by Kat Colmer
She sits up straighter, tugs the edges of her coat together. ‘All right. Let’s talk about you. So why do you avoid church on the first of every month? What’s the deal with that?’
Bingo! There it is. And like the idiot I am, I walked straight into that one. Doesn’t stop me glaring across at her, ready to tell her it’s none of her damn business when … ah hell. Eyes startled, lips parted on a choke—it’s just dawned on her she’s crossed a line.
I blow out my agitation through tight lips. What is it about this girl? No matter how much she riles me with her thoughtless outbursts, I can’t stay annoyed at her. Not when her face tells me she had no clue her words would come out sounding so insensitive. Besides, she’ll be around to witness all the upcoming awkwardness, so I might as well fill in some of the blanks. Question is, how much am I happy for the little hedgehog to know?
‘My ex-girlfriend goes to Crossroads. She comes home from uni first Sunday of each month.’ There, that should be enough.
‘Oh.’
Silence. For all of three seconds. ‘So she dumped you?’
I shake my head. I don’t even know if it’s at her complete lack of filter or in answer. Or her assumption. ‘No. I broke it off.’ Should have done it months earlier, but I was too stupid to see the train wreck coming.
Silence. This time it stretches for longer. It’s only when we turn into the Crossroads car park and I kill the engine that MJ speaks again. ‘Why?’
I glance her way, take in the agenda-free curiosity in her expression, and decide it can’t hurt to answer this one. ‘Let’s just say we had a disagreement over uni choices.’
MJ does her nose twitch thing. ‘Uni choices?’
‘Yeah, she was trying to convince me I should go to the same uni as her. The harder she tried, the more I realised my feelings for her had changed. She wasn’t the right person for me anymore.’
MJ is quiet for a beat. ‘So what made your ex the wrong person?’
Good question. On paper we seem perfect together. Similar interests, same career paths, complementing personalities but … ‘The more she described what she saw as our future, the less I wanted it with her. It was all too, I don’t know, predictable.’
Yeah, that was it. Annie was the expected choice. The safe choice.
And for some reason that meant she wasn’t the right choice. Not anymore.
MJ
The Churchies
Crossroads doesn’t look anything like a church. Mind you, I’m no expert; I’ve only ever been inside one once, three years ago for Grandma Olsen’s funeral. I’m not seeing any stained-glass windows depicting pious saints. Or any ornately decorated altars for pompous priests to hide behind. And no crosses. Anywhere! Good thing Grandma Olsen is dead, because all this blasphemy by omission would surely send her to her grave.
What I am seeing, as I follow Luke down the centre aisle of the sizable auditorium, are rows and rows of moulded chairs, all facing a stage complete with keyboard, guitar, bass and drum kit. Add the speakers mounted on the acoustically insulated walls and the microphone stands lining the front of the stage, and you’ll be forgiven for thinking you’ve walked into a concert hall geared for a rock performance. Come to think of it, you’d better be forgiven no matter what, because—duh!—it’s a church.
‘Luke?’
The warm male baritone pulls my gaze around to the back of the hall.
‘Zac!’ Luke’s face splits into a toothy grin, then he’s leading me back up the aisle in the direction of his friend, who’s getting up from behind what looks like some sort of sound control desk.
He pulls his buddy into one of those chest-bump-and-thump-on-the-back guy hugs. Luke is slightly taller than his friend, but what Zac lacks in height he makes up in shoulder width and quiet confidence.
‘Good to see you, man,’ Luke says mid hug.
‘You too.’ Thump, thump, then Zac’s gaze finds its way to me. ‘I’m Zac.’ He extends a hand, along with the kind of bone melting smile that would have plenty of girls sit up and take notice. I accept both warily. Even with my defunct people radar, I have a feeling this guy doesn’t miss much.
‘MJ,’ I say, and peer up at Luke.
‘Oh yeah, sorry.’ Luke shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘MJ’s Theo’s sister.’
Zac skims my features as though looking for a family resemblance. ‘That’s right. Theo’s mentioned a baby sister.’
His words are delivered with a smile but they hollow me out. Theo visiting Crossroads is another part of my brother’s world I know nothing about. Proof the gap between us yawns as wide as I thought. At least he’s mentioned me to his friends here. That goes some way to filling the increasingly familiar emptiness spreading inside me whenever I think of my relationship with my brother.
There’s an awkward moment of silence where Zac’s narrowed gaze flicks from Luke to me, then back to Luke again. Okay, no doubt about it, Zac has Perceptive People Person stamped boldly across his forehead.
Luke clears his throat. ‘MJ’s helping me pass chemistry.’
Zac’s mouth falls open in a universal ‘ah’ of understanding, but his eyes remain narrowed.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you until next Sunday,’ he says to Luke. ‘You know, first weekend of the month …’
Luke shrugs. ‘They’re short a drummer this morning and, well … I can’t avoid her forever.’
Zac shoots me a quick, but somehow loaded, glance before turning back to Luke. ‘You sure this is a good idea?’
Brows pulling together, Luke also gives me a quick once over, then those ultra-green eyes of his widen in what can only be described as an ‘ah crap’ expression. ‘You’re right. Annie’s going to think—’ He tips his head back and groans at the ceiling. ‘First time I see her and I bring—’ Another groan. ‘If she doesn’t hate me already, this’ll do it.’
‘Easy.’ Zac gives Luke’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘We both know Annie isn’t capable of hating anyone.’
I have no idea what they’re talking about, but Luke’s teeth are now gnawing away at his thumb cuticle so whatever it is, it’s stressing him out.
‘Yeah, but I’ve hurt her enough, and this looks like I’m rubbing her nose in it.’
Rubbing her nose in what? He hasn’t seen the girl in months, what could be so offensive that—Oh! Of course! When she sees Luke and me together, she’ll assume we’re together-together. Which is ridiculous, because he’d never—I mean I’d never! Together? Ridiculous!
I tug sharply at my handbag strap. ‘No need to worry. Anyone with eyes in their head can see nothing like that would ever eventuate between us.’ I nod at the undeniable truth of my words, ignoring the strange indigestion-like tightness building behind my ribcage. But really, what should Annie care? They’re no longer an item. Luke can date whomever he chooses. Except me, because … well, I mean, seriously! ‘Luke and me?’ I snort. ‘Ridiculous!’
‘Ridiculous.’ Luke repeats the word in a tight whisper. Our gazes brush, the green of his slicing between narrowed lids. What have I done now? I scan his expression for clues to his sudden mood change from panicked to ticked-off, but he shifts his stance and turns his back on me.
‘You on sound this morning?’ he asks Zac.
Zac gives him a slow nod.
‘Okay if MJ sits back here with you? ’Cause even though it’s ridiculous—’ he flicks me a smile over his shoulder. Like his voice, it’s tight, ‘—people might get the wrong idea if she sits up front with me and the band.’
Which is something neither of us wants, so what is his problem?
Zac raises a brow but nods again. ‘I’ll look after her.’ His smile is a good deal warmer than Luke’s. I’m still mulling over what I’ve done wrong when Luke stomps towards the stage where the rest of the band has already assembled.
The scrape of chair legs across the floor be
hind me drags my gaze from Luke’s tense shoulders back to Zac.
‘Over here.’ He motions to a spare chair behind the sound desk. Since Drummer Boy seems to have lost a drumstick up his bum, I have little choice but to join Zac.
‘So, you’ve been helping Luke with his chemistry.’ Zac’s attention is divided between the smorgasbord of nobs and dials in front of us, the tall brunette strumming a guitar on the stage and me.
‘Yes. Until final exams.’
He turns dials and adjusts sliders until the brunette gives him a thumbs-up.
‘And? Is he doing all right? Is he going to pass?’
I’m about to answer when ‘one-two, one-two’ comes blaring through the speakers. More dial turning and slider adjusting. Finally, the two vocalists are happy, and Zac moves on to the keyboardist. ‘He has to, pass, I mean,’ Zac says.
‘He can always repeat.’
‘He can, but probably won’t. Not again.’ Zac’s onto the bass player now. A bouncer type with a buzz cut and surprisingly agile fingers.
‘Why not?’ I try catching Zac’s eye to encourage some clarification, but he’s focused on the weird hand signals the guitarist is waving at him.
‘Why not?’ I ask again, even though some long buried etiquette awareness tells me I’m breaking a social rule somewhere. Well, I don’t care. I have a sudden and burning need to know why Luke won’t repeat.
Finally, Zac quits fiddling with his nobs and sliders and sits back in his chair. ‘Has he told you why he’s doing chem in the first place?’
I nod. ‘To make him more employable as a teacher.’
‘That’s half of it, yeah.’
‘What’s the other half?’
Zac’s eyes narrow as though he’s quietly assessing if he should tell me about the other half. ‘Passing chemistry is Luke’s way of proving that he’s good enough.’
I frown at him. ‘I don’t understand.’
Zac’s lips thin. ‘Let’s just say his father’s toxic you’re-not-good-enough parenting has had long lasting effects.’
Not good enough. I’m familiar with this edict. With Meike Olsen-Wang for a mother, it’s practically a family motto.
‘Failing chem a second time would be a fatal blow to Luke’s already dubious confidence,’ Zac adds. ‘So much so he’s talked about giving up on the teaching degree all together.’
I chew on my lip. All this time I’ve been convinced we have nothing in common when we do: we’re both driven by fear of failure.
‘But why chemistry?’ That still doesn’t make any sense.
Zac lifts a brow at me. ‘Luke’s father is a pharmacist.’
And finally, it all slides into focus.
Sound check complete, one of the singers counts the band in. Without thought, my gaze crosses to the stage and Luke’s lanky form behind the drum kit. The piano sat in front of the drums at the drum circle session the other night, so I never got a good look at him playing. But now he’s right there, in full view, commanding the kit as though it’s a natural extension of his body.
Such skill is enough to draw anyone’s eye towards the drummer. But it’s the expression on his face—a melding of concentration, rapture and peace—that keeps my gaze immovably fixed on Luke Bains as he weaves a tight, soul-felt rhythmic spell around each member of the band … and maybe a person or two behind the sound desk.
We might both be driven by fear of failure, but looking at him, so blatantly enjoying his talent for music, so passionate about the teaching path it has led him on, it’s clear that failure for Luke would be devastating—because he’d be letting none other than himself down.
Whereas failure for me … I suck in a sharp breath as the truth suddenly hits home as startling as one of Luke’s cymbal clashes: failure also bears consequence on me, but only because I’d be letting someone else down.
Because my path has never been my own.
‘So, will he pass?’ Zac’s eyes are so full of genuine concern for his friend that I can’t help but like him a little more.
‘Yes.’ My gaze finds Luke again, because for some unexplainable reason I can’t seem to look away from the drummer. ‘I’ll make sure he does.’ Resolve lengthens my spine as I lay the words down in a bed of certainty. It’s the least I can do after misjudging him so badly.
At least one of us should have the chance to fulfil their dream for the future.
***
After the service, Zac guides me into the foyer where everyone is gathering for tea and coffee. It takes us forever to make it to the drinks table, because every couple of steps a different Crossroads churchie stops Zac to have a chat. The guy is popular, which is unfortunate because it draws attention to me.
‘So, what’d you think? Of the service, I mean.’ Zac holds up a tea bag when we finally reach the refreshments.
I shake my head and point to the urn labelled ‘coffee’. ‘It was okay. Although I don’t have much to compare it to.’ I pour milk into the steaming mug Zac has handed me. ‘The minister …’ Do they call them priests in Protestant churches? ‘… he was interesting enough.’ If you’re into third-century Middle Eastern history.
Zac smiles. ‘Dad’ll be glad to know he passed muster.’
‘Dad?’ He can’t mean the preacher is his father.
‘The Rev is my father.’
Then again, maybe he can.
‘Don’t look so shocked.’
His comment sends heat into my cheeks. ‘I’ve never met a preacher’s kid is all.’
‘It get’s worse. I’m studying business and theology.’ He traps me with that perceptive gaze of his. ‘So, which preacher’s kid stereotype have you got me pegged for? Angel or rebel?’
At first glance? Zac has Obedient Preacher Kid stamped all over his clean-cut, Country Road persona. But then my experience with Luke has taught me not to trust first glances.
‘Neither. Studying business and theology is like studying white collar crime and the canon. You’re clearly still undecided.’
The corners of his mouth come into view over the rim of his coffee cup. ‘That’s a cop-out answer, but I’ll pay it. It’s your first time after all, and I have to be nice to you. It’s expected of the preacher’s kid.’
‘Thanks,’ I say with a healthy dose of sarcasm, but I’m positive the warmth in Zac’s smile has been genuine all morning, making me hope his niceness isn’t purely the product of preacher’s kid duty.
In stark contrast, I spot a pale-faced, non-smiling Luke making his way towards us through the throng of churchies.
His unsteady hand shoots out towards the mugs before he comes to a complete stand still. ‘Coffee strong?’
Either I’ve been right all along about his illicit substance habit or something has him seriously jumpy. Or maybe that drumstick up his bum is causing him some grief.
Luke dumps three teaspoons of sugar into his coffee, stirs for all of a second, then downs a third of the cup in one gulp. ‘Service all good?’ He gulps another mouthful, waiting for my answer.
‘Um, sure.’ I’m about to ask if Middle Eastern history interests him at all, but he’s not paying attention. Fingers tapping a gunfire rhythm against the side of his cup, he’s scanning the foyer around me.
‘She’s talking to Mrs Radcliffe.’ Zac tips his chin to Luke’s left.
Of course—Annie. I turn to look, even though I have no idea who Mrs Radcliffe is.
‘You want us to leave? I can take MJ to meet the Rev. That might make—’
‘No.’ Luke throws back the rest of his coffee like it’ll fix what ails him. ‘Stay. I don’t think I can do this alone.’
And then I see her. Although I’ve never met Annie, the poised brunette walking our way has never-wanted-to-be-Luke’s-ex-girlfriend written all over the cobalt blue of her Pollyanna eyes.
‘Annie, hi.’ Zac gre
ets her the moment she’s close enough, which is a good thing because Luke looks like he might throw up at any moment.
‘Hey. Mrs Radcliffe is looking for you.’ She gives Zac a quick smile, but her focus isn’t on the preacher’s boy; her gaze darts first Luke’s way, then mine.
Zac hesitates. ‘I guess I should see what she wants,’ he says. Reluctantly, he puts his cup down on the table and wades through the throng, churchies parting for him like the Red Sea.
Annie nods in his direction, but it’s so perfunctory I doubt she’s heard anything he’s said. No, her focus is on the tense drummer boy standing beside me.
‘How’ve you been?’ she asks, her voice a near whisper.
‘Good.’ Luke manages a stiff nod. ‘You?’
‘Okay … I guess.’ There’s a perfect mix of sweet and sorrow in her expression, the longing in her eyes so tangible it all but reaches for Luke. I’m starting to understand his aversion to this reunion.
His fingers have stopped tapping, but he’s gripping the cup so tightly his knuckles are about to push through his skin. ‘How’s uni?’
‘Going well. I’m really enjoying the education lectures this semester.’
Both studying to be teachers. How claustrophobic.
‘How about you?’
Luke shifts from foot to foot. ‘Okay, mostly. Chemistry is giving me a bit of grief but—’ he shoots me a quick glance, ‘—MJ’s helping me with that.’
Polly-Annie looks my way, a bright hello in her smile, but nowhere near bright enough to cover the wariness in her eyes.
‘MJ, nice to meet you.’ I listen for traces of malice in her words but … there are none. Which is surprising; the girl must be wondering if Luke and I are together. Someone should put her out of her misery.
‘Hi, I’m Luke’s chemistry tutor.’
Polly-Annie’s smile widens at my words, but the wariness stays put in her eyes. ‘So, you’ve met Rosie then?’
Her change of subject throws me for a moment. ‘Yes,’ I eventually say. ‘We’ve bonded. I’ll forever have nightmares involving pottery wheels.’