by Elle Casey
My heart is hammering in my chest. I don’t believe Sam and I have anything in common, other than we both think he’s good-looking. “If I did that . . . got him to talk about his life with Ty . . . it seems to me that it would be the band who’d owe me a million favors, not you.” Which makes me even less likely to follow through. Not that I was considering it, anyway. Amber couldn’t be asking me to jump farther out of my comfort zone than she is with this request.
She frowns at me. “It’s one and the same thing. I work for the band, and as of today it is now my job to make sure their lives go very, very smoothly. It’s what I’m being paid to do.” Her face crumples a little. “This is my dream, Em. My dream. I thought I could live on the farm and be happy, but I realized I can’t. This is what makes me want to jump out of bed in the morning. It’s what I was meant to do, and they’ve given me the chance of a lifetime. Can you understand that?”
“What do you mean as of today it’s your job to do all this stuff?” As far as I knew, being their PR manager wasn’t that involved, but the look on her face is telling me something very different. “Did something change after this phone call?” Her words are making me sick. I hadn’t realized so fully before how much she hated her life on the farm. How could I have been so clueless about my own sister?
“I just got promoted, Em. As of an hour ago, I became the band manager and the public relations manager of Red Hot.”
I can’t stand the look on her face. She looks like I do in the mirror, full of fear—and that is so not Amber. I grab her hand and squeeze it, realizing how big a deal this is to her, and knowing deep down that what she says is not new to me. Rose and I have talked about it many times; Amber was meant for bigger and more exciting things than life at Glenhollow can offer her. “I didn’t realize . . . Congratulations. I know that’s super exciting for you.” Part of me is genuinely happy for her, but the other part falls into a pit of sorrow. The chances of her ever coming back to the farm are disappearing with every interaction she has with those men, and that’s something I’ll have to live with, but I’m worried our mothers will soon follow. Then it’ll be just me and Rose, and who knows how long it will be before she leaves too. There’s no way I could run that farm on my own . . .
She points to her face. “Do I look excited?”
I study her more closely. “No, actually, you look kind of cranky about it.” I’m trying to lighten the mood, but the expression on her face tells me it’s not working.
“I’m completely and totally stressed. Sam being here early was a golden opportunity for me to figure out what’s going on between him and Ty . . . to do what I could to start the repair process between them . . . but I can’t do that if I’m not here. What if leaving him alone here for a week ruins everything? What if he implodes and takes off? We’ll never get him back, I know we won’t. You said it yourself . . . he has things happening back where he’s from. Chances are whatever it is will pull him home without someone here to talk him out of it, and he won’t come back for another try.”
I stroke the back of her hand, trying to calm her down. It works with my chickens, and since Amber’s acting like a fussy hen right now, I have every reason to believe it could work with her. “How could you not being here ruin everything? It can’t; don’t be silly. You going to Japan just leaves everything in neutral gear, right? Sam’ll just wait for everyone to get back. It’ll probably be a nice vacation for him. He said he’s never been here before, right?”
“But what if he decides he hates New York? I think he’s a lot like you; I don’t think he appreciates all the traffic and the people. What if he freaks out and leaves us high and dry? You wanted to leave; that was your first reaction to me going. The band will never forgive me. Ty will be . . .” She stops for a moment to collect herself. “He’ll be so deeply disappointed and hurt.”
“Why would you think that about Sam in the first place? He’s not giving off any signals that he wants to leave. He didn’t look afraid of anything to me. I didn’t see him acting timid or out of sorts today.” And I spent an awful lot of time studying the guy—probably way more than I should have—so I should know. “He was a little emotional, but I think that’s a normal reaction to have at the September 11 Memorial.”
“I know all that, but still . . . he has issues with the public.” She looks uncomfortable as she finishes her thought. “He can’t perform . . . In front of people, I mean.”
“Come again?” It almost sounds like she’s talking about sex, and I know I could never perform in public either, so . . . yeah. I don’t think I could even kiss a man where someone else might see me. All of my sexy interludes have been conducted in total privacy.
“I said, he can’t perform . . . music . . . in front of anyone. He’s a brilliant songwriter, but he cannot go up onstage.”
“Why not?” I’m kind of shocked by this piece of information, actually; I never would have suspected that of Sam. “He looks like the quintessential rocker to me. Wasn’t he born for the stage?”
“You’d think so, but no, because he’s incredibly freaked out by all of it. He has a terrible case of stage fright. Like pathological. Maybe it’s a kind of mental block or something, I don’t know . . . But I’m never going to find out from Japan, that’s for sure.”
“Oh. That’s really sad. About Sam, I mean.” I can’t even imagine what that must feel like. I get pretty scared going out in public and talking to people I don’t know, but stage fright for a musician is totally different. Playing music is the thing Sam was born to do, from what Amber says, but he can only do it halfway? How depressing. “No wonder he’s so moody.”
“I know. I think it’s pretty devastating for him. That’s why when he was rude today, I just let it slide. Trust me . . . he’s a tortured genius. He’s got some serious issues, but he’s got a talent that is just . . . unbelievable. I’ve heard his music. His songs will make you weep; I’m not kidding. He could totally revitalize Red Hot with his songs and jump-start their careers all over again.”
I don’t get why this excites Amber so much. All I can picture are droopy old-men butts in spandex and leather, and it ain’t pretty. “Aren’t they a little old for that? More ready for retirement than starting all over?”
“Come on, Em, you know age is just a number. Our mothers were acting like they were nineteen years old again just hearing that they were going to be backstage. Don’t you want this for them? Don’t you want our moms to be able to relive their youth together? Do the things they wished they had done before they walked away for us?”
Her words lance my heart like they were sent on an arrow off Robin Hood’s bow. “Of course I want that for them. All I want is their happiness. They deserve that.”
“That’s all I want for them, too. And for me and you and Rose. We could all make this happen—give our moms back the thing our very existence took away—but only if we work together.”
I let out a long, tortured sigh. It’s time for me to take one for the team again. “Okay, fine. What do you want me to do? I’ll do what I can, but I’m only me, you know. I’m not a miracle worker. Chances are I’ll screw things up worse than they already were by getting involved.”
“No, don’t say that; that’s baloney. You’re a sweetheart, and Sam knows it. I could see it when he was looking at you today. He thinks you’re cool.”
“Cool? Please. No, he doesn’t. He thinks I’m a complete and utter nincompoop, and based on my behavior today, I wouldn’t argue with him on that.”
“Stop. Don’t say that about yourself or about him. Anyway, I don’t have time to argue with you over it. We’re almost to the airport. Just . . . keep him here. Don’t let him leave. Do whatever you have to do.”
“How am I going to do that?” I start laughing. She is being so ridiculous. I’ve never seen my sister this desperate before.
“I don’t know. Figure something out. Be creative. That’s what you do, right? Create things? I’m just asking you to create a solution to a pr
oblem. Let your imagination run wild. Make it happen.”
Apparently, Amber has fooled herself into thinking I’m her: the solutions girl. Oh well . . . it’s not like I’m going to be able to convince her otherwise before she gets on the plane for Japan.
“Fine. I will do my best to find out what makes Sam happy, and then I’ll do that thing.” As if. Right now I am lying through my teeth so my sister can relax and have a stress-free trip to Japan. Whatever happens with Sam after she’s gone will happen. I’m just going to let him do his thing while I do mine. End of story.
“I knew I could count on you,” Amber says, resting her head on my shoulder. “You’re the best sister ever. I know you’ll figure out what his buttons are.”
“Buttons?” Guilt is seeping into my heart from Amber’s touch at my shoulder. I’m telling her I’m going to do this thing that I know very well I can’t do, letting her think I’m on board when I’m not. Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“What he likes. You know. What we talked about. Make him happy. Press those damn buttons. Just be yourself, and that’ll be perfect.”
Be myself. Be myself? Is she crazy? She knows I can’t be myself! It’ll be a disaster! The cab takes an exit and the airport appears ahead. For all my nonchalant statements to myself about not doing anything, about letting things roll out naturally, I’m still starting to panic. I thought I could be cool about this, but I can’t. Amber’s really counting on me. I can’t just do nothing.
My worries tumble out of my mouth. “But what are they? His buttons? What does he like to do? How does he pass his time? And how am I qualified to be the person to make him happy?”
She grabs my hand and squeezes. “I don’t know. Just figure it out. No one reads people better than you do.”
I stare out the window so she won’t see the tears welling up in my eyes. I can’t just blow him off like I was hoping I could. She needs me to at least try. I’m not at all qualified for this very important job, but I don’t want to let her down. The conflict feels like it’s killing me. My head is pounding. Amber’s going to feel terrible when I have a stroke over this.
She takes my hand and presses it up to her cheek, pulling my attention away from my impending aneurism. “Please don’t be stressed, and please don’t be angry at me. I love you, no matter what happens.”
I look at her through shimmering eyes. “You mean as bad as I’m going to screw this up, you’ll still love me in the end?”
“You’re not going to screw it up, but yes; I love you, no matter what. If he leaves, it’s not your fault. If things fall apart, it’s not your fault. The shit between him and Ty goes back a really long way, and nobody, including me, is expecting you to change anything about that. Just . . . keep him company if you can. I’m not saying you have to hang out with him all day long, but if you could just check in with him once a day at least and make sure he’s not planning on jumping off a building, that would be cool.”
I nod. This I can probably do. It sounds a lot less intimidating than all the other things she was suggesting, like pushing buttons and getting into his personal business. Relief washes through me and allows my sense of humor to make an appearance. “Check . . . So, my job is to make sure that Sam does not get so distraught sharing a living space with me that he wants to jump off a high-rise.”
She reaches over and pinches my cheek. “Now we’re talking. Now you get me.” The taxicab pulls up to the curb, and Amber leans over to kiss me. “I love you. You are my favorite sister, but if you ever tell Rose I said that, I will deny it.”
I kiss her back. “You’ve already told both Rose and me that we’re each your favorite sister a thousand times. We’ve compared notes over the years, so don’t even try it.”
She points at my face. “Hey! You weren’t supposed to do that.”
The love I have for my sister wells up in my heart and feels like it’s going to spill over and flood the car. “I get it. We’re both your favorites. And you’re both my favorites, too. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, including staying in this horrible city and hanging out with your boyfriend’s brother and trying to keep him happy, even though I don’t think he’s the type that ever gets truly happy.”
She hugs me, squeezing hard and bumping into my injured knee. I wince but keep my complaints to myself.
“I love you, I love you, I love you. Stay safe. Don’t talk to strangers if it makes you uncomfortable. But still have fun. And go shopping, would you please? Your clothes are horrible.”
I laugh wearily. I’ve spent one day with my sister, but it feels like a week. “Get out of my cab.”
After she shuts the door, Amber reaches through the window to throw a bunch of twenty-dollar bills on the seat. “Pay for the fare with cash, and if you need any more money, the combination to my safe is my birthday and it’s in the closet in my bedroom behind my boots.”
“As if I’m ever going to take any of your money. Go to Japan, would you?”
“Fine, I’m leaving.” She backs away, waving at me.
“Have a great trip!” I shout out the window. “I’ll miss you! I love you!”
She blows me a kiss as she’s running down the sidewalk with her suitcase rolling behind her. “Love you too!”
The cabbie looks at me in his rearview mirror. “Where’re we going?”
“Back to where you picked us up, please.”
“You got it.” The cabbie shifts the car into drive and pulls away from the curb, a chorus of horns echoing behind us.
My heart is heavy as we slowly make our way around the cars dropping passengers off. I lose track of Amber as she quickly disappears into the crowd. I can’t believe she just left me in New York City all by myself. Or with Sam. I don’t know which is worse: to be all alone or to be alone with him.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I repeat the action a second time, a third time, and a fourth. I need to steady my heart rate and respirations so I can try to enjoy this trip back into the city and not stroke out. I chant in my head to help talk myself down off the ledge of panic:
I am not going to stress about spending over a week with a stranger who makes me feel nervous and giddy at the same time.
I’m not going to stress about the crowds and the traffic and the pollution and the crime and all the strange and mysterious things that surround me.
I’m not going to freak out about the fact that my sister will expect me to be wearing new clothes when she gets back, and I’m not going to allow myself to be angry over the fact that she is rushing across the globe to be with men who don’t deserve even a single moment of her attention, after I left my life to be with her, because she’s chasing her dreams and I love her too much to hold that against her. If I had a dream that strong calling to me, I know she’d do the same for me.
Slowly but surely, my nerves unwind and smooth out. I love my moms and I love my sisters, so I’m going to do whatever I can to keep everybody happy. But when this sacrifice is made and the trip is over, I’m going to go back to my life—my beautiful, peaceful, tranquil, boring life—and I’m never going to wish it were different ever again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Everything should be going perfectly. I have my easel and canvas all set up . . . my brushes, my paints . . . my palette is loaded . . . I even have the rubber gloves ready to go if I decide to do this thing without brushes. But that stupid, loud, intrusive racket from the other room is ruining everything. How in the hell am I supposed to be able to concentrate when it feels like a crappy high school metal band is practicing inside my ear canal?
Sighing, I put my palette down on the small table covered in plastic wrap and place the brush back in the cup I found under the bathroom sink. As I turn to face the hallway behind my bedroom, I glare. More horrible sounds are making their way under the space below the closed door.
Bwont, bwerp, bwap! Bop boop boop bwerpitty bwerp bweeeerrp!
I’m going to recommend to Amber that she get her hearing checked i
mmediately, as soon as she returns from Japan, because if she thinks Sam’s music is anything other than total crap, she’s obviously tone-deaf at the very least.
Derw, derw, dow, dewp, boopa, derp, deeerrrp!
My bottom jaw shifts to the left; my teeth are officially set on edge by Sam’s so-called music. I turn and take a deep breath with my eyes closed. I can get through this. I can paint with him playing in the room across the hall. It’s mind over matter. It’s all about concentration and focus . . .
“Goddammit!” Sam yells, his voice coming through our two doors muffled but still very clear. Then something heavy hits the wall and something even heavier crashes to the floor. Several discordant twangs are involuntarily strummed on his electric guitar. I’m not sure, but it sounds like he might have used his instrument as a weapon to kill a television.
Smiling through the pain, I pick up my paintbrush and hold it poised over the blank canvas. I will paint something. I will create something beautiful. I will . . .
More crashing comes from the other room.
Then . . . Bwooowww wow wow wowwww, weir, weeeer!
I throw the paintbrush down on the plastic and stride over to the door. I’ve had just about enough of this nonsense. He knows very well I’m trying to work in here. It’s like he’s begging for me to come over there, so, fine! Here I go! I’m going right over there to have a word with him about his complete lack of courtesy for other people. And I’m not scared at all. My heart is hammering because I’m so angry.
“Hey!” I shout, banging on his door. “Do you mind?!”
Suddenly, his face is there, inches from mine. The breeze from his sudden opening of the door brushes loose hair against my cheeks, tickling my skin. My heart stops momentarily.