Page 18 of Heart Strings

Chapter Eight

Alejandro

“Are you sure about this?” Abigail asked from the passenger seat. She leaned against the door of the car; chin propped on her hand as she watched downtown Miami flash past.

“Sure I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Not that I don’t want to meet your parents, but it feels a little…weird. Because of why I’m here. And last night.” The sparkle of memory in her eyes told me she didn’t regret last night in the slightest.

“It’ll be fine,” I promised. “Mi mamá will love you. She’ll probably ask some questions, but we’ll just say you’re a friend I met on tour for now and figure it out for ourselves later.” I didn’t reveal that I’d already done most of the figuring out - at least on my end. Last night had helped a lot with that.

“Okay. Did you say your family owns a bar?”

I spent the rest of the drive to my big house on the outskirts of Miami answering questions and giving Abigail a quick rundown on my parents - how my grandparents had escaped from Cuba with my unborn mother, and she had married my Caucasian father, who owned that bar Abigail had mentioned. “That was actually where I learned to play piano,” I told her as the front tires thumped over the lip of the driveway leading up to my house. “George, the pianist at the bar, taught me after work for a few extra dollars.”

“Why did you join Vaporized and not play piano somewhere?” Abigail asked curiously, eyeing the large, modern house as I pulled in front of the three car garage.

“One of my piano tutors hooked me up with a friend who needed a keyboardist for his band.” I got out of the vehicle and placed a hand on the open window. “Are you good here for a moment? I would invite you in to see the house, but…I’m not sure if Sierra is here or not. It’s better if you stay in the car while I grab the painting.”

I must have done a great job of…depicting Sierra in an unpleasant light, because Abigail agreed immediately not to risk the chance of running into her. I had no desire to see her either, and I hoped fervently that she wasn’t home right now. Sure, the intent behind bringing Abigail here was to get rid of Sierra, so parading Abigail in front of her might have been a good idea…for any other girl. I couldn’t put Abigail in that position - not yet. I didn’t doubt the two would meet each other, but…just not yet.

I had prepared several different forms of explanation for Sierra in the event that she did happen to be here, but thankfully, she wasn’t. Excellent; now just to leave before she got back.

The painting of the St. Louis Cathedral I had bought for my mamá in New Orleans had spent the last week sitting on one of the many tables covered in knick-knacks in the house. I should have gotten it to her sooner, but I kept forgetting to come here and get it, and Sierra’s presence in the house drove away any desire I had to come to this place that had once been my refuge. I grabbed the painting, glared through my half-open bedroom door at the mess of women’s clothes draping over everything, and headed back out to the woman I actually wanted to spend time with.

“Back,” I announced since Abigail was looking down at her hands when I reached the car. I opened the backseat door first and nestled the painting securely inside. “Sorry I took so long. I almost forgot where I put this.” The door thumped shut loudly, but the curls of red hair hiding Abigail’s face didn’t move. “Hey, are you-”

Abigail was humming, and I thought for a moment that she had interrupted me with it, but then I realized the sound had just been very quiet. The low humming was deep, way deeper than the pleasant pitch of her speaking voice. That was probably why she had hunched her neck down like that, to make it easier for her voice to go that low.

“That’s, uh - nice,” I said as I got in. Actually, to be honest, the tune was a little bit creepy - low, lilting, and dark.

The rumbling of the engine as I turned the key in the ignition finally roused Abigail. “Oh, thanks.” The humming stopped.

“What is it?”

“Something from - from one of my music sheets. Just got it stuck in my head, you know?”

I did know - probably better than she thought. There was nothing more ridiculous than walking around, humming or whistling one of your own songs. Even I drew the line there, and I was proud of the music Vaporized put out.

But, even as I said the words “Yeah, I get you”, I knew she wasn’t entirely telling me the truth. I dealt with liars and fakers in the business all the time, and I’d gotten pretty good at picking out the lies from the truths.She probably has a reason she doesn’t want to talk about the song,I told myself.

Maybe the truth was just embarrassing to her. Our keyboardist had gotten a children’s cartoon theme stuck in his head once and whistled it nonstop for a week.

Whatever the truth, I decided to drop it. Today was a great day. The sun was bright, Sierra hadn’t texted me in almost two whole hours, and I had lunch with my parents to look forward to…and I got the spend the whole day with Abigail.

“We’re here,” I said twenty minutes later.

“Here” was a small but well-maintained, pleasant-looking house with white walls and beds full of vegetable plants and flowers. A little fountain - one my mother had insisted my father set up for her years ago - bubbled away cheerfully, doubling as a birdbath for the small feathery creatures that waited anxiously in the trees for the intrusive humans to move on.

Just as I had expected, my mother greeted us both with her usual bustling good cheer. “Hola, mi hijo!” My short Cuban mamá gathered me into her arms. “Te extrañé!”

I laughed and embraced her in return, but kept to English for Abigail’s benefit. “I missed you too, Mamá. Even though it’s only been two days since I saw you.”

“Two days?” she exclaimed, holding me at arm’s length. “Two days, but before that, two months! You’re always so busy.”

I almost laughed when she caught a proper glance at the woman behind me and widened her eyes. She disliked Sierra…who was I kidding. My good Catholic mamá hated Sierra, she would just never admit such a thing. She had probably caught a glance of a woman when she opened the door, assumed it was Sierra, and dismissed her while she said hello to her son.

“Oh, who is this?” Her excitement showed itself in the slight deepening of her accent.

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