A Light in the Dark

by Becky Doughty

  I burst out laughing. The crude words coming out of sweet Ani’s mouth were the quintessential paradox. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know, I know.” Ani hugged my arm tightly. “It would be nice to have your band and have a boyfriend, and not have them be one and the same. I get it.”

  We walked along in silence for a while, Juno’s antics keeping us entertained. Finally, she said, “You have the final say, right?”

  “I suppose. Technically, everyone has equal say, but we’re not going to bring on anyone unless it’s unanimous.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rounding a corner, the park came into view. We picked up our pace to keep up with the now frantic Juno, whose nose had caught wind of her favorite place in the whole world. “Right. Well, I think the things you’ve brought up are important, Tish. If Sebastian makes you feel insecure in any way about your music, your band, or yourself especially, then you really need to proceed with caution. Even if you just feel unsure about things because you have this major crush on him and you can’t tell if it’s reciprocated or not, mixing that kind of ambivalence with band stuff could be disastrous, too. Maybe you should wait until you sort some of this stuff out. You’re a big girl. Talk to Sebastian. Be frank with him about your concerns. I think you have some pretty valid ones where his mood swings are concerned, and you definitely can’t afford that kind of drama with how much time you spend with the guys.”

  We crossed the parking lot and hurried down the path toward the sectioned off area already filled with happy dogs. “Time is the key word, though. Tom leaves in about a month. We really need to make a decision soon and get acclimated to new blood.” I did a shuffle-hop over Juno’s leash when she ran between us in her excitement, nearly tripping me. “And if it weren’t for my stupid feelings about him, if I didn’t get all discombobulated around him, I really wouldn’t care if he was moody and sullen. I heard him play. I heard some of the stuff he wrote. I’d be stupid to pass him up because I don’t know how he feels about me. So really, I’m the hang up, not him.”

  “This whole thing does kinda remind me of someone else’s first few encounters,” Ani said, a smile on her lips.

  “Right. Paulo was kind of a jerk, too, wasn’t he?” I knew what she was getting at. She’d badly misjudged him based on her first impressions of him.

  “So maybe things aren’t exactly as they seem with your Sebastian, either. Maybe you’re reading too much into the way he looks at you, and you should just relax and let things happen naturally.”

  “Uh-uh. No. He’s not my Sebastian.” I waited while Ani flipped up the latch of the iron gate to let us into the enclosed dog arena.

  “Not yet, anyway.”

  I ignored her teasing. “If I let him in, I’ll just make him agree to the same pact. That would take care of all this, and I wouldn’t have to wonder because it wouldn’t be an option.”

  She unleashed Juno who took off at full throttle, barking out greetings to the animals and their humans who were already there. “What are you afraid of?” she asked, straightening up, her eyes never leaving her dog. “And he’s not Tom, so why would you handle your relationship with him the same way you handle your relationship with Tom?”

  “That’s the point. I’m preventing a relationship.”

  She rolled her eyes and smirked. “Right. Look how well it worked for poor Tom.”

  I frowned at her. “Ani, cut it out.” She’d always rooted for Tom, thumbs-downing the no-dating agreement we had. “I don’t need any distractions when it comes to Marauders. You know that. The band is my whole world. If something happens to us, I don’t know what I’ll do. Sebastian is really amazing—his playing, his voice—and musically, I honestly believe he could take us to the next level. It’s just that Tom is an open book. I can read him so easily, even if I don’t like what I read. This guy, though? He feels like trouble to me, and I don’t want to even open the door to the possibility of… of trouble.” Once again, I heard him singing that stupid, amazing song in my head.

  We headed toward the line of trees at the top of the slope on the other side of the dog arena. We had a favorite tree we sat beneath while Juno played. She always knew to find us there if we weren’t out with her, throwing sticks or balls or talking to other dog owners.

  Foster and Pete sat under a California oak a couple of yards away and we waved. Foster nodded in greeting, and his dog wagged his tail a few times. We saw them almost every time we came, and had introduced ourselves long ago. We were pretty sure they were homeless, but Pete always looked happy and healthy, and Foster, although reserved, wasn’t at all hostile. He politely acknowledged us, but never asked us for anything, and when we shared Juno’s doggy treats with Pete, Foster thanked us politely. Juno got a kick out of Pete, too, and the two were buds.

  After we got comfortable, Ani picked up where we’d left off. “You want to know what I think?” She continued without waiting for my answer. “You don’t get one without the other. I think if you want Sebastian’s mad skills, you have to take the tormented artist. If you don’t want the tormented artist, you don’t get the mad skills. So which sacrifice will you make? Tolerate the torment or miss out on the music?” She clapped her hands in delight. “Oooh! I like that. Tolerate the torment or miss out on the music.”

  I lay back on the grass to avoid answering, crossing my arms over my chest. Grass always made me itch terribly so I took extra care not to expose any bare skin to it. I knew she was probably right, but I wasn’t ready to agree to either yet.

  “Well?” she prodded, glancing at me over her shoulder.

  “Actually, I think the real sacrifice is my happiness or the rest of the band’s happiness. If I want them to be happy, he’s in. If I want me to be happy, he’s not.” That wasn’t quite the answer she’d asked for, but it was the best I could give at the moment.

  “You might be surprised, T-Bird. You might find he makes you happy, too.”

  “I don’t need some guy to make me happy,” I snipped. “Besides, I’m already happy.”

  Ani laughed and poked me in the ribs. “All I can say is that if this guy makes you this crazy, I can’t wait to see you two make music together.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Sebastian?” It had been almost a week since we’d heard him play, and after sitting through the other auditions, the band vote was unanimous. Even I had to agree he was the best fit for the group, my personal reservations aside. I’d been in turmoil all week long, back and forth about the whole thing, one moment blaming Sebastian for being such a drama queen, the next blaming Tom for leaving in the first place and creating a void that needed to be filled.

  “That’s me.”

  “This is Tish Ransome.”

  There were a few awkward moments of silence on the other end of the line. “Who?”

  Was he serious? Did he really not remember who I was? Or was he just being a jerk because of how things had ended after his audition? “Tish. Marauders?” I wasn’t going to give him any more than I had to.

  “Oh, right. Marauders. Tish. Sorry. Took me a minute to make a connection.” There was no apology in his voice.

  I wanted nothing more than to hang up on him, violently, but thanks to cell phones, the exquisite pleasure of slamming a receiver into its cradle and blowing out the other guy’s eardrums was lost on today’s generation. I knew this personally, because Ani’s parents had given her one of those vintage Princess phones for her thirteenth birthday, and in days past, she and I had made our fair share of calls from that phone to peers with whom we’d had issues. What I wouldn’t do to have that sturdy pink plastic instrument in my hand right now. I might even bang it against the wall a few times first, just to be sure he got the message.

  But that would be the wrong message. Or at least that would be a different message than the one I was supposed to be giving him now.

  “Okay,” I said, trying to keep the sneer out of my voice. “Well, I hope you remember the band, because we’d like to
offer you the job.”

  “I’m sorry. Could you elaborate? Which job was that?”

  I pulled the phone from my ear and glared at it. Yeah-nope. Not going to play. If he thought he was being cute or pulling some kind of a funny-guy, hard-to-get act, he’d have to find another gig, another girl. I pushed the red button with my thumb and tossed the phone onto the counter. It skittered across the vintage white tiles and would have fallen to the floor if Tom hadn’t been there to catch it.

  “What did he say?” Tom’s frown told me he wasn’t impressed with how I’d just handled myself.

  “Why, Tom? Why do you have to go now? Right when things are finally starting to take off?” I didn’t cross the distance between us. I couldn’t decide one minute from the next if I was so angry I wanted to rip Tom’s head off, or in so much despair that I wanted to wrap my arms around his knees and beg him to stay. “And why Sebastian? What about that guy, Mitch? The one with the black Charvel. He was really good. And really easygoing, too.”

  Sly rolled his eyes from where he sat at the dining room table, eating some leftover spaghetti he’d found in the fridge.

  “Shut up, Sly,” I snipped, even though he hadn’t said anything. “And I hope my mom wasn’t saving that stuff for her lunch tomorrow. If she was, you’ll be banned from coming inside the house for at least a month.” There were perks to having one’s studio attached to one’s parents’ house, especially when said parents always kept their fridge and pantry stocked with the band’s favorite foods. Like leftovers.

  Sly shoved another bite into his mouth, but still didn’t say anything. His eyes were twinkling, though, and I assumed he thought this whole thing was a little bit funny. He was pretty laid back, too, like Tom. Your stereotypical bass guitar player. Jon was parked in front of the television playing my favorite Die Hard X-box game, completely unaware of his real-life surroundings at that moment. My own body twitched and flinched along with Jon’s in reaction to whistling bullets and well-aimed explosives. I kind of wanted—no, needed—to see some Nakatomi Tower fireworks right about now. Corny was on his phone in the hallway; I could hear him negotiating pay for a gig.

  “What did he say?” Tom asked me again.

  “He didn’t say anything. So I hung up on him.” I barely spoke above a mutter, but the room fell silent at my reply. Jon wasn’t so unaware after all; he immediately paused the game.

  “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to call you back.” Corny finally broke the silence and ended his call. Jon did not resume playing Die Hard, but swiveled on the sofa so he could look at me. Sly kept eating.

  Tom, however, said enough for all of them.

  “Are you out of your mind, Tish? That guy is exactly what this band needs to take it up a notch. This is the perfect time to bring on new—and far better than what I have to offer—talent to the band. We’ve gone about as far as we can go right now, and everyone knows it. You’re carrying this show, Miss Ransome, not me. Corny is working his butt off to keep us plugged in, but so much of it is the same old, same old. After five years, people are looking for new blood, new sounds, not just new songs.” He stood up and slid my phone back down the counter toward me. I snatched it up before it careened past me into the side of the fridge. “This guy can bring something to the table I can’t. He’s as hungry as you are, Tish; maybe even hungrier. I know you don’t like it, or him, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why, but get over it. For the sake of the band, get over it and grow up.”

  I stared at him, open-mouthed, vacillating between anger and astonishment and hurt and shame. But any response I might have given seemed stuck at the back of my suddenly dry mouth.

  “Call him back, Tish.” Tom dipped his head at the phone in my hand.

  I shoved away from the counter and covered the distance between us, and then slapped the phone against Tom’s chest. “If you’re so hot for him, you call him.” Then I stalked toward the hall, brushed aggressively past Corny, stormed up the stairs, and slammed the door of my room behind me.

  ***

  Sometime later, I awoke to the motion of my mattress shifting as someone lay down beside me.

  “Tish. You awake?”

  It was Tom. My first instinct was to shove him off my bed, but I restrained myself. I kept my eyes closed, but answered grumpily, “I am now.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t.” I didn’t want to talk to him. Nothing we could say to each other would alter the fact that he was leaving next month and everything would change. Permanently.

  “Please, Tish.”

  I rolled onto my side, my back to him.

  “I have to go,” he murmured.

  “Then go. This is my room, remember? If my mom catches you here in my bed, she’ll kill you. And then she’ll tell Dad and he’ll kill you.” He’d been in my room a zillion times before, and we’d even been on this bed together, lying side-by-side talking, but not like this. Not in the dark, not with so much emotion exposed between us. It felt intimate and dangerous and not quite right, all things I’d never allowed myself to feel with Tom before.

  Besides, my folks were fairly conservative. They didn’t ascribe to sleeping together before marriage, so anything that might lead to that was pretty much taboo in this house. Granted, as I got older, the rules had changed from “No boys in your bedroom” to “If boys are in your room, the door stays open.” And the same rules regarding girls in their rooms applied to my brothers, who were all older than I was. My oldest brother, Ben, was married, so he got to close the door to his bedroom when he and Marilyn came for a visit. Which was good. They weren’t quiet about how much they loved being married.

  But Tom in my room with no lights on? Lying beside me on my bed? With the door closed? It didn’t matter if I was twelve, twenty-two, or eight-two, we weren’t married, and my parents would freak if they found us like this. “You really should go, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  I turned my head slightly so I could see his profile over my shoulder. He was lying on his back, his hands together on his chest. My room was dark; it was 9:28 PM according to the blue numbers on the alarm clock on my bedside table. But the moonlight shone brightly through the open window beside my bed, and I could see the glisten of moisture in his eyes. I sighed and closed my eyes again, my sadness turning toward despair. There seemed to be no answers for either of us.

  “Tish.” He finally spoke, his voice gentle, patient. “I have to go because I can’t stay here. I can’t hang out in this half-in-half-out place with you. I know we made a pact we wouldn’t fall in love with each other, but when I agreed to that, my heart must have been out for the count, or on vacation, or in the shower, or out of—”

  “Got it,” I interrupted, not unkindly. I thought the pact was that we wouldn’t date while we were in the band together. No one had said anything about what we’d do if one or both of us fell in love with the other.

  “Right.” He swallowed loudly, twice, before continuing. “Because my heart refuses to accept that. I—I love you, Tish. And if I thought for just one second that you felt for me enough of what I feel for you to give me hope for us, I’d stay here. Or ask you to come with me.” He paused, and for a few moments, I wondered if he was hoping I’d jump in and say the words he wanted to hear.

  I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I don’t even think I breathed.

  “But I can’t stay here waiting for some other guy to come along and sweep you off your feet,” he finally continued, his words coming out in a rush now. “I can’t do that. I know it’s selfish of me. I know that love is supposed to be all about the other person’s happiness, and more than anything, I want you to be happy. But I don’t think I can bear to watch you find that happiness with someone else.” His last few words fluttered, like he ran out of breath before he ran out of words.

  I felt the tingle in the bridge of my nose, a harbinger of tears, but what could I say? I wasn’t ready to make the k
ind of declaration he needed to hear, nor was I ready to deny anything between us existed either. But I didn’t want to make him stay simply because I didn’t want him to go. Talk about selfish.

  The mattress moved again and I was certain he was going to get up and leave in the wake of my silence. But to my surprise, his arm slid around my waist and he pulled me back toward him, spooning me ever so gently. Tucked up against him, I lay there quietly for a few moments, a subtle peace beginning to settle around us, wrapping us in a cocoon of false security.

  This would change nothing.

  “Tom.” I said his name firmly, not wanting him to get any ideas that would make this situation even tougher than it already was.

  “I know. Your folks. I did tell your mom I was coming up here to see you, you know.”

  “I’m sure you did,” I said, lifting his arm a little, and turning so I lay facing him. I hoped I didn’t have nap breath. “But did you tell her you were coming up here to climb in bed with me?”

  He chuckled, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight, our noses only inches apart on my pillow. “No, that I did not do. She would have my head on a silver platter if she walked in right now.”

  “She would. And then what would you tell your uncle?” The moment the words left my mouth, I realized what I’d inadvertently said. In so many words, I’d just told Tom I was finally accepting his resignation from the band, that I’d accepted the fact he was leaving me.

  He closed his eyes, tipped his head forward, and kissed my nose. “Call Sebastian back, Tish. Tonight. It’s not too late.” Then he pushed himself up to sitting and handed me my cell phone. He didn’t get up immediately, but sat there, elbows on his knees, studying his hands.

  Did he want me to call Sebastian while he was sitting there, listening? I brought the phone up so I could see the keypad, but he put a hand over it to stop me.

  “This isn’t a one-time offer. I want you to know that. Just because you’re not ready today, doesn’t mean you won’t be ready tomorrow. Or in a month… or a year from now.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a long exhale. “I’ve loved you for a long time now, and it may be awhile before I’m done loving you. If you change your mind, you know I’m only a phone call away. Even after I move. Just a phone call.” He looked at me. “Okay?”