Read Higher Octave (Heavy Influence #2.5) Page 7


  ***

  I slipped on a clean dry t-shirt, and all I could think about was Grace and how emotional she'd gotten. I needed to see her and thank her for making the night so special for me. I couldn't recall ever affecting a grown woman in such a way. I didn't get that chance to see Grace again. She and Margo left as soon as my set was over.

  "Gabe, what's Grace's story?" I inquired as nonchalantly as I could as we drove home. "She got all emo, you know."

  There was such a long silence that I thought he didn't hear me, but as soon as I opened my mouth to repeat myself, he spoke. "Grace's husband died almost two years ago."

  My stomach sank. "Damn." I shook my head, disturbed by this knowledge.

  "This was the first time she's been out of the house."

  What? "Gabe, she's had to go out of the house."

  "Other than taking her kid to school." He glanced at me, gripping the steering wheel. "She has a young son, about four years old now…" His voice trailed off.

  "No wonder she lost it, hearing some of my songs." Love, loss and death filled them.

  "Yeah," he said somberly.

  For the next week, I stood over Marty, hovering like a drone, watching him edit the footage from the performance. I was ecstatic. The sound and picture quality were insanely good, and I'd become obsessed with watching Grace.

  "Send me stills of her." I pointed at the massive Apple monitor we had set up in my mother's spare bedroom. I'd arranged for Marty to have whatever he needed, like he would have had back in New York. I wanted the work done in front of me. I was now a micro-manager.

  He nodded. "She's stunning. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so perfect. She's perfect."

  "She's pretty amazing."

  "How old is she?" he asked.

  "Thirty-nine."

  "Geez." Marty scratched his head. "She looks younger than that. I would have guessed ten years younger."

  I nodded and wondered if I'd ever see her again, seeing that she lived in my town, albeit as a recluse. I pondered Grace's existence and my own, and thought about Aly. Kyle informed me that she was finally graduating from college in May. I would be there to watch her walk, Nathan or not. I didn't plan on letting her go so easily. Not until she was married to him.

  Maybe I would change her mind.

  Feeling as if I'd conquered climbing Mount Everest, I collapsed onto the sofa in my mother's house. I finally felt like I could go back to New York. It was now mid-April and warming up in the city. The release of my video, I Am Here, exploded with more than a million views in a matter of hours. Within two weeks, it had over a hundred million.

  I was back.

  5

  The thick white creamer splashed into my black coffee as I stirred it in slowly, swirling it around like a pinwheel, finally turning it a caramel color. I was at some obscure coffee house, filled with tired-looking screenwriter types staring at their laptops, on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood, California. Gabe, my driver, dropped me off to meet Bobby, who was staying just up the street. Bobby was my childhood friend, and a member of my band Rita's Revolt…well, my former band. Now, after nearly ten years, millions of records sold, my drummer dying from cancer and my complete fall from grace (amongst other fucked-up shit), I was now a solo musician and Bobby had begun playing bass for me again. I'd hired a pretty cool dude, Stoney, as my drummer (RIP Dump). Stoney was the type of seasoned hand that I needed in my life - and he was sober. A recovering drug addict, like me.

  I dug my phone out of my pocket to check the time. It was 4 PM on a warm spring day in April. I spun around to catch a few people staring at me, smiling politely. I couldn't get away from the recognition, but at least most of the people in this town left me alone, as the locals were used to seeing their fair share of celebrity types - it was Hollywood, after all.

  I found a wobbly two-top table next to the wall of windows with a street view and planted my ass in a wooden seat, checking out the scene a bit more. Every other person in line had a dog, from a yellow lab to a tiny toy-like Shih Tzu puppy. They were all well behaved, with wagging tails and smiles on their snouts. A dog town, I thought, just like my town, Manhattan Beach. I dug when establishments didn't get all freaked out about dogs. I loved dogs, and wanted one some day, when I settled down.

  Settle down.

  I looked out the window, searching for Bobby, as I thought of Marty (my assistant, videographer, journalist-turned-friend) back in New York, living in my apartment. The apartment that I'd acquired to settle down with Alyssa…Aly…my Alycat. My childhood friend and next-door neighbor, turned obsession, turned love of my life. I owed all my success to her, literally. Every song, every pang, every detail of my life was spun around her. Our lives would forever be entwined because of friendships. Her other best friend, Nadine, was still seeing Marty - an incestuous petri dish of relationships.

  I laid my phone on the table and pressed the button to check the time again; it was 4:13 PM.

  Where the fuck was he?

  I sent a text to Bobby - ??

  He replied - AROUND THE CORNER

  I spotted Bobby walking briskly toward the front door, smoking a cigarette. He looked a bit more put together than he normally did, as in…not homeless, in torn and fraying garments. I'd never seen him in sweatpants before, these were the fashionable kind of peg-legged pants, black with a white strip going down the side of each leg. He wore new black Converse tennis shoes and a fitted white v-neck tee shirt. I smiled, amused; Marshall finally got to him. He stopped short, throwing down his cig, stomping it out. For a second, I thought he was going to leave the butt there, but he picked it up and tossed it in the city trashcan on the corner - good boy.

  When he arrived at the table, I couldn't help but give him a hard time. "Isn't it against the law to smoke on these streets?"

  He looked around. "Fuck'em," he murmured, dipping his head and chuckling. "They can sue me."

  "You're lookin' snaz," I smirked, crossing my legs.

  "You like?" He tugged at his v-neck. "I thought I might as well wear the clothes Marshall keeps buying me. He left me no choice when he packed my bags and didn't put any of my old shit in there." He shrugged. "I actually don't mind lookin' good."

  He'd mentioned it to me several times after he moved up north that he'd have to invest in a new wardrobe if he wanted to fit in with Marshall's friends. Not that he really cared, but Marshall did.

  "What? Time to grow up?" I teased. "And throw away the sneaks you've been wearin' since high school?"

  He clutched his chest in mock pain. "My babies? Who have carried me a million miles all over the world? Never!" he threw up his arm and pointed to the sky in animated conviction. "I'll never grow up."

  I laughed. "Me either, man."

  Bobby yanked on the chair pulling it out and sat down. "So what's this all about?" He leaned in intently. "We're going in to record those songs, right? In a couple of days?"

  "Yeah, and some journalist wants to interview me, and I thought you should be here, too. I know he'll probably be more interested in the past, than my future."

  "I wouldn't say that, man." Bobby tried to be optimistic.

  A guy named Glen Lim, a Huffington Post and Rolling Stone contributor, met us a short while later. A fortyish, athletically slender white dude with blonde hair - Huh? His last name threw me off. I was expecting an Asian dude. Glen reminded me more of a pro-golfer than a music journalist. I'd read many of his articles, but never knew what he looked like. He was nervous, jittery in fact, and I found it odd, considering his long list of exclusives with music greats. Maybe he'd had too much coffee.

  He introduced himself to Bobby and I with a damp hand, and for the first fifteen minutes, he stuck to talking about the video Marty produced from the Hotel Café show. Then Glen began treading lightly on my rocky road, and I was as gracious as I could be with answers, until he asked about Sienna and if any of the rumors of our affair were true.

  I stiffened and cast a glance to Bobby, who scowled at
Glen. Poker face, I thought before I spoke. "Sienna and I were very close, Glen. People can assume what they want about us." I shrugged. "I haven't seen Sienna in a few years. We primarily keep in touch by texts here and there. She knows where I'm at if she ever needs me."

  "I recently met with her to discuss her book deal. You must know she's written a book titled, With the Band - it's about her life and time with Rita's Revolt."

  No, I didn't know, and all the tendons in my body tightened. I nodded and forced a smile. "Good for her. I've heard embarking on a project like that can help you heal." I sighed, crossing my legs. "You know, Sienna and I went through a few rounds of rehab together. We were, unfortunately, each other's enablers for a while, until we parted and got serious about our recovery. I love Sienna. Tough times make people do crazy shit…but much like my solo endeavor, it's all self-therapy, and I think she'd be able to share some interesting, fun facts about her time with us and her life with her husband, Dump."

  Glen smiled satisfied and continued. "Sienna explained that there'll be a big surprise for Jake Masters' fans, saying she can't deny the truth any longer."

  "Sounds like we'll all have to wait for the surprise." I chuckled, making sure the sincerity reached my eyes, though I was far from happy about what Sienna had decided to share in her new book. I wondered if Glen was just baiting me. Why would Sienna talk about our time together? It would make her look bad, too. I pushed it from my mind, but Bobby had other ideas after Glen departed.

  Bobby and I sat silently staring at each other for several minutes after Glen took off. "Is there anything you need to tell me?"

  I almost choked. I swallowed and took a drink of my coffee, which was now grossly cold. The only person I should have been really concerned about knowing what really went down with Sienna was Aly, and she already knew the truth. Did I really care if the whole world knew how fucked up I was?

  "I'm not the same person, Bobby. Anything that Sienna has to share about me was when I was fucked up on drugs, and so was she." I stood and stepped toward the trash receptacle, tossing my empty cup inside. "Is what it is. I just hope she focuses on all the good times and the love of her life."

  "It's true, what they're saying, isn't it?" Bobby eyed me skeptically.

  I gripped the back of the chair I'd been sitting in and leaned over it, balancing on tense arms. "Bobby I'm not proud of some of the things that went on between Sienna and me, okay? We were both fucked up, and now we're not."

  Bobby's eyes drifted over me, trying to read my mind and the meaning of what I'd decided to share with him. He just nodded his head dolefully, and it made my stomach curl. "Okay." That was all he said.

  We walked back to his townhouse a few blocks away, the one that Marshall used to occupy when they'd first started dating. I didn't want to wait around at the coffee house for Gabe to pick me up, so I sat on Bobby's blue velvet couch, tapping out a text to Sienna—first a long one, telling her what I'd heard. And then I erased it and went with:

  - THINKIN' ABOUT YOU. I HOPE THINGS ARE GOOD.

  I stared at the screen until Gabe's text interrupted my duress.

  "Bobby. I'm out!" I shouted. He came out from his bedroom, wiping his hands with a white hand towel. I threw a thumb over my shoulder. "Gabe's here."

  "Alright. See ya tomorrow."

  I stalled for a moment. I wanted to better explain myself about Sienna, but Bobby held his hand up, stopping me. "Dude. I'm not the one you have to worry about. I'm not gonna judge you."

  I bowed my head. "Thanks, man."

  Gabe and I drove back in near silence to my mom's, and all the while, I held my phone, waiting for Sienna to reply. I'd talked myself into going on the defense, in a tactical sort of way. I was going to get ahead of any potential damage. I'd written a song about us, about all the speculation. About our grief and loss, finding comfort in each other. I hadn't debuted it during my set at The Hotel Café, but now I would. I'd be meeting Bobby to rehearse and go over the songs we'd be recording over the next week. That song would now be included.

  We pulled down into our downtown neighborhood. I spotted the Von's supermarket on the corner, and it reminded me that my mom asked me to stop for eggs, I'd been eating hardboiled eggs like nobody's business, trying to stick to a protein diet as much as possible. I remembered looking at her like she was crazy, feeling like I was fifteen again. I'd usually smart off, making some excuse as to why I couldn't run an errand for her, but this time I told her, no problem.

  I pointed. "Pull over at the Von's. I need to grab something for Kate."

  I made quick business of grabbing a carton of eggs and getting in line. I waved to familiar faces and was happy that they just smiled and waved back. I wasn't in the mood to chat; of course, that was before I saw her again.

  Grace strolled through the sliding doors, pushing a red shopping cart.

  6

  I was the last person in line, in lane five, and the grey-haired grandma in front of me was still unloading her cart. I backed out, curving around the end cap filled with tabloid and fashion magazines. I played it off like I was interested in their idiotic headlines, all the while tossing a curious eye in Grace's direction, watching her gather her produce items. She wore a white gauzy-looking dress, and her air was pulled up on top of her head. Her fair skin looked slightly pink, like she'd gotten sunburned. When she pushed her cart out of view, I moved in her direction. My heart raced.

  What would I say to her? I had to say something, anything.

  She pushed her cart leisurely toward the dairy section, and I moved at her pace, keeping a bit of distance. I perused the shelves like I was looking for something when she suddenly turned around, spinning the cart around with her. We locked eyes. I felt so ridiculous at that moment, and the blood rushed to my head. I don't think I'd ever been more embarrassed in my life, and I could feel the warmth of it spread across my face.

  Grace smiled cheerily, waving. "Jake. How are you?" she said, rolling her cart toward me. If she noticed my embarrassment, she didn't show it.

  I gave her a corny grin and lifted the grey carton I held in my hand. "Eggs." And then what came out next was more of a thought, but it slipped out instead. "You look great." Kill me.

  Now it was her turn to grow pink in the face, and she gave a little snigger. "Thank you." She looked around awkwardly.

  I managed to get a grip. "I wanted to say thank you for coming the show that night, but you pulled a Houdini." I smiled down at her and watched the smile fade from her face.

  She looked at me thoughtfully. "I'm sorry. I just got…your lyrics." She looked away shaking her head. "They hit close to home."

  I was enamored. "They can have that affect. Sometimes I can't handle them either." I chuckled ironically, and the happy smile reappeared on her exquisite face. "I'm glad to see you're getting out of the house, finally." As soon as the words rolled out of my mouth, I wanted to spontaneously combust, and she did too, by the look on her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

  Her breath caught. She placed her hand on my shoulder, sending a comforting sensation through me, and her words rushed out. "No. Please. Don't be sorry. I'm sure Gabe told you why I disappeared that night. It's okay."

  "That came out…" I looked up, searching for anything better to say…"lame. I'm sorry." She was still smiling at me. "But hey, you look great. You look like you got some sun."

  She moaned. "I put sunscreen on my little man, but failed to cover myself."

  "Baby steps."

  "I'm not sure if I'm taking any steps yet. It's more like I'm crawling." She pursed her lips.

  "Crawling is better than just lying there. Trust me, I know."

  Her eyes drifted over me, and a soft smile remained on her gorgeous face. A moment passed, and I could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes as she tipped her head up to meet my gaze.

  "Thanks." Her voice cracked.

  My heart skipped, urging me to say something more. "You wanna grab coffee some time?" I clutched the
carton of eggs so hard, I felt one of them crack. Shit. I hoped it wouldn't ooze out.

  Surprise sparked in her eyes. "Um. Sure." She nodded and gripped the red cart more tightly.

  I wanted to tell her there was no pressure, but there was a shine in her eyes when she smiled at me. "Cool." I shifted backward, feeling anxious about keeping Gabe waiting. "I'll get your number from Gabe."

  "Okay." She began to push her cart forward and I walked beside her. "See you soon, then."

  Indeed you will. "Sounds good." I waved goodbye.

  I felt a spring in my step as I grabbed a new carton of eggs, paid, and walked out of the store. I wasn't sure what I was feeling, but an easy semblance of something that had been missing for so long flared. There was something inspiring and hopeful in Grace. Gabe was out of the car, leaning against the hood.

  "Sorry. I ran into Grace," I mumbled quickly as I passed him to open the car door.

  His eyebrows inched upward.

  "I asked her to coffee." I couldn't look at him, and instantly felt a discontented vibe.

  "Jake, she's not…"

  "Stop." I interrupted, standing with one leg in the truck, looking at him over the hood. "This isn't a conquest, Gabe, it's just coffee."

  "Jake, with all due respect…" He paused. Concern draped over his weathered face, and he looked away from me and moved getting in the truck. "I don't want to put you in any stereotypical category…"

  "But you are," I said flatly, sullen by his assumption. I pulled my door shut, and he did the same. A tense moment passed. "I don't need babysitting, and neither does she. If she didn't want to meet me, she wouldn't have said yes."

  Gabe started the car and began to drive from the parking lot. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business what you do. You're right. I'm just hired to drive you."

  There was no malice in his tone, but his words stung. Sure, I hired him to drive me, but we'd become friends. Grace was his friend, even more so than I.

  He continued, "She's just been through a lot, and she's delicate, Jake. Getting involved with you wouldn't be a good thing for her. You're on a different playing field. She's a mother and a widow. You're a young rock star with your entire life ahead of you."

  I nodded; he was right. "Gabe I just have to know her, okay? There's a lot going on there, and I just have to see what it's all about. I'm drawn to her, and it's not in an I wanna fuck her kinda way."

  I thought about what I'd said to Gabe as I walked into the house carrying the eggs my mother asked me to get for her. I wasn't sure what I wanted from Grace. I knew she was older than me, but her age never crossed my mind. I wanted to get to know her and those raw emotions she'd let loose while I performed. It didn't dawn on me that she might think I was interested in her in a lustful sorta way. I shuffled through the kitchen, now regretting asking her to coffee as I put the carton in the fridge. She certainly didn't need me in her life.

  I stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking at the glasswares that sat in the dish rack, the sun's reflection on them bouncing light all around. The vase on the counter was filled with red roses I'd not noticed before. Notting. A loaf of bread sat opened in front of the toaster, and I walked over to it and twisted it closed, tying it off. I'd left it opened.

  It made me wonder where Notting and my mom were. It looked as if they didn't even set foot into the kitchen all day. Only my mess was visible; nothing of theirs. I was curious. Did they leave it like that on purpose? Where they tired of picking up after me? I chucked ruefully. I'm sure they were. Come to think of it, I hadn't picked up after myself, ever. I always had someone picking up behind me. First my mom, then hired hands. They were probably finally sick of it. I stepped to the dishwasher and opened it. There was nothing inside. I rinsed my coffee cup and the plate I'd used, and put them in the dishwasher. I then followed up by wiping down the counters.

  I had to move out. I had to get my own place if I was going to stay in LA.

  My room was still my room, sort of. All the furniture was the same, minus the personal touches: the posters, books, guitars, cords, desktop computer and…the pictures of Aly. I stood staring at the shelf where her framed images used to exist and emptiness gutted through me. I missed her.

  I stared at the door at the other end of the room, the door that led to the backyard. The door that Aly would sneak through when we were just teenagers. I walked to it, opening it, and dirt and debris scattered into the room. No one had opened the door in years. I walked out past the hot tub, toward the back fence, where the gate was: the gate that Aly would use to get into my backyard. The gate that our parents built together so us kids could roam between houses when we were little. I turned, staring up at Aly's house, and wished she were inside of it. I would have sent her a text to come over via our secret path, long forgotten by our parents.

  I itched to send Aly a message, or to call her, to hear her voice. Those thoughts reminded me of the text I sent to Sienna, who never replied. I stalked back into my room and called Marty.

  "Jake?" he answered, surprised to hear from me. I looked at the clock. Oops, it was late for him. He sounded groggy.

  "Yeah. Sorry man, did I wake you?"

  "No. Just watching TV."

  I paced the room. "I have something I need you to look into."

  I explained to Marty about my interview with Glen and Sienna's book deal. I wanted him to find out exactly what was going on with her. I told him she lived in Miami and I gave him her address.

  "Do you want me to fly there? Is that what you're asking?"

  I wasn't sure. "Um. Do you want to?" I scratched my head. "No, that would be out of line. Don't you think?" I kind of wanted him to.

  "Jake, I don't know about that. Showing up unannounced and then grilling her about her life? She didn't tell you because she wants to be left alone, is my guess."

  My stomach sank, and I sighed. "Marty, Sienna and had an affair."

  There was silence, and my heart raced at my direct admission.

  "I'm not surprised to hear that," he replied flatly.

  Ouch. "Was it obvious?"

  "You guys were pretty close there. I'm just not surprised, that's all."

  I laid back on my bed, raking my free hand down my face. "I don't know what happened. I knew it was wrong and so did she, but we couldn't help ourselves." I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling tired. "I've done some pretty shitty things, Marty, but you know that. I'm sure when the masses find out it was all true, they won't be surprised either."

  "Aly might not ever speak to you again. For real this time." His voice was gravely.

  "She knows." I wanted to sleep. I grew weaker with each confession. "That's why she's not speaking to me now. That's probably why she's choosing to marry Nathan, because I'm a fucking scumbag."

  Marty and I discussed the Sienna situation a bit more, and I told him to contact Mr. Todd. First, to try banging on his door, and if he couldn't get him that way, to leave him a note with one of the doormen. David Todd would know exactly who to contact to get dirt.

  7

  Little pink flowers budded on the tree limbs over my head as I sat on a cement park bench, down the street from the house I'd just rented, waiting for Gabe to drop off the keys to me. I'd taken the jaunt down the hill from my mom's to grab some coffee, and didn't really feel like walking back. I needed to clear my head. Bobby and I'd been stuck in the studio, recording song after song, and we'd finally finished nearly two weeks later. I'd stood in front of the house on 16th Street, proud of my choice. A two-story contemporary home with dark wood accents, high ceilings and a hot tub; clean lines and no fluff, just as I liked it. The only things that were missing were the canvases of Aly. I'd contemplated having Marty send them, but I just didn't know how long I'd be there.

  The home was fully furnished. All I had to do was grab my shit from my mom's and move in. I was stoked to have a place of my own, finally, though my mother didn't see it that way, since I'd be leaving on tour again at some point - "Why waste the money? How much are
you spending anyway? It's got to be upwards of at least eight thousand a month. It's ridiculous for you to spend that."

  It was also ridiculous for me to have bought a place in New York across from Central Park and to be paying for it without having set foot in it for over three years. I shrugged at the thought as I sipped my coffee, making my way over to the park.

  The location was perfect. Close enough to walk to downtown Manhattan Beach, with its grocery store, bars, restaurants and clothing stores. Everything I needed was within easy walking distance from my new home. My mom's was just a little too out of the way, up and down a couple of hills. I didn't need to be living with my mommy. I wouldn't need Gabe or her to drive me around on bullshit errands. The highlight was that most people would leave me alone - there were no paparazzi in Manhattan Beach.

  A screaming child and laughter caught my attention on the nearby playground, and I glanced over to see what all the shouting was about. Boys teasing and roughhousing, innocent laughter echoing all around from the children at play. I scanned the gated area, and my heart lurched into my throat when I saw Grace. I sunk into the bench, turning away, wondering if she saw me too. I never did call her; I wanted to, but I thought better of it. Reasoning with myself that I was too busy, that Gabe was right. I was no good for her. I snuck another look. Now, there she was again, tempting me. She was smiling and talking with some other woman, totally oblivious of my regard for her. I glanced around the street, looking for Gabe's car and looked at the time. It was 11:30 AM. He'd be pulling up any moment. When he did, I jumped into the car as quickly and stealthily as I could.

  He looked at me strangely, cockeyed. "Is everything okay?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  His eyes bounced between mine. "I don't know, you're out of breath and acting like you're hiding from someone."

  I laughed it off. "Nah, I was just up at the house, staring at it, and lost track of time."

  "I would have met you there…"

  "No it's okay. I wanted to get some exercise. Been sittin' too long. I forgot what the sun feels like."

  Gabe lifted his hand, dangling a set of keys between his fingers. "Here you go. Tracey said to let her know if there's anything else she can do." Tracey was the realtor who'd found the place for me.

  I smiled as I squeezed them in my palm. "Thanks, man."

  "You want me to drive you over?"

  I hedged. I wanted to see Grace and I didn't want her to leave the park. "I'm gonna walk down to say hello to some friends while I have it in me." Not a lie.

  He nodded. "Okay, then."

  I watched as Gabe drove away and turned, walking toward the playground. I at least owed Grace the reason why I hadn't called; it's not like I would be lying. With my coffee cup in hand, I'd decided I'd use it as my excuse to be walking by. The closer I got, the more my nerves took hold, and the more beautiful she became. Her long black hair blew around in the breeze, and she had an easy smile on her face as she pointed and conversed with whom I assumed was her son. He had the same dark hair and bright eyes as she did.

  I smiled and waved, trying to get her attention. Finally, a blonde woman pointed at me, getting Grace to look in my direction. She lit up like a siren as soon as she realized who I was and waved. My stomach tumbled with furor. I was stoked she was happy to see me. I unlatched the green gate and ambled toward her. The other moms were openly captivated about what was about to go down, whispering between each other, trying not be obvious.

  These mothers weren't the kind you'd put a mom label on, at least in my opinion. These three ladies all looked like they belonged on The Housewives of Beverly Hills. They were all attractive in their own right, fit and color-coordinated in their workout gear. Grace wasn't wearing tight-fitting spandex, like the other moms. She wore a flowing, calf-length, teal and white patterned dress. Her slender shoulders and arms had more of a tan than the last time I saw her. She was obviously getting out more.

  "What are you doing here?" She beamed.

  "Just walkin' by." I held up my coffee cup and pointed up the hill. "I just rented a place right over there."

  "Really?" Grace said, surprised.

  The Moms whispered to each other, and I smiled in amusement, wondering what they were saying. By the sly looks on their faces, they'd be asking Grace all sorts of questions after I left.

  "I decided to stay a while," I shrugged, smiling.

  She looked confused for a split second, but then gestured over to her friends, who were staring at me, still smirking. "Jake, this is Lisa and Heather."

  "I know you," Heather said, wagging her finger at me. Her thick eyebrows dominated her smooth face. When she smiled, it barely moved. "My son loves your music. I bought him tickets to one of your concerts."

  I guessed her son must be in high school, and I just nodded with a stupid grin on my face. I had no idea what to say to her other than, "Sweet."

  Lisa's giggle drew my attention over to her. "Nice to meet you…Jake." Lisa's eyes raked over me, making me look to Grace to steal her reaction - was I seeing things? Grace's eyes went wide, and she looked away, holding back a laugh, noticing Lisa's suggestive tone.

  Grace cleared her throat. "It's good to see you." She smiled at me sweetly and pointed to the bright blue and green fort contraption. "I gotta get going. He has swim class. Ethan!" she called out to her son. He peeked up over the side of the blue bridge. "We've got to go. Swim time!"

  "Yay! Swimming. I get to go swimming!" he hollered to the kids around him as he slid down the yellow slide, running in his red tennis shoes. He skidded to a halt right in front us, looking up at me. "Who are you?"

  My smile couldn't get any bigger. "I'm Jake."

  "I'm Ethan." His bright eyes darted to Grace, no longer interested in me. "Mommy, let's go!" he tugged on her hand, and she ruffled his black hair.

  "Let me grab my bag." She looked over at me with a dutiful toss of her windblown hair.

  "What are you doing later?" I didn't mean to ask her in front of her friends or Ethan, but I didn't see any other chance at getting her attention.

  She looked at me cautiously, biting her lip. "Let me grab my bag," she repeated, evading having to answer me.

  I looked over at Ethan, who was bouncing in anticipation over at the gate, and I walked toward him. I didn't want to watch what was going on between Grace and her friends. "'Sup buddy?"

  "Nothin'" He rocked on his heels, staring down at his shoes. "My shoes are new."

  I nodded. "Are they fast?"

  His head tossed upward, and his breath caught. "How did you know?" he whispered at me with big eyes. "Don't tell my mom. She doesn't like me running too fast, but I can't help it, it's my shoes."

  My heart swelled at hearing his fantasy. Wow.

  "Okay, let's go," Grace chimed, swinging her oversized burlap bag over her shoulder. "I'm parked over there."

  I unlatched the gate, and Ethan took off running. "Don't go too fast!" I shouted, and he slowed down. I looked at Grace. An easy smile crossed her lips, but she didn't look at me, keeping her eyes on her son as he stopped at the side of a white Lexus SUV parked at the curb. She held out her arm, keys dangling from her hand, and clicked to open the doors as we stepped closer.

  "Get in!" she instructed happily, and Ethan pulled at the handle.

  "How old is he?"

  "Four. He starts Kindergarten this fall."

  I nodded, impressed at his maturity. "He's very well-spoken."

  Grace's eyes gleamed at my compliment. "He's in preschool. I usually have him there every day, but today I just wanted to spend some time with him." She bent into the car, saying something to Ethan that I couldn't decipher, and then shut the door. "It was great running into you."

  My stomach tumbled. "Do you wanna…"

  Grace hung her head, shaking it unfavorably. "Thanks, but no thanks." She smiled sadly and turned to walk away.

  "Please have dinner with me tonight." The words popped out eagerly, more urgent than I'd wanted. "I'm sorry I didn't call.
Gabe didn't think it was a good idea."

  She spun back to face me, her mouth hinging open. "He said that?" Hurt laced her voice.

  I sighed. "Not exactly." I regretted throwing Gabe under the bus.

  "For some reason I think you're just saying that, Jake, but it's okay. It probably isn't a good idea."

  I looked inside her SUV and Ethan was happily playing on a gaming device. "Grace, do you know anything about me?"

  Her aqua eyes scanned my face. "I hear you on the radio, and read in The Beach Reporter about your friend's memorial service at the Manhattan pier. That's the extent of it."

  I sucked in a breath. "I'm a fucking train wreck, Grace. I'm a recovering addict. I'm such a mess that the love of my life is marrying another man. Not calling you had nothing at all to do with what Gabe shared with me about you."

  Her shoulders relaxed and empathy splashed across her face. "I'm sorry. Um…why don't I call you after Ethan's swim class."

  I was surprised at how easily her tone changed. I quickly took out my phone from my pocket. "Give me your number."

  Grace and I exchanged phone numbers, and she hastily left. It was the strangest, yet most interestingly honest interaction I'd ever had with a chick I didn't know. A woman. This was a grown woman I was dealing with.

  8

  A funky melody coursed through the dimly-lit and artistically creative interior of the Pamilla Concina y Tequila restaurant, an upscale home-style Mexican joint. Intricately stacked white-painted River Rock covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and heavy, black, medieval chains hung around the perimeter walls. It was still early, happy hour time. Hipsters and beach locals alike filled the place. An interesting mix, I thought as I turned out to face the promenade patio from the front door. I wondered if these hipster/Hollywood looking types lived here.

  A twenty-something brunette hostess with a delicate lip piercing greeted me in an aloof manner, like it was some fucking privilege for me to be there. "Hello, your reservation name?" Until it dawned on her who I was, and she did a double take and pointed at me knowingly.

  "Jake? Rita's…"

  I nodded, giving her a tight grin. "That's me, and I don't have a reservation."

  Starry-eyed, she blinked twice, hugging a stack of menus to her chest, looking past me. "How many?"

  "Two. My friend will be here soon."

  "Don't worry. I'll squeeze you in."

  She looked behind her, and I followed her gaze. Eyes were on us. I felt like I was at some Hollywood hot spot, where everyone looked at every person who walked through the door. What happened to my beach town?

  I followed her to a cozy little table for two, set against the back wall - nice.

  "My name is Marina. I went to school with you. I was in Alyssa's class." Great. She handed me a red embossed menu and placed the other one on top of the table setting across from me. I smiled and nodded, thanking her. "Um, okay, your server will be right with you."

  I purposely faced the wall. I didn't want anyone to notice me. I was the only one sitting alone, and Grace would surely know it was me, waiting for her. I scanned the menu and drank from the ice-filled water glass the tattooed arm waiter brought me. Finally, I felt the warmth of Grace's hand on my shoulder.

  "I'm sorry I'm late." Her soft voice filtered out as she bent close to my ear.

  I stood, hugging her, getting a glimpse of her in tight black denim jeans with strategically placed shredded holes in the legs. Her black blouse was silky, and a tad bit see through, with a teasing hint of a lace bra. She barely hugged me back, shifting to move to her seat. "No worries," I offered as she slid past me, sitting against the wall. I caught a whiff of her perfume; a romantic, feminine scent - a grown woman's scent. I stared at the gorgeous, aqua-eyed lady sitting in front of me, feeling completely out of my league, undeserving of her eyes on me.

  I shouldn't have pursued this. I sat, feeling awkward, and cleared my throat. Grace smirked, leaning toward me. She glanced in both directions, making sure nobody was listening. "Maybe we should have just met for coffee."

  I chuckled nervously, embarrassed she saw my trepidation. "You're probably right."

  "No. I'm teasing." She shook her head, smiling, and her black hair shimmered, falling from her shoulder and covering the opening of her blouse and her subtle cleavage. Grace looked around the room. I studied her more closely; her long black eyelashes and the curve of her jawline down her neck. She was certainly an exhibit of fine beauty.

  Her eyes met mine. "I haven't been out to eat in a long time," she whispered, playing with the napkin on her bread plate.

  "How long?" I wanted to milk her for anything and everything. I wanted to know exactly why she cried her eyes out at my show. I wanted to know about her loss, intimately.

  Our bearded waiter with colorful inked forearms greeted us again. "Welcome to Pamilla. Have you been here before?" He clasped his hands, glancing between us.

  I shook my head no. Grace said she'd read about it the local paper. I made a mental note that she must read a lot. His nametag read Jon, and he introduced himself as such. We ordered our drinks; an iced tea for her, and for me, a soda water with lime. We thanked Jon, and Grace smiled back at me, taking in a deep breath.

  "To answer your question," she continued, playing with the silverware in front of her, "I haven't been out to a restaurant in a couple of years."

  I nodded slowly, not really believing it. "As in you've only cooked at home?"

  She shook her head yes, and it was still hard for me to believe. I felt the weight of her answer fall on my shoulders. I felt strange for being the first person to ask her out. I feared her expectations.

  Her happy expression faded. "I don't want to burden you with my sob story." She tried smiling, making light of the loss of her husband. Her mouth hung open. "I admit that after you told me about yourself, at the park, I talked more to Gabe and then I actually plugged in my computer and read all about you."

  I nodded, feeling ashamed. "Not pretty."

  She shrugged and took a drink of the tea Jon had placed in front of her. She arranged her setting and looked back at me. "Life fucking sucks sometimes, doesn't it?"

  The f-bomb totally through me off, making me smile, almost laugh. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh. I just didn't expect that to roll out of your mouth."

  She laughed too. "I don't think I've said fuck in two years, either."

  We chuckled together for a moment longer, and Grace was the one who took over the conversation. It was more about validating what she'd read about me. I confirmed everything. Most of what she'd asked about was true, surprisingly. Then the conversation moved to the more present day.

  "So you said Alyssa is marrying someone else now?"

  I bit down on my bottom lip, hard, nodding yes. "Pretty much."

  "And you've decided she's not worth fighting for anymore?"

  A shock vibrated through me. Was I really going to go there with Grace? This beautiful woman, who was starting a new life? And me, a man (albeit younger than her) with the option to start a new life right then and there, cutting Aly out of it once and for all?

  I gulped. "I don't know," I answered honestly. "Part of me wants to run right out of here, and the other wants to say fuck it, it's over."

  Grace's eyes roamed my face, and I watched her swallow, blinking at me. She sighed deeply and licked her full lips. A weird vibe coursed around, and she shook her head, looking down at her hands.

  I instantly felt bad. Here I had the option of trying to get back with my love, and Grace would never have that chance again, just like Sienna.

  "I don't mean to get so heavy, Grace. I'm sorry."

  She gave me a sad, lopsided smile, and then sat up straight, with a more upbeat air. "Okay. Let's stop feeling sorry for ourselves. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm the one that got all…heavy…as you say, asking too many personal questions."

  Oh, just you wait until I have my turn.

  Her willingness to lighten the mood invigorated the m
oment. I watched her look over the menu she'd taken into her hands. I did the same. We discussed the menu and compared it to other Mexican joints in the area (Grace had lived in the South Bay for over ten years herself). We ordered tacos: she, the chicken and steak, and I, the fish and shrimp.

  "Do you eat seafood?" She nodded. "You wanna share?"

  "Sure," she agreed and lifted her glass filled with iced tea. I picked up my water glass. "Cheers to new beginnings."

  Our glasses clinked together, and I wondered if she wasn't drinking alcohol because of me. "You don't drink?"

  She laughed mildly in spite of herself. "Not in two years."

  Now it was my turn to ask questions. "What have you done the last two years?"

  Her head tipped down, and then she met my gaze. "Much like you, I've just been trying to survive."

  The next question tumbled out of my mouth like a disgusting loogie. "How did he die?"

  Shock registered in Grace's eyes, and she gulped. I wanted to punch myself in the mouth. The look on her face told me she could burst with tears at any moment, and I held my hands up. "I'm sorry. Don't answer that…"

  But before I could say another word, she blurted out the answer. "He died in a plane crash." She held her breath and touched her cheek, running her fingers down her neck.

  My hands went numb. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so…" I couldn't even finish my thoughts. I just hung my head in embarrassment. Grace had no idea about how my dad, Michael, died.

  Similar tragedy. Instant. Permanent. Forever. Leaving behind a young son.

  She reached over and rubbed the top of my hand, sending a chill running up my arm. "Jake, it's okay. I don't know what either of us expected this to be. I was flattered you wanted to get to know me." She looked around the room again, as if searching for someone she might know. "I'm not ready to be out in a social situation. I don't know what to talk about, but you don't need to tread lightly. I'm a big girl. I've made it this far."

  She smiled and pulled her hand away. I wanted to reach out and grab it back. "Thanks for being a good sport and not kicking my teeth in for the direct, insensitive, question." I laughed nervously. "I guess I need some etiquette classes or something."

  My remark made her giggle. "Sorry you're the guinea pig." She took another sip of her tea and sighed again. "You're the first person other than family and very close friends…and Ethan's teachers…who I've shared that with."

  "The first one outside your circle, in two years?"

  Her eyebrows rose up her forehead, silently telling me, no shit, that's what I keep saying.

  I wanted to know more. I wanted to know his name and what he did for a living, and what kind of plane crash it was. There'd been jetliner crashes in other parts of the world, and smaller ones in the US, but which? The odds were it was a small plane crash. I was too chicken to ask, and thankfully our food arrived. Spicy, marinated quality aromas filled my nose, making my mouth water.

  "Thank you!" Grace said cheerily to Jon as he placed her steaming plate with three smallish tacos and a pile of rice and garnishes in front of her.

  Mine looked similar. Her eyes twinkled, and she picked up her fork, holding it out to me. I knew exactly what she wanted. I cheered food the same way - though it'd been years since I'd raised my fork to anyone.

  "Cheers, Grace," I said, lifting my fork and tapping hers.

  Her head tilted to the side, and a smile peeked at her lips as she stuck her fork into her rice. I didn't expect her to look up, and she caught me watching her. Heat rushed out of my collar instantly, and I watched as color filled her fair cheeks.

  My attention was making her blush, and it made me feel delighted.

  "Um," she almost giggled, looking back down at her food, tossing her rice with her fork. "You're one of the very few people who never hesitated to raise the fork," she said, taking a mouthful of rice.

  "I do it on occasion, too. Great minds." I winked and lifted my tortilla filled with shrimp and cilantro. "These are gonna be so fuckin' good," I said, biting into it.

  "Ok. My turn. Steak it is." She began eating her taco.

  "Damn," I said, swallowing.

  "Oh. My. God," Grace said through a mouthful, and her eyes rolled upward. "This is so good."

  We ate. Giving our praise to the food when Jon checked on us, then when our empty plates were being removed by the busboy, Jon had to ask to take picture with me. I was completely disappointed and irked, more than I think I'd ever been by someone asking. He'd acted as if he had no idea who I was the entire time, and I was stoked to be just a regular guy having dinner with a beautiful woman.

  It got worse from there. As Jon bent to pose next to me, with Grace taking the picture with his camera phone, it opened the door for other people to ask for pictures as we passed the bar. Grace took it all in stride, and we left with a trail of people tittering in our wake.

  "I'm really sorry. It's never been this way before, here." I grabbed her hand, moving her in front of me as we stepped out into the patio area, and steered her out of the restaurant by the small of her back. I could practically feel her skin through her thin blouse.

  "It's okay." She nudged my shoulder with hers, taking her hand away from mine. "It doesn't bother me. I wasn't surprised."

  "Yeah, but it sucks. I haven't been out in Hermosa in a long time. This place has changed tenfold," I said looking around at the paved promenade with its bars, restaurants, and stores bursting with patrons on each side. Relief took the place of agitation with each step away. "I don't believe that would have happened in Manhattan." I shrugged. "Next time I'll pick a place in Manhattan." Grace smiled at my remark without a word, and I realized I'd made an assumption that she wanted there to be a next time. "That is, if you'll have dinner with me again?"

  She looked up into the sky and over to me, opening her mouth to speak. A piece of her silken black hair blew over her eye, and I fought the urge to tame it. Then instead of answering me, she closed her mouth and looped her arm into mine as we strolled onto The Strand, the smoothly paved sidewalk along the beachfront. I had no idea where I was walking to, except toward home, as I'd planned.

  "I walked here. That's the only thing I've done in two years…is walk and wave to people." Her grip tightened on my arm ever so slightly as she continued. "Always looking like I had somewhere to be, so they didn't try to stop me and I wouldn't have to say the words over and over again."

  I totally understood that feeling, for different reasons. "I get that."

  She breathed in deeply as she stared out at the setting sun. I didn't think she heard me.

  "It worked out then. I get to walk you home. I'd planned to walk home, too." I felt silly about asking her out again, and blew it off, reminding myself that she'd said she wasn't ready to be social, and all this was just a moment with a beautiful woman.

  The springtime ocean breeze had a bit of a bite, and I'd wished I'd brought a jacket. Grace's fingers stirred against my arm, and I took that thought back. I wouldn't have been able to feel the warmth of her hand if I were wearing a jacket, and that thought brought on a tune in my head - The warmth of her hand. A melody followed.

  "Grace, what was his name?" I couldn't help myself any longer. I had to know.

  She didn't hesitate. "His name was Phillip."

  "How did you two meet?" Her grip loosened on my arm, and I feared she'd let go. I pressed her hand into my arm. "We don't have to go there."

  She smiled softly, nodding once, and stared off into the distance. Her smile grew more pronounced, and I assumed she may have been recollecting perhaps their first meeting or date. I didn't expect her to talk about him with each passing second, so I offered up my intentions.

  "I can't lie. I do mean to pry." I squeezed her hand beneath mine. "I can't get…that night out of my mind. You were," I sighed, "deeply affected."

  "That's why I'm here. I don't want to be deeply affected anymore. I want to feel something else other than wretchedness." She pulled her arm from mine, leaving th
e spot where her hand was feeling cold. "You asked. You seemed sincere. Now here I am," she quipped.

  "Fair enough." I smiled down on her, wanting to put my arm around her.

  "I met Philip in college. We both went to MIT."

  Wow. "So you're a brainiac," I teased.

  "Pretty much." She tossed her head back. "I had big dreams once, and then Phillip dabbled in some things and ended up becoming a pilot, and I became a graphic designer."

  "I admit I wondered what you did with yourself for two years inside that house, other than being a mom," I teased, laughing at my next playful thought. "Like, were you knitting scarfs n'shit."

  She gasped, covering her mouth. "How did you know?" Then cutest little giggle bubbled out of her mouth. Her words reminded me of what her son, Ethan, had said.

  "Ethan had the same exact reaction when I asked if his shoes were fast."

  Grace's eyes sparkled, and she sighed deeply. "Yeah, he needs to slow down and watch where he's going. He tends to run too fast and look back at whoever's chasing him, and eats it."

  I recalled doing the same thing with my dad, Michael, him tackling me to the ground and tickling me. I did the math in my head. Ethan was probably just two years old when his dad died. Way younger than I was. I wondered if he had a man in his life.

  "What does Ethan do besides preschool and swim class?"

  Grace looked out over the vast sea of sand to our left. "We play in the sand."

  "Not a bad life. I grew up here playing in that sand, too."

  More questions were burning in my throat, and so was my own story. "My dad died too, when I was a kid." I just blurted it out like I was talking about the weather, and Grace stopped and grabbed my arm, alarm glowing in her eyes. She covered her mouth as her eyes searched mine.

  Shaking her head, she said, "I'm so sorry."

  This time I went for it and put my arm around her shoulders. It spurred her to walking again. "It's life. Some of us are just dealt shittier hands than others."

  Grace was silent.

  "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound so lackadaisical about it. Ethan and I are in the same club. Nothin' we can do about it."

  9

  Grace forgave my insensitivity and what sounded to her like bitterness in my words (maybe there was) as I explained a little more about my father, leaving out the infidelity and situation with my mother and Notting. She was more in disbelief than anything else. I didn't dwell on my situation. I was too interested in hers. Ten minutes later we came up on Twenty-First Street in Hermosa Beach, and she stalled a bit to watch the volleyball players. This only made me think of Aly, and I wondered what she was doing right at that same moment. Was she with Nathan? Was she playing volleyball, too?

  "I live right up this hill. On Circle Drive." She pointed over her shoulder, and then wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.

  I leaned up against the cement wall that separated the sand from The Strand. I didn't want our time to end. "I'll walk you home."

  "I wish I'd brought a jacket. We could've watched the sunset."

  My stomach tumbled. I was stoked she didn't want to leave either.

  "Come on." I pushed myself from the wall and threw my arm around her shoulder again. "I shoulda, too." Then I said something off the cuff, pulling her closer, and wanted to sink into the cement as soon as I heard my voice. "Body heat." Fuck. Why did I say that?

  I was relieved when she chuckled and allowed my arm to remain where it was. "Indeed. Lack of weather judgment."

  We walked silently a couple more blocks, up a fairly decent incline. The sidewalks disappeared, and we cruised up the middle of the street, just like I used to do when I was a kid. We were well warmed by the time we got to her doorstep. I was surprised at how large her home was when we stopped in front of a two-story Tuscan-inspired house. A stone façade with wrought iron balconies and ivy-covered walls towered in front of me.

  "Thanks for walking me home." She spun to face me.

  "Nice pad," I said, taking in the tight, well-placed landscaping in the sliver of a front yard. She thanked me for the compliment, and I almost continued with something else untoward - graphic design must be doin' you right. I thought better of it and just smiled at how idiotic my mind was sometimes. I wasn't dealing with the type of person I normally dealt with. I tucked my arms around me, chilled from the cold ocean breeze whipping more fiercely around me, and had a chuckle. "I better jog home."

  "Oh. I have something. You have a bit of a walk still." She reached out, rubbing my shoulder. "Come in."

  Before I could politely decline her offer, she was through her front door and Ethan was shouting, "Mommy!" Hearing his little voice made me smile. "Mommy!" he shouted again.

  "I'll be right there," Grace's voice carried out faintly from a hallway.

  "Hey! I know you!" I looked up in the direction of Ethan's voice. He was standing at the top of the stairway, looking down at me from the banister. I watched as he bound down the stairs at full speed, wearing a Spiderman mask.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa buddy! Slow down." I laughed as he tripped and fell at the bottom of the stairs. I caught a glimpse of what looked like album covers peppering the wall along the stairway. I made sure Ethan was in good shape, and looked closer at the wall. They were album covers, ones I recognized. No way. Did she design those?

  "Ethan! Take the mask off," Grace huffed in dismay, shaking her head. She held a black hoodie in her hands. "I swear, he's gonna really hurt himself one day."

  I laughed. "I lived. He'll be just fine." I ruffled his hair.

  She smiled, looking back at Ethan. "Go back upstairs and get ready for bed."

  "See, Mom!"

  "Shh." Grace pointed at him, and he kicked his foot out in frustration, but didn't argue. He quietly walked back up the stairs, and once he got to the top he shouted, "I'm gonna wrap you in my web and make you go to bed too!"

  He dashed away defiantly, and Grace's mouth gapped open. She shot me a look of surprise. I held back my laughter when I noticed Grace didn't find it funny.

  "He's getting more brave with the backtalk these days."

  I nodded. "Pushing the envelope." I still did it.

  "Here. Um." She stalled, holding out the zip-hoodie to me. "It was Phillip's." She shook it out. "Sorry, it might be a bit dusty."

  I felt weird taking it from her, but I didn't want to offend her ,and I didn't want to freeze my ass off walking home either. "Thanks," I said, taking it from her. I sighed. "And thanks for a great time."

  She held her index finger to her lips for me to be quiet. "Ester?" Grace raised her voice, and I heard a "yes?" A little brunette woman with short hair and wide-set eyes came out from what I assumed was the kitchen, drying her hands on a floral dishrag. "I'll be right back. Can you make sure Ethan's doing what he's supposed to be doing?"

  "Yes, Ms. Grace," she said quietly, walking up the stairs.

  "Thank you."

  Grace and I walked outside, and I slipped Phillip's sweatshirt over my shoulders, feeling overwhelmingly sad for Grace, Ethan and myself. Life fucking sucks.

  "Seriously." I turned to face her. "Thanks for going out with me. I can't imagine what it must be like…"

  "Actually," she interrupted, "you can probably understand more than anyone I know."

  I nodded. She was probably right. "Yeah." I sighed, swallowing the frog in my throat. "Anyway, thanks for humoring me tonight."

  "Thank you for getting me out of the house for a grown up outing." She chuckled, rubbing her arms.

  "You wanna do it again?"

  Apprehension stirred in her eyes.

  "Look, Grace, I get it. There's no pressure. I just feel like I have to know you. I keep thinking about how…touched you were at my show, and I wanted to know why. I want to know more about you."

  She pulled her arms into her chest, nodding, and I continued, "My circle is very small, Grace. I don't let too many people in."

  "I get that."

  "Not that it means anything to you.
" I stuck my hands in my pants pockets. "I'm not here because I'm ready to date other people. I'm still in love with Alyssa; at least, I think I am. To be honest, I don't really know why I'm here, other than I want to know you. There's no pressure on my part. I just want to make sure you know that."

  She smiled and brushed the hair that had blown into her aqua eyes out of the way. "Okay. I understand, and I feel the same way about this. The more I know about you, the more I believe you get it."

  I gave Grace a hug and told her I'd talk to her soon. I wasn't sure when, but I knew I'd be calling her, I was too drawn to her not to call on her again.

  It took me about another twenty minutes to walk home, and it was dark by the time I reached my front door. I'd talked to Marty most of the way home. He'd filled me in on what Mr. Todd had said, referring me to a private investigator to find out what was going on with Sienna and her tell-all book.

  "Mr. Todd finally called me back. He wants to talk to you directly."

  "Why? Why can't David just give you a number?"

  "I'm not the one to argue with a man like Mr. Todd, Jake." His voice was crisp.

  Marty had a good point. David Todd kind of scared me. That's why I didn't want to talk to him. Marty said that he'd knocked on Mr. Todd's door a few times. He was never there, and he finally left a note with Miguel, the doorman to the building of my apartment in New York. Marty pinged me with the number.

  "When are you coming back?" he demanded, an uncommon edge in his voice.

  "Soon, I promise. I'm not staying long, though. I'll be there for a couple weeks before I leave for Europe," I explained. "You need to make arrangements to come with me."