he never did. Even with how busy he was, he couldn’t get her off his mind. It didn’t help that his most popular song was written by her.

  “Wait,” he finally managed, but it was too late. Chloe had disappeared into the woods.

  He could go after her, but his legs wouldn’t move.

  Running his hand through his hair, he looked at the house he’d built.

  All those times when he and Chloe had talked about their dream house by the river, he had a thought in the back of his mind. Once he had the money, he would build the house for her.

  Though he was angry with her for leaving without a word, he still went through with it.

  He wasn’t sure why.

  He’d only been here twice in eight years, once when it was first built and now.

  When he first built the house, he never thought it would be so hard to be here without Chloe.

  He stared at the woods. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed her to walk out of his life again, but what else could he do?

  He was a nobody now.

  Any day, the news would be released to the public.

  It would be better for Chloe not to have someone like him in her life.

  He rubbed his hand against his throat where a sudden dryness was causing his throat to itch.

  Chapter Three

  Chloe barely held back her groan when she opened the door to see Frank Cumming.

  The problem with small towns.

  “Hi, Chloe, I’m not sure if you remembered me.”

  Oh, she remembered him all right, along with all the nasty things he’d said about her.

  “I’m Frank.”

  She continued looking up at him, refusing to partake in the conversation he was steering her into. She’d never spoken to Frank before. All of their interactions were one-sided, with Frank yelling something stupid and ridiculous in her face each time they passed each other in school.

  “Don’t remember?” Frank scratched his head at her prolonged silence. “We went to school together.”

  She was certain Frank wanted something from her, probably something about a song. He was wasting his time, though; she wasn’t going to do any favor for him.

  One of her hand had remained behind the door, and she was about to slam it close when Frank slapped his hand against it. The sudden action, coupled with the sudden blinding light created from the sound, startled her.

  “I heard you’re a songwriter now.”

  She took a deep breath and put more force on the door, but Frank’s hand kept the door right where it was. She glared up at him, still refusing to speak.

  “What? You’re just going to stay silent? Looks like nothing’s changed.”

  That thought was mutual.

  “Look.” Frank ran his hand through his hair. “My band and I created a demo.”

  “Not interested.”

  “So you do have a voice.”

  She rolled her eyes and took a step back. She was determined to close the door this time, even if she had to press her entire body weight against it to do so, but Frank curled his hand under her arm and jerked her toward him.

  “Look, just because you had a hit, doesn’t give you the right to be arrogant.”

  She tried to pry her arm from his hand, but he tightened his fingers, pressing deeper into her arms. She kept her face straight, not allowing herself to show any pain. “And what gave you the right to be arrogant? Your brute strength? What are you going to do? Shout horrible things at me until I promise to listen to your demo?”

  “Listen, you crazy—”

  “I’m not crazy.”

  Frank scoffed. “Your own parents sent you to the loony bin.”

  She clenched her jaws to stop herself from shouting. The last thing she needed was to prove him right. “I’m not crazy.”

  “Let her go.”

  Chloe recognized the voice immediately.

  Frank looked over his shoulder and laughed. He released her hand and took a step toward Christopher. “Or what?”

  “Leave her alone.”

  Chloe pulled in her lower lip and turned to look into the house. She scanned the living room, searching for something she could use to defend herself or help Christopher.

  A pop from behind her made her turn around, and she found Frank lying on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

  “Are you okay?” Christopher asked.

  She couldn’t stop staring at the unconscious Frank.

  “Chloe.”

  “I didn’t know you knew how to fight.”

  He remained at the end of the driveway, not taking a single step toward her. “Did he … hurt you?”

  She shook her head, and they looked at each other for a few seconds.

  She kept expecting him to walk over, but he didn’t.

  “Okay,” he finally said, then turned and strode away.

  Chloe blinked. She wasn’t sure how she should react, but she couldn’t believe Christopher would walk away from her after what just happened.

  She sighed, turned around, and closed the door behind her.

  Hanging up her wet towel, Chloe went over and sat on her bed. She still didn’t know how to process what had just happened with Christopher.

  He claimed he hadn’t seen her letters. Even if he did miss them, she clearly wasn’t important enough for him to take the initiative to contact her. Josh had been in touch with her all these years, so Christopher could’ve easily gotten whatever information he wanted from him.

  But he didn’t.

  Yet when Frank came around, Christopher stepped in to protect her as he did when they were young.

  Her chest rose as she took a deep breath.

  She didn’t want to think about it anymore; she didn’t want to think about him.

  Frank was off her front porch, and she was leaving in the morning. None of this mattered anymore.

  She turned her attention to her old room. The outside of the house looked exactly the same, but her room was completely different.

  Her white veneer wooden bed frame, wardrobe, and chest of drawers had all been replaced. A larger dark brown wardrobe and bed frame now occupied the room.

  The things in her room, if they weren’t packed and sent to London, had all been discarded.

  She couldn’t be sure if her things were still in London either. She hadn’t stepped into that house for years, not since her mother threw her out.

  She tried to th
ink of one good memory of this house. It shouldn’t be difficult, but it was.

  Shaking her head, she remembered what Amy had said, so she got up and trotted down the stairs to the basement.

  The moment the basement came into view, a corner of her lips hooked into a wry smile. She made her way toward the only thing in the basement, the brown box with the words ‘Chloe’s trophies’ written across one of the sides.

  “I knew it.”

  When she got to London, she noticed that the trophies she had won for her songwriting and piano competitions were missing. She had asked her parents about them, and they blamed the shipping company for losing the box.

  She knew in her heart that they were lying.

  She had always suspected that her mother didn’t bother to pack them. She knew how angry her mother was with her when they were moving to London.

  It wasn’t her fault that they had to move, but somehow it was.

  Her mother had moved everything necessary and sold whatever she didn’t want. She probably would have tried selling these trophies if they were worth anything.

  She remembered her mother going through her things when they were packing, then when they got to London, some of her things had disappeared. They were mainly things that her father had bought for her on his frequent business trips.

  She’d asked her mother about them as well, only to receive a curt reply about how obsessed she was with herself.

  She couldn’t understand why her mother refused to send these trophies over to London.

  She could be wrong, of course. Maybe her mother wasn’t trying to punish her; maybe it was an honest mistake.

  She sat on the uneven concrete floor, next to the box chucked in a corner. She pulled the box in front of her and swiped away the thin layer of dust on top of it.

  The box wasn’t sealed, so she’d expected to see tarnished, rusting trophies. Instead, besides the slight tarnish on a few of them, they looked almost brand new.

  She smiled, realizing Amy must have been looking after them for her.

  If her mother thought hiding the trophies was a way to punish her, she was wrong.

  Chloe never cared much about the trophies. She felt great that she’d won first place in several piano competitions, but the trophies were also reminders of how her parents were never there for any of her competitions.

  Her father would always promise to attend, but he never showed up. Sometimes he would give her some lame excuses about meetings or traffic jams; most of the time, he would just pretend as if nothing happened.

  Amy always volunteered to take her to the competitions, and Josh and Christopher would always tag along.

  Christopher was the strong, silent type. Knowing he was in the audience always calmed her nerves, allowing her to do her best.

  Josh was always the loudest cheerleader. He didn’t care if the rest of the people in the audience would stare at him or send strange glances his way. He would jump up, clapping, shouting, and whistling whenever she won anything.

  Amy would always have her camera ready to snap shots of her on stage.

  During those moments, it always seemed all right that her parents didn’t bother to turn up.

  When she got back home, she would place the trophy on the shelf, and that was it. There would be nothing but silence from her parents.

  She didn’t dare talk about her competitions either, for that would only lead to a lecture on her neediness, what a horrible quality that was, and how selfish she was to only think about herself.

  What she’d always found most ridiculous was that despite their unwillingness to show up during the competitions, they seemed determined to sign her up for all the competitions available. If she were to even hint at how tiring it was to practice all those pieces, another lecture on selfishness and ungratefulness would follow.

  Perhaps that was the purpose, for her to be practicing all the time so she wouldn’t have time to bother them.

  She picked up one of the trophies and smiled even as tears fell from her eyes.

  She brushed the tears off the back of her hand and set the trophy down on the dusty floor.

  She had just taken five trophies out of the box when the doorbell rang. She headed up while wiping the remnants of her tears on her sleeves.

  Before opening the door, she took a deep breath.

  “Welcome home!” Josh opened his arms for a hug, then froze and frowned. “Are you all right?”

  “You.” She jabbed her index finger into Josh’s shoulder.

  “Happy birthday to me,” Josh sang his words as he walked in and settled on the couch.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You asked me to come back for your birthday party. I don’t see a party.”

  “I’m going camping. You can come along. You’re always saying how the colors in nature are soothing.”

  She glared at him.

  “Okay, I’ll take that as a no.” He put his legs up on the coffee table. “I heard about what happened with Frank. Do you want me to stay?”

  She shook her head. “He’d scrambled off the porch the moment he regained consciousness. I’m sure word has spread that your brother knocked him out. He’ll be too embarrassed to come back here.”

  He nodded, his head rocking in a steady rhythm for a couple of seconds. “Have you been by the river?”

  “How do you know about the house?”

  “He’s my older brother. I used to follow him around all the time.”

  “So you used to stalk him?”

  He shrugged. “The two of you, actually. Since you guys were together all the time.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Coffee?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think there’s food here.”

  She slumped onto the seat next to him.

  “I can buy some groceries for you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

  “What?” Josh straightened, and the fleeting seriousness evident on his face when he asked if she was all right returned.

  “There is no party.”

  “You can’t leave.”

  “Why?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why did you even get me back here anyway? I hate this place.”

  “No you don’t; you just hate your parents.”

  “That’s such a grown-up thing to say.”

  “Your parents are horrible people,” he said.

  “Why did you get me back here, Josh? Did you just want me to see the house by the river? Was that it?” Well, she’d seen it, but it didn’t clear anything up.

  “Have you seen the video?” Josh asked, his voice turning dark purple.

  Chloe looked at him. The solemness in his tone and expression was startling, and it suddenly dawned on her that Josh was no longer just Christopher’s goofy younger brother.

  “Have you?”

  “We’re all grown up now,” she said and leaned back against the couch.

  “Chloe.”

  “What video?”

  Josh pulled out his cell phone and tapped away on it.

  She looked up at the ceiling.

  It was time to let go. It didn’t matter how her parents treated her; it didn’t matter that Christopher had forgotten about her once he got famous. She shouldn’t have expected him to remember her in the first place.

  They were all grown-ups now. She had to stop allowing herself to dwell in the past.

  “Here.” Josh pushed the phone toward her.

  She took the phone and watched the two-minute video of a rather drunk Christopher forgetting what a tune was. He didn’t just mess up the tune to his song; he wasn’t even singing. He was making noise. Even the colors coming out of him were all wrong, nothing like the color she associated him with.

  “What happened? Did someone drug him?”

  Josh laughed. “Your mind works in the funniest way.”

  She shot him another glare.

  “He’s an alcoholic.”

  She started shaking her head, but the gravity
of the situation was obvious on Josh’s face. “How long has he been an alcoholic?”

  “He started drinking around a year after winning the competition. I didn’t think it was that bad until last year. He hid it rather well.”

  “Then what’s this?”

  “This happened last month.” Josh took back the phone from her and placed it on the coffee table. “The company forced him into rehab, and he checked himself out last week.”

  “He didn’t look drunk to me. He looked homeless, but not drunk.”

  “I don’t think he’s been drinking, not since rehab at least. But it may be too late. His record label is dropping him.”

  “Why? If he’s stopped drinking, it shouldn’t matter. I mean, how many stars are—”

  “He lost his voice.”

  She looked to the side where a gloomy grayish-purple cloud just passed her. Lost his voice?

  “What do you mean, he lost his voice?” She had just spoken to Christopher a while ago, and he was speaking the way he usually did. “I know his stuttering seemed to have gotten worse, but his stuttering never affected his singing.”

  It was something as strange as her condition. He stuttered whenever he spoke, but never when he was singing.

  She still remembered the first time she heard him sing. She couldn’t believe that was his voice. The glowing yellow that was close to gold burst into glitter-like powder upon her touch, then gently wafted down the length of her hand, coating it.

  There wasn’t an actual sensation, but that was how the color behaved.

  When she closed her eyes, she could feel his voice wrapping itself around her, sinking right into her heart. She imagined that was how his singing voice affected everyone, which probably explained why everyone, even the other judges with their own team of singers, wanted him to win.

  “His stuttering has gotten worse, but it isn’t about that. He hasn’t been able to sing. You saw the video; that’s how he’s singing now—if you call that singing.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. There’s no way—”

  “You have to stay. You can get his voice back, I know you can.”

  She pursed her lips, and her head tipped to the side.