Sway (3 page)

Chapter Five

Shopping was my family’s cure for everything. Depressed? Go shopping. Sad? Shopping. Need to celebrate? Shopping in Milan. Sick? Online shopping.

I slumped through the mall, distracted and broody. The shopping cure never worked as well for me as the rest of my family. I must have been missing some Elliot gene.

“It’s not that bad, you know.”

I looked up. Lexi was holding a black bag covered in gold studs and grommets.

“Ick.”

“You don’t like it?” Lexi looked at the price tag and sighed. “Too expensive anyway. Even you couldn’t afford it.”

I glared. “Way to make me feel better.”

“Better? Why, what’s wrong?”

I sighed. I hadn’t planned to tell Lexi about the Croft’s renting Kellynch until lunch. “Nothing.”

She fixed me with a pointy stare. “Bull.”

“We’ll talk about it later, promise.” I picked up a camel colored tote, stroked the buttery-soft leather. “What about this one?”

“Nice try.” She grabbed the tag and then flicked it out of her fingers. “Fendi. I can’t afford that either.”

“Oh, right.”

Lexi picked up another bag, then set it down in disgust after a glance at the price. “Can we leave this store and go to the Gap or something?”

Strolling through the mall, I ignored the shiny displays around me, the beautiful clothes, the annoying shoppers walking on my heels or cutting me off as if I was invisible. What would Eric think when he heard his sister would be living in Kellynch? Maybe he already knew. As far as I knew, Charlie had never met the Crofts. It was likely he’d heard they were looking for a place from Eric himself. I couldn’t believe Eric would recommend Kellynch to them. Then again, he knew what a beautiful home it was. And it had been eight years. We were both long over it by now.

“
Ooh
, Carter’s.” Lexi grabbed me by the arm and yanked me into a baby-clothing store. “Look how cute this is!” She held up a frilly, pink dress with white bows on it.

“Cute. Maybe a bit small for Elle?”

Lexi looked at the dress and frowned. “You’re right.” She searched through the rack. “Of course they don’t have her size,” she grumbled.

I followed her around the store, oohing and aahing at the many outfits, sleepers and hair bows she held up for my opinion. In five minutes she had half the store resting over her arm.

“Does Elle really need that much stuff?” Without any kids of my own, I didn’t have a clue, but one little girl probably didn’t need a wardrobe that would barely fit in my dad’s walk-in closet. She’d grow out of most of them in, what, two months?

“I’m not getting all this. I’ll narrow it down.”

“That ugly bag in Bloomingdale’s was probably the same price as all that.”

Lexi snorted. “Are you kidding me? This is Carter’s. This dress alone is $9.99.” I gave her a sheepish look when she held up the tag. “Besides, when you have kids, you end up spending all your money on them instead of yourself. Trust me.”

That life that could have been flashed through my head like some sappy home movie. I pushed aside daydreams of a little blond boy and girl squealing as their father chased them through a sunny park.

Lexi sorted through her stuff, narrowing it down to just four items. She put the rest back on the racks with a sigh.

I grabbed the pieces of clothing she’d put back.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Consider it two birthdays and two Christmases worth of presents.” She tried to argue, but I wouldn’t listen. My next credit card statement wouldn’t be pretty, but right now I didn’t care. I needed to do something for someone besides myself.

An hour later, we gave up shopping for eating. Lexi chose a café in the mall that had an Ahi Tuna burger she gushed about so enthusiastically, I half expected it to put on a show. Once the waitress had left with our order, Lexi leaned on the table and fixed her eyes on me.

“What’s going on? You’ve been awfully broody.”

I fiddled with a roll, turning it around in my hands. “Charlie found a renter.”

Lexi blinked. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Sure. Except…” I bit my lip. Lexi was going to give me a hard time for this. “It’s Sophia Croft.”

“Who?”

“Sorry, Croft is her married name. Her maiden name is—” My mouth twisted. “Wentworth.”

Whatever she’d wanted to say came out a garbled mess as she choked on her roll, but it wasn’t hard to figure out the gist of it.

I nodded. “Eric’s sister.”

Lexi burst out laughing. “You’ve
got
to be kidding me.” I crossed my arms and waited for the laughing to abate. It took an annoyingly long time. “What are the chances?”

“Pretty great, I guess. Charlie probably told Eric we needed a renter. It was all just good timing. Or rotten, depending on how you look at it.”

“Eric and Charlie still keep in touch?”

“Obviously.” I winced at the edge of bitterness in my tone. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. It’s just…weird.”

She nodded. “But it’s not like he’s going to live there. He’s not even in LA and I doubt he’d want to come back. Look how long you stayed away.”

The house had been too painful, after. Too many memories. Eric had helped me overcome Mom’s loss, but there had been no one to help me overcome his. So instead of cutting my hair or getting a tattoo or going on a juice cleanse, I ran away from home and called it getting an education.

“I should have stayed in New York.”

The corners of Lexi’s mouth drooped. Silence stretched between us.

“I didn’t mean that,” I said.

She gave me a half-smile. “You probably won’t see him anyway.”

“Chances are slim.”

“Nil.”

“Almost non-existent.” I took a bite of roll, the chewy bread squishing pleasantly in my mouth.

“Although, his tour
is
almost over,” Lexi said. “I heard he’s finally looking to settle down.” I wanted to throw my half-eaten roll at her. “I bet he can afford his own mansion in the Hills. Maybe he’s actually the one renting Kellynch and his sister is just a front.”

“A front for what?” She shrugged and I snorted. “And you were mocking me for being the president of his fan-club! How do you know all this stuff?”

“Magazines. ET Online. Twitter. He’s totally trending.”

My eyes narrowed. There was never much about Eric’s personal life in the press. I had a feeling he liked to keep that out of the public eye as much as possible. So for Lexi to hear anything, she had to do some digging to find it.

“Wait. Let’s Google him.” With the roll sticking out of her mouth, she fumbled in her bag, eventually producing a phone.

I tapped my fingers on the table—an attempt at nonchalance. When our waitress appeared with our food a few minutes later, Lexi was still busy searching the internet, a scowl plastered on her face.

“There’s nothing useful,” she said when the waitress left. “No reports of what he’s doing now. Just record sales and…” She continued to scroll through her phone. “His tour is definitely over. Last stop was New York, two days ago.”

I tried to enjoy my flatbread sandwich and think of anything but Eric Wentworth. Lexi finally put her phone away and attacked her burger. After a few minutes of chewing, she broke the silence.

“Even if he did come back though…”

“I wouldn’t see him.”

“Maybe, but that’s not what I was going to say.” She swirled a couple of fries around in the bowl of ketchup. “You’re over him, right?”

“Of course.” I scoffed at the very thought of
not
being over him after eight years.

She hesitated. “Then why should it matter? If you see him, or he goes to Kellynch, it shouldn’t affect you.”

I swallowed, the lettuce going down harder than it should have.

“It doesn’t matter. I already said that.”

Then why couldn’t I shake this antsy, nerves tingling, heart jerking, almost-fear that had settled over me when I heard the Crofts might rent Kellynch? As if Eric was going to pop up right in front of me at any moment?

I had to restrain myself from actually searching the restaurant, as if he’d be in the exact same place as me in this exact moment. Even if he was, it didn’t matter. I was over him.

“Did you ever tell Kaz about Eric?” Lexi asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

“Sure.”

“No, I mean,
really
tell him.”

“Really tell him? What does that mean?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m saying.”

I sighed. “I don’t know, Lex. He came up a few times, but did we have a deep and detailed conversation about him? Of course not.” I watched her toy with the straw in her teeth, obviously waiting for more. “He was an ex. Do you talk in detail about your exes with your current boyfriends?”

“I don’t have a current boyfriend. Or boyfriends.” I shot her a look. “No, I guess I don’t talk about exes much. But Eric was more than just an ex.” She pointed her straw at me. “He was your freaking fiancé.”

The first few notes of a song flashed through my head but I pushed it away. “I told him that.”

“You did?”

“Well, yeah. High school sweethearts, young love, everyone knows the story.” I knew it first hand, and what a painful story it ended up being. “Kaz didn’t care.”

“Kaz didn’t care about anything but his cello.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry.”

I couldn’t be too mad at her; she was probably right about that. Kaz had loved me, but the only time he showed a glimmer of passion was when he held his cello in his arms. Eric, on the other hand, could hardly contain his passion. There were times when I lost myself in it, when it consumed me, and for a brief moment, I would burn as brightly as he did.

“You’re thinking about Eric again, aren’t you?” Lexi asked. She could tell by my face that she was right. “You know what? I think you’re obsessing about this a bit too much.”

“I—you’re right. It’s stupid.”

She grinned. “That’s what I’m here for—to shoo the stupid away. Or at least curb it a little. You’ve been gone awhile so I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Thanks for that.” We finished our meal without talking about Eric again. Even later, when I was on my own, I didn’t think about him.

It was nice, while it lasted.

Chapter Six

My audition with Maestro Sauvin was a breeze. I played Rachmaninoff to perfection and he accepted me into the California Philharmonic on the spot. The income was small, not enough to get my own place, but it was something. And I’d get to see Lexi a lot.

Aunt Rose settled everything between the Crofts and my dad. They agreed to his rental terms—even his crazier demands like never watching Marlon Brando movies and banning no-name brands inside the house—signed the contract and set the move-in date.

I was starting to panic about my own living situation. Malibu with Beth and Dad was an option, in the same way that moving to Siberia was an option. I had hoped for something, anything, else. Since I didn’t have a job yet, the bank wouldn’t approve me for an apartment. I hated to rely on someone else for my living arrangements, but I had to go somewhere until I could afford my own place.

Lexi was out of the question—she had enough on her plate—but I didn’t feel the same reluctance when it came to family. I dug through my bag for my cell phone but couldn’t find it. It wasn’t on my dresser, or inside any of my other purses.

I poked my head inside Beth’s room. She was lounging on her bed reading a magazine. Shelby sat on the divan at the foot of the bed with her knees up to her chin. She was painting her toenails bright yellow.

“Beth, have you seen my phone?”

Beth didn’t look up. “It’s on my dresser.”

I walked over and grabbed it. “Why is it on your dresser?”

“Because it rang earlier. I answered it for you.” I opened my mouth to again ask her why when she cut me off. “You’re
welcome
.”

Yes, I was really grateful that she’d probably gone through my emails and voicemails and used up my lives in Candy Crush. I checked the call history. The only call from this morning was Aunt Rose. She would call again. I retreated from the room, dialing a different number.

“Hello?” I heard on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Mari.”

“Ava?” My sister’s voice sounded rather nasal. “Took you long enough to you call.”

I hadn’t known I was supposed to call her. “Why? What’s wrong?”

The nasally tone got worse. “I’m so sick. My head hurts, my body aches, my throat is sore. I feel really hot. I think I have a fever.”

“You were fine a couple days ago.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not now,” she snapped.

“Did you take something?”

“I’m not going to just take some random drug when I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Mari said. “I think you brought something from New York. Or maybe I have the bird flu. Or West Nile! I did get a mosquito bite yesterday.”

“I’m sure it’s not any of those,” I said, grateful that she couldn’t see my eyes rolling.

“What if it is? Or something worse?”

Back in my room, I landed on my plushy chair. Only then did I realize Beth had followed me from her own room. “I’ve got an idea,” I said to Mari. “Why don’t I come take care of you? I need a place to stay for awhile anyway.” Beth made a tittering noise but I ignored her.

“That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard,” Mari said, and it sounded like she meant it.

“Dad and Beth are moving out in a couple days, I won’t be able to come until then.”

“Can’t you come sooner?” she begged. “I’m sick. I need you now.”

“Why don’t you go to the doctor?”

“You know how much I hate doctor’s offices. They’re so dirty and full of sick people.”

“Hold on a sec.” I turned to face Beth who was standing right behind me, her ears cocked to my conversation. I put the phone against my shirt so Mari couldn’t hear. “Do you guys need me here?”

“Since when are you queen of the world?” she said. “Besides, I’ve got Shelby.”

“You’ve got Shelby for what?”

“She’s coming with me to Malibu.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “Shelby’s going to live there?”

“Yeah.” Beth examined her fingernails. “She’s just getting over her divorce, you know, and she needs something to cheer her up.”

“But…”

“Oh, get over it, Ava,” Beth snapped. “You don’t need to be so jealous of her.”

I watched Beth stalk back to her bedroom, her hips swaying unnecessarily. Jealous? Of Shelby Clay? Doubtful.

Mari’s pronounced fake coughing echoed from my cell phone.

I put it back to my ear. “Sorry, Mar, I was just talking to Beth.”

“Oh, sure. Chat it up with Beth while I lay here on my deathbed. Nobody ever cares about me.”

I ignored that. “I think I can be there tomorrow.”

“Awesome!” She went on to plan everything we would do when I got there, all nasal tones completely gone.

After I hung up with Mari, I started repacking my suitcases. My boxes from New York still hadn’t arrived so there wasn’t much to do. Truthfully, I could’ve left for Mari’s that night, but I wanted one last night with Kellynch, a chance to say a proper goodbye to a home I loved.

* * * * *

I wandered the house, fixing it into my memory once again. When I left eight years before, at least I knew I could come home anytime. Now there was no way to know when Dad would have Kellynch back again.

Thoughts of Eric flooded my mind. Kellynch was full of memories of him. Memories of who we were together. Of who we wanted to be. Now Eric was nothing more than a voice on the radio. In the past eight years, I’d alternated between pretending he didn’t exist, and devouring every piece of news I could find. It was a fine line of crazy to walk but sometimes I just couldn’t help myself.

When I heard his first song on the radio a few years back, I’d felt a mixed bag of emotions. He’d finally done what he’d always dreamed of. He’d made it. I was so proud and yet so sad. Two albums later and I still felt a surge of pride when I listened to his music, as if I could somehow claim a tiny bit of his success as my own.

Sometimes though, listening to him would just remind me of my own mistakes, my weakness, my fear.

There was no way Eric would want to return to my house. My memories of him at Kellynch were both painful and achingly sweet. For him, they were probably just painful.

From the first day I met him, there was hardly a day we didn’t spend together at my house, at first with Charlie, and then later by ourselves. Dad and Beth treated Eric like dirt, but Kellynch was so big that it was easy enough for us to avoid them. We’d do homework in my bedroom, jam on the instruments in the music room, watch a movie on the big screen in the theatre room.

Every space of the house conjured up a memory of him. Dad’s room, where Eric counted all the mirrors one time and we laughed to find there were twenty-four. The time Beth caught us drawing moustaches on her Dior Homme posters. Or the time we had a fight with all of Mari’s stuffed animals while she was away at boarding school.

I also remembered awkward dinners in the dining room. Only Aunt Rose would acknowledge Eric’s existence aside from me, and even then, she was at most coldly polite to him. More fondly, I remembered many hot afternoons Eric and I spent swimming in the pool or doing our homework in the warm California sunshine.

I wandered through the house, the memories settling over my skin like dust. When I entered the kitchen, hoping a glass of water would take this itchy, dry feeling away, I was overwhelmed by one of the best memories of all.

* * * * *

It was about halfway through our junior year—we’d been friends for more than a year. By then, Eric had traded his fedoras for skinny ties, and I had come to grips with the fact that I would never be curvy or taller than five foot four. After an afternoon spent doing homework, Charlie had gone home and Eric and I went to the kitchen in search of food. The house was empty—Dad and Beth had gone out to dinner without inviting us. Sandra, our cook, offered to make whatever we wanted but Eric wouldn’t have it.

“I’ll make something.” He started opening and closing cupboard doors, searching for who-knows-what.

“Since when can you cook?” I asked, leaning on the cold countertop.

He pouted. “For your information, I can cook lots of things. Like soup. Kraft dinner. Pancakes.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you’re such a Jamie Oliver.”

Eric had his head in the fridge. “I believe that’s more than you can make,” he called out.

I couldn’t argue with that. The most I could make was toast and cereal.

“Aha!” Eric started to pull different things from the fridge and lay them on the countertop.

In minutes, he was busy chopping tomatoes, red and green peppers and jalapenos, while Sandra showed me how to brown ground beef and sauté chopped onions. Eric sang some old Sinatra songs while the kitchen filled with the greasy smell of hamburger, like an old diner. When the meat had gone from pink to brown, Sandra headed home, leaving us to our own devices.

Eric designated me official cheese grater. “Just don’t cut yourself,” he said, handing me a block of cheddar.

I attacked the cheese, hoping to show him that I wasn’t completely useless in the kitchen, and promptly shaved off part of a fingernail. Thankfully I hadn’t scraped anything with a nerve in it.

He laughed at me before launching into “Come Fly with Me.” I stopped grating and watched him place nacho chips on a large cookie sheet while swaying his hips to the tune. I knew the lyrics by heart but I didn’t want to join in and ruin it. When he caught me watching, he finger-snapped over to me. We danced around the kitchen to the soundtrack of his smooth, steady baritone.

“All right, get back to work,” he said when the song was over. “Cheese only this time.”

“You know what they’re going to call you right?” I picked up the grater again. “The next Frank Sinatra.”

“No one can be the next Frank Sinatra. No one should be.” He ladled out some hamburger and onions over the nacho chips. “I just want to be the first and best Eric Wentworth.”

“That sounds ridiculous.” My pile of cheese shavings—sans nail—was starting to look like a small mountain. I set the grater down and crossed the counter to his side.

“How about the one-and-only Eric Wentworth?” He popped a piece of jalapeno into his mouth, chewing with a grin.

I grimaced. “How can you eat them like that? Isn’t your mouth burning?” He shrugged and ate another. “One-and-only sounds kind of conceited. You should be The Eric Wentworth Band.”

He snorted. “Yeah, like that’s not conceited.”

“It’s no different than The Glenn Miller Orchestra.”

Eric sprinkled the cheese over his heaps of peppers, chips and hamburger. He ate another jalapeno.

“Babe, you’re absolutely right.” He had never called me babe before and I think I blushed at it. He looked at me, his eyes pleaded in a playful way. “Wanna be in my band?”

“You won’t need me, you bozo.” I pointed at him. “You already have a pianist.”

“Bozo?” He grabbed my finger and gently yanked, pulling me toward him.

I put my other hand on his chest. “But I’ll watch every show. Cheer you on the loudest. Promise.”

His playful manner disappeared. He stared at me, his eyes searching mine. I straightened, confused and a little alarmed by his sudden mood change. His heart beat rapidly under my fingertips. I was about to ask him what was wrong, when he leaned forward and kissed me.

I stood there, eyes wide open and mouth closed against his lips. A second later, he pulled back. We looked at each other for a long moment. Then he lowered his head and went back to his nacho-making. A slow blush painted splotches across his neck.

Shocked, confused and nervous, I stood there and stared at him. Like I was seeing this man before me for the first time.

His short blond hair was a little messy in the back because he’d run his hands over it. I imagined myself reaching out and smoothing it down with my fingers. His tanned hands picked at the cheese, spreading it out evenly. I pictured those hands in mine, touching my face, running through my hair, stroking my skin. I could see myself wrapping my arms around his chest, reaching my head up for a kiss, or burying my nose in his neck. Suddenly, I saw him in a whole new way, and I liked it.

Eric took the cookie sheet and put it in the oven. After setting the timer, he slowly turned around and faced me.

The question on his face was plain. He wanted to know what I thought. Had his move been a good one, or was this one of those awkward moments we would pretend never happened?

His blue eyes looked deeper than they ever had before. They were a color all their own, one you could only match with a paint sample.

I was captivated by his lips, and the urge to feel them again, this time for real, was strong. I closed the distance between us. My hand snaked around the back of his neck. I drew his head, his lips, to me. The kiss was better this time, much better.

When we pulled apart, a smile rose on his face, then faded.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, resting his fingers lightly under my eyes. “Why are you crying?”

I hadn’t realized I’d teared up. “I’m not crying.” I blinked against the tears. “It’s the jalapenos you ate.” I fanned my hand in front of my mouth to lessen the sting.

He blushed redder than ever. And then he burst out laughing. “Sorry about that. Next time, I’ll brush my teeth first.”

Fingering the collar of his shirt, I bit my lip. “You know what? I don’t think I care.”

I pulled him and his heat back to me.