After the Rain

by Bruce, Brandy

  Then he left. I just stood there, thinking, So that’s what it’s like, holding hands with Ben Price.

  I’m in trouble.

  “Does Twenty-Four Tears have a manager?” Andy asked me. We’d played “Ruin” again on Wednesday and had great response from listeners, both calling in and emailing, asking for more information about the band. “A friend of mine asked about them. And what’s that next venue they’ll be at?”

  I sipped my second cup of coffee and plugged Twenty-Four Tears in the search engine on my laptop. “They actually got a spot at the music festival in Denver. You’ll hear them live. And then they’re playing at Percival’s Island again at the end of September.” I searched web results. “I’m not even seeing a website. Hmm. Ben told me that Bryce was the one who got the call about the opening at Denver Fest. Maybe he’s working as pseudomanager, lining stuff up for them.” I scrolled down. “They do have a Facebook page. It needs a little work—a few more pictures, more info.”

  “You better help this guy out, Deb. People are taking notice right now. I wonder how many downloads of ‘Ruin’ they’ve had.”

  “I don’t know. Ben only said it was crazy how many they were getting.”

  I friended Karis online and sent her a quick message, asking who set up gigs for them and whether they’d had any professional photos taken or considered creating a website. Then we were back on the air and wasting way too much time talking about the latest A-list celebrity couple to split.

  “I watched E! last night and they did this whole spiel about how amicable the split is and how they’ll be best friends forever and blah blah blah.” I swiveled in my chair. “Why are they always supposedly amicable? Why are they always going to be friends after?”

  “Well,” Andy countered, “they’re not always amicable. Especially when it comes to younger celebrities, don’t you think? I mean, there are all these songs written about exes. And then there are compromising photos leaked by someone who had access.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I waved him off. “But for the most part, they say the same things again and again. ‘We’re focusing on our careers’ or ‘With tons of love and respect, we’ve decided we can no longer stand to be in the same ten-thousand-square-foot house.’”

  Andy nearly spit out the mouthful of Mountain Dew he’d just thrown back. He choked, then howled with laughter. “Okay, you’re right. Celebrity breakups do sound like that most of the time. I’ve known a lot of people who’ve broken up, and yeah, for the most, it’s not amicable. They usually make the best of it, but it can take years to get to a point where it’s all good and easy. Not for everyone, of course.” Andy leaned into his mic. “Don’t flood us with calls about how you and your ex give each other new relationship advice. We’re talking celebrity breakup statements.”

  “I think regular people should be able to send out statements as well. Oh gosh, that first holiday after my breakup, I wished I could just wear a sign around my neck that read, ‘He dumped me. Don’t ask.’”

  Andy chuckled. “Bad?”

  “Like I said, don’t ask.”

  “Well, whenever I broke up with someone—this was back in my younger days, before the leaking of private photos, thank goodness.” Andy tapped his phone on the table. “The textbook line was that I hoped we could still be friends.” I snorted my disapproval at Andy. “Come on, Deb. You’re saying when your boyfriend broke up with you, he didn’t say that he hoped you guys could still be friends?”

  I didn’t even want to remember that horrible night. But I knew without a doubt, Luke had not said that. “He knew that was never going to happen. And he wasn’t the kind of guy to say things just for the sake of saying them.” My breath stopped short. No, Luke didn’t like to waste words.

  “Maybe tomorrow we should take a few call-ins, hear about what people have said during breakups. To stay friends or not to stay friends—that is the question,” Andy said, grinning at his own cleverness. “What do you say, Miss Lonely Heart?”

  Ugh. Talk about wasting words. When would I learn to keep my mouth shut?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Why didn’t you tell me I was in love with you?

  Easter Parade

  I wasn’t sure what to expect when it came to September in Colorado. To be honest, after several years in Texas, I was looking forward to enjoying a fall season with cool breezes and colored leaves. But we were halfway into September and it still felt like summer, just with cooler nights. I’d put on sunscreen for the Denver Music Festival as well as brought a hoodie. It seemed like in Colorado, the weather changed by the hour. I’d decided to take the light rail that afternoon, rather than drive to 16th Street, where the festival was taking place. By the time I found our booth, everything was set up and Andy was waiting for me. The crowd was starting slow and building.

  Karis had messaged me back about the fact that Bryce usually did their booking for them and, no, they didn’t have a website or professional band photos. She seemed more talkative than Ben when it came to the band, so we exchanged numbers. She’d told me Twenty-Four Tears was going to be one of the first bands playing at the music festival, sometime around three o’clock. I’d texted Paige to see whether she wanted to come, and she assured me that their group of friends from church was coming to see Twenty-Four Tears. She also said she’d ask Milo (despite the fact that she was avoiding him) whether he could bring his good camera to the festival and take a few shots of the band.

  All good things.

  Andy and I weren’t near the stage, which saddened me, but I’d hear the bands just fine from our booth. I wanted desperately to see Twenty-Four Tears, but I had to man the table at that time. I made a plug for them on the radio, of course. Paige and Milo and their friends stopped by the booth to say hello. Paige had brought me churros from a nearby vendor, and I decided our friendship was now settled for all time.

  I’d been shocked by how many people stopped by to “meet” Miss Lonely Heart. Andy had built up the fact that she—I mean, I—would be at the booth, and a steady stream of people came over to talk to me. I was tweeting out about the bands and the booth and the food every few minutes.

  I felt jittery with excitement as three o’clock rolled around. Karis had told me this festival was the largest venue Twenty-Four Tears had ever played at, thanks to Bryce, who’d been the one to submit their band for consideration and had gotten them on the wait list. And once they started to play, I had to force myself to sit in the booth, rather than run out and bounce up and down with the crowd.

  Andy and I were on the air until five, at which time our popular afternoon duo was taking over. Around four forty-five, Ben showed up at the booth, looking like the rock star I knew him to be. Black skinny pants, loose white shirt, half of his hair up in a topknot. I introduced him to Andy, hoping Andy would not attempt to embarrass me.

  “So Debra is your number one fan,” Andy teased.

  Out of luck on the no-embarrassment thing.

  “She bribed my wife and me with free childcare to come see you at your church,” Andy continued. Where was Lana when I needed her?

  Ben blinked in surprise. He stood under the awning of our booth, sweating, an empty water bottle in his hand. “You did?” He looked at me. I was already red faced from the heat of the afternoon, and I hoped my face didn’t flush more. I just waved off the whole thing.

  “Not a big deal. I wanted him to hear you, and at the time, you guys didn’t have anything until the end of September. So we went to church.”

  “My wife actually really enjoyed hearing you speak. I did too,” Andy said, a tad more serious.

  “You guys did so good up there today,” I said, trying to redirect the conversation. “We could hear you from here. And really, home run, Ben.”

  “Thanks.” He talked shop with Andy a little more, and then Lana and Timmy showed up.

  “Ben!” Lana exclaimed. Ben turned to her. “I mean, you don’t know me. But Deb’s got me hooked on your stuff. I feel like I know you.” Sh
e flashed him a smile, while Timmy hung on her leg and whined for more ice cream.

  “It’s great to meet both of you,” Ben said, shaking her hand.

  “The four of us should get together sometime,” Lana said brightly.

  “What about our well-behaved son?” Andy asked as we all watched Timmy, now writhing around Andy’s leg and moaning loudly that he wanted to leave.

  “We can get a sitter or something,” Lana hissed at Andy.

  Ben and I exchanged a glance. They were talking to us as though we were a couple.

  “That would be so fun,” I answered.

  “I’ve got a friend who’d be interested in hearing from you if Twenty-Four Tears starts seeking representation,” Andy offered. I bit my lower lip. For Andy to offer, that was just nicer than I could have expected. Anxiety bubbled up in me that Ben might not react positively, like the lukewarm way he’d been responding to me about the band lately. But Ben nodded, his face serious.

  “Thanks so much, Andy. I really appreciate that. Let me talk to the band. And, Lana, I would love for the four of us—or the five of us—to hang out.” He winked at Timmy.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Ben looked over at me. “Do you want to stay and join up with Paige and the others?”

  “Sure, let me get my bag. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving. I couldn’t eat this morning.”

  “Nerves?” Andy asked with a grin.

  Ben nodded. “Yeah. We were all a little shaky.”

  “You did great,” I assured him, then paused. Now I felt like we were a couple.

  I ignored the uneasy feeling that swirled through my stomach and instead grabbed my bag. We said goodbye to Andy and Lana and Timmy, then made our way to the food vendors because Ben had passed a barbecue sandwich station that, he told me, smelled like heaven and he had to have a sandwich. We both ended up getting smoked sliced-beef sandwiches. Ben got a text from Milo and we found them in the crowd as another band took the stage.

  We stayed for hours. Dancing with the crowd as the sun set and the more high-profile bands started to play. Before it got too dark, Paige and I decided to go for a quick bathroom break. I was glad I’d brought a hoodie and pulled it on as the night air dropped several degrees.

  “Are you okay being around Milo?” I asked her on our way back.

  “Yeah. It’s fine. But all day he’s been overly nice to me. I haven’t heard any more about him and Angie, so maybe the date didn’t go so great. I’m keeping my distance, though. I’m upping the bar.”

  “Oh yeah?” I said with a hint of a smile.

  She nodded. “I want someone who looks at me like Ben looks at you,” she said. My smile vanished.

  “Paige—” I started, but she shook her head.

  “No arguments. How you feel about him is one thing. How he feels about you is another.” Paige picked up her pace. “Come on. It’ll be harder to find everybody once it gets darker.” She was right, so we quickly made our way through the crowd. Ben waved at me as we got closer. I slid in next to him.

  “I think I might have to leave soon,” he said, speaking into my ear so I could hear above the music. “I’m singing at church tomorrow too,” he said, almost regretfully. He didn’t want to leave.

  “Did you drive?” I asked him. He shook his head. “No, I came with Bryce in the van, with all our equipment. Karis has to get back, so maybe I’ll catch a ride with her.”

  “I’m taking the light rail back. Want to go together?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  We let the gang know we were leaving, then tried to maneuver our way through the crazy crowd back to Union Station. Ben took my hand—I think mainly so we wouldn’t lose each other. But that “couple” feeling returned as he led me through downtown. He didn’t let go, even as we stood in line to hop on the train.

  I didn’t let go either.

  Once we were on the train, my phone started buzzing. I pulled it out of my bag. Texts were rolling in from Texas.

  LILY HAD HER BABY! LOGAN FOX SPENCER. EIGHT POUNDS 13 OUNCES. –ADDI

  THE BUN IS OUT OF THE OVEN. HEADING TO THE HOSPITAL NOW. —JASON

  MEET THE FOX. LILY AND LOGAN ARE DOING GREAT. —SAM

  Sam’s text included a picture of a sleeping baby with a tuft of blond hair on the top of his head.

  I was laughing and smiling and showing Ben. And then I was crying. Because I wasn’t there. I wouldn’t be there.

  Ben’s arm was around me, my head on his shoulder, while I cried the whole way home.

  It rained Sunday morning. I slept late and stayed in my pajamas most of the day, receiving text messages periodically from Addi, along with a slew of pictures of little Logan Fox Spencer, the cutest baby I’d ever seen, swaddled in forest-themed blankets, a teeny brown beanie on his head. I got online and ordered flowers to have sent to Lily’s house in a few days. Then I heated up leftover Chinese food and lounged on the couch. Needing the comfort of something familiar, I turned on one of my favorite musicals ever, The King and I, and made popcorn. As Deborah Kerr and Yul Brynner twirled to “Shall We Dance?,” I munched on buttery, salty popcorn and tried not to think about Addison and Glen, and Sara and Luke, and Jason, and Sam, all hovering around Lily in a hospital room, taking turns holding that little bundle of joy.

  I tried not to think about the ride home the night before. How Ben had held me as we sat on the train. And as tears soaked my face, he’d leaned in and whispered, “It’s okay, baby. I’m here.” Like I was his. Then he walked me to my car and kissed me, and I came back alone to my apartment.

  In short, I tried not to think about how lonely I felt. Late afternoon, Ben texted me that he was thinking about me, which I appreciated. But I didn’t feel like responding. My mother called, but I didn’t want her to hear the inevitable sadness in my voice and worry her further, so I let the call go to voice mail. The woman from the model home left a message about scheduling a time for our consult. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Instead, I watched another movie and cleaned my apartment. Finally I ate cereal for dinner and went to bed early.

  I worked all week, texting Ben now and then, enjoying a week of afternoon rain showers that mirrored my mood. I spent the next couple of weeks working a lot and staying home a lot. Saturday, September 30, Paige asked me to go with her to Percival’s Island to hear Twenty-Four Tears, but I woke up that morning with a bad headache and an overall antisocial attitude. I promised her we’d go together to the next gig, but I stayed hunkered down in my apartment. Late that night, I got a text from Ben.

  MISSED SEEING OUR NUMBER ONE FAN.

  I MISSED HEARING YOU GUYS. HOPE YOU ROCKED IT. I’LL BE THERE NEXT TIME.

  Monday after work, I got a text from Karis.

  WE TOOK BAND PHOTOS YESTERDAY AFTERNOON! KEEP AN EYE ON OUR NEW WEBSITE THIS WEEK AND YOU’LL SEE THEM. THANKS FOR A GREAT IDEA. WE’RE BOOKED PRETTY SOLID THROUGH DECEMBER. THE RADIO PLAY HAS HELPED SO MUCH. THANKS, DEB.

  I was glad to hear that. Though I wondered how Ben was feeling. We’d both been busy and I hadn’t heard from him as much. I finally texted him and asked him if he’d like to come over for dinner Friday. Casual. Just spaghetti and salad. My cooking skills didn’t go much further than that.

  He was set to arrive around six o’clock and I started getting nervous around noon. Wondering why I’d asked him. Wondering what we’d talk about. Wondering if he might kiss me again. Wondering if I was okay with that.

  By 5:50 I was a nervous wreck. I’d changed clothes twice. Ending up in just jeans and one of my favorite T-shirts, the one my brother had given me for my birthday the year before—with John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John’s faces on it in a Grease embrace.

  He was five minutes late.

  I opened the door, and there stood Ben. Jeans, sneakers, and a green T-shirt. His hair styled to perfection. A simple rope chain bracelet on his wrist.

  “I was going to bring flowers—” he started to say.

  “This is not a date,” I said qui
ckly.

  He frowned. “But I brought this instead.” He handed me a rolled-up T-shirt. I took the shirt, unrolled it, and held it up.

  “A Twenty-Four Tears T-shirt!” I squealed. He was still grimacing from my pointed comment about the nondate. “Thank you.” I hugged him, hoping to move past the awkward moment. He held me loosely and barely patted my back before stepping away.

  “Bryce thinks we need to make T-shirts. This was trial number one.” Plain black tee, the words Twenty-Four Tears in stark white, along with a white guitar.

  “I like it,” I told him. We sat down across from each other at my small high-top table and ate plates of spaghetti and salad. “Karis texted me and said you guys have been getting more gigs, that you’re booked through December.”

  “Yeah.” Ben twirled a forkful of spaghetti. “This is good, Deb.”

  I brushed off the compliment. Spaghetti noodles and meat sauce. Nothing special. “And you took band photos, and you’re making T-shirts, and you said you were getting downloads like crazy. Ben, are you thinking about this? Do you want to talk to Andy’s friend who’s a manager? What did Bryce and the others say?”

  “Cautiously optimistic. Bryce has always booked everything for us, but he’s open to talking to a manager eventually. But—I don’t know—Karis’s mom, and Xander and Emily and the new baby, and work for me has been constant. I’m not sure how to fit in more.”

  He put down his fork and sighed. And I realized how overwhelmed he was.

  “So, two days after the festival, Bryce got a call. One of the bands—Chasing Summer, have you heard of the them?—asked if we’d be interested in opening for them during their spring tour. Their manager was scouting for new acts, and they liked Twenty-Four Tears.”

  My mouth fell open. “Karis did not even tell me. And have I heard of Chasing Summer? Um, I work for a radio station. They’ve had one hit after another. Yes, I’ve heard of them. Oh, Ben, that is incredible!”

  “I don’t see how we can, Deb. We all have jobs. We can’t just not work.”