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I push my sunglasses back up my nose and turn to stare at the umbrella again.
“It’s the opposite of bad.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Playing the guitar.”
“Yes.” My heart feels heavy, and I close my eyes to the outline of the bright sun filtering through the umbrella.
“But you didn’t answer about why you stopped.”
“You don’t read tabloids?” I jest.
“Clearly not.”
“The band broke up. Jack started a solo career, and I bought the record store,” I say. “End of story.”
“You’re not a very good storyteller.”
“Sue me.”
“I’ll get in line,” she says, making me chuckle.
“I still like to play, just not professionally,” I explain.
“I’d love it if you’d play for me sometime.”
“What made you want to be a photographer?” I ask, changing the subject.
She takes a moment to answer.
“I have this picture of my mom that was taken before she died.” I can feel Sasha swallow hard. “I never knew her, but that one picture tells the story of her life. It also tells a lot about the person who took it,” she adds.
“What do you think she was like?”
She moves her head to sit up and I feel the loss of her soft hair against my stomach.
“She had a weakness for brown eyed, dark haired, musicians,” she tells me.
I run my hand along her arm.
“My grandparents don’t like to talk about her.”
“They don’t tell you stories so you could know who she was?” They should want her to know about her mom, but it’s not my place to judge.
“I don’t think they had the best relationship, but I’ve pieced together enough information over the years from what my grandma told me and things that were in my mom’s room,” Sasha says. “She ran away to L.A. with a boy and became an addict,” she continues. “She showed up back home one day, heartbroken and pregnant with me.”
Parts of her story sound so familiar, but it’s like every other musician I’ve known. Jack almost died of an overdose, but it still didn’t scare him straight, and it certainly did not keep Mia from enabling him.
“They don’t have any idea who your dad is?”
“Just that he was a musician, no one famous, at least not at the time. It’s been twenty-three years, so who knows now.”
“After she had me she went looking for him, maybe to try and patch things up, but then she died of an overdose.” Sasha plays with the bracelets on her wrist, looking down into her lap.
“You’re lucky you had your grandparents to raise you.”
