Seal All Exits (Tangled Web #3) Page 12

  He read a few lines and then flipped the page. He scanned that page, frowned, and then turned the next one. He continued doing it for page after page after page until Heather said, “I get the feeling you’re not happy with any of what you’ve written.”

  Kiefer let out a sound of disgust. “It’s shit. I thought it was good but…I can’t show this shit to Johnny.”

  “Hey. I’m sure you’re being way too hard on yourself. Can I see them?”

  His eyes examined hers. “No, I don’t think you should.”

  Heather had worked with a lot of students in person before becoming an online teacher. She knew it was a little easier online because there was the supposed anonymity factor—her students hadn’t met her in person, so if she trashed their work (which she never would), they could, in essence, save face. But she’d discovered over the years that her students’ work was never as awful as any of them thought it was…although, quite often, it was also never as good as some of the egomaniacal ones seemed to think. She rested her hand on Kiefer’s and said, “Can you trust me?” She hoped her eyes would communicate to him that she did care and she would be gentle and kind.

  He drew in a deep breath through his nose. She searched his green eyes and tried to send him that message. His expression softened, although there was some residual worry, and he loosened his grip on the notebook. She smiled and slid it out of his hands, placing it on her lap.

  It was worn, a notebook Heather could tell he’d taken with him everywhere. The red cover had lost its sheen and was now dull and scratchy. He’d also doodled on it some, and Heather imagined him on the phone absent-mindedly drawing and writing stray words while he listened to the person on the other side. The initials KAS were scribbled in on the top right-hand corner, likely a remnant from school days, when children were forced to make sure their names were on the top of their papers. It also displayed ownership, so no matter how much he lacked confidence now, at one time he’d been proud of this notebook and what it represented.

  She saw him swallow, but he willingly let it go and rubbed his palms on his jeans, up and down his thighs as if he was drying them off. She turned the cover and looked at the first page. All that was on it were a few doodles and the word real. Then she turned the page and saw lines, words, all in what she knew was Kiefer’s handwriting—small but easy to read. She could tell that these words had been painstaking, that he’d spent hours trying to find the best way to say what was in his head. She knew because of all the erasures, words he’d scratched out to replace with another word he pondered to see if it would communicate his feelings better.

  But the words…

  She read through the first one. It was much like a poem, but she could feel the lyrical quality to it. She felt woefully inadequate to judge—she was a creative writer, no musician, and she didn’t feel like she could properly evaluate.

  And besides…the feelings.

  Heavy. The first two were about addiction. The first was about losing someone to drugs and the second was more a first person point-of-view of dealing with substance abuse. It almost made her cry. The next one had a theme of addiction but laced with hope, a feeling and outlook Heather wasn’t unfamiliar with. That was followed by a kind of sexy one…and then another one about being alone in the world. No anger in any of his words, but a lot of sadness. Haunting sadness.

  She wondered if he’d had to battle addiction himself, but he’d never indicated that.

  She touched his hand, after having gone through half the songs in the notebook. The worried look hadn’t left his face. “They suck, don’t they?”

  “Oh, Kiefer. Not even.” She looked down at the page at a song called “Chasm” in which he’d managed to choose multiple metaphors painting a picture of different kinds of pain—physical, emotional, internal, external, and asking if wounds ever heal. “You do with your words what all creative writing should do—you communicate something.” She took a breath. “And, honestly, I feel like I’m probably not the best person to judge your work.”

  “Why not? Don’t you teach creative writing?”

  “Well, yeah, but…poems, stories, plays. I really don’t have the first clue about songs.”

  “But…aren’t songs like poems?”

  “Yeah, but—okay. Let me explain what I mean. When I look at a poem and give a student feedback, I’ll talk about all kinds of things, one of them being word choice. And that’s what I mean—with a song, I know you have to look at rhyme and cadence within the music, and so what I would think would be a poor word choice for a poem—because it’s plain and overused—might be the best choice due to needing to rhyme. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Like this line right here. You describe a lie as a shadow through the whole song, and it’s brilliant. So when you choose to use the word lie in a couple of spots, it seems kind of…pedestrian.”

  “Hmm.”

  “After the brilliance of the shadow metaphor, you know.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Seriously, Kiefer.” She took his hands in hers and looked up at him. “You have a beautiful soul, and it shows in your words. They make me want to hold you forever.”

  He tilted his head as though pondering her words. She wondered if he doubted what she said or if he knew she meant it with all her heart. But when he brought his hands to her cheeks and drowned her in a sweet kiss, one that she felt down to her toes, she knew he understood what she had failed to say. “Thank you.”

  “You have nothing to worry about.”

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah, but we’re talking about Johnny.”

  She smiled. “He might be a legend, but he’s still just a guy, and I think he’ll feel the same way I do about your words.” Something she’d never say but also felt was that he might even appreciate having a break from writing so he could simply concentrate on the music. From what she knew about her friend’s fiancé, she suspected Kiefer was in for a pleasant surprise.

  Kiefer kissed her again and then they left his room.

  Heather still felt warm inside from their exchange and knew she was letting herself feel more for Kiefer than she should. But she couldn’t help it. He was a genuinely sweet guy who’d opened his heart to her. In spite of everything that had happened to her in her life, she wanted to believe in him, wanted to try for maybe more.

  But she knew that would be one of the stupidest things she could ever do. She couldn’t allow herself to fall like that. It would be suicide, and she’d managed to save herself over and over again. She couldn’t let herself go now.

  No. The original arrangement would stand. Fun while they were here and then back to their friendship. Their online relationship really was ideal. They were able to talk and share and support each other, but there was also distance, which kept them from getting too hurt and being too vulnerable. It was the perfect friendship.

  And when she felt the need to talk about guys—which was never—she had Katie. It was never because Heather just didn’t allow herself those types of relationships. A real relationship was not in the cards for her, and that was how she wanted it.

  She was a little upset that Kiefer made her question everything.

  More than being upset, though, was a growing, bubbling, ecstatic feeling that pulsed through her veins when he was around. She wasn’t quite sure what that was all about, but she did know that it was making her set herself up for a fall…and maybe she would talk to her best female friend about that later.

  For now, though, she, Katie, and Erin were huddled around a large, rectangular oak table, one that merely added to the feel of a real, honest-to-goodness hometown library, not someone’s personal collection. It was a two-story space, even, complete with a spiral staircase near the middle. Right now, the three women were going to discuss writing, but Heather hoped she’d have a crack at the books later.

  “So…here’s what I want to do, ladies,” Katie said, holding up a book called Thirteen Ways of Looking for a
Poem. “I don’t know if you know, Heather, but Erin teaches English at Winchester High. Erin, I might have told you a little about Heather before she got here, but she and I met while we were working on our Master’s. We are both creative writers, one of our passions, and”—she turned her head to look at Heather—“Erin also likes to do some creative writing. All the boys are going to be doing music stuff and they’re going to be doing boy things, so I wondered what girl things we could do. I’m not the most crafty, but I still considered running to town to buy scrapbooking stuff or something else. Then I thought, ‘Wait!’ We’re all creative writers. Why not do something along those lines?” She set the book down on the table and picked up three spiral notebooks, not unlike the one Kiefer had scrawled his words in.

  Erin nodded and pulled the book toward herself to glance at it. She traced the big black bird on the cover with her finger while she said, “Oh, I like to write, but I don’t know that I’m any kind of expert.”

  Katie smiled and eased into the chair. “We don’t have to be. But I think you get better by trying…and by helping. This is for fun anyway.”

  Heather liked the idea. “So what are we doing exactly?”

  Katie grinned. “We’re gonna talk contemporary poetry…and then write some of our own. How’s that sound?”

  Erin smiled and nodded and Heather said, “I’m game. Let’s get started.”

  Before she completely tuned into Katie’s ideas, she was thinking that the guy who was starting to feel like her man was somewhere else in this gigantic house doing something very similar…

  Chapter Fourteen

  KIEFER FELT THE skin under his t-shirt collar growing warm. Something he hadn’t realized when he’d been writing his lyrics in the notebook was that he had written them without a tune in mind. He had one of two choices at this point—either adapt what he had to fit the song or start from scratch.

  Johnny had played him some riffs to what he hoped would be a song on their new album and asked, “Can you work with that?” Kiefer had looked through his notebook, turned a few pages, and then felt like a worthless piece of shit. Nothing he had would smoothly fit with the music. Because he’d never been involved in the process of songwriting, he hadn’t realized that he needed the music first and then he’d have to work out the words. He needed the rhythm first.

  “Maybe.”

  Johnny cocked his head. “What’s wrong, word man?”

  Kiefer didn’t know that he could explain what was in his head. He instead said, “Aw, it was a stupid idea.”

  “No, it wasn’t. A lot of bands have their vocalists write the words…and why not? You’re the one singing them, so it might mean more to you if you’re singing something that’s personal.”

  Kiefer shrugged and felt that his mouth had turned down into a frown, but he didn’t know any way to combat it.

  Johnny set his guitar down. Mickey was tuning his bass and Sage was sitting at his kit being mellow. Riley and all their former bandmates sat in a few folding chairs chatting. Johnny walked over to Kiefer and held out his hand. “Mind if I look?”

  Kiefer felt like he was splayed on a table, prepared for open-heart surgery, his chest cracked open, the organ that kept the beat going exposed. Part of him wanted to hold the notebook close to his chest and tell Johnny he was sorry, but he couldn’t do it. Turned out he was way out of his league and what the hell had he been thinking? But the other part—the part that trusted Johnny down to the core—blinked his eyes and held the notebook out.

  While Johnny perused through the pages, Kiefer considered standing by Mickey and Sage, just hanging until they started working through some music. After reading several pages, Johnny looked up and said, “We can work with this.”

  A ray of hope. “We can?”

  “Yeah, but maybe we can do that later, just you and me?”

  Kiefer stifled a frown. He knew what that meant. That meant his stuff really was shit and Johnny wanted to help him save face. That was cool at least. Just another reason why the man continued to earn his respect.

  “For now,” Johnny said, “why don’t we play some old Spawn stuff…since we got the gang here? We can switch off on instruments and shit. We could do some covers too, if any of you guys think you can keep up with me.”

  “Sounds like a challenge, man,” Riley said. “I’m up for it.”

  So they spent two hours playing through Spawn’s old repertoire before moving on to newer stuff. Riley shared a few new riffs with them and Johnny did too. Even the older guys—Trent, Mike, and Norberg—joined in the fun until it was time for Norberg to leave. So they all saw him off and then Riley said, “Yeah, I keep putting off visiting my parents. Maybe Erin and I can grab a bite downtown and then I can bite the bullet.”

  Johnny asked if any of them would mind if he and Kiefer worked through some words alone. Kiefer steeled himself for rejection, knowing that there was no way Johnny liked his stuff. Again, though, he appreciated that he was going to keep it cool and quiet and just between the two of them. Johnny continued to keep his respect by doing things like that.

  Once it was just the two of them, Kiefer told Johnny what he’d been thinking, that he now understood how he couldn’t just write something without the music. Johnny said, “Ah, true, but you have some good stuff. It’s just a matter of working it into the song. No, it’s not easy, but you grow them together. You figure out your melody and then you find a way to say what you gotta say in those parameters. Make sense?” Kiefer nodded. “See…the thing about a song is that you can extend a word by holding a note or you can cram a bunch together. It’s all in the way you sing it, and sometimes you can lose words you don’t need. For me, though? I always tried to find the emotion in the music and then write the song around it.” That was interesting. Kiefer hadn’t ever realized Johnny had done that. He just figured Johnny had some shit to say and found a way to work it into a song. “You wanna try that?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  So the two of them spent the next hour while Johnny played a new song and Kiefer tried to first tap into the emotion and next write lyrics for the song. He did what Johnny suggested—he found a theme and some words and then figured out how to make first one line and then another and another…and before he knew it, he had an entire song.

  Shit. It was a love song.

  He hoped it wasn’t apparent to Johnny what he’d written, but it was clear as day to him, so—of course—it would be easy to see. But no matter. If Heather wouldn’t let him tell her to her face what she meant to him, he’d find another way to get it out. It was just a shame he couldn’t tell her it was written about her.

  * * *

  Riley popped his head in the library and said, “Hey, ladies. Mind if I steal my woman?”

  Katie propped her chin up under a fist and said, “I’ll have you know we’re creating art in here.”

  Erin giggled. “Yeah, but I don’t think the world would mind never seeing this poem.”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself, Erin. You only get better by practicing.”

  “That might be, but I need a ton of it. I think I might be better with a short story.”

  Riley held out his hand for his girlfriend. “I know it sucks, but I really gotta visit the Schultzes before they disown me…but I’m gonna take you out for lunch first.”

  “Sounds great.” Erin stood. “Thanks for including me, Katie, Heather.”

  “We’ll be back sometime tonight. If not, send out the troops.”

  As the couple walked out the door, Katie said, “Yikes. Lunch. I lost all track of time. Guess we should get on that.”

  “Yeah. I can help.”

  “First, though…what’d you write?”

  Heather brought her notebook up and pressed it against her chest. “Nothing good.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Heather. You’re one of the best unpublished poets I know. You always wrote such dark stuff.” Katie grinned. “I somehow doubt a couple of years have changed that. I bet your stuff’s even be
tter now.”

  Heather shrugged. “I dunno.”

  “What if I read my crap to you first?”

  Heather laughed then, probably a little too loudly. “You know it’s not crap.”

  “I’m a little rusty.”

  “So? Read!”

  Katie shook her head, looking as if she’d rather do anything other than read her poem, but she was going to indulge her friend anyway.

  She cleared her throat and then began reading.

  The air stopped entering my

  lungs. My eyes stopped seeing the

  world. All I know now is

  darkness.

  It’s not dark because I cannot

  see.

  It’s dark because I am without

  you.

  Heather didn’t realize until Katie looked up from the paper that she’d been holding her breath. “Read it again,” she asked. Her friend indulged her, and this time, when she looked up from the notebook, her cheeks were pink. “That’s amazing, Katie. How the hell did you do that and so quickly?”

  “You really like it?”

  “Yeah. Amazing.” She bit her cheek. She hated feeling stupid but had to ask anyway. “It’s about death, right?”

  Katie nodded. “Yeah, or anything else you want. Could also be about illness, or seclusion, or being apart from someone you love, or…well, you get the idea.” She closed her notebook. “Okay. Now yours.”

  Heather swallowed. Oh, yeah. That was part of it, wasn’t it? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Well, she’d promised. She took a deep breath, hoping it didn’t sound as stupid as it looked to her eyes and sounded in her head now. Then she took another deep breath down to the bottom of her lungs, thinking in the back of her head that she was going to hyperventilate. This was her best friend, Katie, though…and if she couldn’t read her poem to her, no matter how intimate, she couldn’t tell her anything. So she began and it got easier as she went along.