Page 17 of Heartstring

“Love you too.”

I pocket my phone and pick up speed. The door to the church is closed, but with nowhere else to go, I walk around looking at least for a porch I can stay under.

A few people walk past me and wave.

“It’s this way,” someone says.

I follow them until we get to an adjacent building. The doors are closed but unlocked, so I follow the group inside.

“It’s a miserable day, isn’t it?” one woman says.

“Yeah.” I pull the collar of my coat up to hide my face as much as possible.

“Don’t worry. Cathy’s food is like sunshine on a plate. It’ll warm you right up.”

I have no clue what they’re talking about, but when they gesture for me to follow them, I do.

The room is all open-plan with rows of tables with chairs or benches. It looks like an old school gymnasium. In fact, it reminds me a lot of my old school gym.

The smell of waxed parquet flooring takes me right back. Sitting under the bleachers with my best friend, writing music together, the PE coach whistling in the background, the squeaky sound of sneakers and balls hitting the ground.

We always managed to drown out all the sounds when we made music together.

The memory feels like something punched my sternum, making me cough.

“You okay? You’re not sick, are you?” a man asks.

“No, I’m okay.”

“I’m Geoff, and this is Toby, Marie, and Sandra.” The guy points at everyone sitting around the table. “What’s your name? You don’t seem from around here.”

I pause to think about my answer. Marie hits Geoff on the shoulder.

“It’s none of your business, Geoff. You’re too nosy. Let the poor man be.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m new in town, actually.” They look at me, and nothing indicates they know who I am. They’re probably the wrong generation. It seems people my age have moved on to other types of music, and it’s the young crowd that has suddenly discovered Hall of Fame. They’re making sure we’re still living the dream in our forties.

“Where do you live? You don’t look like you’re from the neighborhood, or we would have heard about you.”

Marie hits him again, giving him a look I’ve seen from my daughter once or twice. I call it theshut up, Dadlook.

“Hey, I’m only being friendly.”

I don’t want to say it because I’ve never told anyone my personal details. I feel like I should out of politeness, but thankfully, Marie rescues me once again.

“Shut up, Geoff.”

“What is this place. Is it a community center or something?” I ask.

They all look at each other, and then Sandra says, “Yeah, it’s kind of a community center. I mean, it serves the community, right?”

They all agree and then move on to talk about the latest episode of their favorite show. I drown out the chat while I take a good look at the room.

More people come in. Some wave at my group, but no one seems to recognize me, probably because they wouldn’t expect to see me here, of all places.

I’ve taken such good care of keeping my private life private since Kay came into my life that even the paps who usually stalk us during our tour can’t seem to find me when we’re off.

Daisy also does an excellent job of steering them away by planting stories about me living the life on some remote beach or attending celebrity-filled functions. Add in some questionable and very much doctored photos, and I can live in relative anonymity with Kay.