“Not even a littlebit.” I leaned back against the vinyl cushioned seat. “They didn’t take meseriously, because anything else they’d signed me up for, I had lost interestin. So, for about a year, I begged them for lessons, and for my fourteenthbirthday, they finally gave in.”
“Andthen, your teacher found out that youalready knew everything?” She giggled.
“No. Actually, exactlywhat my parents thought would happen, happened. I lost interest after about sixmonths of lessons, and they pulled me out. But at that point, I already had thekeyboard, so I started teaching myself.”
“So, you’re mostlyself-taught?” Tess propped her chin in the palm of one hand. “That’s amazing.Have you ever taken singing lessons?”
“Nope,” I said simply,lifting the mug to my lips, sipping lightly, and I went unscathed. “Okay, it’ssafe.”
“Oh, finally,” shebreathed out before grabbing her tea and drinking. When she lowered the cup,her demeanor changed again. “That new song you sang … was that the one you toldme you wrote?”
Despite the tea, mymouth dried at the mention, and I nodded. “Yes.”
“It was beautiful,” shecomplimented, concrete sincerity in her tone.
“Thank you.” My voicewas rasped, dry and unpleasant, and I drank, drowning the words that begged tobe said.
Ionly wrote it because you told me to.
***
Bursts of sparkling light colored the sky,a short distance from the highway. In silence, Tess and I stood side by side,faces turned upward, and I missed Beth.
I guessed that wasnatural. It had been an emotional night. My greatest performance. The firstsong of my new life. The looming ache of knowing I’d be spending a night alonein that apartment, with only my ghosts and tormented heart to keep me company.And now, the beauty of glittering shards of light, sprinkled against the nightsky. I was moved, and overwhelmed, and didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t wantto leave, and yet, I also didn’t want to be with Tess. Not like this.
And yet, I did.
“Those are my favoritekind,” she said, speaking over the din of the highway and the hammering of myheart, as one of those big fireworks sprayed over the sky and glimmered untilit faded into the darkness. She laughed, shrugging her shoulders to her ears asher arms hugged around her stomach. “God, it’s been so long since I reallywatchedfireworks.”
My chuckle was gruffand strangled as I nodded. “Yeah. Same here. Lilly’s not a fan of loud noises,so …"
“Thanks for thewarning,” she interjected, and I turned to find a gentle smile stretching herlips.
I looked back to thesky. “I think the last time I went to a fireworks show was the year Beth and Igot married. We drove down to Jones Beach with some Burger King, parked thecar, and sat on the roof.”
“That sounds reallynice.”
“It was.” I was struckverklempt for just a second, staring at the sky and imagining Beth somewherebeyond the clouds and darkness. Watching. Waiting. Wishing. But then, I brokeout in an emotional grin and found myself laughing. “Then, we had kids. It’samazing how much of life stops when you have kids.”
Tess chuckledaffectionately. “Yeah, but I think it’s probably worth it.”
“Usually,” I joked.
The sky went dark andstayed that way. The show was over, and thus so was the night. I turned toTess, prepared to say goodbye and that I would see her on Monday, but my voicefaltered when I found her looking up at me. Her eyes were darkened under thedim parking lot lights, lined in a sooty black and shadowed with a warm brown.I couldn’t control my staring. Despite how desperately my heart tugged, it onlymet resistance.
I found myself thinkingthat those were the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. Then I wondered what theheck that statement even meant, when I’d once thought the same of Beth’s. Ihated myself for thinking that Tess’s eyes were more captivating, moreentrancing. Justmore. I hated myselffor comparing, for allowing myself to go there at all when this was Tess, andshe was Beth.
Whatam I doing?
“I’m glad I cametonight,” Tess stated, clearly oblivious to the battle taking place somewherebetween my head and heart.
“Me too,” I foundmyself replying, painfully aware of my honesty.
“I have some writing todo. But I’ll see you on Monday,” she concluded the night with a smile. “Goodnight, Jon.”
I tipped my chin, mether eyes once more, and replied, “Good night, Tess.”
We retreated to ourseparate cars, and from behind the wheel of my mini-van, I watched her leavethe parking lot and pull onto the service road. I hesitated to start my car anddrive home, afraid of the wrath I might face from the frozen, accusing eyes ofmy wife on the dresser and above the couch. Afraid of what my tormented brainmight say, while I was lying in bed, battling for sleep and uncomplicateddreams.
