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When I turn back to the water, my mouth drops open, all thoughts of power and love and the fucked-up-ness of it all poofing into nothing.
I push my glasses onto the top of my head and shamelessly gawp. White-bricked, terracotta-roofed buildings curve around the picture-perfect port, bright against the cloudless blue sky. Sailboats sway opposite the jetty the ferry is expertly pulling up to the side of. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Thank you, Flynn.
My cell screams The Red Hot Chili Peppers from the special pocket on the shoulder strap of my rucksack as I carefully step from the ramp and onto the sun-bleached stone of the port. Letting myself be pulled along by the small crowd of new arrivals, I slip it from its pouch. Nina. One of my students back in Baltimore. I hadn’t been able to get a hold of her to let her know I was leaving. I hadn’t been able to get a hold of her period. She’s been ghosting me and our classes for a couple of weeks. I gnaw on my bottom lip and consider leaving this talk until later. Her pouty, seventeen-year-old face guilts me from the screen, all silky blonde hair, and round blue eyes.
She’d insisted I attach a photo to her contact details for this exact reason. Way harder to ghost a call when the caller is staring at you.
Clever kid.
Swiping my finger across the screen, I head for a shaded spot under one of the arches that separate the buildings. “Nina, what’s up?” I wipe away the sweat that’s beaded on my top lip with the back of my hand. It’s hot. Way too hot to be standing here with my clothes on. The second I dump my bags I’m gonna throw myself right in the ocean.
“Where you at?” Her uniquely smooth tone, audible even when she’s not singing, never fails to send a shiver down my spine. With a little nudge in the right direction, this girl could go far.
“Where you been?” I lean back against the wall and let my rucksack slide down my arm to the ground. I hate getting my serious on. “You’ve missed the last three week’s classes, Nina. I know it’s summer but...”
“I had stuff going on, but I’m back now. Audition’s in three weeks, I thought we could double up my lessons till then?”
My heart thumps at the sudden smallness to her voice. Shit doesn’t come close to describing her home life. I can only imagine what she’s been up to for her good-for-nothing mom. The reason I haven’t had the heart to take a payment from her since she started extracurricular classes with me at the beginning of the year.
“About that...” I press my thumb and forefinger to my closed eyes. “I’m not at home. Something ... came up.”
Silence stretches for so long I think I’ve lost the call. “Nina?”
She clears her throat. “Right. Cool. Whatever. Forget about it then.”
Her jaded disappointment twists at a seriously under-used place in my chest. This. This is why I don’t like staying in one place. Staying means responsibility and connections to other people. And yes—a power shift. My dad may have taught me a lot of cool things growing up on the road, but how to be responsible for other people’s feelings and dreams and deep shit like that was not one of those cool things. Dropping my head back onto the stone wall, I blow out a slow breath, an idea solidifying in my travel-frazzled brain. “That doesn’t mean you’re getting off, pretty. Just means we’re gonna need to get creative ... and technological. Your cell’s got video chat. Right?”
“Really?”
I inwardly groan. What am I doing? “Really. Be online tomorrow morning at nine.”
I stare at my cell after she cuts the call. She’s not my kid. I shouldn’t care. So what if she reminds me of me at her age? My childhood wasn’t exactly nurturing or homey, and I turned out just fine. Nobody needs great parents. She doesn’t need me. I’ll get her through these auditions and I’m out.
I head out of the other side of the shaded arch just to be stunned anew, my worries over getting overly attached to the kid fading back to white noise. The white-bricked, terracotta-roof theme isn’t just in the port. The shops and cafes that line either side of the cobbled road all share the same trait. It’s like some sort of story-book town center. There’s even a fricken fountain. I like it.
A taxi pulls up in front of me the second I lift my hand. I’ll explore this place another day. It’s definitely made its way onto my to-do list.
I barely have time to reach for the door before the opposite one is opened, and a heavily tattooed arm appears in the back seat of my cab.
What the hell? Who does that? Rude. Really fucking rude.
Hindered by my backpack and guitar, I duck down to remind him of his manners, but the cab pulls away before I can think of the right curse word.
Great. Brilliant start.
I glare at the retreating white cab until it speeds out of sight. I may not have seen his face—but I never forget a tattoo.
