The Duet (30 page)

“Thanks for meeting me.”

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Cody asked.

“I am.” Jay picked up a basketball and tossed it from hand to hand, giving him something to focus on so he didn’t get emotional. He had started this league more than five years ago, and it was very close to his heart. 

“Turns out, I have a daughter.”

Cody and Micah looked at each other, not sure how to respond.

“Yep, she’s six years old, a terrible checkers player, knows more vocabulary words than me, and is as beautiful as her mom.”

“That’s cool, man,” said Micah.

“Yep.” Jay moved away from the bleachers where Cody and Micah were sitting, and began to shoot a few baskets. “So, I was hoping you two would just keep the league going in my absence. I don’t want to make a big deal out of me leaving. I thought you guys could run the practice today. I’ll sit on the sidelines, and later you can just casually mention I’m moving.”

Micah walked over and stole the ball from Jay, tossing it with ease into the basket from just right of the foul line. “Some of the kids are gonna take it pretty hard. You leaving.”

Jay rebounded, and passed the ball to Cody. “Yeah, maybe. But they’ll be fine. You two have been like the team captains for a while now, and sliding into coaching roles will seem natural for everyone.”

“I guess.”

Jay looked over to Cody. He nodded. Jay almost laughed; the boy reminded him of himself – quite a talker, that one.

“So here’s the thing. I’ll check in every once in a while. I expect to hear good things are happening here. But you really have to commit to this or it won’t work. Try and both be here for every practice, but if you have to miss, the other of you should still be here. Never cancel a single night. These guys rely on routine, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Micah said, making another swish without barely looking. “We got it. Give up our social lives to help your kids and blah, blah, blah. We’ll do it, don’t worry.”

Jay smiled. He wasn’t worried. These two may even do a better job than he had. They could certainly relate to these kids better.

Cody got up, and the three dribbled around and shot a few baskets until the first of the group began to arrive. Jay took a seat on the bleachers and had a long drink of water. When he looked up, he was surprised to see Cody sitting right beside him.

“So this big move,” he started, “it’s not just about the daughter, is it?”

Jay looked at him questioningly.

“Sounds like you still have a thing for the mom. You think she’ll take you back? After all this time?”

Jay just stared at him. Freakin’ kid would make a great psychologist. “I don’t know, Cody. I don’t know. But I have to try.”

Cody nodded and looked straight ahead to where Micah was herding everyone into a circle. Then he popped up out of his seat, and started toward the group. At the last minute, he turned back to Jay and said, “She’d be an idiot to turn you down.”

And that was the closest Cody would ever come to admitting he would miss his former mentor. Jay would take it. After all, they spoke the same language.

51

The coffee shop was cozy and quiet. We were having an early snowfall, and the streets outside were empty of cars, a thin white blanket covering the sidewalks and roadways making everything look clean and new. There was a cluster of customers sitting in the far corner, spread out on sofas, sipping coffee and talking quietly. Miranda was home with Sydney and I was sitting at the counter trying to get lost in a book.

I hadn’t seen Jay at all since that night on my porch. He’d texted me the next morning saying he needed to get back to California, but that he would be back soon. Before he left, he stopped by the shop and had a long talk with Sydney. I stayed at home, and when Miranda brought her back, Sydney was quiet, but I didn’t ask her what was said. She was still a little mad at me, and I hoped in time things would get back to normal between us. I wouldn’t allow myself to think anything else.

I knew that when Jay said the things he said to me, it was his way of putting the ball in my court. He expected to be a part of Sydney’s life now, and of course that was what I wanted too; but beyond that, I had no idea what was in store for us. I guess I had decisions to make, but I wasn’t any closer to making them.

I gave up on pretending to read and hopped down off my stool to make myself something comforting to drink. As I rounded the counter, I noticed the voices from the group in the corner had gotten louder. I looked over to see that they were a group of college girls, all clad in Wesley sweatshirts and Uggs. Maybe it was my imagination, but they appeared to be shooting me looks as they giggled over something on one of their phones. I shrugged and set about making a giant frothy café Americano.

I almost jumped out of my skin a minute later, when one of the girls surprised me by leaning over the counter without me noticing. “Excuse me,” she said, flinching when I jumped and spilled hot liquid all down the front of my shirt.

“I’m so sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you.” She walked around and tried to blot the coffee off me with a pile of napkins. I shrugged her off, probably not as politely as I could have. She was only trying to help.

“What can I do for you?” I asked, attempting a bit of improved customer service.

“I was just… my friends and I were wondering. Are you Izzy Delaney, the singer?”

I tossed a coffee covered rag aside and took a deep breath. I had not exactly taken extra measures to live in obscurity since I left California, but my fame from the duet had been pretty localized. I never really expected that anyone would recognize me as that girl I once was. It had been a long time. And we were far away.

I leaned forward, my hands spread wide apart resting on the edge of the counter. “I haven’t been referred to as Izzy Delaney the singer, in a very, very long time. But yes, that’s me.”

“Oh my God, I knew it! Christie, it’s her. I told you guys!”

Christie and company joined their friend at the counter, and I balked. There was a time I would have relished this kind of attention, but I wasn’t that person anymore. This was making me uncomfortable to say the least.

The questions came in rapid fire and for a moment I felt like I had when I was being hounded by the local press, just after ”Don’t” had gone viral. “Why didn’t you record anything else? Do you still know Jay Archer? Is Jay single? Would you play something for us?”

My head rotated from one face to the others, back and forth like I was watching a tennis match.

“Please, please can you play us a little something?” The chatter died down and five anxious pairs of eyes rested on me with expectation. I sighed, glancing outside. No one else was around. It was such a perfect peaceful moment, and these girls were quite persuasive.

I shrugged. “Why not? Let me run upstairs for my guitar. I’ll be down in a sec.”

I ran up to the little apartment, tore off my coffee splattered shirt and threw on the only clean thing I could find – a faded red tie-dye that I had made with Cooper one night in the apartment. I shrugged off the melancholy and found my guitar in the only closet. I sometimes played it up here when I was alone, but it had been a while. When I got back downstairs, the girls had gathered around the tiny stage area where we usually held open mic night. I settled on a stool and began tuning my guitar.

“Guys,” I said, not looking up. “Don’t’ record this, please, or I have to back out. This is just for right now, okay?”

I could sense the disappointment, but they all agreed. I promised they could get photos with me, although honestly I didn’t see what the big draw was. I was a one hit wonder; a has-been, as far as the music world was concerned. I wasn’t even sure that recording me would have been any big deal, but having experienced the negative side of fifteen minute fame, I was not at all anxious to repeat it.

“Any requests?” I asked, looking up with a smile. I was feeling relaxed. It had been too long since I’d played and I missed it.

“It’s a mellow kind of day, so something chill.” The other girls nodded. “But nothing too sad. It’s Friday after all.”

I chuckled. Then I thought of the perfect song for a snowy November Friday. I began playing the opening measures of a recent Jack Johnson song, and heard instant approval from my “fans”. Smiling, I really put my heart into that song, then went right into my own original version of Bruce Springsteen’s Hungry Heart, which, not surprisingly, was unfamiliar to these babes, but it was my own secret nod to Asbury Park. I took a few more requests, and finally it was time for the girls to get going. They were going to a bachelorette party later and needed plenty of time to tart themselves up (their words, not mine).

I posed for a couple of photos, as promised, then locked the door behind my little crowd, surprised that I was a bit sorry they had to leave. Not ready to go home yet, I turned out most of the lights, lit a few candles and picked up my guitar again. I made myself a cup of coffee – remembering I’d never even gotten a sip of the ill-fated Café Americano I’d made earlier – and settled on a couch to play.

I never even heard the back door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard Jay’s voice. “That song’s a little dark for you, isn’t it?”

I whirled around, my hand flying to my heart. “Sorry,” he said. “Back was open.” He stepped closer. “So, I never pegged you for a Reznor fan.”

I shrugged, putting down my guitar and standing. “I am a fan, actually. I just usually prefer a lighter fare. Guess I was craving a little mood music today.”

Jay was standing a few feet away, his thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his battered jeans, which hung low and dangerous on his hips. He wore a thermal waffled shirt covered by a snow-covered hoodie, unzipped. No coat and no gloves; his only nod to the weather, an army green beanie, which he removed right away. His hair was a delicious, disheveled mess, and I had to swallow hard and lick my lips at the sight of him. He was beautiful, and I really missed him.

“When did you get back?” I asked. My voice was shaky, there was no disguising it.

“I flew in to Philly and drove right to your house. Miranda said you were here.”

I nodded. He walked around and picked up my guitar, then sat on the arm of the couch. I backed up a step and sat on the other arm, needing the distance. He began to play, then raised an eyebrow and glanced my way. “Do you know this one?” he asked. I shook my head. But when he started singing, I instantly recognized the song. Poison and Wine, by the Civil Wars.

Really?

And just like that, I was heading straight down on that emotional roller coaster again. This time I wasn’t sure if I would crash and burn at the bottom or if I would smoothly dip and emerge up the other side.

My voice overlaid his on my part, and he looked over and nodded once. I couldn’t look at him when we sang together. The words were too much. “I don’t love you, but I always will…” This was way too intense. I should just stop singing and ask him to leave. I needed to take a moment. Or maybe I should just run out the back door like a coward. I had never been good at these super emotionally charged moments. I felt like my air supply was being cut off.

The song was over, the words still ringing in my head. I still couldn’t look at him. I was nervous. No one but Jay could ever make me feel so unsure of myself. Normally I was confident, outspoken; but not now.

“Coffee?” I croaked, desperate to break this silent spell he had over me.

“No.”

I raised my eyes slowly, afraid of what I might see there. My face felt hot, my body was burning up. The flickering light from the candle played tricks on his face. His eyes were steady on mine. They weren’t sad, though, like I’d always remembered. He looked determined, hopeful, and I saw the truth there in that emerald green gaze.

Jay loved me. He loved me and he was ready to share himself with me. Not just tonight, but forever. It was what I had been waiting for from him without even knowing it, all this time.

I don’t know who reached for who first. One minute we were staring at each other from across the vast expanse of the couch, a wordless conversation that transcended years of heartbreak and misunderstandings; and the next we were standing toe to toe, clutching on to each other for dear life. I could finally breathe as his mouth met mine. My body relaxed and I leaned into him, letting him hold me steady. His hands were cradling my face, and mine were in his hair. Then I was running my fingertips across his cheeks as if I needed proof that he was really standing here.

We made it as far as the stairs. I don’t know why we were in such a hurry. I had a feeling there would be plenty of time for us to get to know each other again, but for some reason it was urgent that we shed all of our clothes that second. So we did. And I opened up to him – body and soul – right there with the hard stairs digging into my back, the cold draft from the back door cooling my hot skin.

After that initial animalistic mating ritual was out of the way, we made it up to the tiny apartment over the shop where we locked the door and spent the next hour or two exploring every inch of each other – multiple times.

I was lying on top of Jay on the twin size bed, my head resting on his chest while he absently twirled my hair with his finger. I traced the words of the tattoo on his hip in lazy, slow strokes. It was a quote from Bob Dylan;
All I can do is be me, whoever that is.
Perfect. Everything about him was perfect. I felt the vibration of his laugh and I leaned up on my elbows to look at him.