Steel Strings (The Chameleon Effect) Read online

  “I got you this.” He holds out the wrapped package.

  I smile to cover my awkwardness and accept the gift, taking in its wide silver ribbon and the blush-colored rose secured in its knot. The closed blossom is the same color as the corsage he gave me at homecoming and the long-stemmed rose he presented to me on our first date.

  Jac’s a sweet guy. Perfect boyfriend material. I was ecstatic when he asked me out at the end of junior year.

  We had an intense summer of lakeside parties, double dates with Jac’s best friend, Ryan, and family barbecues my parents attended because our dads knew each other through work. Dad let me stay out late. I loved the freedom, but my feelings for Jac never jelled.

  So I fell into my usual pattern. Dump him before he dumps me. Only when I tried, Jac refused.

  I was stunned.

  The guy’s a fighter, I’ll give him that, but at the end of the day, still a guy.

  His reason for staying together wasn’t because he loved me or anything heart-wrenchingly romantic. He wanted to stay together because his dad was bent on developing a “solid” friendship with mine. Let’s just be friends, hang out together…

  Thumbing his nose at his dad made more sense. Easy for me—the silent one—to say, and I did. But something in Jac’s deep blue eyes told me there was more going on than our dads buddying up.

  I stare at the gift in my hands, at the rose. Delicate and fragile. Like a heart.

  With an intake of air, I set the flower-burdened gift on the hall table. “Yours is in my room.” I run upstairs and retrieve a package wrapped in snowflake-embossed paper that seems cold by comparison.

  Jac waits at the base of the staircase, watching me clomp down its steps in my big-heel boots. I stop at the bottom and hold out the gift. “Merry Christmas, Jac.”

  He smiles, but the light doesn’t reach his winter-blue eyes.

  We head to the living room and open our presents. I receive a new sketchbook and a box of artist pencils. For him, a Loki brand lightweight ski jacket in steel gray.

  “That’s designed to keep the wind out on the slopes or at the lakeside.” I drop my gaze to the sketchbook. “This is perfect. My current one’s almost full.”

  “I’ll bet. Your head’s always bent over that thing.” He sits on the couch. “I wish you were coming with me. You know my parents would be thrilled.”

  His dad, at least. I smile. His parents are nice people, and I almost wish I was going to the Finger Lakes with him. Almost.

  But my desire to run away has nothing to do with a longing to be with Jac.

  He slides a finger across the weatherproof surface of his gift. “It’s not too late. You can still come.”

  “Wish I could, but Christmas is Dad’s favorite holiday.”

  “I got it. No worries. I’d better get going.” He grabs the jacket. “Love the gift, Bree. Perfect.”

  I walk him to his car.

  Before getting in, he lifts his chest with a deep breath. “Well, have a great New Year.”

  The awkwardness is painful. “You too.” I lean in to peck his cheek.

  A mistake, because he turns his head to meet my lips and pulls me into his arms. An intimate kiss. Pleasant but—sigh—nothing earth-shattering. Even so, I surrender. Because it’s easier.

  A horn barks. I jump and Jac’s grip tightens.

  “Someone you know, I’m guessing,” he murmurs as I pull away.

  A black Cadillac with scraped bumpers vrooms up the driveway and comes to a jerky stop in the space next to Jac’s car.

  “PDA alert!” my long-absent sister yells at a volume to match her car horn.

  Her intrusive squawk makes my stomach clench.

  Jac cocks an eyebrow. “Deya.”

  We haven’t dated long enough for his official introduction, but he would’ve seen my sister at school up until she graduated. Deya isn’t one to go unnoticed.

  My heart plunges to my feet as I meet his gaze. “Yeah.” The word carries the full weight of my feelings and elicits a questioning look I can’t answer, even if I wanted to.

  “Well, hello there!” My sister waves her arms, as if she thinks we’re so consumed in each other we could’ve missed her arrival.

  The Cadillac rocks as she settles her snow-booted feet on the tarmac and pulls herself from the driver’s seat. She straightens a billowy gold shirt over stretchy black pants and shudders. “Lord, it’s even colder here than the city. Where’s my coat?”

  The loose braids at the ends of her cornrows sway as she swings open the rear door and pulls out a black trench coat.

  With a half wink, Jac rounds his vehicle and introduces himself. His polite hello lands him the job of carrying Deya’s two enormous suitcases down the front path, up the staircase and into her bedroom.

  I help but can’t haul the smaller one up the stairs.

  Jac’s sweating by the time he escapes. “What’s she carrying in those cases? Lead weights?”

  I chuckle, but a feeling heavier than Deya’s luggage presses down on me.

  He glances at his watch. Noon. Panic overtakes his angular features and fills his pale eyes. He’s supposed to be leaving for the Finger Lakes right now. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?”

  I glance over my shoulder, then roll my eyes. “I’m not sure Dad’ll survive without me.”

  “Football,” Jac answers as he pecks my cheek, then darts for his Lexus.

  Yeah, well, there is that. Dad’s a big fan, which created an instant bond between him and Jac.

  “See you next year, I guess.” I wave as his door closes.

  He lowers the window. “Have a fun New Year. Wish I was going to be back in time, but the grandparents run the show over the holidays. I’ll text you.”

  I nod, smiling through the chill, as he starts the engine and drives away.

  I’m about to head inside when the garage door starts to lift. I swivel back.

  Mom pulls in the drive. Her eyes land on the Cadillac and her face glows.

  “She’s here!” Mom shouts through her open window as she parks. She grabs her purse from the passenger seat and hurries into the house.

  “Deya?” she sings mezzo-soprano down the hall.

  “Mother,” Deya sings back in soprano from the landing, her voice ringing around the foyer, no doubt making the windows judder.

  I look for Moneypenny, who usually comes running when she hears the garage door opening.

  Deya thuds down the staircase. Shrieks and screeches accompany the reunion of the operatic mother and daughter.

  That familiar weight, like a lead cape, pulls on my shoulders as I search the house for my missing dog. I find her curled behind Dad’s recliner in the living room. Moneypenny looks up and licks my hand, but makes no move to leave her sheltered spot.

  With all the warbling, I can’t blame her.

  “Brianna,” my sister hails, “you haven’t given me a welcome hug.”

  I put on my sunbeam smile to hide my apprehension. Deya’s arms wrap me in a death grip, while I struggle to breathe.

  “You’re skin and bones, baby sister.”

  My goldenrod grin holds true as I back away. “Welcome home.” I stare into her smooth round face with its deep Jamaican coloring, accented by purple shadow, false eyelashes and a plum-colored lipstick that refracts light into a bluish tone.

  “I could use some help with the groceries.” Mom leads the way back to the car.

  “Be right there,” Deya calls, then heads upstairs.

  Mom and I carry a dozen overloaded canvas sacks to the kitchen, emptying the back of the car before my sister reappears.

  The moment she does, Deya digs through the bags, pulling out items.

  I extract an economy-sized carton of rum-raisin ice cream and blink.

  “I’ll take that.” Deya’s accordion-fold sleeves swing like bat wings as she scoops up the container and shuffles to the freezer.

  Once the food’s put away, Deya recounts her drive upstate from New
York, gesticulating so dramatically I’m reminded of the Queen of the Night, the villain from The Magic Flute. In fact, my sister could’ve been made for that part.

  By the time she finishes the tale, her high-pitched chatter is threatening to perforate my eardrums.

  I need to escape.

  I reach the kitchen, backpack in hand.

  Mom and Deya chitchat at the table over coffee, heads bent like thieves planning a heist.

  Deya’s whispering rises to a trill. “…and he sure was sweating.” Her words dissolve into laughter as Mom joins in.

  I could ask what’s so funny, but time has taught me that lesson. Then it dawns on me…Jac and the suitcases.

  As their amusement fades, I say, “Mom, I’m heading over to see Dad. He asked for help with a few things.”

  Deya exchanges a glance with Mom, whose face remains in profile, like I didn’t actually just speak to her. Well, normally I don’t.

  Silence is safer.

  Their amusement over Jac’s misplaced courtesy chafes. I may not be in love with the guy, but they don’t know that. Either way, I’m the ultimate butt of their joke.

  Mom calls over her shoulder, “That’s fine,” then turns back to my sister like I’ve already left. “Oh, Deya, I want your opinion on some color swatches. I’m thinking of repainting the living room…”

  I feel like I’ve been thrown back in time. Guess I’d forgotten how different Mom is when Deya’s around.

  Once Moneypenny’s new winter dog jacket—a colorful tartan number—has been strapped on, I hustle her out the front door and we head downtown. The air is chill, but the noonday sun heats me through my layers of gray wool. It always feels good to be out in daylight this time of year.

  I pat Moneypenny’s head and chuckle. She looks cute in the red and gray criss-cross pattern, like a Scottie dog with giraffe legs.

  Dad owns a construction and engineering company with an affiliate that leases properties to five of the bigger hotels around town. His company headquarters includes a single-story office building, a series of hangars that house machinery and a carpenters’ workshop.

  When I’m not sitting in a cubicle, working at the computer, I’m in that workshop piecing together instruments.

  I’ve interned with Dad’s company for two years. Over that time, I’ve become proficient in AutoCAD, a 3D design tool. When I’m not helping the other drafters and engineers, I hone my skills on my own project—one inspired by my big brother, Kyron—analyzing orchestral instruments and designing recycled versions. With the software, I can make precise calculations, which allows me to identify the best recycled materials for each instrument and conceptualize its construction.

  A key card lets Moneypenny and me through the front gate into the office’s secure parking area. Most of the staff have left for the holidays and the lot is virtually empty, but Dad won’t wrap up until the afternoon, even though it’s Christmas Eve.

  We head inside through an employee entrance and walk the passage toward Dad’s office. One of the reasons I love coming here is that I’m treated like an adult. Not just by the staff, but by Dad too.

  He looks up from his laptop as we pass his glass-walled office and stop at the door. Moneypenny bounds in and licks his cheek, making him laugh and push her away. He glances at me. “Hey, Top Secret. What are you doing here?”

  Top Secret is a nickname he gave me when I was little. I’d share my biggest secrets, and like he promised, he always kept them.

  I rest my temple against the door frame. “Escaping.”

  His eyes reflect surprise.

  “Deya. Has. Arrived,” I announce in a dramatic evil-overlord voice.

  With a quiet chuckle, Dad leans back in his chair. “How is she?”

  “As loud as ever.”

  He studies me. “And how are you feeling with her home?”

  All I feel right now is a granite boulder in my gut. “Okay, I guess.” I can’t help rolling my eyes. “Mom sure was pleased to see her.”

  I hadn’t realized how depressed I was until Deya left.

  Dad nods. “And how’s your project coming along?”

  Seems like neither of us knows where to go with Deya, other than to change the subject.

  I straighten up and smile. “The cello assembly is done. She just needs tuning. And I collected Wanda’s violin measurements last week.”

  Dad settles his forearms on his desk. “And how about the drum kit? Terrence said you ran into a problem.”

  Terrence is one of Dad’s head guys in maintenance. He can build anything and has a talent for music that stretches light years beyond mine. He’s been advising me since I started building instruments out of recycled junk.

  Dad’s green eyes sparkle with a hint of amusement. “You know, that man’s as dedicated to your special project as you are.”

  I can’t help but agree because Terrence has been my greatest supporter.

  “I haven’t found a good material for the bass drum heads.” My thoughts return to my study of the drum kit at school, and drift on to a scarred knee, muscled thigh, button fly… I shake the distraction away.

  “I read about this group in Paraguay that uses recycled X-ray film to make drums, so I got hold of some from Mrs. Driscoll.” She’s on some committee or other with Dad and works in the Radiology Department at Hopper Hospital. “The film worked great on the smaller drums, but the sheets don’t come wide enough for the bass.”

  Assembling the kit from recycled buckets and steel has been pretty easy so far, but the bass drum heads need a material that comes at least twenty-four inches wide.

  “How about plastic sheeting?”

  “The plastics I’ve found are too flexible, and the same goes for rubber. Neither has the tensile strength, so they tear.” I glance over my shoulder toward the empty cubicles. “Well, I guess I’ll get started on the violin.”

  As I pull away from the doorjamb, Moneypenny looks up from her spot beside Dad and yawns. With a half-smile, I turn away.

  “Hey, Top Secret?”

  I glance back at Dad.

  “You eaten yet?”

  Right, lunch. I should’ve brought something. I shake my head.

  “I’m ordering from Raymond’s. A Christmas Eve treat.”

  Raymond’s is a five-star restaurant a few blocks up the street at the Hotel Barteaux. Dad owns the building and leases the retail space to Raymond Cadieux, a master chef from Paris. The food is excellent and expensive, but Dad gets a great discount.

  I nod, approvingly. “Then I’ll have the usual.” Meaning a salad. Raymond’s makes vegan blue cheese crumbles out of cashew, and they’re to die for.

  Dad grins. “One Top Secret Super Salad. I’ll call it in.”

  Settled in front of the computer, I flip open my sketchbook to Wanda’s violin and flashback to the afternoon Marek dropped by the music lab looking for Idris. The afternoon I should have asked him to partner with me in physics.

  I was determined to ask yesterday, the last day of school before vacation, but every time I saw him, he was caught up with Idris or some other friend. I kept checking his table through lunch, until Jac noticed, and then I had to explain to him why I was hyper-focusing on another guy.

  Jac didn’t have an issue. Why would he? His eyes glaze over the second I mention the principles of applied mathematics or physics.

  Besides, we’re barely together.

  Except barely isn’t the first word that jumps to mind when I think about Jac’s parting kiss. Hopeful. Determined. Desperate. Those words might not come ahead in a dictionary, but when it came to that kiss, they definitely topped the list.

  Something I don’t want to think about, so I switch back to Marek and his interest in my drawings and calculations. Recollecting his curiosity makes my cheeks heat up all over again.

  I sigh. Maybe that wasn’t the best topic substitution. With an eye roll, I get to work.

  Once I’ve entered all the violin measurements, I sit back and study the halfway
decent instrument rendered in 3D on the screen.

  The phone at the front desk buzzes. I scoot out of my cubicle and jog to reception to answer.

  A voice calls out of the speakerphone. “Hi, this is Georgie from Raymond’s. I have a delivery for Mr. Jones.”

  I glance at the rightmost security monitor in a bank above the reception desk. The screen shows the front gate and a white van with Raymond’s stenciled on the side in crimson letters.

  Georgie Lakewood is Marek’s sister and Deya’s best friend.

  I’ve run into Georgie a few times since my sister left, but with Deya back in town, catching up with Georgie feels awkward. Add to that my mini obsession over her brother partnering with me in physics, and I’m cringing.

  What’s she doing delivering food, anyhow? She’s a chef.

  “I’ll buzz you in,” I say into the comm and press the gate release. As she guides the van through, I head to get the front door.

  Georgie walks in, carrying an insulated cooler. She’s tall and athletic like her brother, with smooth dark hair mostly concealed beneath a white cap. She wears straight black pants under a fitted chef’s jacket with a cooking thermometer peeking from the breast pocket.

  “Hey, Brianna. How’re you doing?” She leans in and gives me a one-armed hug. “Has that sister of yours hit town yet?”

  I pull away, electric smile beaming. “Yeah, she arrived a few hours ago.”

  Georgie crosses the reception area. “Where do you want this set up?”

  “Through here would be great.”

  She glances around as I lead her down an avenue between cubicles. “So what do you do for your dad?”

  “I’ve been working with AutoCAD, helping out the engineers and drafters.” I smirk at her. “Meaning, I suck knowledge from their brains while pretending to be useful.”

  She laughs. “I’m sure you do way more than that.”

  I show her to a small meeting room where she unloads the food and makes it look pretty with cotton napkins, porcelain dishes and silverware.

  I admire the setup.

  “We have a great package for a romantic dinner for two.” Georgie grins as she closes the cooler. “You’ve got a boyfriend, right?”