Lies and Lullabies

by Sarina Bowen

  “That’s not how goodbye kisses work,” she whispered.

  “It is if they last a half hour,” I argued.

  She wiggled on my lap, bringing her body closer. “Is that so?” She leaned down and kissed me.

  I smiled against her lips, because she smelled like maple syrup, too. “Mmm,” I said, deepening the kiss. And maybe goodbyes weren’t so bad after all. I trapped her bottom lip between my teeth, and Kira melted against me. One kiss turned into another, and then another.

  I cupped her ass. “We’re alone right now,” I whispered between kisses.

  “Not for long,” she panted. “Fifteen minutes, tops.”

  “If you feel like I do right now,” I said against her lips, “then we only need about five. Put your arms around me, sweetness.”

  When she did, I stood, lifting her. I carried her into her room, depositing her on the bed. Then I slid the door shut and made very good use of those last fifteen minutes.

  Twenty-Six

  Kira

  My face still felt flushed as I tucked myself back into my clothing. I raked my fingers through my hair.

  Jonas had never looked better. Sex-tousled hair looked natural on him, and I didn’t want to stop looking at him, ever. I could drink him in all day and never get enough. He jammed his hand into his pocket, bringing his phone out to check the screen. “The car is outside.”

  Chin up, I coached myself. This was only a temporary separation. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Jonas slung his duffel onto his shoulder and strode through the apartment. I nabbed my keys and followed him out the door.

  In the stairwell, Jonas held my hand. “I told Vivi she could call me anytime. My shows mostly start after she’s asleep, anyway.”

  “Okay,” I said, opening the exterior door. “Text me if you have downtime, and we’ll call.” I was watching Jonas’s face, because he was so easy on the eyes, when his expression suddenly morphed into anger.

  I turned to see a big camera just a few feet from my face.

  “Jonas!” the stranger behind the camera called. “What’s the pretty girl’s name?”

  Jonas grabbed my hand. I expected him to pull me back into the building, but he led me to the black car waiting at the curb. He yanked open the door and then pointed, allowing me to duck inside first. Then he slid in after me and slammed the door.

  The driver pulled away from the curb. I watched over my shoulder as the photographer snapped a few extra pictures as we drove away. Then he gave up, turning away, heading down the street.

  “Turn here,” Jonas instructed the driver. His jaw was tight. “And turn again, then pull over.”

  The car came to a stop, and Jonas scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m sorry about that.”

  I truly didn’t know what to say. “Is that going to happen a lot?”

  “God, I hope not,” he said, studying me now. “Ethan told me about a new law that stops them from taking pictures of kids. So that’s a good trend. Tonight I’ll call my publicist and ask her to work on a strategy.”

  “Okay,” I said quietly.

  Jonas threw his head back against the headrest. “Look, I know it sucks. You don’t want that in your life. But I hope you want me in your life. And I intend to be worth the trouble.”

  I reached out to take his strong hand in mine—the same one that fingered the chords for all the songs he’d written. The one that caught Vivi when she jumped off the dock in Maine. The one that had washed the batter bowl in my kitchen an hour ago. “I know you’re worth the trouble.”

  A smile began at his lips and spread slowly until it warmed his eyes. “I want to be, Kira. I mean to be worth it.” He took my face in both hands, giving me a single kiss.

  “Now, now,” I said. “No more of that. You have to get to the airport, and I have to get Adam home.”

  But he gave me one more, still smiling. “I’ll call you tonight.”

  “I know you will. Unless you can’t. And then we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Okay. One more just for saying that.” He kissed me again, and I laughed.

  Then I made myself open the door and get out of the car.

  He waved at me through the back window as the car pulled away.

  Twenty-Seven

  Jonas

  I sat in the car on the tarmac, watching them fuel up the charter flight I’d booked. I pulled out my phone and called Nixon.

  “Hey! Did you get some time with your girls?” my friend asked.

  “I sure did. I’m so glad I came up here. Where are you now?”

  “On the bus, dude. So I got no idea where the fuck we are.”

  “What do you see out the window?” I asked, just to give Nixon a hard time.

  “The curtain,” he answered, and I laughed.

  “Thanks for making the effort to figure that out.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  There was a silence then, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. I could picture Nixon lying on his bunk, passing the time until the next show. “We’re going to take a little better care of ourselves from now on, okay, dude?”

  “Whatever you say, big man. Did you call to find out if I’m drunk? I’m not. Ask me to recite the alphabet backwards, or some shit.”

  “Can you?” I challenged. “I’m not sure I can do that sober.”

  “Okay, maybe not that.” We both laughed. “I’m not drunk, though,” he said after a minute. “I swear.”

  “I didn’t call to spy on you. I was just thinking about how we used to love touring. But these last couple of years have been rough. The label just keeps adding cities. Next year I’m going to push back on them.”

  “All right. I won’t argue.”

  “What if we toured only in May and September? Maybe there’s somewhere else you’d rather go for the summer. You know, change it up. Keep yourself from hurting.”

  “Like a rehab place?” Nixon did not keep the scorn out of his voice. “I hate that shit. Yeah, it’s easy to stay sober when you’re there, but they want to talk to you all fucking day. I’d rather have oral surgery than talk to those fuckers.”

  “There might be another way,” I said thoughtfully.

  “Yeah? What’s your plan?”

  “I’m going to give it some thought, and I’ll let you know. Looks like the jet is ready for me. I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

  “Glad you got to see Kira,” Nixon said.

  “Me too, man. Me too.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Kira

  Two Weeks Later

  I checked the mail on the way back from the park. In our lobby mailbox, I found two bills and a large envelope addressed to me. The return address read: John Jonas Smith, The Purple Bus, Somewhere in Missouri.

  I smiled to myself as I followed Vivi onto the elevator.

  I didn’t open the envelope right away. I had no idea what was inside, but I savored it nonetheless.

  I settled Vivi with a snack at the kitchen table, and then I called my brother. “Hi,” I said when he answered his office line. “I know I’m a pest, but I needed to know how you’re feeling.” Adam had had his first radiation treatment at noon.

  “I’m fine, Kira. Really. And I’m leaving the office in half an hour.”

  “Glad to hear that, honey. I’m making white lasagna for dinner.”

  “You are a total babe. See you soon.”

  After I hung up, I got comfortable on the sofa and opened the envelope from Jonas. There were several pages. It seemed he’d written me a letter on copy paper, the lines of text dodging pictures that he’d printed or copied onto each page.

  * * *

  Dear Kira,

  We just spoke on the phone last night, but there were some things I wanted to show you.

  The band had to fly to Seattle for a charity gig, which meant that I got to spend one night in my own apartment. I spent the whole time imagining what it will be like when you and Vivi come out here in October. And look what I pulled out of my desk
.

  It has that travel-weary look, doesn’t it?

  * * *

  I flipped the page to see a picture of the envelope I’d tucked into his guitar case all those years ago. The corners were tattered now. I’d penned his name on the front, with swirly letters that looked feminine and hopeful.

  The sight made me groan aloud. I’d spent many hours of my life wishing I’d never even sent that thing.

  Mercifully, he did not photograph the actual letter. Because even a glimpse of the envelope reminded me too much of being twenty and clueless. And hopelessly in love with someone who lived on the other side of the country.

  I read on.

  * * *

  You know I’ll always regret that I didn’t respond to your letter. I can’t change what I did in my knucklehead past. I can, however, sit down and write you now.

  And I’ve included pictures, because a certain short person we both love hasn’t learned to read. So here we go.

  First up is a picture of my Seattle apartment building. It’s fancy but a little cold. I had a decorator handle all the furniture and lamps and crap. So my unit is comfortable, but a little boring. You’ll have to trust me, because I decided to send you a photo of the pool instead. See? Vivi will love it.

  * * *

  He wasn’t wrong. She’d love the photo and the pool itself and anything else her daddy wanted to tell her.

  And so did I. Jonas and I had enjoyed several nice telephone conversations these past two weeks. But holding his letter in my hands was special.

  I turned the page to find a pixelated photo of a little European store front.

  * * *

  This one didn’t come out so well. It’s a restaurant in Munich that serves fondue. I was planning our trip to Munich in August, and I remembered that I’d once been to this place, and that it was fun to dip things in cheese. If you and Vivi travel with me, I propose that we’ll find at least one unusual restaurant per country. I mean, if you’re coming all the way to Germany, you should eat something regional, no?

  Wait. Is fondue French, not German? Is that regional enough? Please weigh in.

  Now here is a picture of my bunk on the purple bus. Those are my feet at the end of it. And please notice that big empty space on the wall, which really needs a drawing. In marker or crayon. I’m not picky.

  Just to be fair, I’ve enclosed a drawing I did for Vivi of me pushing her on the swings. (Isn’t it lucky that I decided to become a musician instead of an artist?) Please see what you can do to get our kid to send me some artwork. Ethan says that the hotels on our itinerary are pretty good about holding mail for us if it gets there before we do.

  I peeked at the final sheet of paper, which was indeed a drawing. Of sorts. There were two stick figures in the foreground. One of them used stick-figure hands to push a stick swing. On the swing was a little stick girl with curly hair.

  In the background on a bench was one more stick figure. An arrow pointed at its head, and above the arrow was scrawled “Hot Mama!”

  And, sure. The drawing was crap, but the compliment made me purr.

  * * *

  I’ll sign off for now, Kira. But I miss you both, and I think about you all the time.

  I wish you were here on this bus with me right now.

  I wish eight weeks would hurry up.

  And mostly I hope you’ll forgive me for never having written you a letter before now. I plan to write many more of them. This one is a down payment.

  You’re it for me, Kira. No matter where I go, I’ll always come back to you.

  You’re my purple kitty.

  Love you so much,

  Jonas

  * * *

  Oh my.

  I sat with the letter in my lap for a long time. It was a much different letter than I’d wanted to get from him all those years ago, but so much better in its own way. These weren’t the fruitless yearnings of two young people who had no idea what to do with the connection they’d found. Instead, they were the heartfelt words of a man who was ready to love me for good.

  It was more than enough.

  I put the drawing aside for Vivi. Then I got up and went to my desk, taking out a piece of stationery. With the pen in my hand, I considered what sort of letter I would write.

  Dear Jonas, it should begin. I loved your letter. And I love you. You did not mention whether or not your apartment has a kitchen. Or a cupcake pan. Because if I had those things, I could make you some very macho cupcakes. Please advise…

  I smiled to myself. It would be a very different letter than I had written last time. And he would not need to carry it around the world, because he’d have me with him, instead. As it should be.

  Still smiling, I called Vivi. “Sweetie!”

  A minute later, my daughter appeared in the doorway, her turquoise eyes squinting with a question. “What?”

  “Do you think you can draw Purple Kitty?”

  “’Course.” She shrugged. “Why?”

  “Daddy would like it.”

  Vivi considered this for a moment. “I gotta find my purple crayon.” She spun on her heel and marched off again.

  Chuckling, I watched her go, then turned back to my own letter.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  Kira

  I hung three wet towels over the rails of the new deck. With Vivi and Adam out of the house for a little while, I had a few moments to myself to prepare for the onslaught of our guests. It was hot for June, and the deck boards warmed my feet as I crossed to the sliding glass doors.

  Inside, I did a scan of the living area. Things were still a bit unfinished—the window trim around the new skylights had yet to be painted, and a sawdust smell lingered from the renovations. But Jonas had only purchased the B&B a few months ago, and it was really quite surprising how much the contractors he’d hired had accomplished already.

  I fluffed the pillows on the brand-new sofas, then headed into the kitchen where the real work had been done. Mrs. Wetzle’s old kitchen had been gutted and then filled with surfaces and appliances that seemed too fancy for Nest Lake, Maine.

  In fact, the purchase of a summer place seemed awfully extravagant. But Jonas had retooled his summer schedule in a way that allowed us to spend some blocks of time here. Like, this week we’d have four days together, with the band members as our guests. After, the band would play a couple of New England cities and then take more than a month’s break. This summer’s tour had been concentrated into a few short bursts, with lots of time for family.

  Even so, I thought the purchase of Mrs. Wetzle’s home was indulgent, especially when my father’s house was practically across the street.

  “I want it to be our place, so I can have industry people visit if I need to.” He’d chuckled as he’d added, “But I’m going to send them the directions before they agree to come. You know—fly to Maine and drive an hour and a half. If they still think the meeting is worthwhile after they figure that out, then they’re free to come.”

  “You are a very clever man,” I had said, patting him on the chest. “But it hardly seems worth all the money you’re putting into it.”

  “Sweetness, Nest Lake is my favorite place in the world. And the B&B is for sale at a dirt-cheap price. Would you rather I dropped five million on Maui?”

  “Heck no.”

  “So you see what a practical man I am?”

  At first we’d had quite a few arguments about money, until Jonas had laid it all out one afternoon. “I have a lot of it,” he’d said. “And I never had anyone to spend it on before. I didn’t blow it on a lot of bling like some guys, okay? And Kira, I’m in a hurry to enjoy it a little. You can’t take it with you.”

  “I know,” I’d conceded.

  Jonas had also bought an apartment in a fancy Boston high rise. He’d wanted a house, but the apartment building had doormen and security, twenty-four seven. It also had an underground parking garage, which foiled the paparazzi. Vivi and I had moved in with him in Ja
nuary, after Adam had been finished with radiation, and Jonas had been finished with all his overseas obligations.

  Since I’d been able to go to school full time this year, I’d finally finished my degree. Then—and this felt a little weird—I didn’t bother looking for a job. Not yet, anyway.

  “Get a job if you want a job,” Jonas had said when we’d talked about it. “But don’t get one for money. Vivi is only five, and you can’t get these years back. So if staying home with her is what you’d prefer, then do it. Or, if you want to work, we’ll hire a nanny.”

  “That would cost nearly as much as I’d make,” I’d pointed out.

  Jonas had just shrugged. “Do what makes you happy. Because money isn’t an issue right now.”

  It was the first time in my life that was true.

  Walking into each of Mrs. Wetzle’s guest rooms, I checked one last time to see that everything was in order.

  Hopefully I’d soon stop thinking of this place as Mrs. Wetzle’s.

  In March, Vivi and I had driven up to get the deed and the keys. It had been just the two of us, because Jonas had been touring Australia.

  Mrs. Wetzle had cried at the closing, even though it was her idea to sell the house and move into an upscale retirement community in Portland. “I’ll miss the place,” she’d said, dabbing at her eyes.

  “We’ll take good care of it,” I’d promised.

  “I hope your musician comes back to you,” she’d added.

  “He’ll be back on Tuesday,” I’d said in what was probably a testy voice.

  “Well. I sure hope so. Musicians are special, but they don’t stick around. My Harry was a pianist. He loved me, but he loved the big life more.” She blew her nose. “He left me when I was thirty-two. I never loved another man.”