Page 56 of Steadfast
“Don’t know,” he said quickly.Tooquickly. “And I guess we can’t ask him.”
There was something tight about his voice that put me on edge. “After the accident, I asked a lot of questions that nobody answered.”
“I’m sorry.” Jude rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin into the crook of his elbow. “I’m sorry for everything that happened to you after I fucked up.”
“I know you are. But it bothers me that I don’t really understand what happened that night.”
Jude sighed. “The problem is that I don’t either. I don’t remember the accident at all. I don’t remember getting into the car, and I don’t remember getting cut out of it. First thing I remember is getting smacked around in an interrogation room.”
Wait. “Theyhityou?”
He made an unhappy sound in the back of his throat. “I killed the chief’sson. There wasn’t a cop in the state who could get in trouble for roughing me up. Of course they hit me.”
“Why did they interrogate you at all?”
His gray eyes softened. “Same reason you are, baby. You have questions with no answers.”
Still. I’d always assumed that Jude was taken to a hospital after the accident, because that’s where people who’d been in accidents went. Didn’t they? “Who hit you?”
Jude pinched the bridge of his nose. I’d officially killed the mood, that was for sure. “I don’t know his name. The same guy who busted us that time for making out in my car at Pigeon Pond. Younger guy with the receding hairline?”
“Newcombe. I remember him. He moved to Arizona, or somewhere.”
“Good riddance.” Jude rolled onto his side and hauled me into his arms. “Why do you get to ask all the questions, anyway? I got one for you.”
“Hit me.”
“Why aren’t you at Juilliard?”
Ah. “I changed my mind. That’s all.”
“What?Challenge. You used to practice every day for two hours, Soph. I may be the dumbest guy you know, but you’re going to have to do a little better than ‘I changed my mind.’”
I craned my neck to look at him. “You’re not the dumbest guy I know. Not by a long mile.”
“That’s nice of you to say, baby. But you didn’t answer my question. Do you still sing?”
“In the car on the way to work.” I put my head on Jude’s bare chest. “And in college I started learning to play the guitar and accompanying myself. But there hasn’t been time for that lately.”
Jude grunted, and I felt the vibration under my ear. “What a waste.”
Maybe. But it wasn’t the tragedy that he thought it was. “Do you remember how I used to make you listen to the original-cast recording ofFlying For You?”
Jude’s chest rose and fell as he chuckled. “Even after three years, I’m pretty sure I could sing the whole thing from start to finish right now.”
“The soprano’s name was Penny Lovejoy, and I worshipped her.”
“I remember.”
“Do you know what she does now? She’s a realtor of fine homes in New Jersey.”
A big, warm palm landed on the back of my neck. “Okay. And that’s why you didn’t go to Juilliard?”
“Partly. There were a lot of reasons. But I didn’t change my plans on a whim. I did a lot of recon. My voice teacher hooked me up with some of her old students in New York, and I went down to visit them. It was kind of horrifying.”
“Why?”
“These girls were successful by any measure—they had small parts on Broadway or on tour. They were working singers, which is amazing. But none of them felt even a little bit secure. And they auditioned like crazy. One of these girls said to me, ‘A professional singer is a professional auditioner. If that doesn’t appeal to you, do something else with your life.’”
