Heartfall, p.15
Heartfall, page 15
She smiles. “Of course.” She pulls the drawer in front of her and takes out a couple of different varieties.
They’re all beautiful. There’s a set with gray and white chevron. The black and white quatrefoil is very elegant. “Choices, choices, choices. I love them all, but I’ll take this one,” I say, pulling a sheet of the violet and white floral damask and the coordinating envelope.
“I’m not a bit surprised by that.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She passes a black Sharpie pen across the counter. “You might need this too.”
“These are the best pens ever.”
“Yep.”
Before I take the top off, I stare at the paper. These pens dry out easily, and it’s too pretty of a paper to mess up a bunch of times like the recipient’s son did when he was trying to figure out what to say. So, I need to think before I write. What do I say to him? It’s great that your mother got a second chance? I’m really jealous and angry because my daughter never even got a first.
Slamming the pen down, I bury my head in my hands. What was I thinking signing up to do this?
Picking the pen back up, I take the top off and decide to just let my hand start to move and see what happens. And if I have to buy Miss Celeste new violet and white damask stationery, so be it. I’ll even get it monogrammed for her.
Dear A Grateful Recipient’s Son,
Your story really touched my heart. Your mom’s donor was my boyfriend, and I was pregnant when he passed away. I recently became a new mom, and your story about how you watched your mom cook for you not only made me smile, but it really moved me. It wasn’t just because I recently became a mom, but because things have been so strained with my mom since he passed away. It made me really miss her, really appreciate her. Thank you for putting that into perspective for me, for reminding me that we don’t all get second chances, and that we should live every day as if it’s our last because each day truly is a gift.
Best of luck to you and your mom. May you continue to both have health and healing through this second opportunity at life.
Teen Mom (That’s So Cliché)
“I don’t think I realized how small this room would be,” Mom says, her eyes surveying the small square that is now my home. “You know, I didn’t get to go to college.” She glances over her shoulder at the room across the hall. Their door is open, and two men are installing a loft. “Maybe I should get you one of those.”
I laugh. “Because it should be a piece of cake to just run to Walmart and buy one.”
“Smarty-pants,” she says, grinning.
“First thing to do is to remove the closet doors.” A blond-haired, blue-eyed girl appears at my door. She extends her hand. “I’m Avery Thomas. Nice to meet you.” According to our door, where there are huge signs that say, “Welcome, Avery” and “Welcome, Claire,” she’s my new roommate.
“Claire.” I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you. Now what were you saying about the closet doors?”
She comes in and takes in the surroundings, and a man and a woman, who I assume are her parents, squeeze through the door. “I saw it on my visit. Everyone ditches the closet doors and hangs shower curtains instead.”
Mom’s brows furrow. “That’s great in theory, but where do you think you’re going to put your closet doors?”
Avery shrugs. “Under the bed.”
I think I like her already. “What other ideas do you have?” I ask. “Oh, and this is my mom, Caroline.” Maybe we’re a match because she’s yet to introduce her folks, either. I extend my hand, giving her the cue.
“Naomi, my mother.” She motions to the tall woman whose skin looks like she’d be more likely to be her sister. She points to the man who looks a lot like George Clooney. Salt and pepper short hair. Blue eyes. She definitely lucked out in the gene pool. “Robert.”
“Nice to meet you both.”
“We need to go register, Claire,” Avery says. “Let’s leave our parents do all the dirty work and go explore. She hooks her arm in mine and drags me out of our room. I glance over my shoulder and wave at our parents.
“Bye!”
Mom grins the most proud smile I’ve ever seen. “Have fun, Claire Bear. You’ve earned every bit of it.”
After we got back from registration, our parents were in our dorm room assembling an old wooden loft on my side of the room. Apparently, one of the upper classmen had been trying to sell it, and Mom got a great deal on it. That meant my closet doors couldn’t go under my bed, but there’s a place in the kitchen where people hide them. Who knew? After Mom finished the decorative touches on my side of the room, she gave me a kiss on the cheek with tears filling her eyes, then whispered in my ear, “I’m so proud of you, Claire Bear. You’ll never know how much.” She’s been gone for about an hour, and for the first time in my life, I’m really on my own. Regret settles deep in the pit of my stomach. Was it all worth it? Leaving Bella? Will she ever understand why I had to do it?
I’m already homesick.
“So, we’re going to a party at Sanford later. Do you wanna come?” Avery asks as we’re walking into the lobby for our first dorm meeting. Never mind I’ve been dancing for the last fifteen years. It’s like someone put my body through a torture chamber today. The aching in my bones has already settled with each step I take. When we push through the hall door a guy turns his head and looks over his shoulder, and I stumble over my own two feet, nearly plummeting into Avery because it’s him again. The guy from my audition. I’m completely swept away by his blue eyes like they’re an ocean and I’m in the middle struggling to stay afloat. And as if his eyes weren’t enough to totally disarm me, that dimple in his cheek and the square line of his chin are, because the day of my audition I thought I’d seen a blue-eyed ghost of Sebastian. Except he’s not a ghost. He’s very real. And oh so grown up manly gorgeous. My mouth dries and my body zaps with sensations I haven’t felt since Sebastian’s death.
Avery nudges me. “Claire…”
I smooth my hair, eyeing him up and down. He’s looking over his shoulder. The only other thing I can see other than his beautiful face is the way his broad shoulders fill his polo, the way his hips narrow into his pants. His butt.
Gosh.
“Oh.” Avery leans into my ear. “He’s hot. Wonder who he is and why he’s here.”
“Sorry. I think I’m gonna pass on the party.”
“So much for all those personality questionnaires they made us do. We’re clearly not compatible if they’ve paired me with someone who doesn’t like a night out with hot guys.”
I signed up for an all-girls school. So why is he always around? Look away from him, Claire. As I do, I don’t even realize there’s a step beneath my feet and I nearly fall. Just as the familiar feel of wind beneath my feet hits me, the strong grip of a hand squeezes my arm.
“I know your name is Claire.” He smiles. “I’m not sure if you remember me from the day of your audition. I’m not some creepy guy or anything. I was in the side wing.” As if I could forget him. And why am I holding my breath? “But what I wanna know…” He arches a brow and flashes a crooked, lopsided grin. His canines are pointed, but not like a vampire. His grin is devilishly handsome.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s that?”
“Is Grace your middle name? Because you’ve nearly fallen twice tonight.”
I roll my eyes and try to hide my grin as I look away. “Smooth” —I glance at his hand—“is probably not your middle name, huh?”
He hangs his head down and gazes at me from under his thick, dark lashes, shaking his head. “Ouch.”
We both laugh. His smile. His smile makes me forget where I am, what I’m supposed to be doing, and maybe even my own name. My insides flip and twist and do things they shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful. He’s the kind of beautiful that breaks hearts. He’s Sebastian beautiful. He takes my breath away. “It was pretty good, wasn’t it? You know? As far as comeback lines?”
He nods. “Yeah. That round goes to you.” He releases my arm and extends his hand. “Liam. My name is Liam Scott. Smooth is not my middle name. And at your audition, I thought Grace wouldn’t have been a sufficient enough middle name for you.”
“Oh.” Breathe, Claire, breathe. Just breathe. I point to the sofas in the lobby. “I need to find a seat. It was nice to meet you, Liam.”
“Trust me, Grace. The pleasure was all mine.”
“Claire. I’m Claire, remember?”
He winks. He actually winks. My knees buckle, and they don’t usually do that, but this is the third time tonight they’ve betrayed me. This. Is. Ridiculous. Is this place cursed, or something?
As I turn to find a seat, the weight of the entire room of eyes bears down on me. When I turn around, I see the logo of Cambridge College on his shirt. Beneath it, security, in all caps. That explains why he’s always here. This should be interesting. When I decided to go to an all-girls school, it never occurred to me there’d be hot security guys. Ones who looked like Sebastian. Certainly not ones who made me feel like him. I’ve already fallen before. It can’t happen again.
After that day Sebastian had me wear the loose shirt that fell off my shoulder to the studio, the one Audrina made the snide remark about, it became my favorite. It’s soft, loose, and doesn’t inhibit my movements. It reminds me of him, of us, of Bella, of what I’ve sacrificed, and why I’m here. Avery left to go to that party at Sanford, and instead, I came to the fine arts building to dance. Because that’s why I’m here. Not to party, not to chase boys, not to make friends. Just to dance.
Pushing play on the music, My Favourite Faded Fantasy by Damien Rice starts to play. Staring at myself in the mirror, I shift my shoulder and let the neck of the shirt slip off. My hair is in a loose top knot, not a tight bun. A tendril falls, and as I lean my neck to the side, the strand brushes my exposed skin.
Closing my eyes, I remember that time in Sebastian’s studio when he was teaching me how to partner and he moved my body to the side, then kissed the side of my neck. I push up on my toes and fouette, then do chaînés across the room watching myself in the mirror, smiling. Avery is at a party getting drunk, and I’m in a room all by myself getting high en pointe. Repeating the moves, I do this from corner to corner, my speed and intensity increasing. But just as I’m getting into my groove, reaching my peak, the song ends.
Throwing my arms in the air as I come out of the turn, I sigh. “That was a fun six minutes.”
“Could have been longer. It’s the twenty-first century.” A low, sexy voice comes from the door. My heart jumps from my chest to my feet and back to my chest.
I’ve only heard it once, but I immediately recognize it. It’s Liam Scott’s voice. “Yeah. So? And what the heck? Have you been watching me? That’s creepy.”
“The twenty-first century.” He completely ignores my questions, closing the distance between us, pointing to the CD player. “There’s a repeat button right here,” he says, pressing it. “And then six minutes of fun turns into an infinite number. Well, as many as your pretty legs can stand.” He licks his lips and smiles. “And yes, I nearly got dizzy, but I can’t help but watch you.” He pulls the elastic from my hair. “You should do what you just did with your hair down, by the way.”
“Uh! Ballerinas don’t wear their hair down.”
He chuckles. “Says who?”
I huff. “Says anyone who knows ballet.”
“Well, I’ll admit I’ve never given a fuck about ballet until I saw you doing it, so I’m no expert. But I saw you watching yourself in the mirror. Try it again with your hair down.”
Who does he think he is? My cheeks redden, and I swallow as I snatch the elastic back and start to redo my hair in the top knot he undid.
He smirks. “You’re really good, Grace, but you already know that. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. So, please don’t stop on my account. Even if you refuse to take my advice about your hair.”
Pressing the repeat button, I cross my arms. “It’s Claire. And I don’t do repeat buttons, either, but thanks.” He gives me this weird smile while furrowing his brows. It’s really cute, and it’s hard for me not to smile back. “What?”
“I know. I remember your name, Claire, but what I wanna know is what did the poor repeat button do to offend you?”
There’s no way I can tell him that it’s a trigger since Sebastian’s death, hearing the same song over and over again. Especially The Violet Hour. The only time I can do it is in class because I have to, but whenever there’s a chance to pick a new song or to not listen to something on repeat, that’s what I do. “I’m a dancer. We get sick of hearing the same songs over and over. It ruins the songs for us. That’s all.”
He narrows his eyes. “Try again.”
Glancing away, I shake my head. “I don’t know you, nor do I owe you explanations.” When I gaze back in his vivid blue orbs, he seems almost amused. “Do you need something else?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and shakes his head. “Claire. I…” Shifting my weight, I stare at him expectantly. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” Liam bites his bottom lip and seals his lids closed. “Son of a…I could play for you. I promise not to make it repeat.” My stomach flips. What exactly is he offering? What does he mean he could play? Like operate the boom box? Play the piano? Is this some kind of a joke? He works for the school. When does he have time to help me? He flashes his eyes open, but he’s cringing, like he’s pained.
“Liam.”
He puts his hand up. “Stupid idea, I know. Forget I mentioned it.” He turns and scurries away.
“Liam, wait.”
“What?”
“I’m just here to dance.”
He nods. “I know. And I’m just here to work.” He points to the door. “I should go.”
Exhaling, I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling, sighing. Just breathe. Just dance. Just don’t fall. Most of all, though, just dance, Claire.
My evening class has been grueling today. Not because of the actual physical activities. But because of the weight this date bears on my soul, on my body. Merely breathing on anniversaries of Sebastian’s death, even semi-anniversaries, like today’s, is sometimes too much. With each jump, turn, and movement, it’s a reminder of him. Of his hands on me, of him lifting me, his lips on mine, his breath in my ear, his promises, his love. I’m able to lose myself until the tears start to cover my face. My chest begins to heave and not from being out of breath, but from the sobs, and eventually my body gives out. I collapse on the floor like some crazy mechanical doll that’s short-circuited.
Gasps fill my ears. I don’t bother looking around, but instead peel myself off the floor, run to where I left my bag, snatch it, and head for the nearest exit. Never once do I look up to what I’m sure are gaping mouths and stares, Audrina’s included. She’d know the anniversary of Sebastian’s death, but I doubt she’d know the struggle of a semi-anniversary. Nor would she care. Caring would require a heart, and I’m convinced she doesn’t have one.
“Claire,” I hear the choreographer say. I put my hand up and shake my head. “Are you okay?” I’ll deal with the repercussions another day. Any other one has to be better than today.
As I’m rushing out of the building what I hear stops me dead in my tracks. My pulse starts to race. Is he here? I’ve never believed in ghosts. This is crazy, Claire. Stupid. I glance around. The fine arts building houses the school of dance, music, and art. The beautiful piano playing could be a music student. Taking a few steps in the direction I think it’s coming from, the thumping in my chest increases as the volume gets louder. My steps get lighter. I’m still in my pointe shoes, which aren’t the quietest of footwear. Barge sounds. Six eight time. One, two, three. Four, five, six. Oh, Sebastian. I slide down the wall. Tears fall down my cheeks, and I close my eyes. When I do, I can almost hear his voice, but it’s so distant. Like the barge sounds this song reminds me of. I’ve almost forgotten what it sounds like. And my chest constricts because I don’t want to forget what it sounds like.
“This is our song,” he says. “Because I think us dancing together is going to be what leads you from the darkness back into the light. And this is the song we’re going to dance to. Every time you hear it or anything by The Civil Wars, you’re going to think about being at war with yourself and about rare, simple, exquisite beauty. And dancing with me.”
I bury my head in my hands and start to sob. That song once held hope and beauty. I loved it. Until today, the last time I heard it was the day of his funeral. I hate it, and I never want to hear it again. Who is playing it? Why do they keep playing it? I yank the strands of my hair from the bun and pull it as hard as I can. Anything to try to dull all the aching on the inside. Covering my mouth with my arm, I try to contain the wails escaping my body. The music stops mid-phrase, and I can see a figure towering over me out of my blurred peripheral vision. Great. I’ve clearly disturbed whoever was haunting me.
As I try to contain my hysterics, wiping the snot from my face and the tears from my cheeks, I’m met with familiar ocean blue orbs. He tilts his head, and a look of clear concern spreads across his face. “Grace, is that you?”
Inhaling a deep breath, I use my middle finger and wipe from the inside corner to the outside edge of my eye. “It’s Claire.”
He smirks. “You okay?”
“That was really beautiful. Does that song mean something to you?”
He narrows his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets as I stand and throw my duffle strap over my shoulder. He shrugs. “Just a fan of The Civil Wars. Hate they broke up.”
I stare past him into the practice room. “Are you like a grad student or something?” They do allow male grad students. He shakes his head. “No. Sometimes, after I get off, I sneak and play on the baby grands. My old upright at home could use tuning.”
