Higher Octave (Heavy Influence #2.5) (9 page)

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 the 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.