Reverb (30 page)

It’s close to ten, and the café’s still crowded with diners. James lifts a sleeping Cameron from Elisabeth’s lap to leave when one of the band members calls out, “James Logan! Is that you, man?”

James looks up at the stage. He holds Cameron to him. He stands frozen, looking at the thirty-something, lanky, long-haired, rough bronze skinned man on the stage, but doesn’t say anything.

“That
is
you!
Dude!
Where ya been, man? Ladies and gentleman, let’s try and convince one of the best guitar players around to come up and join us on stage.” The man starts clapping, then the audience follows his lead, and James looks at Elisabeth, his eyes wide. He clutches Cameron. “James, get your ass up here, man.”

“Not now, Curtis. Don’t want to wake my son. Take care, man. Good to hear you playing again.” He moves towards the door, making his way carefully around the packed tables. Everyone watches him, stares actually, especially the women. Elisabeth feels their eyes on her, too, sizing her up as she follows him out.

“Who was that?” She finally asks when they’re a block away, feeling somewhat annoyed he isn’t more forthcoming.

“Curtis Weston. He was a friend of my half-brother’s. Good player. Lost his way for a while. Glad to see he’s at it again.”

“Did you recognize him when we sat down?”

“No. Until he noticed me, I didn’t make the connection. Space…the final frontier.” He flashes a quick grin and shakes his head slightly. “This is why I didn’t want to come to the city. I shouldn’t stay here now. Maybe it’s best if we go back to the island tomorrow.”

Each step becomes more weighted with his words. “James, do you plan on spending the rest of your life running every time someone recognizes you.”

“‘Lisbeth, you know my situation—”

“I do. And it scares me to my core, almost as much as it does you. I love you. I don’t ever want you hurt, or to lose you. But I won’t condemn Cameron to an antiquated, forty mile long island. Eventually, we’ll have to integrate back into the real world. We can’t hide on Corfu forever.”

“Is the end of forever now? Is that what this trip is all about?”

She blushes, smiles. “Maybe. I hadn’t thought of it, but maybe. Cameron is almost two. He’s going to start to get it. And I want him to get there’s more to life than that tiny island.”

Cameron’s head rests on James’ shoulder, his full face angelic in sleep. James holds him close, supporting him in the crux of his arm, his huge hand on Cam’s tiny back. “I don’t want to leave yet, Liz. I’m not ready.”

He’d said, ‘don’t want to.’ Not ‘can’t,’ or ‘won’t.’ “How long then?” she whispers. “A month? A year? Two? Ten?”

“Honestly, I haven’t given it a whole hell of a lot of thought.” He doesn’t look at her, his delivery sharp, angry.

She stops. He stops, turns back to face her.

He studies at her, and his expression softens. “I’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth, 'Lisbeth. Just give me a little time.”

She feels his tension and, for once, backs off. “Okay.” She goes to him then, puts her hand on his face and pulls him in for a tender but quick kiss as Cameron stirs between them. She takes her son from James, careful not to wake him, holds him close as James did and they resume walking. James is lost inside his head, again, and she damns herself for chasing him there. Their prolonged silence has her preparing to rescind her notion of leaving the island without him. Almost. “Do you want to go back to Corfu in the morning?”

He doesn’t respond, walks beside her, hands deep in the pockets of his worn leather jacket.

“We can leave straight-away if you want.”

He looks at her then, studies her again. Smiles. “Let’s hang in Athens a few days, do the tourist thing, then head back to the island. Give me a month or two, Liz, and hopefully I’ll come up with someplace workable for all of us by then.” He runs his hand through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead momentarily. “I’m scared out of my fucking mind, ‘Lisbeth. For me. For you. Without you.” He practically whispers the last line.

“I’m right here, James.” She glances at him, smiles. He looks at her, but his expression remains stolid. “We’ll stay on the island for right now if that’s what you need.” They walk beside each other without touching, the distance between them palatable. “We'll merge seamlessly into the real world, together, when you’re ready.”

He smiles. Nods. They walk the half block to their hotel without further exchange. After settling Cameron in the portable crib, they shower together, massaging, then kissing, then teasing, tantalizing, finally ending up on the bed making love.

There’s a desperate quality to his passion that night. James holds her close, his arms and legs still wrapped with hers after they’ve both climaxed, and he stays intertwined up against her even as they are drifting off to sleep.

BOOK THREE

Balance

Chapter One

Cameron runs around the corner of a narrow cobbled street. I go after him but can’t find him. And then Elisabeth is standing with Cameron at the end of the same narrow street. It’s packed with people blocking my way, pushing me back, preventing me from getting to them, and the closer I get the further away they appear. And then they’re gone.

Wake frequently from frightening dreams with disjointed images throughout the night. I finally get out of bed at dawn, put on some jeans and my dark fleece shirt, sneak out of the room quietly and go down to the courtyard for a coffee. The lobby, which is the living room of the B&B, is deserted when I pour myself a cup of fresh brewed from the coffee maker. Go outside to the courtyard to watch the sunrise.

Elisabeth is right, of course. She has to leave. She has to take Cameron from the cobbled streets, back to his family, to today’s world of technology, instant access to knowledge and communication. He should be presented with every opportunity to challenge his mind and ignite his imagination. Elisabeth and I alone cannot provide even a slice of the spectrum, nor can that small, ancient island.

Stop bouncing your leg.
Hold my hand to my knee to still it.
How did I get into this? What am I doing here?
Who the hell am I kidding pretending I can be a part of this scene? I can’t be in the real world. I don’t blend. It doesn’t matter on the island, with the transient population, and the few locals who don’t care where I’m from. I can’t risk leaving Corfu right now, maybe for a long time to come. I have to let her go—tell her to take her son and go.

No!
The notion physically hurts, like getting slugged in the chest.

‘You choose.’ I see her tear-streaked face. She’s on her couch, holding the pillow and staring into me, certain of the truth in her words.

I choose to be with her. I want to be with them.
Wherever we end up will be better than anyplace without them.
Unless they catch me, lock me up again. Then it’s all academic.

I’m scared out of my fucking mind.

Breathe. Just breathe.
I inhale the bitter, rich smell of steaming coffee, pick up my cup and take a sip.
Umm…It’s good. Warm. Wet. Quenching.

Think.
I have identification that gives me license to move fairly freely. I am James Matthew Pierce, a U.S. citizen with a residence abroad who hasn’t done anything wrong. Technically, I should be able go almost anywhere. Just have to stay out of major cities. Wouldn’t mind going back to the States, the Golden State in particular, though that’s probably not the greatest idea. Stay away from L.A., and the Bay Area, even out of Manhattan, for that matter, where I could be recognized.

Who am I kidding? I’ve worked everywhere. I’m screwed out there.

I look around, drink my coffee and watch the yellow dawn through the trestled magenta flowers. Courtyard is quiet, and empty. Scan the five and six story buildings of whitewashed flats that surround the patio. Their windows are dark, no movement. No one is watching me.

Stop being so paranoid.

Where can we go?
Think further out, but plugged in.
College town maybe...Princeton, or Boston. What about Boston, just outside, like around Concord, or even near Wellesley where I grew up? Easy to stay anonymous in those swampy hills if we got a place with enough property around us.

Images of soft, rolling hills cascading to enormous flat marshes dense with birch and maple flash in my head. And I recall the brook in back of my neighbor, Tony Roselli’s, house. I’m nine. Tony’s eleven. We’re standing in the rushing water building a dam. It’s pouring rain. There’s a hurricane coming, the wind tearing up the trees around us. We finally run for cover inside my house, blow the rest of the day with me playing and him singing along with MTV. Our little dam held so well it flooded Tony’s basement and several more houses along the waterway. Somehow, we managed to keep our adventures in flow control a secret, and no one ever found out it was us.

I remember watching my stepfather play the violin on the half-domed stage with the Pops on the fourth of July on the Boston Esplanade, so absorbed in the music that the steamy, bug filled air is lost to me, until the music stops. Mom sits next to me in the second row swatting at the thousands of tiny gnats thickening the evening sky. Her short, thick hair flows around her alabaster face as she bobs and weaves while batting the air. She’s clearly freaked out, but laughing, probably to lighten the mood so not to freak me out.

Then I’m in her car, and it’s spinning, spinning, spinning across the highway on the ice that stormy night on our way to my recital at Berklee. The car slides into a snow bank, hits it with a puff. Snow dust sparkles in the headlights. She looks at me with her wide, white smile, her emerald eyes twinkling with relief as she starts the car and we’re off again, but I can’t shake my feeling of dread with her and Mike leaving in the morning to Haiti.

And I’m back in the empty courtyard and my mother is dead.

I sigh, try to let go of my longing.
Play it as it lays..
. Sip my coffee. Weston area could definitely be doable. Produced, or recorded at The Bridge only a few times, and it was ages ago. Don't know anyone in Boston now, except Michelle Devlin, and she probably doesn’t live there anymore. When I left her in Harry’s Porsche to drive cross-country, she’d told me she wasn’t planning on staying in their Cambridge flat. Lots of good things about settling in the Boston area. Liz could showcase in a major city, even in New York since it’s so close. Great place for Cameron, from fireflies and lightning storms to snow days and fall colors. And Massachusetts is a progressive state with good public education—

“What are you thinking about?”

Nearly have a heart attack, jump up, knocking the small iron table, almost spilling my coffee. Didn’t hear her approach.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. May I join you, or would you prefer to be alone?” She gives me a gentle smile. She’s wearing her loose white summer dress that falls just past her knees, and makes her look very tan. Her hair is tied back, but long strands of soft auburn waves are coming out, cascading past her shoulders. Her hazel eyes are deep brown this morning, and fixed on me, like she’s trying to get inside my head.

“Please, join me.” I pull out the metal chair next to me. “Cameron still sleeping?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. We’ll be able to hear him when he wakes up. So, what were you thinking about?” She sits and takes a sip of my coffee.

“Boston.”

“Didn’t you grow up there?”

“I did. Which is why I’m thinking about it. Wellesley was a great place to grow up. Ever been there?”

“Boston, Cambridge, around the city, a few times. Concord, Lexington area once, but not Wellesley in particular. Why?” She smiles.
She knows
.

“What do you think?” I smile back at her.

Her smile broadens. So does mine. Can’t help it. Her delight is infectious. “When?”

My breath suddenly catches in my throat. Choking panic.
Breathe
.
Take some coffee. Okay
. “Soon, if you want.”

“For how long?”

“For as long you’ll have me.” I stay fixed on her. I do not look away. Neither does she.

“If we leave next month we’ll get there for the tail end of the fall colors. Early November is beautiful in New England.” Her demeanor radiates her excitement. She sits perched on the edge of her chair, bouncing her feet on the tips of her toes. “I don’t know about you, but I much prefer living rural, with trees and space to breath. Where’s Wellesley?”

“Fifteen minutes east of Boston. Maybe a bit too close, actually. The further out the better. I’d like to stay away from major cities, Liz.”

“Okay.” She practically whispers, though I catch her disappointment, but I may be projecting. “I’ll start packing up when we get back to Corfu. We can leave at the end of the month. What do you think?”

I hate the idea.
I’m scared out of my fucking mind
. “Okay. That’s less than two weeks. We should book tickets straightaway. Unscheduled international flights can raise eyebrows. There’s no sense in arousing suspicion.”

Her eyes drift and it’s clear she’s not listening.
Where is she?
I stare at her and she focuses back on me, smiles.

“What do you think of taking a cruise back to the States instead of flying? Take our time returning to the real world, enjoy the ride. It may make the transition easier.” She raises an eyebrow at me as she steals another sip of my coffee. We both hear Cameron crying through our room window facing the courtyard. “And the best part of a cruise is they have childcare on board.” She gives me a big, happy grin as she rises to attend to her son.

We do the tourist thing through Athens after booking a cruise to New York with the Windstar, because it’s the only cruise line that boards in Igoumenitsu, the mainland port-of-call to Corfu. We hike up to the Acropolis one day, check out the almost three thousand year old temples of Athena and Poseidon; go out to Delphi the next, roam the sun-dried hills and sample the flavors of local vineyards. Over breakfast this morning, we decide to explore Athens and tour some of the famous museums for the day.

Start south of the Monastiraki Flea Market, at the Museum of Popular Instruments. We’re on the third floor, perusing. Cameron’s free to roam, since the entire collection of over twelve hundred musical instruments is protected in glass cases. Elisabeth is grilling me.

“Do you play that?”

It’s a fretless Zither, rosewood with ivory. “Yes.”

“How about that?”

A hammered dulcimer, seventeenth century. “Something like it. Yeah.”

“Have you ever played one of those?”

“What’s with the third degree, ‘Lisabeth?” Cameron takes off down the stairs and we go after him. I catch up with him close to the second floor and pick him up. He wraps his legs around me and sits perched on my hip. I look up at her a few steps above us. “Are we done here?”

“We can go if you want.”

I do. Continue down the stairs with Cam grinning ear to ear from the ride. When we reached the ground floor, Cameron spies something in a case, wriggles down and runs over, presses his face up against the glass.

“What dat, Ames?”

“It’s called a Daoulia. It’s a drum.”

“Did you ever play one?” Elisabeth’s behind me. Her face over my shoulder reflects in the glass case and overlaps mine. And we are one. I smile. So does she.

“What difference does it make what instruments I used to play?”

“Just curious.” She gives me a pleasant smile and turns away to join Cameron at the entrance, who’s using all his might to push open the heavy glass door.

“Right.” I follow her. “With you, there’s always an agenda.”

“And with you, there’s always a reason for one.” She puts on her sunglasses as she reaches over Cameron, pushes open the glass door and steps outside.

Cameron bolts and I go after him, down the steps and across the sidewalk, pick him up before he gets near the street and swing him on to my shoulders. Cameron starts bouncing, so do I, jump up and down and he laughs with delight, and so do I. Elisabeth’s deadpan. “Okay, Liz. Just ask me what you want to know.”

“I
am
curious, that’s the truth.”

“Yeah. About what?”

“About what you’re going to do back in the States. About how you’re planning on spending your days when we get back there.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll become a glider pilot. I’ll take Cameron up with me and turn him on to soaring…”

“Over my dead body.” She glares at me. “I’m serious, James.”

Can’t help laughing. “I don’t know. What do you want to do? I mean, how many days can you take Cameron to the park? I can’t imagine you’re going to be satisfied just doing the full time mom thing.”

“
Stop that
. We’re not talking about me. I asked
you
.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet. I’m still trying to come to terms with moving back to Boston, to the States, to humanity.” The warm Athenian sun bakes through my shirt, deep into my skin. Cameron sits on my shoulders and holds my hair. I hold his ankles as we meander through the congested city. “What do you think about us moving to Boston, Cam?”

“‘oston. What dat?”

“It’s a place on the other side of the globe, but a world away from here.”
A crowded, potentially dangerous world where I’m recognizable.
I cringe, and feel her watching me.
Relax. Talk. Say something.
“I’m thinking about growing a beard. What do you think?”

She gives me a knowing smile. “When we get back to the real world, I’m going to take photographs and try and get an agent to represent my work. What are you going to be doing?”

“Finding us a place to live, especially if you’re going to be taking pictures.” I grin at her. She sticks her tongue out at me. I’m too far away to suck it. I waggle my tongue back at her, teasing. She laughs. So do I. “Seriously, Weston is about a half an hour outside of Cambridge. Some great old Colonials out there. Land, too. Interested?”