A few weeks? How can I survive waiting that long until she tells me if we will ever be happy again? But the sight of her pain tears at my heart. I can’t fight her. I love her too much to make her suffer.
“Please,” she says, “when we get inside, let me pack and leave.” I start to ask her if I can take her somewhere, but she halts me. “I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.” And then the tears fall for both of us. Dear Lord, how did we get here? This isn’t fair. I’ve done nothing wrong. “That look in your eyes right now, the one telling me I mean more to you than anything, it’s the only thing that has kept me going this long. I can’t hurt you anymore.”
And I can’t hurt her, which is why I have to fight every bit of my being and not beg her to stay.
My shattered heart leaves pieces behind as we walk up the path. In a few minutes, she will walk this way again, crushing those pieces when she leaves. Losing Amber was hell, but she is no longer on this Earth. Katherine will remain alive and popping up on TV screens around the world. I’ll never be able to risk looking at a TV for fear of seeing her and knowing the happiness I fought to find, only to lose it over doing something so terrible it drove her away—yet I may never know what it was.
It takes all I have not to stop her from packing or to keep me from dropping to my knees and begging. This can’t possibly be my fault. It just can’t.
Suggesting she talk to Jason might be throwing her back into his arms. But I love her, and that means I want her to find what she needs. “You’ve told me a lot about the horrible things you went through with Jason. Maybe your anger is really fear I’ll do the same to you. Have you truly closed out all of the pain you need to with him?”
She speaks so softly I can hardly make out her words. “You always want what is best for me. That’s another thing to love about you, and more proof you deserve better from someone than anger.”
Katherine closes her suitcase and looks to Saleena’s reel-to-reel sitting on the dresser. Come on, Katherine. Look at all we have been. Think about all we could be. Are you going to throw that away?
She swallows back pain as she caresses the box. “After going through so much, I can’t believe I am doing this to us.” With a wipe of her eyes, she heads for the door. The beat of each footstep plunges the knife deeper into my heart. God, please have her turn around and let me dry those tears.
She stops when she reaches the door, but she doesn’t look back. “If I don’t say the word I don’t want to say, maybe this isn’t really over. Think of this as me hitting the pause button on that tape recorder.”
She heads off into the night, leaving me destroyed.
All night long I stare at my phone—willing it to ring, checking Facebook and Twitter, and searching email. Whenever I can bear to look away, I close my eyes and hope to hear Katherine’s voice, but all that does is bring back the memory of her leaving. I’m trying to honor her wishes and let her be, but I wish she would at least let me know she got to a hotel safely.
God, I am such an ass. I should have insisted on driving or called a cab and watched from the porch while she waited. No wonder why she is angry with me.
I place a call even though I know I am a fool for pushing her. It goes straight to voicemail and rips my wounds open for another dose of salt. How did I fail?
Standing off to the side of the entrance and peering through the glass door leading into the lobby of Endeara Candies makes me feel like a stalker all over again. Since I haven’t been able to get the red out of my eyes, I don’t want to be seen let alone have to dodge a conversation.
Come on, phone. You need to ring and distract Darla so I can slip in.
I wait, yet she keeps typing away. Doesn’t she need coffee or something?
That’s right. Bailey is here. Either she or Darla will be at that desk until someone fills in for them at lunch. I should have called in sick. No, I should have emailed in my resignation.
Half way back to my car I realize how weak I have become. My world was shattered when I lost my fiancée. I have since learned I killed someone in another life and carry a rock in my pocket reminding me of that fact. I got the love of my existence back only to lose her for unexplainable reasons. After all I have survived, am I going to let fear of talking to Darla stop me from going about my day like a normal human being?
I suck it up and head for the entrance—feet steady, resolve firm, eyes locked on the door—only to side step at the last second and enter the building through the loading dock.
As soon as I reach my office, I check all the usual places for a message from Katherine. The last time I checked was when I parked my car. I’m surprised I was able to hold off doing it again this long.
No calls. No Facebook posts. She hasn’t been on Twitter or Instagram for days. Seeing there isn’t a peep from her via email stomps on my soul, but I also find something else that smears it along the ground. What should be a wave of excitement comes through as gut-churning irony when I see an email from Janet, the sister of Julie, Saleena’s old bandmate. She thinks I am a relative of Johnny’s who is looking for answers. I had big hopes that once I got this email, I could find a way to come clean with Katherine and let her know how Saleena came to no longer exist. Now I am not so sure it matters.
Hi Brandon,
I talked to my sister regarding your suspicions around Saleena’s death. She was shocked anyone remembered the band existed. She was also thrown by the rumor you heard regarding Johnny’s suicide. For years she has kept quiet and asked no one talk about it. I’m not sure if she wants the whole mess to go away, or if she doesn’t want to further smear the reputations of her friends. Anyone who saw Saleena on her last night pretty much knows the score anyway. Julie finally agreed the truth should come out because, in our eyes, the wrong person has been blamed—somewhat.
I’ll never forget the night Saleena died. The girls had been the opening act and we were all partying backstage with a guy who claimed to be with Posh Boy Records. It was getting late, and the club owner kicked us out because we should have left hours before. We were all wasted—so much so that we were too far gone to notice how far gone we were. Johnny tried to keep things cool so we could wait it out, but the manager kept freaking. Since the Posh Boy guy actually had a business card, Saleena was quick to chase after him.
What people need to know about Johnny is he always did everything he could to respect Saleena’s wishes and ideas. He wanted to call a cab and meet the guy later, but Saleena was concerned she would miss her big break and goaded Johnny into driving. So while Johnny drove while wasted, the story doesn’t end there.
Here’s what no one ever got straight. A friend of my aunt was a trauma nurse in the ER on the night of the accident. According to her, the right side of Saleena’s head smacked into the front window because she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. The hit was so hard that had it been to the glass and not the bar that goes across the top, she would have gone through it. Then she hit the back of her head on the passenger window and got tossed into Johnny. If he hadn’t already gotten the car to a near stop, she might have taken him out too.
Johnny was blamed for Saleena’s death because he was behind the wheel, but it was as much her fault for pushing him into driving and for not wearing her seatbelt. Please make sure your family knows the truth. Your cousin was a good guy with a lot going for him. It wasn’t only the pain of being behind the wheel when she died that broke him; it was the pain of missing the person he would do anything for, which he proved by going against his nature and driving while knowing better. Not a day goes by my sister and I don’t miss them both.
Thank you for the .mp3 of the recording. Getting it is a miracle. We will cherish it forever.
Janet
P.S. Saleena wrote the lyrics to the song you sent right after she and Johnny had a huge blow out. She was very driven, and Johnny often had to shove her into keeping the rest of her life in check. That song is as much a testament to him as it is to her.
My fist slams onto my desk. The intensity of
my thoughts sends my hands gripping my hair and me burying my head.
Dammit, Saleena! Why didn’t you put on your seatbelt? So much could have been different. You and Johnny might still be here. I never would have met Amber, and maybe she would have been someplace else on the night of her accident—some place where ice cream was already in the freezer. How much would have been different if I refused to drive, or if you had worn your seatbelt?
I pull Johnny’s rock out of my pocket and ask why. Why did we drive that night? Because of love? How stupid! We killed her and risked the lives of others when the worst that could have happened by not doing so was losing out on a recording contract. There wasn’t a single guarantee she would have gotten one anyway. Hell, maybe a better offer would have come along.
Again I bury my head while my mind swims with what-ifs. If Johnny hadn’t driven her, would she have hopped in that guy’s car? Then what would have happened to her? Would fate have been the same?
Tears form as I see that a lifetime later consequences continue to haunt me.
“Nice try.” The soft sounds of Darla’s voice and her setting a box onto the ground pull me back into the present. “You okay?”
I turn my face away from her view. Why did she have to check on me? Why couldn’t she be someone who doesn’t give a crap about anyone else and let me wallow? Sometimes suffering is easier when no one cares.
Though her words sound like those of the woman I am used to, the tender tone in her voice conveys a side of her rarely seen. “I’d ask why you are avoiding me, but I think I know.”
This is not a good time for reminders of how much my life sucks.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I know?”
Sweet and understanding or not, I don’t need this right now. I find myself putting my head onto my desk as if trying to hide.
“Hey, come on. Talk to me,” she says as she begins to massage my shoulders. I wish I knew how to respond, but I just don’t. That letter made everything harder to process.
The massaging stops with a sigh. “Okay, new tactic.” She snaps her fingers in my ear. “Earth to Brandon Wayne,” comes through in her normal tone.
She is not going to let up. “Fine! How do you know Katherine bailed on me in the middle of the night, and for all I know, was mugged and is dead in a ditch?”
“I can’t say. However, if you think about it, there is only one way I could know Katherine bailed on you, for a really lame reason. Where would she go?” She touches a finger to her chin and muses. “Hmm … Have you seen Bailey today?”
God, why won’t she get on with it? “Your point?”
“Dude! For a guy whose last name is Wayne you suck at detective work. I came up here so you could stop worrying. Also, one of the guys in the warehouse found that box of old packaging samples. He didn’t know what to do with it, so in true Endeara Candies fashion, instead of bringing it directly to you, he left it on my desk.”
God, I am so lame! Katherine ran to Bailey last night. Thank God she is safe.
I pop up and narrow the space between Darla and I. In an odd way the closer I am to her, the closer I am to Katherine. “What did she say? Am I totally screwed?”
Darla goes back to musing at the air. “You know, Brandon Wayne sounds a lot like Bruce Wayne, but you remind me more of John Cusack than Batman.” She leans back and sizes me up. “Yeah, certainly not Thor. Captain America? Ooh! Maybe The Flash. How fast can you run?”
I toss my hands up and rattle them, similar to what I want to do to her throat. “Dammit, Darla!”
“Yeah, definitely more like John Cusack. Look, I can’t tell you anything, but for what it is worth, we all know Katherine is being ridiculous—me especially. You may be a little nuts around the edges, but there isn’t a thing in the world any woman could ever be angry with you about.”
I plop back down into my chair with my head in my hands. “Man,” Darla says, “you can’t grab a clue to save your life. Screw it, I promised Katherine I’d keep my mouth shut, but Bailey clammed up. If Bailey wanted me to stay silent, she would have backed Katherine. Katherine is confused. Hell, I’m confused by your story and you would be amazed by some of the wacky stuff I have heard. Katherine needs to figure out the reason why she is turning into a brat, and then all will be hunky dory. She’s flying out tonight to go to her parent’s place. That is where she clears her head.”
I’m up from my seat in a blink. “No! She can’t leave. I’ve got to stop her.”
Darla pushes me back into my chair. Damn, for a trim girl she is as strong as a cement roadblock. “Sit! Panicking will make this worse, not to mention it is best if you get a woman to come to you or meet you halfway.”
I hate that she is right. Man, this also reminds me of when Jennifer said, ‘A loved horse is one not forced to drink.’ God, I want to beat my head against the wall. I toss my head back in hopes it will hit something, and the contents of the box Darla set on the ground catches my eye. Sitting on top is a red, heart-shaped candy box that happens to have a pink rose attached to it. Why all the pink roses lately?
The universe seems to smack me in the face. How could I have been so oblivious?
Amber! She is the one who led this horse to water, which was by letting me hear Katherine’s voice so I would track her down. ‘Partners work together, but a loved horse is one that is not forced to drink’ is about how Amber and I made all decisions together, but what happens with Katherine and I is something we have to decide on our own. Jennifer also said not hearing Katherine any more didn’t mean I am not loved, or in other words, guided. ‘Be Batman’ means to follow Amber’s Bat Signal. Pink roses appear at moments when I need to pay attention—like to Katherine on the first night I heard her voice and to Jennifer when she said to be Batman. They even turn up in conversation, such as when Darla inadvertently guided me to Toronto. If I want things to work out with Katherine, I need to pay attention.
“Personally,” Darla says, “I blame Jason for being a prick. She probably heard something to make her transfer that anger. That has to be what is causing her headaches.”
Her head …
“Do you think those things are unrelated? Maybe your cologne gives her a headache and triggers a bad memory. You know how on The Brady Bunch, Tiger’s flea powder made Jan sick? Maybe your cologne—”
I smack my palm to my head both in a gesture of saying duh and to emphasize how I understand the problem. “I know why she is angry!”
“I was kidding about your cologne smelling like flea powder.”
I smack a kiss onto Darla’s forehead. “You are brilliant!” Swiping up my keys, I make for the door.
“Brandon, do not ambush her,” Darla says while chasing me down the hall. “She needs space, and if you go bursting in like Batman, she’ll get defensive and won’t listen to a word you say.”
Screw Batman! I’m someone better.
I’m John Cusack!
The Chain
My brain races as fast as my engine. I should slow down. I should think about what to say.
I should have a boom box.
After skidding to a halt in front of Darla’s fourplex, I attach my iPod to the radio and a raging guitar rattles my speakers. With the thing cranked, I get out of my car and make toward Darla’s apartment. The blasted song doesn’t seem loud enough to make it through the window.
Dammit, Darla! Why do you have to live all the way up on the second floor? She’ll never hear this.
When I try to boost the volume by turning up the iPod, the difference is minimal, if not imagined.
Crap! I need a boombox like Cusack so I can get up against the side of the building—right next to the one rose bush that is in bloom.
Son of a … Those are Amber Pink roses.
There is no mistaking what I need to do next.
“I’m sorry, lawn. You don’t deserve your fate. Then again, most don’t.”
Within a moment, I’ve backed down the street, hit the gas, popped my poor baby onto the curb
and across the lawn, and then stop so close to the bush that the nose of my car touches a branch, causing pink petals to fall on my hood. Weight locks in my throat, and I take a moment to blow a kiss toward Heaven. “Thanks, Amber—for everything.”
Even with the song cranked, it doesn’t seem loud enough, so I jump on the hood of the car. Why do I think this will help? I’ve not a clue in the world, but hey, what about any of this madness with Katherine has made sense?
I want to shout, but I am supposed to let her come to me. However, I’ve driven up on the lawn to right under her window. If she’s here, she has to hear this.
Come on, Katherine! Hear this!
Katherine slides open the screen and sticks her head out. The way her hair whips in the breeze is like watching living poetry. As horrible as it is to say, her puffy, red eyes fill me with relief. She must be as torn up as I am. “Why are you blasting my song?” she yells.
“It’s not your song; it’s our song. We have always been a team, and I can’t let you break us up.” I hold up my phone with the email from Janet open, even though I know darn well she can’t tell what I am showing her. “You need to read this.”
Why does she look exasperated?
Come on, honey. Don’t give up hope!
Bailey sticks her head out the window while I continue to shout to Katherine. “It’s the key to why you get those headaches around me, and why you need to be as angry with yourself as you are me.” Her face contorts in question, and I motion her to come down. “Saleena, it’s the answer!”
Bailey turns to her and then points to me. I can clearly read her lips demand, “Get your ass down there!” She reminds me of Darla. That balls-to-the-wall attitude must be genetic.
As Katherine slips from my view, Bailey gives me two thumbs up and bounces like a pre-teen. “Darla knew you could fix it!”
“Yeah, but she is going to kill me when she sees the lawn.”
Voices Carry: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection) Page 23