Page 21 of My Song for You
“Wow, it looks amazing,” Kristen said, after arranging the last of the oversized cushions. Between the large, dark-wood coffee table and Kristen’s decorating know-how, the gazebo resembled one straight from a home-style magazine. She was right. It did look amazing.
Mom walked out of the house, carrying Emma. The smile on Mom’s face made all the hard work worth it. “What do you think?” she asked her granddaughter.
Emma hugged the bear I’d given her a few months ago and flashed me my favorite grin, complete with the dimples Kristen and I had inherited from Dad.
“Hey, pipsqueak.” I ruffled the fine dark hair on her head. I was rewarded with my favorite giggle.
After excusing myself, I disappeared into the bathroom and showered. I’d missed a lot of things while on tour, but the weekly Sunday dinners with my family ranked at the top of the list.
I returned a short time later and placed a gift bag next to where Emma sat, sandwiched between her mom and grandmother on the gazebo bench. “This is for you.”
My sister sighed. “You don’t have to spoil her, you know.”
“Sure I do. I’m her uncle. It’s in the job contract.” I helped Emma remove her gift from the bright-colored bag.
With a little encouragement, she ripped off the tissue paper the salesclerk had wrapped it in, revealing the toy guitar. She then patiently waited while I removed it from the box. The way the toy was packaged, you’d had thought it held important FBI secrets. Eventually I freed it and demonstrated how to use it. Designed for a toddler, it was nothing like my guitars, but it did make musical sounds when played—loud musical sounds that Emma enjoyed making every time she pressed the buttons.
Kristen laughed. “So instead of having your own kids, you’re going to turn mine into mini-Jareds?”
“Damn straight.” I purposely avoided looking at Mom. As much as she longed for grandchildren frombothKristen and me, I just didn’t see that happening. At least not anytime soon.
Chapter 9
Callie
I placed the order of fries and the cheeseburger in front of the bald-headed customer. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing a tattoo on the inside of each forearm.
“I like your tattoos. What do they mean?” I smiled at him and his friend. At least I hoped it resembled a smile. My energy level was at an all-time low. Just curving the corners of my mouth up asked a lot.
“This one”—he pointed to the tattoo consisting of four overlapping circles with a fifth circle in the middle—“is the Celtic fivefold. Each of the outer circles represents an element or energy: earth, fire, water, and air. The middle circle unites them, with the goal to achieve balance between them all. Much like we attempt to balance everything in our lives.”
Maybe I could get it tattooed on me, to help me balance my life and my energy levels.
Inwardly I sighed. If only it were that simple.
He indicated to the elaborate cross on his other arm. A circle, with the same intricate design, was tattooed around the center of the cross, with plainer, much thicker circles beyond it. “This one has several meanings, such as hope, balance, transition. Some people believe the vertical crossbar represents the past and the future. The center is the present, the point of transition between the two. The outer circles could represent the moon and the sun. When the sun sets in the west, it’s saying goodbye to what has been done. The rising sun is a harbinger of newness or possible change.”
“Wow, that’s so cool.” Until now, I hadn’t realized how much meaning existed behind Celtic designs. Not that I had given it much thought either.
He chuckled. “I’ll agree with you there. Celtic culture is a passion of mine.”
“I can see why. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, sweetheart, we’re good for now.”
While I’d been busy talking to them, the hostess had seated a group of college-age girls at the next table. Their clothes were trendy and high-priced, their skirts short. I glanced at my ugly brown uniform that was two sizes too big and did nothing to help my tips. I’d been working here for the past three years and I was still waiting for them to get my size.
“Hi,” I said, a little too brightly. It sounded to me as fake as it felt. “Are you ready to order your drinks?”
The girls looked me over, their disgust at my outfit clear. It wasn’t like they were forced to wear it, so I figured they’d get over it soon enough. What my uniform lacked in fashion sense, the food more than made up for.
“I’ll have a Diet Coke,” the girl with long dark hair said. Her friends ordered the same.
I returned with their drink order.
“You meantheJared Leigh?” a girl at their table asked as I parked her drink in front of her. I startled at the name. “What was he like?”
“Amazing. He does this thing with his tongue that is to die for. I actually thought Iwasgoing to die when he made me come.”
