11
He looked at her with a degree of earnest admiration. —Persuasion
April crosses the Musgrove’s lawn gilded in early morning light. She’s so alluring; an urgent primeval part of me wants to run to her. I’m held back by convention and the weight of our history. I remain glued to the bench outside the bungalow. Yesterday, I was convinced I should take my sister’s advice and hash it all out with April, try to understand why she ended things, maybe give her another chance. Then I found out about her date with Johnny Love. One lunch might mean nothing. But two dates definitely sounds like the beginning of something. Though, I scoured the internet and did not see any new photos of her and Johnny together, which calms my nerves some.
April stops a few feet from me. She’s wearing shorts and a loose-fitting shirt. My eyes track her legs, long and white. She obviously hasn’t spent much time in the sun these last four years. Something about the extreme paleness of her skin makes her seem more undressed. She fidgets with her guitar strap.
“Hey.” My voice comes out low and gruff.
“Hi,” she replies, with a soft whisper. This is the first time since our breakup that we are alone together. The realization sends a ripple of excitement through me.
I clear my throat.
“Shall we?” I stand up, taking my guitar with me. April walks so close our hands brush. I put my hand in my pocket to keep from holding hers. It would be so easy to slip into old patterns. While my heart and mind are unsure about April, my body is absolutely certain. The longing to be close to her, to touch her is relentless. But I was not exaggerating when I told reporters that I started writing songs to heal a broken heart. If anything, in all those interviews, I downplayed a dark time. I was truly devastated. I don’t want April to know how much it destroyed me to lose her. I’m ashamed of it and terrified that the same thing could happen all over again. I’m clenching my fist in my pocket to keep from reaching out to her while I smile and continue the casual conversation.
We stop at my blue Jeep in the Musgrove driveway. I open the passenger door for her.
“You sold Clementine?” She sounds disappointed.
“Um... yeah.” I will never tell her why I sold my Jeep.
“I loved that car.”
“So did I,” I say as I start the engine.
“Then why did you sell it?” She looks genuinely perplexed. “I sense there’s a story there.” As we pick up speed, the wind ruffles her hair. Why do I always want to touch her curls? I grip the wheel with both hands.
“There’s a story alright.”
“I’ll make sure to stay around long enough to hear it.”
“You do that.” She smiles back at me, some of the easy understanding between us returning.
“I’m sorry again about yesterday,” I say. “I slept in. As soon as I woke up, I went to your house.”
“You did?”
“Your dad said you were out.”
“You talked to my dad?”
“Just for a minute. Tell me, is he both God and Adam in the painting on your ceiling?”
“You never noticed that before.”
“Um, no, when I was at your house before, I was a bit distracted.” April’s cheeks turn bright red. I imagine that, like me, she’s recalling all the delightful ways she used to distract me.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. September pressured me into getting eyelash extensions.”
“Don’t apologize to me. I was the late one.”
“Good point. I don’t owe you an apology at all. I simply regret letting my dad and September boss me around about my beauty routine. Nothing’s wrong with fake lashes. My sister’s are gorgeous. But they’re not for me.” She twists one of her curls like she always does when she’s anxious. “It was supposed to be different this time around?”
“How so?” I ask.
“I thought I was stronger. At school, I was totally my own person. I wore sweats to class.”
“You rebel.”
“I went to college. I went to therapy. I cut my hair. I stopped counting calories. I stopped wearing makeup to class. I’m home one week, and I’m falling back into old patterns, willing to do whatever it takes to keep the peace.”
“Hey!” Without really thinking, I place a hand on her knee to be comforting but now that it’s there, it definitely feels like more. I quickly put my hand on the gear shift. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I was unpardonably late. You had every right to bail. And... as for your family. Pausing your career and going to college was brave. I have no doubt you’ll sort out how to stand up to them.”
“Maybe? Freddy...” She says my name like a desperate plea as if I’m the only one who might understand what she’s about to say. I flick my eyes to her. She twists a black curl near her ear.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know if it was a pause on my career or... the end of my career.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re so talented and . . .”
“No.” She interrupts me. “I think maybe...” She takes a big breath. “I don’t want to go back.”
“You don’t want to be a singer?”
“Not one bit. I’m happier off the stage. I don’t miss it at all.”
“Woah! Then, yeah, don’t do it. Not for one day. Hey, are you okay doing this wedding song?”
“Yeah, I’ll always be up for private performances, but yeah, no more tours.”
“Is there something specific you want to do or...”
“I want to start my own business,” she says in a rush.
“Hell yeah! You were born to be a boss!”
“You like the idea?”
“Absolutely! What sort of business? Wait? Let me guess.”
“Go for it. I doubt you’ll guess.”
“C’mon, Rainy.” I give her a challenging look. “I do kind of know you.” For a moment, our eyes catch. And all my reasons to stay away from her evaporate.
“Guess away!” she says with a bit of a dare. I park outside my garage, which is full of supplies for the house: flooring, tile, drywall paint, and, of course, surfboards. I turn off the engine, but before I climb out of the Jeep, I turn toward her. She waits for my guess, curiosity lighting her eyes. She’s so pretty it kills me.
“I bet it’s something to do with money,” I venture. Her eyes widen as she lets out a surprised laugh. “I take it I’m right?” I ask.
“Wait? How?”
“You studied finance.” I climb out of the Jeep.
“How did you know my major?” she asks as I hand over her guitar.
“It’s not like it was a state secret.” I walk to the door leading into my house.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think...” She stops. I turn around and face her.
“You didn’t think I followed every news article about you?”
“The way I ended things... I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.” She looks at me with wary eyes. “I thought you’d be angry.”
I was. I am. But also, not really. “Rainy...” When I whisper her old nickname, she looks up at me, her face luminous and expectant. My heart slams against my chest. I don’t know what to say or what I am doing. I step towards her; she does the same. Being so near to her brings a tidal wave of emotions. I’m thrilled to be close to her. I’m overwhelmed by the growing tension between us. But still, I sense an undercurrent of hurt and fear. If I don’t say something, set some ground rules, I will lose my head and my heart all over again. I stand at the threshold of the door leading from the garage into my kitchen.
“I go back on tour this afternoon,” I say. “After that, I’ll be in town only a handful of days before the wedding.” She nods. “April, as much as I want to, I can’t talk about how things ended. I can’t go there, not today.” I lean against the doorframe for support. How do I explain my mixed-up feelings when she is looking at me? I find myself being pulled into her current, those ocean eyes. What I don’t dare say is, “Because if we really talk it over, we’ll either end up back together or hating each other.”
“I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to go over it right now,” I say, a bit clipped.
“You’re still angry.” It’s not a question. “I get it,” she says. “I think talking will help. But I know what touring is like.”
“I just have so much on my plate,” I try to explain because she looks disappointed.
“Me too!” she says. “Moving home, contemplating a new career. I might even find my own place.”
“So you get it? This isn’t the time for a relationship.” April’s eyes widen as big as sand dollars. I just revealed my cards. Now she knows I’m considering getting back together.
“I don’t have time for a relationship either,” she says a little too fast for me. “So deal?” she asks.
“Deal,” I say, not at all sure what I’m agreeing to.
April stands up on her tippy toes and kisses my cheek. “Deal!”
The whole walk out to the pool, I feel where her lips pressed against my skin.
“Finance, huh?” I ask as we sit in the shaded area. “What do you want to do with it?”
“Start a personal finance company geared to help child stars such as myself. A company that would not only manage minors’ finances but educate them. I want to make their personal finances transparent and comprehensible.”
“Will you limit your clients to children? Or will you take adults?”
“Definitely take adults. I expect some of my best clients will be the parents of young stars and quite a few performers who are over 18 but still unsure about money management.”
“I love this. Why are you worried about telling your family?”
“So many reasons. First, it’s not guaranteed to succeed. Though, I already have a few prospective clients.”
“Plus one, I’ll invest with you.”
She blinks, then nods. “Thanks for your vote of confidence. It means a lot.”
“It’s a brilliant idea, and you’ll be awesome at it. You already have so much real-world experience.”
“That’s the other part my dad won’t like. Any reference to his profligate spending makes him irritable.”
“How are things right now?”
“For the ordinary person, even your average celebrity, we are doing just fine, but there’s never enough money for my dad. He’s feeling pretty pinched. He won’t like it when he realizes I’m no longer going to support him.”
“It’s about damn time!” I say with some vehemence. One of the things that angered me most about Rainy’s father’s accusations was the hypocrisy. He implied I was after her money, while I never intended to take a penny. I was already looking into signing a prenup to protect her wealth. Meanwhile, her dad was living off her income. He still does.
“I’m scared. My plan is to give him the house and an allowance and no more.”
“That’s more than generous. When are you going to tell him?”
“After the wedding. I want to get this venture going. Of course, my dad won’t approve. He wants me to make another album. Not that there’s any guarantee that I’d make much money with that. I’m no longer a bright young thing.”
“I love this plan. And I’m so proud of you for standing up to your father. But Rainy, if you made another album, it would sell. Do you realize the buzz you created when you showed up at my concert?”
“You knew?” She appears genuinely surprised.
“Rainy! You took a picture with my drummer.”
“You never said a word.”
“Neither did you.”
“I should have,” she says sheepishly. “I went backstage because I wanted to tell you that you were absolutely amazing!” Her face shines with earnest praise. My eyes sting with unshed tears. I look away. I had no idea how much I longed for April’s approval. She’s still talking. “You were phenomenal. But then I went backstage and... I chickened out... I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”
“I get it.”
“You do?” She looks both relieved and confused.
“Carlos invited me to their family’s Christmas party last year.”
“You were at the Musgrove Christmas gala? How did I miss you?”
“I didn’t go. September bragged that you’d be there, so I went home for Christmas a week early.”
“Are you saying that the thought of seeing me drove you off the mainland?” She laughs.
“My parents were thrilled.”
“And I’m guessing Kai, too. I saw on Facebook that she moved back to Hawaii.”
“Yep, she’s definitely the favorite now. Plus, she’s getting married in December and will probably be the first to give my parents grandbabies.”
“How is Kai? Do you like the guy she’s marrying?”
“Yeah, he’s in the navy, like my dad. He’s awesome. But could you imagine Kai with anything less?”
“No.” April laughs. “Kai doesn’t suffer fools.” Her face goes a bit wistful. “I wish I had an older sister like Kai. I miss her.”
It’s tempting to remind April that she could have had Kai as her sister. But I don’t.
“Yeah, I lucked out with her.”
“You sure did, and your parents sound great. When are you going to see them next?”
“I’m going to visit when I’m done touring. Spend most of November in Hawaii. My family goes all out with Thanksgiving. They roast a whole pig.”
“No turkey?”
“That’s crazy talk. Of course, we do turkey. We do everything. And everyone is invited. I mean everyone. All the aunts and uncles and neighbors. We eat outside, but sometimes we take our plates inside to watch football. The feasting goes on for days.”
“Sounds like so much fun.”
“I love it. So yeah, I’m going for Thanksgiving and then I’ll stay for Kai’s wedding at the beginning of December.”
“I’d like to get Kai a wedding gift. Do you know where she’s registered?”
“I have no idea. I’m getting them new surfboards.”
“You would.” She laughs and nudges me playfully. This feels so much like it used to. I watch Rainy laugh. Our eyes tangle, her smile falters. There’s so much attraction between us. Before, when we were dating, this would be the moment I’d steal a kiss. Instead, I pick up my guitar.
“Yeah . . . so this song . . . what do you think?”
We work on the song. Mainly, I tell April my ideas, and she nods along. She doesn’t have any ideas of her own. She was never one for songwriting. But she has strong opinions, and she knows what sounds right. We are making progress.
“Isn’t the studio sending you a driver at noon?” April asks. “It’s already eleven.”
I had no idea it was so late, probably because thick gray clouds darken the sky. Not the hazy mist of the marine layer but true storm clouds. We head to my garage. We don’t have time to put the hard top on my Jeep. I’m not too worried. It never really rains in the summer in LA.
In no time, we’re speeding down Pacific Coast Highway. The shaggy clouds continue to gather, the temperature drops, the wind picks up. Two minutes from Kellynch Hall , the heavens break open and rain, real rain, comes pouring down. It’s not the wimpy half-hearted rain of SoCal, but the soul-satisfying showers of my childhood on the island.
“Sorry!” I apologize over the patter of rain. The drops pelt us as we drive. I’m not sure if April can even hear me. She lifts her face to the sky, laughing. Big fat drops shower her hair while water runs in rivulets down her lovable face.
By the time I pull into the half-circle driveway of Kellynch Hall , we’re both drenched.
“You’re soaked,” I say. “Here.” I reach across her to the glovebox, pulling out a black travel umbrella and hand it to her. “To keep you dry,” I say as the rain continues to fall on us.
“Thanks; I wouldn’t want to get my hair wet.” She deadpans, her red lips shining in the rain.
“That would be a shame.” I can’t resist. I reach over and brush a dripping curl out of her eyes. Our faces are only inches apart. She leans in and pushes back my rain-slicked hair. Kissing her right now is a terrible idea. It’s also, the only idea.
“Rainy?” I rasp, my voice charged with want. I place a hand on her wet cheek.
She nods slowly as if in a daze. We lean toward each other with the rain showering down on us. Our wet lips touch. Thunder rumbles in the distance. April slips her hand through my damp hair, pulling me closer. She deepens the kiss. Boom! Even with my eyes closed, I can see the white flash of lightning. We open our eyes and stare. I’m lost in her green, bewildered eyes. The air buzzes with electricity.
“That was dangerously close.” Is she talking about the lightning or what just happened between us? Personally, I’m still reeling from that kiss. We were just getting started.
A horn honks, and we pull apart. The brights of a black SUV illuminate us.
Johnny Love, dry and debonair, steps out of the back seat carrying a massive pink umbrella. Stepping over puddles, he hurries to April’s side of the Jeep.
“April! You must be freezing.” He opens her door and guides her under his enormous umbrella. I’d protest, but I’m late as it is. I pass over her guitar, which is not even damp. Before we left, I had the foresight to put both of our guitars under towels.
She walks up the steps with Johnny, the two cozy under the umbrella. The whole scene makes me furious, except when they reach the door, I notice April still has the umbrella I gave her. She waves goodbye while clutching my pathetic travel umbrella like a talisman to her chest.