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“Carl has relatives?” I blurted without thinking. Then I winced. “Sorry, that was stupid.”
But Tessa let out a peal of laughter. “No, I totally understand. Actually, the nephew isn’t really his nephew, at least not biologically. Carl grew up in foster homes, and this is the kid of one of his foster brothers.”
My curiosity surged, but before I could say anything Tessa shook her head. “I don’t know much more about him, sweets. He doesn’t like to talk about his childhood.” Her expression dimmed. “I get the impression it wasn’t pleasant.”
I forced back my questions and merely nodded. I’d only spent a couple of months in a foster home after my dad had died and before Tessa had been able to return from Japan. That had been more than enough.
Tessa hitched herself up onto the hood beside me. I shifted to make room. “The last time I was out here was for a crime scene,” I said.
“Was that one of the Symbol Man victims?”
I nodded. “That baseball field way over there.” I pointed in the general direction. It was empty of players right now. Wrong season for it, I guessed. “It’s kinda neat coming out here when it’s busy, though. Holy crap, but there’re a lot of kids in this city!”
Tessa chuckled. “Scary, isn’t it!”
I smiled. “I don’t deal with kids very often. I think sometimes I forget they exist.” I paused. “Y’know I was just thinking about kids. I mean, me having them someday.”
She gave me a look filled with shock and horror. “Are you pregnant?”
“No!” I said quickly. “Holy shit, no. I was just thinking about ... someday.”
She relaxed, and I suddenly realized that the intensity of her reaction was most likely due to her fear that I could be pregnant with Rhyzkahl’s baby. Holy Yikes. Would that even be possible? “Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “I’m still on the Pill.” Even though my social life had always been heartily pathetic, I was prepared and cautious when it came to any thoughts of children. I’d been on the Pill since I was sixteen, at my aunt’s encouragement. Okay, insistence was probably the better word, though considering the hash I’d made of my teen years I couldn’t fault her for it. And even though it had been many years before I’d had my first sexual experience, I still appreciated the frank—and sometimes brutal—talking-to she’d given me about sex and the consequences of unplanned pregnancy.
Tessa patted my hand. “Good to know, sweets. Pregnancy is hard enough with a partner at your side, but going through it on your own is a tough haul that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.” She straightened and pushed off the hood of the car. “Looks like the practice is finishing up. I’d better go find Carl.” And with that she trotted off without another word.
I stared after her, her last words tumbling around in my head like rocks in a dryer. If I hadn’t know better, I’d have sworn that Tessa was speaking from personal experience.
Chapter 18
Leaving the park, I allowed my thoughts to explore the implications of what Tessa had said. I’m leaping to insane conclusions, I told myself. But ... were they really all that insane? Tessa had left Beaulac when she was nineteen and had only returned when she’d been asked to become my guardian. That was eleven years. It was more than plausible that Tessa might have had a child during that time.
And in all the time since then, she’s never spoken of it. Which either meant there was no baby and I was letting my imagination run wild, or that it was obviously a painful and/or touchy subject, and if she’d wanted me to know about it, she would have told me.
And, if nothing else, Tessa had managed to completely take my mind off of my other stress for a while.
My phone dinged with a text message as I drove, and at the next red light I clicked it to see a text from Roger telling me that the Lake Pearl Bank would have everything ready for me in the morning.
Nice to see at least one thing going right.
Then I gave myself a mental smack. Watch it, Kara. You’re going to jinx yourself again.
Sound System Studio was situated near the middle of town, in the “gray” area between the well-maintained downtown and the shoddier older sections that had been allowed to fall into disrepair. The studio was housed in a two-story windowless metal building—the kind of prefab construction that can go up in a few weeks and was usually picked as an “after” shot during storm season when a tornado turned it into a freeform sculpture of twisted aluminum. A bright blue sign hung over the door with the name of the studio painted across it in a swirling font, though I noticed that there were a number of pitted marks in the sign, as if someone had been throwing rocks at it. Not too surprising considering the neighborhood. Probably a good thing there were no windows.
Ryan was exiting his car as I pulled in. I checked my watch as I parked, pleased to see that I’d managed to kill an hour exactly.
“Perfect timing,” he said as I walked up.
“You had doubts?”
“Never.” He grinned. He walked to the door and held it for me, then followed me into a cramped foyer that barely had room for a desk, a chair, and an artificial ficus tree in the corner.
There was no one in the foyer, but we could hear music coming from beyond a door on the far wall. It was unlocked, and so we entered to find ourselves near the back of a room about thirty feet by twenty, though at least half of it was taken up with various music equipment. There were double doors to the right and left—I assumed that the latter set led to the outside judging by the orientation of the room. Against the wall nearest us was a table with a variety of wrapped snacks scattered upon it. Beside the table was a battered white refrigerator, though it was barely recognizable as white since damn near every inch was covered with stickers and magnets from an impressive variety of music groups.
Lida, Michael, and Trey were at the other end of the room amid their sound equipment, slowly playing something that I suspected was one of their new songs since I didn’t recognize it from the concert.
Lida looked much like she did at her house, wearing low-cut jeans and a white tank-top, with only a few piercings and very little makeup. She caught sight of us and gave us a small nod but didn’t stop playing. It didn’t surprise me that Roger wasn’t there. I could hardly blame him after the rough couple of days he’d had. I was surprised to hear Michael missing notes. After the third time he fumbled, Lida called a halt.
“I’m sorry, Lida,” Michael said, clearly distressed
