He seemed quiet. She worried her words might have wounded him somehow. She touched his shoulder again, and against her will, she let it linger there. Then, she pulled it back suddenly, aware that she shouldn’t be touching him at all.
“So, what do you say you tell me your real name?”
He’d turned around and was staring at the calendar hanging on the wall of the pantry.
“Dude. Come on. Name, please?”
He didn’t answer. He lifted a hand and his finger was tracing the digits of the year’s date on the calendar, the two, the zero, the one, and the …
He stopped, turned around and looked straight into Oakley’s eyes, piercing her straight through with his brown, sultry gaze.
“What year is it, Oakley?” His shoulders were moving up and down, his chest, too, and he was breathing fast. “Because if you won’t believe my name, at least you’d better believe my age.”
“You yourself said you’re seventeen. Come on.” And she told him the year. “You were born a year before me.”
“No, Oakley Marsden.” He closed his eyes. “If this year is the year you say, I’m turning forty next month.”
Oh, please. Now he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes. She wasn’t falling for it. “Dude. We’re calling your parents. Come on.”
But his feet were rooted to the floor of the pantry. Hudson turned to her and winced. “I’m an old man.” The words were accompanied by genuine pain. And she started to really believe him. Almost.
Okay, not. It was too ridiculous. “You should have been an actor, not a singer.” She cleared her throat.
“I’m not acting.”
“You’re flirting with my mom.” What seventeen-year-old did that?
“I am not! Even though, yeah, she does have it going on.” He raised a shoulder. “I mean, in that short skirt, and with her hair in that ponytail …” He broke into a grin. “Calm down. I’m just joking!”
This incensed her again, which it probably shouldn’t have, so Oakley took a cleansing breath and controlled it. “Look, I told you not to exploit her. And I meant it. You leave her alone or I’ll …”
“You’ll … call my mother? Please, do. But seriously, I swear, I’m not wanting to hurt anyone. At least not anymore.” Mirth that had lingered on his face for a second fled. “If my parents haven’t heard from me for that more than twenty years, then …”
Oakley watched him transform from confident, fake rock star into a worried kid. What was worse, he also seemed a hundred percent sincere.
Argh! She shouldn’t believe this act. At all. This person had been a homeless guy two hours ago. From what he said, he’d been in a wreck of some kind, possibly hit his head.
In his defense, maybe he honestly believed he was Hudson Oaks. He sure seemed to. But he didn’t know his family’s phone number, and that seemed to be a dead giveaway that something wasn’t right with him on several levels.
“If they haven’t heard from you, they’ll be glad to. It’s been a long time.” Okay, so this response of hers might have been a touch condescending, but he didn’t take it that way.
He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I said some pretty awful things.”
“What kind of things?” Oakley asked. “Because in my experience, parents forgive pretty much everything sooner or later. Especially after a sincere apology.”
She didn’t get a direct answer. He’d gone into a reverie and looked like he was reliving something.
“I walked around on the river bank for a couple of days, not sure if I’d get out alive, but I knew if I walked downstream, I was sure to come to a town. Downstream always leads to a town, you know.”
Okay, he was clearly processing the wreck he’d been in, whatever had caused his smoky smell earlier. She didn’t interrupt.
“It gave me a lot of time to think about what was important: money or family? The fame had gone to my head. I see that now. And once the smoke cleared I could answer without a doubt.”
Did he say the fame? Oh, dear. Maybe he actually thought he was Hudson. A twinge of pity rang through Oakley.
“From the songs’ success?” she prompted. “Fame will cloud things, I imagine.” She could imagine, and wish. More than anything she could wish it, especially now that she was a step closer to fame herself, after the audition for TNRS.
“I needed my family, no matter what. Losing the guys brought everything into focus.”
“Wait.” She held up her hand to stop his next word. “You told me earlier you’d cut off contact with your family because they kept contacting you demanding money.”
“Not me, directly. Me, via the label.”
“Okay. So you didn’t actually hear their request?”
“No, but I knew it was going on, and I ignored it. So did all the other guys. I guess it happens all the time, when a kid gets famous or comes into money. The families let greediness rule them.”
“Greed is lame.” Oakley’s comment was lame. But she didn’t know what else to say. She’d never thought of the downside of being rich and famous.
“But that’s just it. I can’t imagine them being greedy. That’s not who they are.” He looked at the ceiling of the pantry. “Think about this: they might have fallen on hard times, and I refused to listen.”
Oakley saw the anguish in his body. “Just go to them. Get their side of the story. Then you can decide whether to feel like trash or not.”
Hudson smirked at her. “Thanks a lot.”
“You know what I mean.” Being the daughter of a kindergarten teacher, she’d had it drilled into her head that an apology was key to lifelong happiness. “Tell them you’re sorry. See what they say.”
“I treated them so badly, Oakley.” Grief marred his otherwise quite handsome features. Not that she was evaluating. “I wouldn’t blame them if they were glad when my plane went down. They probably thought I deserved it. Good riddance, brat.”
“Uh, I don’t know much, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how parents work.”
“Have you ever told your parents they were liars and to get lost?”
“Oh. No, I haven’t.” But she’d been pretty incensed with her mom earlier today and said a few things she probably shouldn’t have. Mom was great at forgiving and forgetting though. Especially, it would seem, when Oakley brought home her teen crush’s doppelgänger. Not that Fake Hudson would likely have that option to sweeten the contrition he showed his family when he found them.
“Have you ever cut off contact with them, refusing to help them when they asked and you could easily give it?”
Obviously, she hadn’t. Mostly all her life she’d been on the receiving end of help—from Mom, from Sherm. Not from Derek Marsden, of course, but that wasn’t exactly his fault, or Oakley’s. Irritation at Mom’s selfishness flared in Oakley again.
“Look, I don’t think you have enough information to draw these conclusions. I’m in sophomore biology, which I know doesn’t make me any kind of scholar, but they teach you about the scientific method. You have to get enough information first. You can’t leap to conclusions.” She tried to smooth this over, but this did seem like a genuine concern. “I know one thing for a hundred percent certain—they wouldn’t have been glad you died.”
“You really think not? You’re certain.”
“Absolutely certain.” She couldn’t believe she was going to say this. “Look, I’ll try to help you find them. I’m sure Mom will let you stay until we do. We can figure out what really happened, what was really going on when they asked for help, and how they felt about how you handled it.”
“Really? You’d do that?”
She couldn’t believe she was nodding her head. But he looked genuinely desperate. “But keep this at the tippy top of your mind: no matter what, I guarantee they’ll feel glad to see you now.”
“If I can find them.” He winced. “If they even agree to see me.”
Wow. What he did must have been pretty cruel for him to be this worried. Or at least wh
at he thought he’d done.
“I’ll see if I can find their current phone number online.” When that offer didn’t seem to register, she gave him props for his acting. Playing along, she explained a different way. “I can try to look it up on the computer. There’s a lot of information on the internet these days. Let’s get some Cheerios, and why don’t you tell me their names.”
“Rufus and Greta Oaks.”
“Oaks.” She sighed. Those were the names Mom had used earlier when she was squealing with delight. “Please? Be serious?”
“You still don’t believe I’m Hudson Oaks. What can I do to convince you?” He slapped his forehead. “Oh, I’ve got this.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. “I’ve got this for proof.”
From inside the cinder-charred wallet came a scent of burnt leather, plus an ID card.
Hudson Oaks. With a birth year. And an address. And a Washington state driver’s license number.
Oakley looked at it, blinking a few times. “Where did you get this?” It was exactly the type of thing Mom would have looked for and collected on the shores of the Camas River Gorge. “You didn’t pull this from my mom’s Wonder Years box, did you?”
“What? I hate that show.”
But he’d swiped it, Oakley could tell.
“You jerk!” She knew he was exploiting Mom again. Anger made her stomp on his foot. “Quit digging through her stuff. You’re making a fool of yourself more than of her, trust me.”
“Stop this, Oakley. You’re not making sense.” He waved a concert ticket in her face. It had a picture of the band, and she recognized it from the album cover. “Look. Look closely. It’s me. See?” He pointed to the crease in his chin. “No one else has that. Only me.”
Reluctantly, she peered at the detail, and then her gaze strayed up to his chin. Identical creases met her eyes.
What would someone even have to gain by tricking Mom like this? Sure, Sherm had some cash and a big house, but still … it made no sense!
“Look, I shouldn’t believe you.” Walls inside her crumbled, faster and faster. She squeezed her eyes shut against the admission, hating herself for even thinking it, let alone saying it. Still, it came tumbling out. “But I believe you believe that you’re Hudson Oaks.”
He exhaled. “Finally!”
She hadn’t admitted much, but the step in that direction triggered a mini-avalanche inside her. What if he actually was the guy? So many things screamed no, but she decided not to completely shut out the possibility.
Closing her eyes and diving in, she offered him one chance. “If you are … truly …” She couldn’t believe she was asking this. “Can you prove it? Like with something that you clearly didn’t steal?”
Leaning back against the calendar, he looked right into her eyes, and he opened his mouth. Hudson … or whoever … sang the song this time, but the real words, not the changed lyrics she’d used for her audition. “You’re just a young girl, one I always missed. But this is your night, your party, your date. I’ll find your lips and take a little taste.”
The cadence and tone couldn’t have been more identical if she’d been listening to the recording.
Hot fear washed through her. It couldn’t be. But … it was.
“You can’t deny the voice.”
She couldn’t. She couldn’t deny the voice. No Elvis impersonator could ever have been so identical to Elvis, and no other Hudson Oaks impersonator would … bother. Right?
“My songs are all I have, if you won’t believe the picture ID.” He sang again, and out came a few, deep-baritone, raspy bars of “The Eyes Have It.”
As he sang, their eyes met, and his gaze held Oakley captive. She sank into the crushed blue velvet of his voice, his melody trapping her more and more inescapably with each note. No wonder girls had fallen at his feet and sung dirges for him years and years later. That combination was lethal to female resistance.
But even more important, each word that came from his vocal chords matched the sound on the single perfectly. Each rhythm, each intonation. More than that, no one she’d ever heard cover the song—and she’d heard every cover pretty much ever recorded, thanks to her mom’s obsession—got the rasp just right. Not like this guy.
“Holy macaroni,” she gasped. “I think … you might be Hudson Oaks.”
Scene 6: “Get Another Boyfriend”
Oakley burst out of the pantry, running at top speed across the kitchen floorboards sounding like a herd of elephants. “Mom! Mom!” She flew through the swinging doors of the kitchen into the living room, where her mom sat on the couch, hugging her knees and staring at a scrapbook. The pages were covered with newspaper articles, clipped in L-shapes, and yellowed. There were little strings pinned and stretching between certain words on opposing pages, words like plane down and unexplained and pilot found and foul play. Mom was tracing the photo of a young man lovingly with her fingertip.
“Isn’t he just a dream?”
“Mom! No, he’s not a dream. I think it really might be him. The Hudson Oaks.”
“I know, dear.”
“He’s almost forty years old.”
“Don’t you think I know that? We’re the same age. Our birthdays are just a few weeks apart. He’s older. We could have been in the same high school graduating class if I hadn’t had to drop out to work, and if he hadn’t dropped out to pursue his music.”
“Mom, it’s him in the pantry. He was staring at the calendar.” Oakley thought about the singing, and it shoved her even further that direction. She had one foot fully planted in the it’s him side, and the other one sliding toward it. “He sang. Did you hear it? I heard him. Mom? I’m pretty sure he’s actually Hudson Oaks.”
“I’ve been telling you that, honey.”
It was like it didn’t even faze Mom that there was someone who had time jumped, or whatever, in their house, in their pantry, and who needed something to eat.
“I’m still getting him some cold cereal.”
“Fine. Good idea. Let me know when you’re ready for me to come back.”
Suddenly it occurred to Oakley that slamming the door on Mom had hurt her feelings. “I’m sorry about that, Mom.” Shame pushed a little hole in her. “If I’d believed you, I wouldn’t have treated you so badly. But you have to admit, it’s pretty hard to believe—on the surface.”
“Not for me,” Mom said with a dreamy voice. “I always knew he’d come back to me—if I waited long enough.”
Oh, brother. This had to stop. But Oakley had no idea how to put the brakes on a mind-bending undying crush of two decades’ duration. It was gross. And disturbing. And her mom was way too old for this guy.
Sort of.
Oh, this was so messed up.
“I’m getting him some cereal, and then I’ll be back. We have to talk, you and I.” Oakley cleared her throat. “And meanwhile, you should look at this instead.” From the bottom shelf of the side table next to the couch, she pulled out the wedding photo album from Mom and Sherm’s big day three and a half years ago. “Orange sherbet and vanilla ice cream.” That had been their wedding theme colors as well as their reception food. Oakley leaned down and whispered, “You love him, Mom. He’s your now. Hudson Oaks may have resurfaced, but Sherm is your husband.”
“I know that, dear.”
“I guess …” She couldn’t believe she was saying this. “I guess I’m saying, don’t hurt him.”
Oakley was fighting for Sherm? Her mind flipped over backwards. Not that Sherm was a bad guy. In fact, he’d been fairly decent as stepdads went, from what Oakley could tell. He’d even taken off work the other day and driven her to Portland to support her audition. And he made a good comfortable life for her and Mom, no question. And he listened now and then when Oakley had something to say and decided to include him.
It was just that today she’d learned that she actually had a biological father, and that he was named Derek, just like the prince on The Swan Princess, and that he had a manly, mac
ho job like U.S. Forest Service ranger, not a milquetoast office job like contracts lawyer. Shouldn’t Oakley be fighting for him instead?
“Remember the little cream cheese swirl sandwiches? And the song Sherm played on the piano for you?” Oakley flipped to the page with the picture of Sherm at the piano. He hadn’t sung, but he’d played a favorite song of theirs, something to do with a rose seed buried in the ground after pain and heartache. Bette Midler, maybe. Which was stupid, Oakley remembered thinking, because roses generally didn’t grow from seeds, they grew from buds grafted onto rose rootstocks, but whatever. That wasn’t the point. “He made your eyes mist up? Remember?”
Mom nodded, staring down at the photos.
“I remember. I just forgot for a minute.”
“It’s okay, Mom. Old crushes die hard.” She winced when she realized she’d said the word die. “Sherm. He’s been there for you through tough times.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “He has. I really am lucky.” She held the book up to her face, which gave Oakley a chance to slip the scrapbook out from under the photo album.
Mom didn’t seem a hundred percent cured of her Hudson obsession—yet. But talking about Sherm had made the tide recede a little. That was good. Oakley would keep up the reminders, salve the wounds. Sherm would be back in a couple of days, and Hudson had better be gone back to his family, or else Mom’s crush on him had better be totally gone back to the nineties, one or the other, or things would not go well.
“Do you remember how spiffy Sherm looked in his tuxedo?” She kissed Mom’s hair. “He really loves you.”
Mom seemed to fall into the wedding memories. Meanwhile, Oakley absconded with the Hudson scrapbook and scooted toward the kitchen.
If he really was Hudson Oaks, he still needed to be told how bad things had gone for his plane. Maybe this would come in handy in convincing Hudson what had happened to him. And maybe they could figure out what the heck he was doing here in this decade.
My 90s Boy Band Boyfriend: A YA Time Travel Rockstar Romance (Teen Queens Book 2) Page 8