Constance (Constance #1)(20)

Before Con could finish finger-combing her hair into some semblance of order, the door reopened. Kala stuck her face through the crack. When she saw who it was, she made an expression that fell somewhere between irritation and indigestion.

Kala rested her head on the doorframe and waited. Con had a whole speech prepared, but she went immediately off script.

“Hey,” she said instead.

“Hey,” Kala replied, returning serve and nothing more. She looked surprised to see Con, but not you’re-supposed-to-be-dead surprised. Maybe she hadn’t heard the news.

Not knowing what else to say, Con repeated herself, only in more words. “How’re you doing?”

“How am I doing?” Kala parroted. “I just got home from work, and I got to get to bed. That’s how I’m doing.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s really early, but it’s kind of an emergency.”

“Isn’t it always with you?”

Her tone took Con aback. This wasn’t Kala being tired and grumpy after a long night. She was angry. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kala sighed. “What do you want?”

“Look, I’m in kind of a jam.”

“So you came to me?”

“I really need your help,” Con said.

“Bitch, are you kidding me right now?” Kala said, face going slack in disbelief. “You think I’m going to help you?”

Con felt like she was missing a page of the script. Obviously, Kala was pissed about something, but about what? And where did she get off, after all the times Con had bailed out Weathervane when Kala’s lead singer was too hungover to go on? A familiar defiance welled up, the feeling she got when someone jumped to conclusions about her or heard some secondhand gossip and assumed it to be true without asking her to her face. She’d never taken that shit well and wasn’t about to start now.

“What the hell is your problem?” Con snapped.

Kala’s eyes widened first in shock, then fury. The front door opened the rest of the way, and she stepped out onto the porch. Her family was Samoan, and even barefoot, she had six good inches on Con. She jabbed a finger in Con’s face.

“Don’t play that with me,” Kala said. “You know exactly what my problem is.”

Later, Con would wonder why it took her so long to realize the obvious—whatever Kala was upset about had happened after her last refresh. Con couldn’t remember because it wasn’t part of her memory. She kept defaulting back to December 26 like a broken clock resetting to twelve a.m. But it was a year and a half later, and those shows she’d agreed to do for Weathervane were long in the past now.

“You know how badly we needed that New Year’s Eve show,” Kala said. “And you stood us up.”

What? There hadn’t been a New Year’s Eve show on the list. The last gig had been for the thirtieth. She remembered it clearly. She ought to; it was yesterday’s memory to her.

The confused look on Con’s face wasn’t scoring her any points with Kala. “So that’s how it is? You need help, so, what? You’ve got amnesia now?” Kala flicked a finger at her own temple and made a hollow-coconut sound with her tongue. “So typical.”

“I’m sorry,” Con said, unsure what she was sorry for.

“Oh, you’re sorry now, so we’re supposed to be good? That it? We had the chance to play Glass House, and you freaked out and bailed on us.”

“How’d you get a show at Glass House?” It was a reasonable if ill-advised question.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kala demanded. “You think we couldn’t book Glass House without riding the great Con D’Arcy’s coattails?”

“I didn’t say that,” Con said, retreating a step. Glass House was a bigger venue and mostly booked regional or national acts. Honestly, she was surprised Weathervane could book Glass House, with or without her. It was a huge get for a band that size, especially a New Year’s Eve show. What surprised her more was that she’d ever agreed to do it in the first place. Glass House was where Awaken the Ghosts had played its last gig. The manager had been pestering her for years with a ghoulish proposition to track down Stephie for a reunion show, preferably on the anniversary of the crash. Con would rather gouge out her own eyes than set foot back inside there.

What could have possessed her?

“We needed that gig. But no, it had to turn into the Con show. After your new boyfriend took you out of there, Jasper pulled the plug on the whole thing and had one of his staff DJ for the rest of the night. We were laughed out of there. The band broke up a month later.”

Boyfriend? Con’s mind was reeling, and Kala’s outburst had forced her back down the porch stairs. It took her out of the shadows, and the sunshine lit up her face. Kala stared at her, mouth hanging open.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kala asked, all the fire gone from her voice.

Con didn’t know where to begin.

“Are you sick?” Kala said.

“No.”

“Then what . . . ?” She trailed off, staring hard at Con’s bare left arm. Self-consciously, Con tried to cover it with her other arm as if she’d been caught in the nude. In a way, she’d never been more naked in her life. Kala glanced up at her face, then back to the missing tattoos.