“I liked writing music. And I thought… I had something to say. I’m a solid songwriter, and I have a decent voice. It’s not one of those once-in-a-generation voices like Adele, but it’s decent. And I knew I had a good face and that was only going to last for so long, but if I grouped it together with a handful of other good faces with decent voices it might be more compelling. I’d have a better chance of getting my music heard.” He looked up then, meeting my gaze. “And it worked. But I’ve no desire to write happy pop stuff anymore…”
“A lot of your stuff isn’t happy. It’s ironic or tongue-in-cheek. Smart.”
“It’s still…safe. I don’t want to be so safe.”
He was quiet for a moment. The sound of the ocean lapping the shore beneath us, another party’s laughter.
“But I also have this opportunity now that I didn’t really foresee, of being able to affect people and hold their attention. And to not use that for some good, for something bigger than just performing songs, would be a bit of a waste. The chance to do something noble. I’m still figuring it out.”
“You know you’re only twenty, right?”
He grinned. “So you keep reminding me.”
“You have so much more time to do whatever it is you want to do. Just enjoy this for what it is, because you’re not always going to have it.
“And you have the rest of your life to redefine yourself, if ever you get tired of being ‘Hayes Campbell, pop star.’”
He smiled, slow, leaning in across the table. His eyes a muddy-blue in the candlelight. “If I kiss you here, are you going to be okay with that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Why don’t you try it and see?”
We got back to the house close to eleven. All the indoor lights were off, and so I assumed Isabelle was sleeping.
“So what’s the plan?” Hayes asked, pulling into the driveway, killing the engine.
“I’ll drop her off in the morning, and then I’ll come back up to you.”
“This is rubbish, you not spending the night. You know that? I’m going to be very lonely in that big house all by myself.”
“You’ll manage.”
“Barely.”
I laughed. He leaned over to kiss me, and we went at it for a couple of minutes. It felt a little like being eighteen again, there in the car, his hand pressed to my cheek, the faint taste of alcohol. And Hayes, being Hayes, had one hand up my dress in very little time.
“Don’t.” I grabbed his wrist. “My daughter is inside. I need to go.”
“Just give me a minute…”
“You really like doing that, don’t you?”
“I like just knowing that I can.”
“Tomorrow,” I said, opening the door.
He smiled his half smile. “I like you.”
“I like you, too.”
“Come back to me,” he said.
“Tomorrow.”
The house was completely quiet when I entered, which was odd. Typically Isabelle left the television on when she was home alone after dark. Something about the silence put me on edge.
Hayes’s Audi had just peeled away, and I could faintly hear the gears shifting as he descended the hill. Likely driving too fast. Boys and their toys.
I was tiptoeing down the hallway, my shoes in my hands, when Isabelle’s bedroom door flew open without warning.
