Chapter 36. Micah
MICAH
I want us to hang out. Build on this moment. But the Shadow People—the Woman in Black, her henchman, and others—all at once crowd the stage. The Woman in Black isn’t acting mean, just cranky. The rest of them, however, start shouting at me, mocking all my secret thoughts.
Leave her, her henchman sneers, dark eyes blazing.
I grit my teeth, steady my face, and grip Brynn’s shoulders. I lean in, using my body to shield her from their onslaught, and wheel her around them.
She shoots me a funny look.
We walk west through the park and find a rare patch of shade in Sheep Meadow surrounded by round, lush green trees.
Buildings poke up like fingers behind the treetops.
Our spot is far enough away from the flying Frisbees and wireless speakers that litter the lawn to give us some privacy.
We lie perpendicular in the grass, her head on my chest, our knees bent to the sky.
“Why would you ever stop singing? Your voice is incredible.” I rest my head on my hand and use my free one to slide her hair off her face.
She sighs like I’m not the first to tell her that. “Not like Cody’s. Everyone knew he had a real chance at making it. I felt lucky to go on tour—thought maybe, singing with him, I could get a recording contract too.”
“Did your parents support your dream? They had to, right? Being in the music industry.”
“They liked that I got accepted into LaGuardia. Junior year, they encouraged me to apply for college scholarships and study music so I could teach one day. My ‘safety net,’ my mom called it. I don’t think she believed I could make a living at it.
” She shakes her head. “Then the club started to lose money and everything went on hold—including my future.”
“So, the tour.”
“Exactly.”
“Were your parents cool with that?”
“They didn’t like Cody much—and definitely didn’t like the idea of me blowing off college.
But the club ate up most of their time. They were never home anymore.
” Hints of a deep sadness creep into her voice.
“When I was younger, we used to share stories, laughing with our mouths full, around the kitchen table. I loved spending time with them. My dad’s cooking brought us together every night.
He could whip up anything, from twelve-alarm chili to curry surprise.
” Her voice wobbles. “Coming home to a busy, warm kitchen with cumin and coriander in the air . . . I miss it. Our Brooklyn apartment wasn’t big, but in comparison to the coffin, it was ten times the size.
The large living room . . . all that natural light. ”
I squeeze her arm, encouraging her to go on.
“One day, he just stopped cooking,” she says flatly.
“I ate a lot of cereal for dinner. My parents would come home after I was in bed, arguing or too beat to talk. At breakfast, I’d see another new bill piled up with all the others on the table.
Even my college fund couldn’t save their beloved club. ”
“I’m sure they didn’t choose the Flaming Flamingo over you.”
Her body stiffens.
“Brynn . . .” I raise myself up on my elbows so I can get a better view of her face.
“They put our apartment on the market fall of my senior year. That club was like an oil spill, polluting everything that was good. My parents let our family drown in it. We couldn’t talk anymore outside of fighting.
Kids at school envied me for having famous parents, like I had a perfect life.
” She releases a hollow laugh. “What a joke. My mom and dad left me in the undertow. Cody was the one to pull me ashore. Refill my lungs with air.” She stares off, hugging herself.
I tilt her chin toward me. “You didn’t need him.”
“The most gifted singer at LaGuardia? Yeah right.”
“The most gifted singer . . . Are you sure about that?” I gape at her. “The hair on my arms stood up when you sang. Didn’t any of your friends or teachers tell you how talented you are?”
She sits up and swings her legs around. “You’re being sweet, but you don’t understand. It takes more than talent.”
I shield my eyes, watching her face. “I know about blind drive, Brynn. My father went from sleeping in his car to women throwing their thongs at him onstage. He told me that as a teen, he strapped on a guitar in some music shop in SoHo, not knowing how to play. He caught his reflection in the store’s window and it was the first time he’d liked the person he saw.
Connecting with people through his music brings him his only happiness.
He can’t live without the adoration, even if it means sacrificing his own family . . .” I blink and turn my head away.
A Frisbee flies over us. A girl in a bikini top and cutoffs runs over and fetches it. She smiles at me, sun flashing off her aviators. “Sor-ry,” she singsongs.
Brynn scowls at her.
Frisbee girl hurries off.
“I don’t possess that blind drive anymore.” Brynn claws the ground to either side of her, staring down at her legs. “I’m not even sure I deserve to be here.” Her chest rises and falls.
“Why do you say that?”
“Listen to me—I sound awful.” She twists up her face in disgust. “What kind of daughter talks about her late parents like this? Anyway, what do I have to sing about anymore? The people I love are gone.”
I sigh, wishing she’d look at me. “Use your heartache and create art. Plenty of people do. My dad . . . Taylor Swift.”
She rips out blades of grass and shreds them. “I don’t hear the beats in my head like I used to. I try, but it’s like I’ve grown deaf to the rhythm. When they died, the music died with them.” She shivers. “Time for me to grow up.”
I cup her face. “Not ever.”