Sway

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Mari insisted on coming with me to Kellynch. Charlie was busy with his beta testing, the nanny was watching the boys, and Mari had nothing else to do. No amount of begging on my part could convince her to stay home.

Climbing into the car, I could already imagine how many ways Mari might embarrass me in front of Eric’s sister. Meeting Sophia Croft for the first time was already going to be awkward. Adding my gabby sister into the mix? At least her endless chatter on the drive over was enough to keep my mind occupied.

“Welcome home!” Richard boomed and he laughed. Mari looked at him askance. “I’m Richard Croft, but then you probably guessed that already.”

“I’m Ava.” With a hesitant smile, I shook his hand, my eyes traveling over his faded jeans and Rolling Stones t-shirt. Black earrings pierced a wide hole in both of his ears and the edge of a tattoo peeked from one sleeve. My dad’s worst nightmare in the flesh. Then again, he had a handsome face and stylishly slicked dark hair that wouldn’t be out of place in a Givenchy ad.

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard all about you.” He gave me a wink, which I ignored.

“This is my sister, Marilyn.”

“Just Mari,” she said.

“Great to meet you. Come on in.” We followed him into the grand entrance, the sound of our shoes echoing off the floor. “The boxes are over here.” He pointed to a pile of six huge cardboard boxes sitting in the corner on the marble floors. I headed for them but he stopped me. “I’ll be happy to carry them out for you. They’re pretty heavy. Anyway, I want you to stay a bit, meet the wife. She’s dying to meet you.”

Mari and I exchanged a glance. Her lips tightened as if she was trying not to laugh, or tease.

“Actually, I needed to get something from my old room,” Mari said. Her eyes scanned every inch she could land on, even though nothing had changed about the foyer—yet.

I widened my eyes at Mari and mouthed the word ‘no’ but she ignored me.

“Sure, go ahead,” Richard said. “It’s your house after all.”

“Not anymore.” Mari’s hand toyed with the hydrangeas in the vase. She brushed a finger across the marble bust of Adonis in one corner, as if she was checking for dust. “I’m married. We live in Laguna Beach.”

Richard said something in reply but I didn’t hear it. A woman walking down the circular staircase had distracted me. Her hair and eyes were the exact same color as Eric’s. She smiled, and it was so familiar I felt an unexpected dart to my chest.

She walked to me, her hand extended. “I’m Sophia.”

“Ava,” I replied, a little breathlessly, shaking her hand. She studied me, taking in every inch. I felt like I was under a spotlight, the lone performer on stage.

“It must be strange to see someone else living in your house,” she said. No mention of Eric, no questions, no accusations. It surprised me.

“A little,” I said. “It’s only been a couple of days.”

She nodded. “It’ll take time to get used to it.”

“Come in, have a drink.” Richard motioned us into the kitchen. “What can I get you?”

I protested but Mari went very un-shyly to the fridge and peered over Richard’s shoulder.

“Ooh, that looks yummy,” she said. Richard handed her a bottle of some kind of fruit smoothie. I grimaced at her but she ignored it, taking a long swig.

Richard listed off every drink they had and I finally agreed on water. He handed me a bottle just as his phone started to buzz.

“Excuse me for a second,” he said, and left the room to take the call.

Sophia poured herself some iced tea and took a seat at the island. “So, Ava, what do you do for a living?”

I swallowed. Part of me felt like it was the start of an interrogation. “I play the piano.”

“Really?”

“I just graduated from Juilliard. I’m hoping to get a teaching position.”

She smiled and it seemed genuine. “That’s excellent.” Sophia turned to Mari. “What about you?”

“I’m a mom.” Mari took a seat on a tall leather barstool beside Sophia. “I stay home with my kids. Two boys.”

Sophia studied me over the rim of her teacup. “No marriage or kids for you, Ava?”

I shook my head.

“I was always sad that I never got to meet you,” Sophia said, “when you were engaged to Eric.”

My palms started to sweat and I rubbed them off on my jeans, glad that the island was tall enough to cover it.

“It’s odd that I should meet you now,” she continued. “Years later and only because we’re living in your house.”

Odd and awkward and almost unbelievable. I pressed my lips together, remembering how it had been in this very kitchen where Eric and I shared our jalapeno-flavored kiss.

“I hope you don’t mind that Eric suggested we rent it.”

I plastered a smile on my face. “No, of course not. It’s a great house. Eric knew that.” It wouldn’t be awkward at all. Hopefully I could take my boxes and go, and this would be the last time I would ever have to see them.

“How’s Eric doing these days?” Mari asked. It was a weird question coming from her, as if she’d known him when in reality they hadn’t spent more than a holiday or two in each other’s company.

Richard returned to the kitchen. “Eric? He’s busy as usual. The band just finished their tour and he wants to get right back into the studio.”

“Doesn’t he want a break?” Mari asked.

“Eric never takes a break,” Sophia said.

That sounded just like him.

Richard stood beside his wife, cupping the back of her neck with his palm. “It’s true, no matter how much Soph begs him to slow down.”

When I knew Eric, his sister was never around. It was strange to hear how close they are now.

“His first album sold pretty well,” Richard continued. “His second better than the first. Good sales, but not quite on the Bublé scale. We’re hoping a third will really push The Eric Wentworth Band to another level. Get more radio play, reach out to more fans worldwide. He’s got some new songs in the works so I think he can do it.”

“You’re his producer?” I asked, hoping we could gradually steer the topic away from Eric.

He nodded. “I’m mostly retired, but I’ve kept Eric on because he’s family and all. These days, he does most of it on his own anyway, but I don’t like to be idle. Retirement is boring.”

“Oh.” I stared out the window.

We spent an hour in my former kitchen, telling them about Mari’s family, and talking more of Eric and the music business. Sophia’s eyes rarely left my face, her expression speculative, calculating. Part of me wanted to impress her, show her how great my life was so she could report back to Eric that I was a put-together, well-adjusted woman with no lingering Eric-hangups whatsoever. The other part of me realized that I was all of that anyway so it didn’t matter what she told him or how I acted.

I got up to throw my empty water bottle into our recycling bin under the sink. Richard and Sophia stood too, taking the hint. Mari, completely oblivious, didn’t get up until we’d left her alone in the kitchen.

“I’ll be sure to tell Eric you said hello,” Sophia said at the door. “He’ll be here in a couple of days.”

I almost stopped dead in my tracks. I glanced back at her, expecting a smirk or some sign of laughter on her face but there was none.

“He sold his old apartment. We begged him to stay with us until he buys a new place.”

I glanced at Mari. She didn’t look surprised at all by this news. I squeezed out an awkward smile. “How nice.”

I felt nothing but relief when Richard finally loaded the boxes into my car and we made our escape.

* * * * *

Ella Fitzgerald’s voice filled the car. I sang along in my mind, letting the music take away all thoughts of Eric. Mari stared out the window, abnormally quiet, especially after the excitement of the day.

“I hate it there,” Mari whispered, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

My hands gripped the steering wheel, I stared straight ahead. “Kellynch?”

“Yeah. Don’t you hate it there?”

Kellynch would always be home. I turned off the stereo and glanced at Mari. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. “Then why did you want to go?” Why had we stayed so long?

“I wanted to see if it felt the same, with new people there.” Her hands clutched the purse on her lap. “Mom should still be here. When she died, it ruined my life. All our lives. That’s all I can think about when I’m there.”

I reached out and, taking Mari’s hand, I gave it a squeeze. “I just try and remember the good stuff.”

“That’s the problem. I can’t remember anything good.” She faced away from me and stared out the window.

Mari had been sent to boarding school so soon after Mom died. She was barely twelve at the time. Two years less of memories.

“There was this one time, when I was nine, so you would have been seven and Beth was twelve. Anyway, Mom and Dad had gone on vacation and when they came back, they had presents for all of us.”

Mari stared out the window, but I knew she was listening.

“Beth got earrings. They were tiny crystal ballerinas.” Beth had been taking ballet at the time and thought she’d grow up to be a professional. Little did she know that ballet takes discipline, a quality she lacked. “She was so excited that she wouldn’t stop bragging about them.”

“I got piano music,” I continued. A big book of Russian composers—Stravinsky, Prokofiev, Shostakovich. I still had it, currently nestled in one of the boxes in the trunk. “And you got that huge doll, almost life-sized, with the long black hair that you used to braid or put into ponytails.”

“I remember that doll,” Mari said. “I named her Marisa. I took her with me everywhere.”

“You had a stroller for it and a bed and I can’t remember what else.” The corners of Mari’s mouth twitched. “Anyway, Beth couldn’t stop dancing around in her earrings and telling us how they were way better than our gifts and that Mom and Dad loved her the most. She made you so upset that you threw the doll out your window.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. The poor thing landed in the bushes and Reynaldo got all scratched up trying to get it out.” Mari covered up a chuckle. “You threw such a tantrum that I couldn’t practice my new pieces. So I went stomping up to your room to tell you to shut it.”

“Or to clobber me,” Mari interrupted.

“What? I never did that! That was all Beth.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway, by the time I got up there, you were already quiet. I peeked into your room and you and Mom were snuggled in bed. She was telling you that she’d take the doll back if you really wanted her to, but that she bought it because she knew how much you’d love it. She was saying how from the moment she saw it, she knew the doll would be your best friend. How the doll asked her to take it home to you.”

I had watched my mother stroking Mari’s hair and I remembered thinking that only superpowers could make Mari stop yelling and screaming so easily. Superpowers only my mom had.

“You decided to keep it.”

Mari was quiet for a long time. Finally she said, “I don’t remember what happened to that doll.”

I brushed a hand over her hair. “I don’t either.”