by Amelia Wilde
I wanted to shout at someone until things felt right again, until I was back in control, back on top where I belonged. And since Ruby seemed like she was hell bent on hating me today, she was the likeliest candidate get a win off of. "Can't let you in, sorry!" I jeered, raising the pitch of my voice to match hers.
She put her hands on her hips and glared up at me. "Nope, you're late," I teased, shaking my head.
A wicked glint darkened her eyes. I paused.
I'd never seen that look from her before.
And before I knew what was happening, she was reaching up, her arms around my neck.
"It's okay," she murmured as she yanked me down to her in a fierce, almost aggressive hug. She patted my back. "I know it's hard."
I was too stunned to move, and I almost dropped the vase out of sheer surprise. Her cheek was soft and she smelled like baby powder, and her voice in my ear was like the gentlest kiss. As she hugged me tight, I actually felt myself relaxing for the first time this whole awful day.
Until she patted me again. "Thanks," she jeered, in a low voice that sounded like a mocking impression of mine. "I think I needed that."
And with that she darted around me and into the house.
I stood there reeling, with no idea what the fuck had just happened, but the boos in my head suddenly switched to applause.
5
Ruby
My email was up on my classroom computer. Three notes from parents and a faculty wide announcement were all waiting for my responses. But I was just staring at the screen, my finger hovering over my mouse. Frozen in place.
Gid wasn't in the music room right now. I could feel his absence like a missing tooth, and I couldn't keep my mind from probing that aching, empty space. He wasn't there. He wasn't going to be in the break room later with my coffee already poured and ready. He wasn't here in the school with me. He was ashes in an urn.
The last email Gideon has sent me was dated six days ago. And as I read and re-read it, I kept waiting for the tears to come, but they seemed to have all dried up, leaving only that physical ache.
It didn't seem fair that the last note I got from my mentor wasn't even spelled right. I could tell he was dashing it off real quickly, in a hurry to head out and get home. "Gonna be playing the Crown Tavern Sat. If your not busy, come cheer an old man on."
Too much of a hurry. This email was sent the day he died. He never played that show.
Half of me was filled with sorrow to see a ghost in my inbox. The other half was filled with anger that his last words to me were so mundane. He had no idea that he was going to die. It was as much of a surprise to him as it was to all of us that he hit that icy patch on Whalen Station Road. One single car, alone on the highway, wrapped around a telephone pole.
He hadn't hit anyone else, he hadn't hurt anyone's property or anything on his way out, but he did manage to knock out cable for the whole west side of town. He would have like that, I think. More of a fitting tribute than the fussy urn Izzy had picked out.
I clicked on the email and dragged it over to the side, into a folder marked "Save." I never looked through that folder. I just felt comforted knowing that it was there. That my digital memories sat ready for me to run through them, whenever I felt brave enough to venture into them once more. Until then, I'd keep them safe.
A soft knock startled me out of my funk. I looked up to see Madison Keely with her perpetually running nose staring across the top of my desk. Which meant that...
"Good morning," her father said softly.
I sat up straighter, smoothing my hand down my skirt and trying to find my smile.
Luke Keely stood in the doorway, smiling back. His light eyes looked bleary, but his ruddy face was cheerful enough.
He was also wearing a red shirt today. A red shirt to go with his red face. Totally the wrong color for him. I smiled for a moment as Claire's loud, drunken manifesto from our last girls' night played out in my head. And they expect us to dress all cute while most of them have no more fashion sense than a toddler!
Jonah definitely knows how to dress though. That thought popped into my head, buzzing around like an annoying mosquito. I reminded myself that a stylist most likely chose his clothes for him, but there was no denying he wore them well.
Poor Luke. You could tell he didn't have a wife at home to act as a stylist for him.
And the way he acted around me, I could tell he was hoping to change that problem. "Morning Maddy!" I cooed to his daughter. "Could you go hang your stuff in your cubby?"
She nodded, all solemn big eyes. "And let's wipe that nose, okay honey?" I told her, handing her a tissue.
"Right," Luke said, patting his pockets. "I never remember to pack Kleenex. Her mom always had them in her purse because she - "
"It's fine," I said, cutting him off before he could launch into the spiel about his ex. Madison's mother apparently was in league with the Devil himself, to hear Luke tell it. I wasn't exactly sure how to tell him that shit-talking about his ex did not make me eager to accept his offers to take me out for drinks after work.
Luckily Luke was quick on the uptake. "Sorry we're a little early today. Maddy decided that four thirty eight was a good time for us to be up and at 'em."
Maybe other schools, in bigger towns, had closed door policies. Maybe other schools in bigger towns had organized drop-off and pick-up times where parents couldn't just wander into the school at all hours and chat up the teachers. But Crown Creek Primary was not that kind of school.
And I wasn't the kind of teacher who could enforce that sort of discipline anyway. With the students, sure. But not the parents. I related a lot better to kids than these people who were supposed to be my peers.
"You're going to be tired, Maddy!" I said brightly, turning away from Luke. "Are you going to have a good day today?"
"Yes, Miss Riley," she mumbled sleepily.
I turned back to Luke who shrugged helplessly, tugging at my heart. He knew I had a soft spot for his kid. "She's been doing really well in spite of the issues at home," I told him. "You're doing a great job."
The corner of his mouth flicked up. "I'd love to hear more about it," he said with a shy smile. "Over drinks?"
I swallowed. I'd been dancing around the idea of going out with Luke Keely since the school year began. Gideon had called him my "ardent swain." He'd joke about bringing a baseball bat with him, fending off my suitors and I laugh and turn red and remind him that he wasn't my father. And then his eyes would get all soft and he'd remind me that nobody could replace him.
I looked down, blinking at the flood of memories. First my real dad, then my surrogate dad. Life seemed determined to deny me father figures.
"Sure," I finally said, remembering that Luke was waiting for an answer. "I'll let you know when it's a good time, okay?"
"Right sure," he said, immediately contrite. "I'm sorry, by the way. Gideon was a good guy."
I couldn't remember ever telling Luke Keely I was friends with Gideon King, but it was a small town. He probably knew way more about me than I wanted him to.
At that, another harried looking parent showed up at my door. Soon my classroom was filling up. Lisbeth, my student teacher showed up right in time to help little kindergartners with giant book bags shrug out of their winter coats and direct muddy boots towards the cubbies.
Outside in the hall, a close knot of solemn looking women in long denim skirts floated past.
Dee, whose classroom was next to mine, appeared in my doorway with a mug of coffee and wide eyes. "You see that?" she stage-whispered, pointing down the hallways.
I leaned out into the hall, unable to keep from staring. The women were all wearing the signature dark, homesewn looking clothes that marked them as part of the breakaway religious sect. "God's Chosen in public schools." I shook my head. "Wow. The district must have caught up with them."
"Their bogus 'homeschooling program' must not have passed state requirements," Dee sniffed. We watched as a few solemn childr
en separated from the equally solemn adults. There was none of the usual bluster and tears from the mothers. I recognized the two hands on the shoulders blessing from running into the Chosen around town. Their community clung to the south end of Crown Creek, on land donated by a rich farmer who'd fallen under the sway of their leader. It was a sad cluster of houses that couldn't possibly be up to code.
But the sight of Chosen was not too surprising, not around town anyway. What was surprising was seeing them here in the schools. "Wonder if the new school board stopped taking the bribes?"
"Dr. Schneider is a stickler and I doubt the threat of eternal damnation is enough to keep her off getting kids an education." I liked our new board director. With her straight across bangs and diminutive stature, she looked more like a high schooler than someone in charge of the high school and I think she relished the startled reaction people gave her when she spoke up. I could only imagine the hell she'd given the Chosen's fussy elders. "Seriously though, they didn't think to tell us? What are we going to do with these kids?"
"I only see five. Hopefully that's it."
"I know. They are not going to fit in. It's going to be tough."
Dee glanced at me. "You doing okay? I'm sorry I couldn't come to the funeral, Kayleigh was throwing up."
"Oh no, again?"
"This place is a petri dish. She's been sick since she started." Dee's daughter was in the other kindergarten class. "I'm just waiting for my turn." She ran her hand down her belly. "Stomach flu is my diet plan these days," she grinned, lifting her shirt to reveal a thin line of toned tummy. Dee was a demon runner.
"Don't let them see you," I whispered, glancing at the knot of Chosen women who were hanging in the hallway, seemingly uncertain about leaving their kids in our heretical care. I lifted my fingers in a tentative wave and was rewarded with tight, cramped smiles. "Your belly is totally sinful. They're gonna pray for your soul," I whispered to Dee.
"Good, I need all the help I can get," Dee grinned. She put her hand on my shoulder. "Gid was an awesome guy. Have you listened to the tapes yet?"
I knew what she meant but I shook my head. "Not since - " I trailed off and blinked, my eyes suddenly filling.
"Of course. Yeah not since he -"
"Right."
"I'm glad he gave them to you though. When you're ready, you can hear him singing any time you want. Pretty cool he wanted to pass his recordings on to you."
I nodded, but the same niggling feeling I'd had since he handed me the box tickled at my brain again. When Gideon had handed me the box full of old tapes and demos, I asked him point blank why he wasn't giving these to his nephews. He'd laughed it off, saying that he could jam with them any time. Make new music just as soon as they got home.
They hadn't come home quick enough. And now the only thing left of his music was in a box in my living room. He'd given it to me, but it felt wrong to hold on to it now that he was gone. But it also felt wrong to bring it over to the Kings. I felt protective, wanting to curl myself over that cardboard box and shield the remnants of Gid left in the world. What if the Kings didn't want it? Or worse, what if they didn't appreciate it the way they should?
I found myself wishing like hell I could run up to the music room and ask Gideon what he thought. He would know the right thing to do, for sure.
6
Jonah
I was lying on my too short old bed, scrolling angrily through my phone, reading the reviews of my performance at the Hullabaloo festival in Texas. The critics and bloggers were really falling all over themselves to pile on me while I was down, and I had the perverse drive to read every hastily written take, just so I could go out tomorrow and prove them all wrong. I wasn't used to feeling embarrassed about a show. Panic was licking at the edges of my consciousness, egging me on to go do something. To work harder. To fix this.
"Knock knock!" my mother said softly as she knocked on the half-shut door to my bedroom. And kept knocking on it until the door was all the way open.
Some little bit of leftover muscle memory made me shove the phone back under my pillow, as if she was catching me do something illicit. I relaxed almost as quickly, and leaped to my feet. "Really?" I said, more pleased than I was letting on. "I was going to get that." Then I did a double take. "You folded my underwear too?"
"Nothing I haven't seen before," my mom said with a grin. "You like to forget I wiped your little tushie."
I took the laundry from my mother's hands. It still smelled the same. I tried to keep from inhaling the scent of her detergent into my lungs and then holding my breath forever. It had been a while since someone last took care of me without asking for money in return. "Thanks Mom."
She nodded and brushed her hands off down the front of her sweater. "Well of course." She wrinkled her nose. "I wasn't sure if you even knew how to do laundry."
I laughed. "I would have figured it out. I'm not as helpless as people think I am."
"I know," she said gently. "You're a hard worker, Jojo."
I smiled, feeling like she'd given me something I didn't know I needed. "Thanks." I turned and set the folded laundry directly into my open suitcase.
My mom's eyes followed me. "You're not staying?" she asked, wistful hope hanging around her words, clinging like the smell of fabric softener to my freshly laundered clothes.
I stood back up and let out a deep breath. "Mom, I can't."
"I know," she said quickly, lowering her eyes.
"My manager is going to want me in New York," I pressed. "We're supposed to be working on a guest list for the new album. Some new vocalists and stuff -" I trailed off, the checklist growing ever longer in my head.
There was so much work to be done to prep for the new album, so many things I needed to go over with Leon Jensen, the hotshot manager I had hired to manage my solo career after the King Brothers imploded. He was all business, and I liked that. He was exact opposite of the last guy, who'd spent way too much energy trying to be our friend - to the point of stuffing Gabe full of pills just to make and keep him happy.
Jensen didn't want to be my friend and it made for a refreshing change of pace. "I've got some ideas and I need to see if their workable. Maybe a duet?" I mused aloud, making a mental note to have Jensen start making me lists of female vocalists that suited my new style.
At that my mom snapped her eyes back up eagerly, like a shark scenting blood in the water. "A duet? Oh Jojo, you know Claire would be perfect for that. Your sister would love to, she has such a nice voice."
Oh god no. I could just picture Claire in a recording studio with me. The family story was that I was the control freak, but that's only because Claire manipulated everyone into thinking they wanted what she wanted all along. If I was a control freak, then she was a control mutant. "Mom, I have to do what the label tells me to, you know the drill."
"Well I would think you had some clout..." my mom said, going right for the sore spot. "They have to listen to you, don't they? If you really wanted to, you could make it happen."
I licked my lips. "Does Claire really want to?"
Mom hesitated.
I let out a breath and a low chuckle. "She doesn't even know you're asking."
Mom threw up her hands. "You caught me, fine. You happy now Mr. Smartypants?"
"What's wrong, Ma? Are you trying to send Claire as a spy or something? Make sure I'm not embarrassing the family name?"
Her cheeks reddened slightly and I knew I'd guessed it. "Well, I never had to worry about the four of you when you were together!" she huffed, mad at being called out. "The four of you out on the road, most people thought I should be petrified you would try stuff, get exposed to all these bad influences, but I knew that you had each other. And as long as you had each other, you didn't need anything else."
I inhaled slowly. As I did, my mother's face fell as she seemed to realize the absurdity of her words. "Well, I mean - " she started, and then stopped.
"Yeah," I said stiffly as I turned and zipped up my luggage
. "That turned out to not be the case, did it?"
"Jonah," she sighed. Heavily. "You're still blaming him."
"No," I said straightening back up again. "Let's be clear here. I don't blame him for breaking up with his cheating girlfriend one bit. That was awful, Mom, walking in on her like that. Until the day I die, I'll never forget the look on his face. No," I shook my head. "I blame him for breaking up our band. Talk to him about how we had each other."
My mom hated this. She hated that her sons, the four famous King Brothers who were once a symbol of sibling affection for the whole damn country, now barely spoke to each other. I knew it was tearing her up inside. "He was hurt," she pleaded. "He was so angry."
"Well he was angry at the wrong people," I snapped.
My mother did that pressed lip thing she always did, like she was physically holding back the words she really wanted to say. She looked at me fiercely for a moment, the kind of maternal fire that makes you flick through your conscience really quick so you have an answer when she asks you if you know what you did wrong. Is it the broken window? The flat tire? Did I leave the lid off the milk carton again?
But I knew exactly what she thought I did wrong. And I also knew she was mad at the wrong person, so I wasn't about to apologize.
Slowly the fire drained from her eyes. She stepped back into the hall. "Well, it was good to see you, Jojo. Even if it was under sad circumstances."
"You too, Ma. I'll be down in a minute."
I hefted my suitcase and patted Duke on the head. He huffed a lungful of doggy breath in my face and gave me one of his big, dumb smiles. "You be a good boy," I told him, as I pulled my phone out from under the pillow.
There were three missed calls. All from Jensen. I must have never turned the volume back up after the wake yesterday. Curious, I swiped to call him back.
He answered like he had been waiting for me. "About time."