In Pursuit (23 page)

One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand

Turning to look at myself in the mirror, I review my outfit. I’m wearing a pair of distressed skinny jeans, and a sleeveless white button down blouse for maximum comfort. Right now, my hair rests freely around my shoulders, but I decide to braid the strands together to keep it off my face. My phone starts singing.
Sean.

“You’re not backing out. Get your butt down here!”

“Coming,” I respond. After I slip on a pair of wedges and grab my bag, I’m on my way.

Luke and Sean are waiting out front in a sporty sedan.

“Hey guys,” I say as I climb into the backseat of the car.

Luke navigates the car out of the driveway and Sean flips around. “You ready, girl?”

“So ready,” I reply with false confidence.

“Pissing your panties with nerves, I see,” he observes. “Don’t worry, you’re going to be unbelievable.”

“How do you know?” I pull out my phone to find a startling message.

Jared: Baby I miss you

I immediately click my phone off.

“I just do.”

Sean was right, the dive bar only has less than twenty people spread about round black tables and chairs, and another ten or so sitting at the bar. It’s a very casual space, with vintage beer signs hanging on the walls. A small stage sits in the back of the room with a microphone, stool and a tired but clean piano. My fingers itch to play the instrument, excitement starting to replace nerves.

I can do this. I want to do this.

We settle down at a table, and a lanky waiter arrives to take our orders. Right now the bar lacks any willing participants on the stage, so we chat. Every so often Luke checks his phone, sometimes sending messages, other times just staring at if he is willing communication. All night he has been pretty reserved.

While I build up the confidence to put my heart out for everyone in the audience to pick apart and observe, our gangly waiter ambles up to the stage with an expensive looking guitar.

“Most of you know me.” He grins behind the mic. “But to those who don’t, I’m Ben.”

I watch him with a twinge envy as he launches into a Grateful Dead tune.

That could be me.

Someone just needs to tell my legs to get moving.

Breaking me out of my motivational pep talk, my phone buzzes against my lap. I pull it out to discover a photo message of Sarah, Greg and I from earlier in the summer. Greg’s arms squish us together in a tight embrace. The text along with the photo says:

Sarah: We miss you!

Eddie: Me too!

“Enough stalling, it’s time.” Sean waves a hand in front of my phone to steal my attention, and I put it on the tabletop.

I look nervously at the now empty stage. “Do I have to sign up or anything?”

“Scoot your little butt up there and introduce the song, then go,” Sean urges.

I clench my fists, willing the nerve to come. I adjust my posture, take a sip of water and then instruct my legs that it’s time to use their muscles. Pressing my palms to the table, I force myself up and then travel to the stage.

Sometime between the moment I stand up and the second I sit at the bench, a switch flips and I’m in the place where it’s just the music and me.

Even though we never played together, even though she never heard how her gift manifested itself inside me, I have always been surrounded by her presence when I’m before the instrument. She’s an imagined gentle hand on my shoulder, tapping the rhythm of my music as I play. My mother and I are united in this moment.

Sitting in front of a piano is as familiar as my reflection in the mirror. I seat myself on the wooden bench and tap the mic with my finger, drawing the attention of the room.

“Hello,” I say glancing out into the small sea of faces, then focusing on my friends and offering a tentative smile. “I’m Eddie and this is a song that’s been stuck in my head for the past six months.”

Timekeeper,
from Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, relies on powerhouse vocals. Mine aren’t at that level, but when my husky voice syncs with the melody, it works. My eyes shut as I hit the first keys on the piano. The song begins without words, just my hum.

I lose the concept of my surroundings sliding into the seductive beat of the music. I envision myself in another place, one where friends don’t have ulterior motives, fathers and daughters easily bond over things other than football, and heartache doesn’t exist.

The existential lyrics make me beg the Timekeeper for reassurance, and in that moment I need none. When this is over, I will be less the weight of fear of performing in public. It’s a completely exhilarating experience.

“Tonight,” I sing with bluesy swagger into the microphone, and as I get to the crescendo of the song, my eyes drift open and I stare down at my hands as they play, like they have a mind of their own.

The song ends with the same haunting hums that opened it and then just as quickly as it started, it’s done. Without the cloak of protection that the music provided me, I’m nearly frozen still. I try to gather my wits, taking two deep breaths then give my full attention to the crowd.

Thunderous silence follows at first. Then people are applauding, some beaming at me. I know I’m decent, but this kind of response? Unexpected. The confidence I felt while singing departs and I wring my hands together nervously.
Get off the stage,
a voice screams inside my head, so I stand up on shaky legs and take a few steps to climb down. My eyes are trained on my wedges, but then I feel it. The hairs on the back of my neck rise.

Harris.

My gaze flies up from the floor and it darts around but I can’t find him. Eyes darting nervously around the bar, I make my way back to my friends.

Of course, when I get back to my table, there he is, sitting in my chair, watching me. Now that he occupies my seat, I have nowhere to sit, so I stand awkwardly at the table, avoiding the blond buzz cut.

Holy shit, Sarah was right.

Sean and Luke’s mouths both gape open, so I focus on them, smiling shyly.

“Seriously?” Sean yelps. He yanks at my wrist, pulling me into his lap. He smothers me in a hug. “You are unreal. I mean, I had a feeling you would sing well, but you are a
performer
.”

Luke shakes his head. “Beautiful, Eddie. Really, really beautiful.”

I laugh uncomfortably and shake off Sean’s arms, still not looking at Harris. “Thanks, guys.”

“By the way, your ex was lighting your phone up, like he knew he was missing out on something special.” Sean’s eyes shimmer mischievously as he reveals this information.

“Jared?” Just as I ask, the phone signifies a text message, and I see a previous three from him, too. The phone rests where I left it, directly in front of my seat. Now, it’s next to Harris who could probably read all of the messages.

Jared: My parents miss you, don’t you want a family to love?

I frown in disgust and quickly close the messages. “Delete.”

“Edith,” Harris starts haltingly. I finally drag my gaze to meet his hesitant one. The normally domineering and confident man looks unsure. “You are... this doesn’t do you justice, but it’s all I can think of,” he references our first date and I’m wildly blushing at the memories, “my very own realized dream.”

Sean tightens his hold on me, conveying some silent message that I don’t bother to decipher.

The lanky waiter/guitar player from earlier appears next to our small, round table and he grins down at me, slimy charm oozing out. “You owned that."

My lips quirk into an awkward smile.

“Let me buy you a drink?”

“If anyone buys her drinks, it will be me,” Harris growls from my left, making Sean and I both jump.

“Why would it be you?” Sean asks curiously.

Does Sean have a death wish? 

Luke looks like he’s about to throw up, his face rapidly losing color. The waiter disappears, probably uncomfortable from the man who is grinding his teeth together so tightly, that he might wear them away.

Harris nearly spits the words out, he’s so angry. “Edith is
my
girl and
I
will be the only one buying her drinks.”

“What?”

Two shocked voices, Sean and I, respond. The room starts shrinking and my breathing gets faster. Harris’ rapt attention leaves my head spinning, twisting me into tangles. After pouring all of my emotions into the song, I feel spent and unable to handle whatever Harris doles out. 

From where it rests on the table, my phone signals another text. I snatch the device from the table and stalk outside to read it in private and get some gulps of fresh air. Harris thinks I’m
his
girl – where has he been for the past few days? Suddenly he wants me again, and I’m supposed to throw myself into his arms? Not going to happen. There’s nothing he can do to change my mind.

With a heavy sigh, I unlock my phone.

Jared: Don’t take away the best thing to ever happen to me. Don’t leave me alone, Eddie. You know what it’s like to be alone, don’t you? It kills you, a painful slow death that you watch, unable to stop.

Jared: Without you I am nothing. I need you to make me a better man.

Jared: My parents miss you, don’t you want a family to love?

Jared: Don’t be a coward. Say something bitch. You had no problem speaking your mind six months ago.

Jared: Fuck you

He’s hundreds of miles away, but I can hear him saying the awful words to me, venom lacing each syllable. I’m staring at my phone, unsure how to respond when he arrives. Even though I won’t say it to him, Harris’ presence soothes me. I immediately close the conversation from my phone.

“Let me see that,” he barks.

“No!”

“Edith, cut the bullshit and give it to me.”

 “The only bullshit I know of is you acting like I don’t exist.”

He glares at me, but still manages to wrestle the device from my grasp and after a few swipes starts reading the texts.

 “What are you doing?” I ask incredulously as his fingers begin to fly across the screen.

“Making sure this prick leaves you alone,” he snaps.

“
Now
you want to make sure he doesn’t bother me?”

“Edith…” He drops my phone into my purse, which I belatedly realize he’s holding.

“You have my bag.” I state unnecessarily, but he pays no mind to my asinine comment, just barrels forward.

“I have no right to ask this of you, but I would really love a chance to talk to you. No, that’s not right. I
need
to explain. Please give me –“

“Another chance? Fool me once, shame on you,” I say petulantly, and snatch my purse back, throwing it on my shoulder with such force that it might be considered violent.

Where was this bravery when Claire confronted me?

“Baby,” he says urgently, lifting a warm palm to cup my cheek. I work hard at not nuzzling into his touch, though it causes a riot of sparklers to erupt in my stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “What happened, me being gone, I didn’t want it either. Being away from you ate at me, made me realize how whole I’ve felt since we met. And without you I went back to crippling loneliness.”

A choked sob gets caught in my throat. It’s exactly what I want to hear – he’s saying what I feel. I eye him apprehensively.

“You can’t say that and disappear again, Harris.”

“I won’t, I
can’t.
” He sounds tortured as he brushes the pad of his thumb in slow strokes against my cheek. “I don’t want to be far from you again.”

Me either.

Dropping my purse to the ground, I throw myself against him, circling my arms around his back. He returns the sentiment with equal force, cupping the back of my head with one palm, the other settling down around my waist. There’s no room unhappy thought between us.

“Edith, Edith, Edith,” he chants. My name has never been spoken with so much tender emotion.

Bar patrons walk by, Sean and Luke may have stopped over to say goodnight, but we don’t move. I stay in the protective cave of Harris’ embrace.

Many minutes later, I tilt my face up and away from his hard to chest to look at him. “We still need to talk.”

“Let me take you back to my place.”

“Okay.”

T
wenty minutes later, I tuck myself into the corner of his leather couch. The posture is defensive, but after my lapse in self-control outside the bar, I need some distance from him. When we touch, the current between us blocks out anything surrounding thought, I’m completely at his mercy. I hug my knees to my chest, propping my chin on the ledge of my bent legs.

Harris shifts around the room, rubbing a hand briskly through his short hair. “Can I sit with you?”

I make a gesture for him to proceed.

He drops down near me, leaving a healthy gap. He extends his arm around the back of the couch, fingertips make whispers of contact with my bare shoulder. He maneuvers his body so that he’s facing me, face full of contrition.