Cross My Heart (3 page)

“Can I offer you something to drink? Some, uh, wine?” He tried to remember what kind of wine he had. He hardly ever drank himself but he had several bottles in the house, given to him by friends and colleagues over the years.

“That sounds great,” she said, smiling at him, and he hoped to God his expression wasn’t quite as goofy as his daughter’s.

He went to the kitchen, and by the time he opened a bottle of Chardonnay and came back to the living room, Claire seemed to have gotten over her initial awkwardness and was sitting on the couch with her feet tucked under her, talking with Jenna about music. He knew he wouldn’t have much to contribute to the conversation, so he handed a glass of wine to Jenna and sat down on a chair to listen.

For the first minute, he didn’t take in much of what they were saying. He was too distracted by the curve of Jenna’s breasts under that soft tee shirt, a curve that seemed geometrically perfect to him—as if breasts were meant to be that shape and that shape only, and any variation would make them inferior.

Her entire body was perfect. There was a subtle grace in the way she held herself, in her movements and in her stillness. Her arms and legs were slender and toned, the muscles perfectly defined. He studied the V shaped insertion point of her deltoid on her humerus. Something about that dip from muscle to bone was incredibly appealing. He had a sudden urge to kiss her there, to press his lips to that exact spot.

Jenna glanced over at him, and he realized he had no idea what she’d just asked him.

“What?”

“I was asking if you’d ever seen a show at the Odeon.”

“Oh. No, I haven’t.”

Time to start paying attention to the conversation.

Apparently the Red Mollies were, in fact, doing a reunion tour at the end of August, beginning with a show at the Odeon in Des Moines. The tour wasn’t a big deal, according to Jenna—just a few cities in the Midwest. If they were well-received, they might consider hitting other parts of the country next summer.

“You guys
are
getting back together.”

“Definitely not,” Jenna said firmly. “We’re only touring for a couple of months.” She grinned at Claire. “Would you like to see us at the Odeon? It’s an all-ages show. I can get tickets for you and a few friends, if you’d like. And your dad, of course,” she added, giving him a quick smile.

“I won’t be here,” Claire said, looking stricken. Then she looked at him. “Unless you want me to stay longer?” she asked hopefully. “I know Nana won’t mind. I could stay until school starts in September.”

Michael stared at her. “You want to stay
longer
?”

Claire usually started talking about leaving Iowa thirty seconds after her plane touched down. Was she serious, or would she change her mind in five minutes? And if she was serious, how could he make it work? After two weeks, his grueling hospital schedule would start up again. How would he—

“Or what about this?” Jenna put in quickly, as if she sensed his confusion at Claire’s sudden request. “The band is coming here next week for a practice session. Would you like to see us rehearse?”

Claire’s mouth fell open. “I…that would be…”

“I think that’s a yes,” Michael said after a moment, seeing his daughter reduced to speechlessness for the second time that night. The oven timer went off in the kitchen and he rose to his feet. “I’ll have dinner on the table in a few minutes. Claire, would you—”

“I want to get a CD for Jenna to sign. And I have to go text some friends. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared in a rush, and Michael decided not to stop her. He’d been going to ask her to help get the food on the table, but what the hell. She looked so happy…and he didn’t want to mess it up.

Jenna went with him to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry for putting you on the spot about the concert,” she said contritely. “I should have checked with you before I suggested something like that.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said as he took the salmon out of the oven. “I was just a little thrown. Claire talks nonstop about how much she hates being here, and then all of a sudden she’s talking about staying another month. Sometimes I get whiplash from the mood swings.”

“Teenage girls can be hard to take,” Jenna said, carrying the asparagus into the dining room while he took the salmon and the rice. “They don’t mean half the things they say.”

“Yeah, but which half?” he asked as he set the dishes on trivets. He took the asparagus from Jenna and set that down as well.

Jenna laughed. “It depends on the day and the mood. Adolescent hormones are terrible things.”

He did one last check of the table—he’d set out the salad and rolls before she arrived, and everything else was ready. “If I tell you the dumbest thing I ever did as a father, do you promise not to laugh?”

In the softer light of this room, her eyes were darker, almost midnight blue. But they were still warm. “I’ll do my best.”

“Last summer during her visit, Claire burst into tears for no reason. And I…well, I thought it would be helpful if I explained the science behind her mood swings. So I did. I even drew pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“Yeah. To illustrate the molecular structure of hormones.”

She managed not to laugh out loud, but he saw the corners of her mouth twitch.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you how that went over,” he said wryly. “It’s just…” he could still feel the frustration of that moment, the frustration he felt every time he talked to his daughter. “I really do want to help her. But all I have to offer is the kind of thing that helped me when I was her age. And it never works with Claire.”

She was looking at him thoughtfully. “So even as a kid, you were into science?”

She’d put a hand on the back of one of the dining room chairs, and he was struck by the way her fingers curved over the wood. She had graceful hands, sensitive and elegant. They could have been a surgeon’s hands.

He nodded. “Big time. Science helped me through everything. Being able to understand the world around me was like a lifeline. An antidote for anything that was wrong.” He shook his head. “Claire doesn’t care about science at all. Everything I love, she hates. And I don’t understand the things she loves. Like music.”

The laughter was gone from Jenna’s eyes, replaced by sympathy. “Sounds rough,” she said gently.

How had the conversation turned so serious?

“Sorry,” he said as he heard Claire coming down the stairs. “I didn’t mean to lay that all on you. I invited you for dinner, not an episode of the Dr. Phil show.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Jenna said, reaching out to give his arm a quick squeeze. It was just a friendly gesture, there and gone, but he wasn’t expecting it and his pulse kicked into high gear. Luckily Claire came into the room before Jenna could notice his reaction.

“I only brought one of your CDs with me because I have all your songs on my MP3 player, but it’s my favorite and I was wondering if you could sign the liner notes?”

Claire sounded eager and excited, and Jenna grinned at her. “Of course I will.” She took the pen Claire held out, opened the CD case, and spent a few minutes writing.

“There you go,” Jenna said, handing the case back to Claire. Curious, Michael came closer and read over his daughter’s shoulder. The page Jenna had written on was mostly white space, which had given her plenty of room.

Sometimes it feels like nothing’s alive

Everything dead but my raging heart

Every beat a pain that drives, drives

I want to be so alive I shake and quiver

So alive I could believe in forever

For Claire, from Jenna.

Believe in forever.

“That’s from my favorite Red Mollies song. How did you know that was my favorite song?” Claire asked, clutching the CD as if it were precious.

“Lucky guess,” Jenna said. She was smiling, her blue eyes gentle, and it was obvious she understood things about Claire—about being a teenager—that he never would.

His next door neighbor, a virtual stranger, had formed a closer bond with his daughter in half an hour than he had in fourteen years.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said abruptly, and Jenna shot him a quick glance before she took her seat at the table.

Claire was still chattering. Watching her talk and laugh so easily with Jenna, he realized how much he wanted a better relationship with his daughter.

When he looked at Jenna, he found himself wishing for something else, too.

But he knew better than to believe that either wish would come true.

Chapter Two

The salmon was melting in her mouth, covered in some kind of lemon hazelnut sauce so delicious she chased the last drops with her roll after she’d eaten every bite of the fish. The asparagus, the salad…it was all perfect.

Michael Stone struck her as a man who would always view perfection as the standard. He wouldn’t undertake anything lightly, and he’d want to be successful at everything he did.

Based on what she’d seen of his house, she could tell he valued order and structure. He wouldn’t be a big fan of chaos, internal or external.

Which meant his relationship with Claire had to be making him nuts. Because when you were fourteen, chaos was the name of the game.

It was obvious over dinner that the two of them weren’t comfortable with each other. They veered from stiff and awkward to downright sarcastic—on Claire’s part, anyway.

It was also obvious that Michael would love to be more at ease with his daughter. To be able to talk to her. To understand her.

And she was willing to bet that behind the whole teenage snark thing, Claire wanted that, too.

Jenna’s heart went out to both of them.

She wondered about Claire’s mother. Michael wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and he’d mentioned Claire lived with her grandparents. Was her mother dead? How sad if that were the case.

Claire was confessing, now, that she’d always dreamed about being a rock and roll star. Jenna shot a glance at Michael, knowing that very few fathers would want that for their daughters. He was frowning at her. “But you don’t even play an instrument,” he said.

Claire looked mad. “I’ve been playing the piano for, like,
years
.”

Michael stared at her. “I didn’t know that. Why didn’t I know that?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Gee, Dad, I don’t know. Maybe because you can only stand to see me three weeks out of the year? I hate to break it to you, but there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Jenna winced as Michael took a deep breath. “Claire, you know I’d see you more often if I could. And I email you all the time. Maybe if you answered more than one a week, or bothered to actually tell me something about your life—”

“Why should I bother? And since when have you cared if I play an instrument or not? You don’t even like music. Every time I turn the radio on, you turn it right off again.”

Jenna spoke up before the teenager could say anything else. “There’s a piano at my house, and I’d love to hear you play. I bet your dad would like that, too. Why don’t we go to my place for dessert?”

Storm diverted. Claire’s eyes lit up, her mood going from sullen to excited in the blink of an eye. “That would be great! Can we, Dad? Please?”

Michael blinked at the sudden mood shift, looking from his daughter to her. “Well…if you’re sure it’s all right?”

“Of course it is. I can’t offer anything fancy enough to match this amazing dinner, but I’ve got ice cream.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, a silent thank you in his eyes, and Jenna felt a rush of warmth as she looked back at him.

Claire wanted to go right then, but Jenna insisted that they clear the table and load the dishwasher first. A few minutes after they finished Jenna was ushering the two of them into her house.

Claire went over to the wall where Jenna had hung her photos, the ones she always traveled with. Those pictures were always the first thing she unpacked in a new place, even if she was only staying a few weeks. They helped her feel at home no matter where she was.

There were pictures of her family, of course. And signed photos of Bo Diddley and B.B. King and some of the other legendary musicians she’d been lucky enough to meet over the years. And there was her wall of female rocker fame, autographed album covers from some of the women who’d left their mark on the art form she loved.

“How many have you met?” Claire asked in a hushed voice, as if they were in church.

“A few,” she answered with a smile.

Michael was standing beside his daughter. “I don’t recognize any of them.” He looked down at Claire, and something in his expression tugged at Jenna’s heart.

“Who’s your favorite band?” she asked, wanting to draw him into the conversation.

“I don’t have one. I listen to classical sometimes, but that’s about it.”

Now, maybe, but in high school? “What did you listen to as a teenager?”

“Whatever was on the radio, I guess. I never paid much attention to music. I was always pretty focused on school.”

Jenna blinked at him. She’d met people like this before, people who didn’t seem to have any natural passion for music, and she’d never understood it. Music was such an integral part of the adolescent experience that she couldn’t imagine getting through those years without it.

Claire had moved to the other side of the room now, where Jenna’s instruments were laid out. Her guitars, of course. And some of the pieces she’d collected from around the world—flutes, bells, stringed instruments, drums.

Claire had picked up one of the bells. “This is so beautiful. Where’s it from?”

“Tibet. That’s a magic bell, by the way.”

“Magic? How is it magic?”

Jenna went over and took the bell from her. “I used it a lot when I was a student teacher. I thought I’d faced some rough crowds when I was in a band, but you’ve never seen a rough crowd until you’ve stood up in front of an elementary school class near the end of a school day when they’re already bored out of their minds.”

She grinned. “Imagine you’re third graders. There are forty kids in your class and the noise level is unbelievable. If I try to shout over you, it’ll only help for a minute or two. So here’s what we’ll do instead.”