Page 62 of Shattered Chords

She gave a little laugh that sounded a lot like a soft whisper in the darkness. “You can claim all you want that this wasn’t the way you planned it. I’ll never believe you.”

I tossed both hands in the air. “This really wasn’t my intention. I truly enjoy helping Ally and I didn’t expect to be invited. Besides, I’ll never believe that all your dinners are typically pancreas- and kidney-friendly just cuz either.”

Camille stood up and walked over to the switch on the wall to turn on the lights I helped her untangle last week. The entire back yard instantly changed. Everything glowed and glittered.

She returned to her chair but didn’t touch the food on her plate. “Do you really think Ally has a chance to have a career in music?”

“If she continues to work hard.”

“Every time I try to talk to her about a different major in college, she shuts me down.”

“If music is all you do, then there’s nothing else out there that’ll make you happy, that’ll make sense.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You disappeared.”

“I’m here.”

“That’s not what I mean. You’re no longer performing.”

“Ah. You keep reading the tabloids.”

In the house, Ally turned on some music and I could hear the faint drumbeat pounding from far off. So far off, it was hard to tell who the artist was.

“Not necessarily.” Camille shook her head and rearranged herself in her chair. She looked more at ease now with her hands on the table. The fan slapped wisps of her hair across her flushed face. “It's common knowledge.”

I’d never spoken to a woman like this before—openly. It seemed only natural to keep the ball rolling. “I’m not ready to go back on stage yet.”Or ever.“I had a cocaine-induced stroke that fried my brain. I don’t trust myself anymore.” It was the most honest thing I’d said out loud this year. My gaze fell to my hands and I slowly turned them over to look at my palms. “These aren’t what they used to be and without them working one hundred percent, I’m not sure who I am.”

When I glanced up at Camille, our eyes met, and this time, she didn’t challenge me. She simply looked.

“Rich people problems.” I laughed nervously, mostly at my own sincerity. “Midlife crisis. Call it what you want.”

“You’re too young to have a midlife crisis.”

“You mistake me for someone else, darlin’. I’m older than you.”

“I know how old you are.” There was a hint of a smile on her lips and something in me stirred at this.

“Can I ask you a question?”

She arched a brow. “That depends on the question.”

“How come you’re not married, Camille? I don’t mean Ally’s father. I mean, in general. You’re beautiful, smart. You’re a good cook.”

A blush began to creep up her cheeks. She turned her head slightly and stared past me, somewhere into the distance, trying to school her face back to boredom, but I knew better. My compliments got to her and she was struggling to stay calm.

“I guess I’ve never put enough effort into a relationship with a man,” she explained quietly. “My daughter has always been my priority. My daughter and my work. Everything else seems less important.”

I allowed her response to settle within me.

“How come you’re not married, Dante?”

“I guess...same thing. I always had my gig—the only thing that mattered. Everything else was background noise.” I stopped talking and thought about it for a second, then said, “To tell you the truth, I think I was too fucked up.”

If my answer shocked Camille, she didn’t show it. There was no indication of a reaction in her features. “You were too high to figure out whether you liked someone enough to get married?”

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