Restless Hearts

by Stephanie Kate Strohm

  Well. There was someone walking past the windows in front of BDC who had nothing to do with any of those things. Unable to believe what I was seeing, I pushed open the doors to catch him.

  “Dad?” I asked incredulously. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk like he’d been caught doing something illegal. “What are you doing in Times Square?”

  “I had a meeting on Ninth Avenue.”

  “Oh. Right.” For a moment, I thought maybe he’d come to see me. Like we might grab a late lunch at Helen’s Moonbeam Diner after dance class, like we used to when I was a little kid. Dad hated the singing waitresses there, but he always sucked it up because he knew how much I loved it. And because he liked their Blue Suede Burger.

  “Well.” Dad cleared his throat uncomfortably, his mustache twitching. “Shall we walk to the A train together?”

  “Sure.” He looked like he’d rather get ten root canals all at once. Why had I even run out after him? I should have just waited in the lobby at BDC until he was gone so I could have ridden uptown alone, listening to Dear Evan Hansen and crying in peace on the subway.

  I didn’t get the part. I couldn’t believe I didn’t get it.

  “So.” Against all the odds, there we were, walking south toward Forty-Second Street together. This was already the longest conversation we’d had in months. Maybe years. “Your mother tells me you’ve been auditioning for some big show.”

  Excellent. Exactly what I wanted to talk to my estranged father about. How I’d failed.

  “Emphasis on been auditioning,” I said. “I didn’t get it.”

  I didn’t get it. It reverberated in my head, over and over again. My big chance, and I’d screwed it up.

  “Ah.” The wind started to pick up. I pulled up my hood as Dad tucked his head down, sinking into his collar like a turtle dressed in business casual. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s fine.”

  It wasn’t. None of this was fine. Not the fact that I didn’t get the part, or that I was walking down the street with my father, talking to him like he was a total stranger, or the fact that we weren’t saying any of the things that needed to be said. Was this what the rest of our lives would be like? Polite conversation, ignoring the fact that he didn’t approve of my sexuality? Didn’t approve of me? What would happen when I brought a guy home? Fell in love? Wanted to get married? At some point, my dad was going to have to choose: If he wanted me in his life, he needed all of me in his life.

  Maybe coming home had been a mistake. This half-life with him, of pretending everything was fine, was too painful. But the idea of cutting my father out of my life completely was also more than I could bear. I needed more from him to move forward, but I didn’t know how, or if, I was ever going to get it. Repairing our relationship couldn’t be all on me. It was too much.

  “You know what?” I said abruptly. “I left something at Broadway Dance Center. I need to go back.”

  “Jorge—”

  “I have to go, okay?” I turned and ran up Eighth Avenue. I couldn’t let him see me cry. I’d had enough “boys don’t cry” from him to last me a lifetime.

  “I’ll see you at home, okay?” he called as I ran, disappearing into the crowd of tourists weaving their way toward Times Square.

  Home.

  It hadn’t been home for a long, long time, and I was having a hard time seeing how it ever could be again.

  THE ELEVATOR DOORS SLID OPEN onto the rooftop bar, exposing an urban wonderland. The entire city was spread before us, the lights in a million windows twinkling. The rooftop itself looked like somewhere Alice could have tumbled into once she fell down the rabbit hole. There was greenery everywhere, strung with tiny fairy lights, and plush, comfortable couches set up in cozy conversation nooks. You weren’t quite as high as you’d be at the top of the Empire State Building or at One World Trade Center, but you could still see plenty of the city, and the ambience more than made up for it.

  “Welcome to the rooftop at 550, Miss Smith. We have it reserved for you for the entire evening,” the elevator operator said. “I hope you enjoy your time here.”

  “I’m sure we will.” I smiled at him. “Thank you so very much.”

  “Wow.” Jules walked in front of me onto the roof, her long blonde hair tumbling down her back. In the brief time we’d been seeing each other, I’d learned she wasn’t much for dressing up, but she looked absolutely stunning in plain black jeans and a leather jacket.

  “I hope this makes up for the fact that I missed the jazz show at Tiny’s,” I said. I’d been planning to take Jules to the unplanned Myles McCoy show—I loved how old-school and, well, tiny, Tiny’s was—but at the very last minute, Ethan Fox had texted, asking if I was available to take a meeting. Those theatre people and their odd hours. I had thought we were meeting to talk about him directing the play I’d written about how the Russian Revolution might have turned out differently if Anastasia had had access to Snapchat, but he’d only blathered on about the immigrant experience in Yonkers in the 1890s, in a futile attempt to get me to throw some money behind his production of Hello, Dolly! Please. If I wanted to eat stew while sitting on a grain sack, I didn’t have to produce a musical in order to do it.

  “Are you kidding? No offense to Myles McCoy, but there’s no way he could compete with a view like this. Look!” She pointed excitedly. “The Empire State Building!”

  “Well-spotted.” Together, we walked toward the railing to look out at the city. The top of the Empire State Building was lit up blue, for reasons I didn’t understand. Perhaps something to do with sports.

  “I love this city,” she whispered. “I love everything about it. It’s so beautiful at night.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I turned my head, and our lips met in a kiss. How lucky that our paths had randomly crossed in Central Park. Jules had been jogging by at a rather alarming clip, and I hadn’t seen much besides a blur of blonde ponytail as I strolled at a more sedate pace, enjoying a macchiato and an almond croissant from Maison Kayser as I looked at the changing leaves. Luckily, Jules, the clever minx, had noticed me and taken a stretch break just a bit farther down the path. We had struck up a conversation and the rest, as they say, was history.

  She’d certainly been making my time in New York even more enjoyable than I’d anticipated.

  “This is amazing, Pepper,” Jules whispered. She wrapped her arms around my waist and nestled her chin against my neck, standing right behind me as we looked out over the city. I could feel the wind blowing her hair against my cheek, tickling me slightly. “I can’t believe I’ve lived in New York my whole life, and I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Don’t be silly, darling, you live in Queens.” I squeezed her arms. “That’s hardly New York.”

  “Hey now.” Jules removed her arms and stepped to the side, resting her elbows on the balcony. “I can put up with a lot, Pep,” she teased, “but you do not disrespect Queens to my face. I don’t want to fight you, but I will.”

  “Understood.” I held up one arm conciliatorily, and she snuggled in. “Please don’t fight me, darling. I don’t have a death wish.”

  “You should come out to Astoria with me next weekend. See where I’m from. What it’s really like.”

  “Mmm,” I murmured noncommittally. The idea of trekking to an outer borough, even on Jules’s well-defined arm, was thoroughly unappealing.

  “We can get dinner at the Greek place down the street. It’s unreal. Seriously. Like nothing you’ve ever had.”

  “I don’t know; I split a grilled branzino with Alessandra Ambrosio in Mykonos once that transported me to another plane …”

  “Pfft.” Jules snorted. “Forget Mykonos. This’ll be better. Plus they do amazing Greek fries, with feta and oregano sprinkled on top. And then we can get milk shakes at the Starlite. And maybe … maybe you could come over and meet my ma,” she added hopefully. I could tell she was trying to be casual, but that this idea meant a lot to her
. Which was making me nervous. I was not the “bring home and meet your ma” type. I’d started this thing with Jules thinking it would be just a fun, casual fling, but if we weren’t on the same page, perhaps I’d need to end things sooner than I’d planned to. “I mean, just if we’re in the neighborhood. No worries.”

  “That does sound charming, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it,” I said carefully. “I’ve committed to doing quite a bit of Fashion Week coverage for various media outlets, plus I’ve scheduled myself a brunch with Guy LaMontagne, only it’s out at his summer home in Sag Harbor, so I’m not sure how long that will take …”

  “Sure, sure. I totally get it.” Jules’s tone was breezy, but I was worried that her attitude toward whatever was between us was not. “Too soon for you to meet my ma, anyway. Forget it, Pep. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She smiled at me, the dimples in her cheeks adorable. “We’ve got plenty of time. Queens isn’t going anywhere, right? It’ll be waiting across the bridge whenever you’re ready.”

  I certainly wasn’t ready. And as I watched Jules look out over the city lights, gorgeous as she was, I didn’t think I ever would be.

  OBVIOUSLY, I WAS GLAD WE’D gotten to play Tiny’s—the place was legendary for a reason, and it had felt so good to sing whatever I wanted to—but our quick detour to New York had wreaked havoc on the tour schedule. It was a six-and-half-hour drive from New York to Virginia Beach, and this was the longest stretch we’d done in one go so far. Now I understood why Pauly had carefully plotted out the tour so we usually didn’t have to cross so many states at once.

  I balled my sweatshirt up under my neck, trying to get comfortable. Maybe I should have bought one of those neck pillows they were selling at the last gas station we stopped at. After being stuck in the van for so long, my neck felt crunched, my back hurt, and I thought my leg muscles were starting to atrophy. No matter how much I tossed and turned, nothing felt right.

  But eventually, finally, we got off the highway, thank the lord. Shockingly, we drove into the heart of Virginia Beach. When Pauly turned into the parking lot at the Beachfront Inn, which was literally on the beach, I wondered if he’d made a mistake.

  “Are we staying here?” I was half-hopeful, half-afraid he was just gonna pop in real quick and ask for directions or something. “Seriously? Or is this just a pit stop on the way to the nearest Comfort Motel?”

  “Yup. This is our stop. Got a great end-of-season deal. Thought it would be a nice way to welcome Boone to the tour,” Pauly said.

  I had to admit, spending the day on the beach with Boone Wyant sounded awfully appealing. I had known he was meeting up with us today, but I had no idea it would be in a situation that involved sun, sand, and potential shirtlessness.

  Excited, I unbuckled my seat belt as soon as Pauly put the van in park, ran under the green awning and into the hotel, forgetting all about my suitcase. I needed a break from that van. I was already dreading getting back in it tomorrow to drive to Greenville, North Carolina. But for now, I’d try to focus on enjoying where I was. I crossed to the other end of the lobby, my nose pressed up against the glass. Unbelievable. There was a narrow green lawn, a strip of concrete boardwalk, and just beyond that, the beach. I couldn’t believe how close we were. When Dad had said we were going to Virginia Beach, I didn’t think I’d actually see the beach. I’d assumed it’d be our regular view of highway lights and neon signs from fast-food joints. Honestly, I’d gotten so used to Comfort Motel lobbies that even seeing a different-colored throw pillow on the couches in the lobby was a thrill beyond belief.

  “Lucky for you, it’s still pretty warm out there!” the front desk clerk said cheerfully as I watched seagulls darting past. “Hope you brought your bikini. Is this your first time in Virginia Beach?”

  “It is,” I answered her.

  “Well, welcome. You’re gonna love it!”

  I took a seat on a couch in the lobby while Dad and Pauly checked in. In the distance, through the big windows at the front of the hotel, I could see the waves rolling in along the beach. Maybe I’d even have time to find a bathing suit somewhere and go swimming! It did look pretty tempting. As Dad went to check out the coffee situation at the breakfast bar—I hoped he wasn’t holding his breath for one of those fancy lattes he loved—Pauly joined me on the couch.

  There was, however, one problem I’d spotted so far with Virginia Beach.

  “Are there even going to be enough people here to come to a show?” I looked around the empty lobby, and then out through the windows to the empty boardwalk. “It’s like a ghost town.”

  “Tourist season’s over. It’s no big surprise that the place has kind of emptied out.” Pauly shrugged. “Not every gig can be three thousand seats at the Detroit Opera House. Or even a packed house at Tiny’s.”

  “Right.” I frowned, dreading playing to a half-empty house tonight.

  “Don’t worry, Josie.” Pauly patted my shoulder. “The name Myles McCoy has never failed to put butts into seats before. And Boone Wyant should help, too. Bring in a younger demographic. That’s why I wanted him to join the tour.”

  And like his name had summoned him, the lobby doors slid open, and Boone walked in. He only had a guitar case and a small duffel. Either he was the world’s lightest packer, or he was keeping the rest of his stuff in his truck.

  “Hey y’all.” Boone greeted us with a wave.

  “Welcome to the Myles McCoy tour, Boone.” Pauly jumped to his feet and shook Boone’s hand.

  “Thanks, Pauly.” Boone pulled Pauly and slapped him heartily on the back. “It’s a real honor to be here.”

  “We’re happy to have ya.”

  “Hello, Boone.” Dad walked over to our corner of the lobby, a paper cup of coffee in his hands, breaking up the Pauly-Boone lovefest. “You’ve made it. Sound check is at five. Rooms aren’t ready to check into yet, but you may leave your things with the front desk.”

  I’d seen Dad look more excited about a trip to the DMV. Dad had only said nice things about Boone’s performance when it was just the three of us, but now that Boone was here, you’d certainly never know it. Well, I knew firsthand how withholding Dad could be when it came to praise.

  “Great, thank you, sir.” Boone smiled, like Dad had just welcomed him with open arms instead of dispensed information with barely concealed disdain. “Josie, you wanna hit the beach?”

  “Sure.” It took every ounce of my self-control not to look at Dad to make sure he was okay with it. I was an almost-adult woman who didn’t need to check with Daddy for every little thing, but it was hard not to. Both as my dad, and as the guy who was running the show.

  Boone left his bag and guitar at the front desk, and we walked through the sliding glass doors that opened onto the beach. Crossing the concrete boardwalk, we descended a small flight of stairs onto the sand. The beach stretched out seemingly for miles in either direction, the ocean in front of us a limitless expanse of blue. We certainly had nothing like this back home. No offense to Riverdale, but Sweetwater River just couldn’t compare.

  I tried to tuck some flyaway curls behind my ears and failed. It may have been unseasonably warm, but it was windier down here, and I could definitely feel it.

  “Look at that view.” Boone whistled. “It’s got nothing on the Great Smoky Mountains, but it’s not half-bad.”

  “It always comes back to Tennessee with you,” I teased.

  “How about you come back to Tennessee with me?” he asked.

  “Sure. When the tour runs through Nashville. I’ll be there.”

  “Not just on tour. You should move there,” Boone said.

  “Move there?” I raised an eyebrow. “What would I do in Nashville?”

  “Make connections. Get started as a solo artist.”

  The idea of branching out on my own, especially after finally getting a taste of my own show at Tiny’s, was definitely appealing. But Nashville?

  “I don’t know anybody there.”

  �
��You know me.” He grinned. “I could introduce you to some people. Producers and managers and bookers for all the best venues. I could even get you a day job at the Heartless Café. Just until you make it big, of course.”

  “Of course.” Could Nashville really be the place for me? Having a leg up with some of Boone’s connections definitely couldn’t hurt …

  “I can’t wait to show you my city.” He tucked one of my windblown curls behind my ear, but it immediately sprang free again. Slowly, like he was worried he might spook me, his hand moved from behind my ear to the side of my face. He cupped my cheek, tilted up my chin, and before the next wave rolled in, we were kissing.

  He kissed like he sang.

  I pushed gently against his chest, the slight pressure from my hands enough that he broke the kiss immediately.

  “Boone.” I shook my head, my curls bouncing in and out of my peripheral vision. “Wait a minute. What are we doing?”

  “Kissing.” He grinned. “And doing a pretty good job of it, too, if I do say so myself.”

  “Be serious.” I pushed against his chest again. Someone had clearly been hitting the hotel gym while on tour. “What is this?” I gestured in the space between the two of us. “Like, what could this even be?”

  “Well, we don’t know what it is yet. That’s where the kissing comes in. It’s a great way to figure things out.”

  He closed his eyes again, but I stopped him before his lips met mine.

  “Kissing never figured anything out,” I said. “It just complicates things. And the last thing I need while I’m getting my career started is complications.” Sighing, he stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I know we’re in the same place right now, but that’ll just be for a couple of tour dates. Then we’ll be off in different directions, and realistically, we’ll probably never see each other again.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe we’ll both be in Nashville. So why not see where it goes?” he asked. “For now?”