Page 9 of Rock Strong

“I suppose.”

Thinking once again of all the topless women in the pool last night, my stomach sank like a brick in water. Not like I realistically expected him to ever like me. He was the lead singer of the hottest rock band in the world, for Christ’s sake. A guy who had every right to sow his wild oats, whatever that meant. I was no one to stop him.

“This is all moot anyway.” I plucked out the first line of the song pizzicato.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I just came out of a four-year relationship, Rose. With a guy who wanted to manage me like one of his accounts. I wouldn’t want to jump into another one so soon. Also, once the tour is over, I’m auditioning—”

“For the New York Philharmonic. Yes, yes, you’ve only said it like fifty-five times.”

“Sorry, but when you have debts to repay your mother like I do…”

The thought lingered in the air while we played the first half of the song. We were in perfect sync, as usual—the reason why Rosemary and I often played wedding gigs together for side money. We were definitely the treble and bass clef duo of choice at most Long Island and Westchester County weddings.

Apparently, Rosemary wasn’t happy with my reason to pursue the NY Philharmonic, because she huffed and said, “But, Abby, your mother not making it to Principal Cello wasn’t your fault. She got pregnant. You were only a baby. I’m sure she was happy to take care of you. Personally, I’d prefer raising a baby over having all that pressure hanging over my head.”

“You don’t know my mom,” I said. “I know her need to quit wasn’t my fault. It was my dad’s, for disappearing when she needed him most. Anyway, doesn’t matter. I want this for myself more than for her. Though, wouldn’t it be really lovely to tell her I made it?”

She nodded, smiling. “Definitely. You’re an awesome daughter. Now let’s do the whole piece straight a few times. Then we can start on the other song.”

“Let’s do it.”

We finished the ballad, a surprisingly pretty piece when arranged onstage with the string section. The more we practiced, the more I understood the song, its flow, and cadence. I wondered if Liam wrote it, or someone else. I’d be quite impressed if it was him. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, but neither of us got up to open it. We kept on playing. The knocking grew louder.

Rosemary scoffed, yanking her chin off the rest, setting the violin on the bed. “Did you order more towels?”

“No, we got ours last night.”

She headed for the door and undid the lock while I repeated the last four measures, throwing in an edgy vibrato for flair. She opened the door, and I heard a man’s polite voice asking if Abby Chan was a guest in this room. “Yes, bring it in, please. Right over there is fine.”

I looked up. An enormous arrangement of gorgeous yellow roses mixed in with some sunflowers and pink gerberas sprouted from the delivery man’s hands. He was followed by another man carrying a silver bucket with a wine bottle propped up inside. They set both down on the dresser and turned to us with a half bow. “Have a lovely day, ladies.”

“Thank you,” Rosemary spoke on my behalf, since I was completely speechless. Slowly, I eased down the cello and walked over to the bouquet, searching for the little card that usually came with these things. The men left the room, and Rosemary closed the door behind them. She turned to me with an all-knowing grin.

“I…” I can’t speak, that’s what.

She clapped once and did a little bounce thing.

Could they be from Samuel? In the four years I was with him, not once had he ever had flowers delivered to my house. I’d also traveled to many a destination wedding, yet I never received anything in any of my hotel rooms. And not because he didn’t have the money. Then again, this might be a general “Welcome to Our Feel the Burn Tour!” gift for both me and Rosemary.

I shuffled through the roses to find the little envelope on a stick. Plucking it out, I slid my finger underneath the seal and slid the card out, reading aloud…

Abby,

The wine is to replace what

you spilled on Tuck.

The flowers are so you

won’t think we’re all jerks.

So sorry again.

-L

Rosemary clucked her tongue, skinny arms folded over her chest. “He’s not interested in you, eh? Why would he ever like a geeky cello player like you, eh?” She huffed, walking past me with a flip of her hand. “Figures.”

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