“That’s a wonderful choice,” he said, giving her ponytail a gentle tug. “You’ll make a remarkable pianist.”
“But we don’t have a piano, Uncle Pike.” As young as she was, she knew that she couldn’t play something she didn’t have.
“You will, baby girl,” he’d promised her. “When the time comes, you will.”
And then not even a year later, Pike had died.
Afterward, her mother barely sang “Happy Birthday,” much less Italian arias. She’d given up church choir for extra hours doing medical transcription.
The only music left in the Brannon house came from Keira. She couldn’t imagine giving up her music for some crappy job and crappy house in Sherwin. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure her mother could really imagine it either.
Keira watched her, toying with the remains of her dinner. “You really never even skipped a lunch because you were practicing?”
Her mother pushed away her plate. “My stomach would get sour and twisty if I did. It made my voice funny.” She cleared her throat. “So. Do you have homework, or are you going to practice?”
“Homework,” Keira admitted.
Her mother stacked their dishes. “Well, get to it. I know you want to get back to the piano tonight.”
That was the best thing about her mom: She understood how badly Keira needed music. She didn’t push Keira. Keira pushed herself. Her mom got out of the way and let Keira play.
Keira escaped to her room. Folding herself up on her bed, she glanced down at her sleeve—the hole stared at her like an accusing eye. She stripped off her shirt, and then hesitated, the wad of fabric dangling from her fist. It was her favorite. And there wasn’t exactly money lying around to run out and buy another one. But every time she looked at it, she knew she’d see Mr. Seever’s disappointed face and feel Jeremy and his cigarette pressed up against her.
With a sigh, she dropped it into the trash and pulled on an old sweatshirt before getting out her history textbook.
She’d only flipped through a couple of pages when the phone rang, and Keira leaned over to answer it, grateful for an excuse to put off her homework.
“Hey,” Susan said. “Are you busy?”
“I was going to start on the misery of that history project, but I just—”
“Don’t care?” Susan finished.
“Exactly.” Keira shoved the book away and rolled over onto her back.
“So, how was the rest of your afternoon? Did you get home okay? I was kind of worried. It’s not every day you get branded by Jeremy Reynolds and fired in the same afternoon.”
“Thanks for reminding me. I’m fine.”
The sound of Mrs. Kim harping at Susan crackled across the phone line. Even though Keira couldn’t understand a word of Korean, irritation and suspicion had the same timbre in any language.
“Yeah, Mom. I’m getting to it,” Susan huffed.
Keira heard Susan’s bedroom door snap shut.
“Sorry,” Susan sighed. “Did you know they immigrated here to give me a chance at a better life and I’m wasting it on the phone while she works her fingers to the bone?” Her voice was soaked with sarcasm.
“Actually, I think I have heard that somewhere before.” It was pretty much the way Mrs. Kim started every conversation she had with Susan.
“Well, at least it was you I was talking to. If it’d been Tommy, she would have hung up the phone herself.”
Susan had been dating Tommy for almost two months and her parents were still suspicious of the whole thing. Susan spent as much time worrying about how to get around her parents’ dating rules as she did actually dating Tommy. Keira couldn’t imagine spending that much time on a guy.
Walker leapt to mind. Keira rubbed a hand across her eyes as if she could erase his image and then sat up suddenly. “Hey, you buy your music at Take Note sometimes, right?”
“Sure, why?”
“Have you ever seen anyone—I mean, besides Mr. Palmer—working there?”
“Someone like who?” Susan sounded confused.
“A guy. Like, a guy our age. Curly hair, leather wrist cuffs, accent?” She hesitated.
“Cute?” Susan asked.
Keira closed her eyes, picturing Walker, his dark eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he stared at the ancient cash register. The curve of his shoulder beneath his flannel shirt. The gray of his eyes. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Cute.”
“No, I haven’t,” Susan said, “but I’d sure as hell love to see a guy that even you will admit is cute. Maybe we should stop by. My flute teacher’s after me to find something with ‘wow-factor’ for state—like that’s somehow going to help me.” She snorted. “You wanna go with me tomorrow afternoon? Is he cute enough to go to a movie with?”
“You know I don’t date.” Keira’s voice was harder than she’d meant it to be.