by Randi Rigby
“I think you did everything you could to make it happen, you’re really good at your job, and I don’t want you to think for one minute that I didn’t appreciate it. You’ve taught me a lot.” I forced myself to not look at the ground but ahead, at her. Tell me you’re someone worth looking at, Kel. “I just want something else. I hope you can understand.”
She sighed. “I don’t. But you know I only want what’s best for you. And if you think becoming a lawyer is it, well, then, more power to you.”
“Thanks, Kirstie.”
“But a lawyer? Seriously?” She wrinkled her nose as if some unpleasant odor had just filled her nasal passages.
I smiled at her. “With really good posture and well-hydrated skin.”
Drew formed a band with four other guys once his basketball season ended. They call themselves Everested because it passed the “imagine we get a Grammy nomination and someone’s reading our name off a list” test. I was president of their nonexistent fan club and first official groupie. Dave, the bass player, who looked like an unmade bed and shuffled everywhere, sometimes brought his girlfriend, Martha, to rehearsals. But she rarely looked up from her phone and frequently wandered off for a cigarette, which was definitely way more rock and roll. I was usually doing homework. One of my main jobs was making early morning Saturday beverage runs for the guys. No judgment but their sound was fueled by surprisingly chichi drinks.
“Angel, your espresso macchiato. I’ve got a cappuccino with extra foam here for Dave. A flat white for Hardy—careful it spilled a bit on the ride over—you’ll want a napkin. Todd, your blonde roast. And Drew, your pineapple coconut water.” I gave his to him with a kiss.
“It says George on my cup,” Todd frowned, taking off his guitar.
I smiled apologetically at him. “Apparently, to some people, Todd and George sound the same. It’s yours. I checked.”
He looked at Angel’s cup. “How do they get his name right and screw up mine?”
“Thank you,” Hardy said softly.
“Anytime.” I’d wound my hair up straight out of the shower after my run this morning—an instant beach wave trick I’d shared with my Texas Tall followers. I released it now so it could finish air drying. “So, how’s it going?”
Drew glanced at his phone. “We probably have another hour before I have to leave for work.” He took a healthy swig of his water, picked up his guitar, and made a face. “We need it.”
“Ah.” I opened my messenger bag. “I’ve got some sketches to finish for class. I’ll just sit over here out of the way; the light’s better.”
Hardy’s Uncle Bob built custom motorhomes, like the one Pops and Gran owned. He let the band use the back of his workshop for rehearsals before he opened for business for the day and after hours. It wasn’t air-conditioned but it was free and clean and away from any grumpy neighbors. Before I took a seat on the folding chair Drew set out for me, I’d learned to check for scary bugs. Not to brag or anything but we had a lot in Texas. And Uncle Bob’s shop was practically teeming with them.
When I dropped choir back in January I needed a senior year humanities elective to graduate—because at Barton we were well-rounded snobs, thank you very much. Sketching might’ve seemed like an obvious choice; I was no artist but you’d be surprised how far you could get with just an understanding of angles and proportion and the value of light. The hard truth is sketching was something I’d always done to spend more time with Mom in her studio. We’d work side-by-side. She’d capture a moment, lay bare a soul, and breathe life into two dimensions. Even under her patient tutelage, the best I could manage was a fair job laying out a portrait linearly. My artwork was framed and displayed everywhere in our home rather than her own, far superior pieces. It told me, then and now, our time together meant something to her. I wasn’t sure I was ready to step back into that intimate space—avoidance had worked well for Dad and me. But I’d found her again in the constant rhythm of building, softening, subtracting, and rebuilding and it had been surprisingly sweet.
The mechanical whirr of the massive shop door opening signaled the end of our rehearsal time. The band stopped playing. Uncle Bob sauntered in, still sleepily rubbing his eyes. “Hey boys, Kel. Sorry to cut you short. I’ve got a customer coming in first thing this morning.” Because he was meeting a client, Uncle Bob was wearing one of his better Rolling Stones T-shirts today, or at least cleaner, and his mullet had been combed down with a heavy application of water. He was looking spiffy.
“Not a problem. I had to leave in a few minutes for work anyway,” Drew said, taking off his guitar so he could shake Uncle Bob’s hand. “Thanks. We really appreciate this. We’ll load up and be out of here in five.” Angel was already covering his drums. Uncle Bob very generously let us keep them there since they were too hard to move. I think he liked to feel he was doing his bit to help out the next generation of rockers.
“See you tonight,” Drew smiled, leaning in to kiss me as he held the door of the Mini open for me. It was the end of an era. This was his last day at Strings. Uncle Bryce just hired him to work at McCoy Construction, full-time once school was out, until then, Saturdays while he learned the ropes. Most of my cousins worked for Uncle Bryce at some point—even Jake. It was like a McCoy rite of passage. To mark the occasion I got Drew a tool belt, which was an absolute beast to wrap in case you were wondering. Cade and Landry were taking the boat out tonight to celebrate Drew’s last night of freedom.
Landry brought a girl. Not unusual, he often did. For as long as I could remember Landry had never lacked for female companionship. He was a close second to Jake in the looks department and effortlessly charming. He didn’t necessarily have a type but good times, no commitment was definitely a common thread. So it was striking to note that Kendra had that boy on a short leash. And oddly enough, for a footloose, confirmed bachelor he seemed over the moon to be there.
“So, those two,” Sam looked at Cade. Landry was driving the boat and occasionally watching where he was going, mostly he was utterly besotted with Kendra. I wasn’t sure they even remembered we weren’t alone.
“Yeah. I know.” Cade shook his head. Sarah, Cade’s girlfriend, was out on the wakeboard and his attention was focused on her. “He’s got it bad. Should’ve made it work with Liesel when you had the chance. You’re on your own now, Sammy boy.”
“He backed out of our diving trip.” Sam looked disgusted. “He’s going to New Zealand for two weeks with Kendra instead.”
“She does look better in a swimsuit,” I stated the obvious.
Sam ignored me. “Drew?”
“Sorry Sam.” Drew’s arm was draped around the back of my shoulders. “I don’t have the time or the money. Ask your brother. He might go. When he was here for Thanksgiving he mentioned how much he missed your trips.”
“Ben?” Sam scoffed. “He doesn’t do spontaneous. If it’s not on his calendar for at least six months he can’t fit it in.”
“That’s Ben. Slow it up, bro. Looks like Sarah’s done.” Cade hopped to his feet to help her in as Landry cut back and circled the boat around. “Who’s next?”
Sam stood up and grabbed a lifejacket, still grumbling. “Everything’s changing.”
I rested my head against the solidness of Drew and he pulled me close. Maybe it was. But that didn’t necessarily mean it was a bad thing. I was counting on it.
16
“I keep on thinking that it’s not goodbye,
keep on thinking it’s a time to fly”
Vitamin C
“To Berkley scoring Barton’s finest.” I raised Aunt Shae’s pink water bottle in a celebratory toast.
Becca tapped her mostly kale smoothie against it with a metal clank and made a face. “To Alicia Florrick surviving the hallowed halls of Brown. Yay. Go us.” Sarcasm was her love language.
Next week AP testing started in earnest, graduation was just around the corner. Campus was buzzing with summer and stress and clumps of students half clinging to the fam
iliarity of friends but already with one foot out the door. “I actually think I’m going to miss this place,” I said as Blake and Giulia wandered by, hand in hand, on their way to his car.
“Why? You were never here.”
I offered her a baby carrot stick. “Well, I’m going to miss you.”
She popped it into her mouth and rummaged around in her backpack. “Here. You might need this. I hear Rhode Island can get lonely sometimes.” It was my troll pencil topper. Once upon a particularly boring chem class, Becca christened him Melvin and it stuck.
I smiled as I took him from her. Melvin’s electric pink hair stretched out longer than his round little body and his face was eternally sunny. Must be carbs. I touched his bare belly fondly. “You better keep him, Bec. He’s not really dressed for an east coast winter.”
She shook her head firmly and crossed her arms. “How about shared custody?” Like everything with Becca it came out breezy but there was always a bit of an emotionally fraught edge. Melvin would keep us connected in a way Instagram would not.
I hugged her. She let me do that occasionally. “Okay. I’ll send him to you in the fall. Otherwise, I might have to knit him a sweater. And no one wants that.”
“Nooo. How’s Drew’s dad doing?”
“Not good,” I sighed. In fact he was about as not good as it got. He was dying of cancer. Apparently it ignited in his pancreas and spread like wildfire through the rest of his organs, raging unnoticed until it was too late. His life expectancy was now being measured in a handful of months. Drew and I went to visit him together in his sparse, cheerless apartment. Drew clung tightly to my hand the whole time. I’d never felt so young and yet so old all at once. “Drew’s moving in with him to help take care of him as soon as school’s out.”
“He’s what?” Becca stopped cleaning up the remains of her lunch. “I thought he hated his dad?”
“It’s complicated. They’re complicated. But Mr. Jarrod has no one else and at the end of the day Drew’s still Drew.” And you could depend on Drew Jarrod to do the right thing no matter how messy and landmine filled it got.
She slowly nodded. “Found an internship yet?”
I’d had to do some serious schedule juggling around the last of my modeling obligations. My classmates have had theirs lined up for weeks, some months now. Mine had been very last minute. I just got notice I’d been green lighted for my second this morning.
“I’ve got two: Habitat for Humanity because I’m a McCoy and everyone assumes I must know my way around a hammer—I don’t—and I’m tutoring summer school. You all packed for Peru?” Becca was volunteering with the Peace Corps this summer. Becca’s idea of camping was Club Med.
“I got everything we ordered.”
Landry and Sam, who, for many summers, lived out of backpacks while they tromped through jungles or kayaked or climbed or surfed or soared or biked, helped us formulate a list of everything she would need. Well, not everything. “She’s on her own with the girl stuff,” Sam said gruffly, turning two shades of red and making Cade hoot with laughter.
I helped Becca track it all down online.
“And that’s all going to fit in my pack?” Becca was skeptical. “And not weigh more than I do?”
I pushed a plate of cookies at her. “I think you want the floppy hat. It has this adjustable chin strap so you won’t lose it if the wind kicks up.”
She squinted at my monitor. “I wouldn’t mind losing it. That’s hideous.”
“Since when do you care about—oh no. Bec, you didn’t?” I stared at her in disbelief. “Are you seriously doing this because of some guy you met?”
She was instantly defensive. “No. Maybe. What if I have?”
“You committed to three months.”
“I know.”
“In Peru.”
“I know.”
“Who is he?”
“Jon? He’s the recruiter.”
“Are you sure he’s even going to Peru?”
“He said he was.”
I grinned and shook my head. “Well you definitely are. And so is this hat. You need protection.”
“Not if I’m wearing that hat,” Becca grumped.
“So, did you manage to fit it all in?” I asked her now.
“Everything but my PlayStation.”
I threw my arm loosely around her shoulder. “Yeah. Good luck with that, babe.”
After school I stopped by Pops and Gran’s to give them their tickets for my graduation. Per decree by Barton’s administration, each graduate was allotted eight. I needed sixteen. Becca gave me five of hers, which still left me three short.
“Are you using all your tickets for graduation?” I’d asked Blake earlier that day. He moved his locker next to mine second semester. You’re on to something good, Grace Kelly. No one ever comes here. And by “no one” he meant “no one who runs in his crowd.” The band geeks and choir students—my people—might take exception to that. But he did have a point. It was off the beaten path. And when you liked to make out during school hours as much as he did that was definitely an advantage. For him. And Giulia. Mostly. That boy was still a player.
“Why?” Blake wanted to know.
“I need three more.”
“I thought you were an only child?”
“I am. But I’m also a McCoy. We’re herd animals.”
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “I already gave my leftovers to Giulia. She’s Italian. She’s got family pouring in from both sides.”
My mother’s parents died in a freak, small engine plane crash when I was only four. Her older brother, James Kingston, was an archeologist who was always out digging around in some exotic location. We’d sort of lost track of him over the years. Despite Dad’s considerable efforts to let him know about Mom’s accident, he didn’t come to the funeral. He just sent flowers. I couldn’t even remember what he looked like.
I shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll keep looking.”
Blake grabbed my arm before I could get away. “You and Drew breaking up?”
“What?”
“You’re going to Rhode Island. He’s not. You do the math.”
“Why do you care?”
He smiled his trademark Blake Michaels’ smile, which was equal parts snake oil and charm. “Who says I do, Grace Kelly?”
I turned and faced him. “I do. But for the life of me I can’t figure out why. I have a boyfriend. You have a girlfriend. And Whitney. Let’s not forget about her. Why do you even care if Drew and I are still together or not?”
“I like you.”
It was so baldly honest that we both looked a little surprised and taken back. “You like me? Or you just want to play tonsil hockey with me?”
Blake grinned. “Both?”
“I don’t know what to do with that.”
He placed an arm against the locker behind me and started to lean in. “I do.”
I quickly wiggled away. “Sorry, Michaels. Not happening.”
“Come on, you’re not going to give me anything to remember you by?”
“I’ll sign your yearbook.”
“You’re killing me, Grace Kelly.”
I just laughed and left to find Becca. But when I came back for lunch someone had tucked three more tickets to the graduation ceremony inside my locker.
Oddly, when I got to Pops and Gran’s no one was home. Which was weird because they knew I was coming over this afternoon. I’d talked to Gran about it just this morning. She’d been excited to show me how her dahlias—which were tricky, but not impossible, for someone with her mad skills to grow in Austin—were doing. I was just retrieving the spare key out from underneath the third rock in from the lavender pot at the back door when I got a text from Dad. They were at the hospital. Pops had a heart attack. Hastily texting Drew I raced back to the Mini, my heart slamming against my chest as I prayed and drove. Please let him be okay. Please.
“Hey Squirt.” Uncle Bryce enfolded me in his big arms the minute I walke
d into the waiting room. Dad was on the phone.
“How’s Pops?” Everyone looked worried, Gran most of all.
“I told B he needed to watch his salt intake. And he eats far too much red meat.” Gran stared helplessly at her hands. Aunt Jill wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders as I bent to kiss Gran’s wrinkled cheek.
Justin and Cade stood to hug me and then moved over so there was more room on the bench. “We’re still waiting to hear from his doctor. They haven’t told us much of anything yet,” Justin quietly said as Trey and Drew hurried in.
“How is he?” Drew asked.
“We don’t really know,” Dad replied, getting up to hug me and Drew. “I just got a hold of Chris. He’s on standby and can be on the next flight out. I told him to wait until we had a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”
Gran nodded.
“You okay?” Drew said quietly, taking me in his arms.
“A little scared.” Maybe a lot.
“Me too. But Pops is strong. Hold on to that.”
Not twenty minutes later Landry and Kendra showed up, hand in hand. Along with a look of concern on her beautiful face, Kendra was sporting a pretty big rock on her left ring finger. The entire family straightened noticeably and peripheral conversations stopped. Landry McCoy was engaged?! Even his mother looked surprised.
“You couldn’t wait?” Cade shook his head at his little brother and smiled at Kendra as he reached to hug her. “What? Did he just throw it at you when you got in the car? You must really love this guy. Welcome to the family.”
“It was burning a hole in my pocket,” Landry shrugged sheepishly, looking at Kendra like she was his whole world and kissing her hand. “How’s Pops?”
“We’re still waiting to hear,” Uncle Nick said. “Congratulations son, Kendra.”
Turned out that Landry being Landry and impulsively ditching his entire plan for a sweeping, romantic proposal that Aunt Jill had gone to considerable lengths to help him orchestrate for this weekend was a godsend. While none of us were under the illusion that Gran had stopped worrying about Pops, for a short while at least, it gave her something else to focus on.