“I wasn’t making fun,” he said, taking his eyes off the road just long enough to meet her eyes. “I really think you should go for it.”
“But the time I devote to composing has to pay my bills.”
“Like Hollywood.”
She nodded. “It’s worked so far.”
After a moment, he asked, “So who made fun of your dream? ’Cause I’d like to knock his teeth out.”
She wouldn’t want that. Pierre had just been keeping her head out of the clouds. As a teen, she’d been so idealistic, she’d never bothered to tread with her feet on the ground.
“Old boyfriend?” he pressed.
“I told you about Pierre.”
“The gay French piano teacher you were infatuated with?”
“He’s not gay.” She pressed cool fingertips into her suddenly flushed cheeks. “He was lovely. And talented. He pushed me to do better. Try harder. Reach farther.”
“But he laughed at your dream.”
“He redirected it,” she said. “To make it something attainable.” And then he’d up and left one day without any explanation or even a good-bye. She’d floundered without direction for years before she’d gone to Curtis and found a new mentor. One she didn’t let herself love quite as much as she’d loved Pierre. She doubted it was possible to connect to any other musician the way she’d connected with him.
Kellen’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “So write full-blown classical compositions on the side. For fun.”
“For fun?”
He nodded. “Nothing takes the fun out of creativity faster than having to do it to make a living.”
There was some truth to that.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” She shrugged. “Unless it interfered with my deadlines.”
“Can we listen to some Queen now? This Chopin stuff really does put me to sleep. Not like your music. Your music . . .”
“Gives you a boner?”
He laughed. “Yeah, it does.”
“And you’d really pay for that experience?”
“Every day. Even Sunday.”
She supposed there was something inspiring about that knowledge. She could make it her life’s work to compose classical symphonies that gave Kellen Jamison wood.
Chapter Five
The sun shone off the Gulf’s water, giving it an illusion of deep blue clarity. A line of pelicans raced over the surface, the lead bird dipping under the water and emerging with a fish in its beak. Kellen stood on the front deck of Sara’s house and watched the birds swoop and glide for several minutes, trying to find the courage to go inside. He’d had a fantastic time with Dawn during their road trip—living in the now, considering the direction of his future—but the time had come for him to confront his past. Dawn had volunteered to join him, but he wanted to enter the house alone the first time since he’d broken his promise to Sara.
The pelicans flew out into the Gulf until they shrank into nothingness. He supposed he had nothing left to use as an excuse to procrastinate. Taking a deep breath and putting the Gulf to his back, he inserted his key into the lock and opened the hurricane door. As usual, it stuck, and he was swamped with a memory of him and Sara trying to figure out how to get the blasted thing open when they’d first vacationed there.
The living room was dusty, but nothing else was different or out of place. The sofa he’d brought from Sara’s apartment still looked small in the cavernous room. The shelf that contained all of her dolphin figurines took up one corner. Her books on animals and environmental science and fictional vampires crowded another shelf along the far wall, and then there were the pictures—pictures of her, of the two of them, of her with her family, and a few with Owen. There was even one with him, Sara, and both Mitchell brothers. Kellen smiled at the four of them holding up Solo cups, looking like they were drinking themselves into a stupor, but there’d been no alcohol in those cups. He fondly remembered the day they’d spent with Chad right before he headed off to boot camp. They’d gone fishing but ended up rescuing tadpoles from an evaporating puddle because Sara just couldn’t stand the thought of the slimy things dying. Frogs. She’d saved frogs in cups brought for partying.
There wasn’t a single reminder of her illness in the beach house. This was his shrine to her life, not to her pain or her death. He closed the door behind him and sat on the sofa. They’d spent a lot of time kissing on this sofa. They’d even made love on it a time a two. He wondered if she’d lived if she’d have grown more sexually bold with experience. Most likely he never would have discovered Shibari if she hadn’t died, but they would have had a lifetime to discover what sexual acts thrilled them. He also wondered if he’d have a lifetime to discover such things with Dawn, or if she’d eventually figure out that he wasn’t worth the headache and split.
He sat in the silence, listening for sounds of Sara’s laughter, but heard only the repetitive call of a distant gull.
Maybe she wasn’t here for him anymore. Maybe she was really gone.
Deciding that the room wasn’t going to dust itself, he went to the utility closet for cleaning supplies.
A knock on the door drew Kellen from the closet. It had to be Dawn, and he should probably be angry with her for meddling in his private time with memories of Sara, but he felt oddly relieved. He could spend the day at her rental instead of his place. Being anywhere else might just lift the oppressive burden that had settled in his chest. He opened the door, and Dawn’s sunny smile lifted the storm clouds from his thoughts.
“Well, hello, handsome. I’m staying in the house next door and thought I should come over and introduce myself. See if there’s anything you might need.”
He lifted a puzzled eyebrow, but played along. “Very neighborly of you. I’m Kellen,” he said, “and you would be?”
She pressed her beautiful hand to her equally beguiling chest. “I’m Dawn.” She peeked around his shoulder. “I was hoping you’d introduce me to the lady of the house.”
His heart produced an irregular thud. “I’m sorry, but she passed away many years ago.”
“Are you sure? I think I see her in every nook and cranny.”
Dawn, smart woman that she was, was entirely correct. Sara was there. She was everywhere.
“Come in,” he said, stepping aside.
Dawn entered Sara’s house and immediately moved to the photographs that had been arranged in brightly colored frames along one wall. Kellen followed her, his chest tight and his lips pressed together. He imagined that this was what it felt like to introduce the woman you loved to your family. He wouldn’t know, as his grandfather and estranged father had died before he’d met Sara and he didn’t speak to his mom, but the feeling had to be similar. He so wanted Dawn to like Sara—weird as that sounded—and he wanted Sara to accept Dawn.
I’m all sorts of fucked up in the head.
“So this is Sara,” Dawn said. “She’s very pretty. And you’re right, she does look like Lindsey.”
She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. Was her palm the sweaty one or did that dampness belong to him?