“Sure! Yeah! Just let me grab my stuff.” In his excitement, Jaxon almost tripped over his buckets. He began snatching them up and stacking them inside of each other. After they were all collected, he nestled them in a small gap between a large planter and a downspout. But when he bent to pick up his drums sticks, his fingers landed a few inches shy of their mark. He felt his way to the right, curled his fingers around them, and stuffed them in his backpack. “Ok.”
“Just don’t curse around the kid again,” Carter warned, “or they’ll oust you from their table.”
“I can watch my mouth,” Jaxon promised. He glanced at Coop, then Tate and back to Coop again. Carter’s words had put the fear of God in him. “Swear!”
Cooper tapped something into her tablet. A second later Carter’s phone chirped. He slid it from his pocket, pulled up the message and then glanced at Cooper. “That’s not cool.” He cupped his balls protectively. “How could you even make jokes like that?” Cooper lifted her tablet, yet again. Carter looked at his phone and promptly stepped to the other side of Jake. “Why are you threatening me? I’m just trying to help the kid out!”
“So what’s good here, Jaxon?” I asked, distracting Jaxon from Carter and Coop’s bickering. Jaxon looked dumbfounded and in shock. A little conversation might loosen him up.
“Uh…everything.” When he didn’t expound any further, I took it he’d never eaten here. Judging by his clothes, he couldn’t afford it.
“I’m going to check out the Italian,” I offered. “Do you like Italian, or are you a burger and fries kind of guy?”
“I’m not a picky eater, but I ate already, so I, uh, I think I’ll just wait out here for you all.” Pulling out his chair, he dropped his backpack onto the seat.
“Kid,” Shane warned, “she’s got this thing for feeding people. Just go with it or you’ll upset her.”
“That’s not true! Ok, it is true,” I admitted. I liked to feed Shane, and Carter could smell food a mile away. “If you’re anything like Shane, you burn a few hundred calories an hour. You need to keep yourself fueled. Now come on. Lunch is on me.”
“I—,” Jaxon sighed, ran his hands through his hair. He glanced at the restaurant, and lowered his voice. “I can't go inside.”
“Why not?” Tate inquired. His tone was serious. He wanted to know if the kid was going to be trouble.
Jaxon shrugged. “People come to chill and eat. Some don’t think the drums are agreeable. So the managers get one or two complaints. They call the cops. Cops come and ask me to leave. It’s all fine. I’m used to it. I don’t give them any trouble because I don’t have a license to perform. This one day, I got my stuff together to go, and this guy pushed his chair out. Well, I tripped and fell into someone’s table. It caused a scene. That’s all. But since then, they’re not so welcoming. You know what I mean?”
“Well, you’re with us today,” Tate said, and that was that. “I’m having a burger. You?”
Jaxon looked around, unsure.
“Mexican,” Carter said.
“I’m going for a burger too,” Jake added.
“There you have it,” Tate said. “What’re you having, kid?”
Jaxon glanced at Shane and me. “You’re having Italian?” I nodded, smiling warmly. “I’m with you, then.”
Shane took Fiend's leash from me and proffered the two to Marshall, who looked at the canines as if they were martians. "What am I supposed to do with them?"
“Watch 'em for five minutes while we go order our food.” We were planning to eat outside on the patio and enjoy the weather. Marshall could survive the dogs that long.
“If they poop, I ain’t cleaning it up.” With a scowl, Marshall took the leashes. Fiend’s nose dove immediately into his crotch. “Get the hell outta there," Marshall exclaimed. “Jesus, dog, at least buy me a drink first.”
“They're going to eat him alive,” I said, having second thoughts. As we pushed through the doors, Marshall's voice followed me.
“Hey, get me a meatball sub!”
“Translation: two of the—,” Shane began. He was cut off by Jaxon's laugh. It wasn't loud or overly buoyant, but wholesome and amused. When we turned to look, he straightened his face and cleared his throat.
“Your dog—the other one—was humping his leg.”
“That's Rake. The female is Fiend."
"How old are they?"
"Almost old enough to spay and neuter, so about five months give or take. They were adopted."
"That's cool."
"Do you have a dog?"
"Nah."
"Ever?" I pressed. The kid was tight lipped. He wasn’t giving away a thing about himself.
"Always wanted one, but no."
Shane grasped my hand, and squeezed. When I looked up, he had a smile playing at the edge of his lips. "You want to take him home, don't you?"
“I was just being nice.”
“I think you'll get what you want anyhow.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tate's feeling him out for Coop's band.”
“Is he that good?”
“He has definite potential. If Tate's mom has her way, and Coop has a second surgery, it'll be another few months of healing. Then she'll be having Tate’s kids. By the time she's ready to sing again, he'll know his shit."
"He has eyesight issues."
"I noticed that too. It's obviously not a problem. Stevie Wonder played blind, and Rick Allen plays with one arm. People adapt.”
Approaching the counter for the Baker Butcher, I reached for the menu and perused over the selections. I chose to go with the Orecchiette pasta, while Shane ordered three subs, one for himself, and two for Marshall. When the both of us turned to see what Jaxon wanted to eat, we found him inching around the water fountain in the atrium, using his toe to guide his way. Suddenly, I realized why he had holes in the toes of his sneakers.
“I’ll help him.” If I hadn’t been sure of the extent of his impairment, I knew now, and I felt careless for overlooking his pace. "Jaxon," I called, as I got closer. He angled his head to the side, and followed the sound of my voice. "I'm straight ahead."
"Anything between us?" he asked.
"No." He relaxed noticeably, and began to walk toward me, falling into a more natural gate. "Sorry about that."
"It's my fault. I was being vain. It's just...that's Shane Richardson!” A one hundred megawatt smile spread across his face. “Holy shit—I’m having lunch with Hautboy! Oh God, maybe I’d better not eat. I think I might blow chunks.”
“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Jaxon; Shane Richardson and the rest of the band puts their pants on one leg at a time, just like you.”
“No, no way. I don’t believe that. They’re larger than life.”
“Carter, maybe,” I agreed. “Sometimes I wonder how he gets his shirt over his big head, but the others are all down to earth.”
"Can I ask you a question?"
"You just did."
"What? Oh! Ha ha!" Nervously, Jaxon ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. "Do I look ok? I mean--am I a mess?"
"You were fine until you just messed your hair up." Stopping in his tracks, the smile faded from his face. Color rose in his cheeks. "Fix it. Please. I can see a little, but that sun outside fucked me up. All I'm seeing is stars." He tilted his head down so that I could reach it. Whatever his age, he was still taller than I was.
"I bet you are, though I doubt it's from the sun." Lifting my hands, I combed my fingers through his hair until it lay in a respectable manner. "Take a deep breath now, Jaxon, and try to act cool. They really are people just like me and you."
"Thanks."
"One last thing--when they ask you questions, answer them honestly. They've all known adversity first hand. Unless you've robbed, maimed or murdered, they'll understand."
"What's your name?"
I hesitated, and then said, "Emelia."
"Thanks, Emelia."
Chapter 2
0
“You’ve made better,” Shane said, in reference to my pasta. Damn if that wasn’t why I ate Italian in the first place. I always did. I contented myself with the knowledge, even if I never wanted my own restaurant. Now, however, surrounded by my friends, enjoying good food and light conversation, the notion was tempting.
“Ten times better,” Carter agreed. He was finishing off the last of his pork tacos from El Pato, but he had sampled my pasta as well. Everyone had. I’d tried Shane’s sandwich and Carter’s tacos. I’d even filched a few of Coop’s French fries.
“Are you a chef?” Jaxon asked. His plate sat empty in front of him, his Chicken Carbonara long gone. I slid his plate away and set mine in its place.
"No, I’m not. Mangia, kid. You’re too skinny."
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m saving room for dessert.”
Going immediately to work, Jaxon fished around the plate with his fork for a thumbprint of pasta. "If you cook better than this, you should be a chef."
Carter smirked, but kept his thoughts to himself. For once, I wasn’t the center of everyone’s attention. Jaxon needed fixing more than I did.
Everyone waited patiently for ‘the kid’ to finish his meal before the first question was fired. “So where are you from, kid?” Carter asked. He was heading the mission to build Coop a band, since he had lost the wager between the two back in Pennsylvania. Coop had been waiting tables at The Loft. Carter had questioned her talent, promising her a band if she could earn an ovation from the crowd. She won.
Jaxon placed his fork down and wiped his mouth. “Right now I’m…itinerant.”
“Why?” Tate asked. “Where’re your folks?”
“My stepfather’s not a personable guy. I moved out in my senior year when I turned eighteen. Lived with my girlfriend’s family for a while. They were Christians, and felt rather strongly about abstinence outside of marriage. My girlfriend didn't.”
Jake snorted loudly. “There’re lines, kid. You don’t disrespect someone when they’re kind enough to put a roof over your head.”
“Screw your lines,” Carter scoffed. “Seriously, get off your high and mighty steed, Jake off. You’re not so pious yourself. Hypocrite.”
“Dude, I lived by the law to make sure Mattie grew up right,” Jake argued. “If I found out some schmuck was slipping into her room at night after I worked so hard to raise her right, you’re damn right his ass is going out on the street!”
“Well, maybe she was sneaking into his room,” Carter pointed out. “Why automatically assume he’s the guilty party?”
“The kid,” Tate reminded them, gathering their attention. In this instance, he was referring to Levy, who was finishing the last of his chicken fingers.
Jaxon, however, assumed they were referring to himself. “It’s ok. He’s right. They both are. I wasn’t sneaking into her room, but I still should’ve said no.”
“Kid,” said Shane, “you don’t need to explain yourself to anyone. You’re not on trial here.”
Jaxon looked like he swallowed a frog. He swallowed nervously, his Adams apple bobbing up and down his throat. “It’s ok.”
It wasn’t ok. He was going to run. Beneath the table he was balling up his napkin. Before he could bolt, I grabbed his hand and squeezed, hoping to offer a little support. He grasped onto it like a lifeline, nearly crushing my fingers in his hand.
“So,” Tate continued, ignoring the tension between Jake and Carter, “Are you really eighteen?”
“Twenty,” Jaxon corrected. “I’ll be twenty-one next week.”
“Where’ve you been staying?”
“With friends when I can.”
“You learned to play on the internet.”
“I go to the library a lot. The librarians are nice. They’ll pull up the video for me. I listen.”
“Don’t you read braille or something?” Carter asked, indelicately, and then tried to save himself. “Coop uses text to voice on her tablet. Isn’t that on all computers?”
“I’m not blind. I have cataracts.” Tugging his glasses off, he exposed his eyes. They were a brilliant blue color with a cloudy white pupil. “Everything’s a blur and I have light sensitivity, but I can see.” Noticeably uncomfortable with the sunlight, he pushed them back onto his face. “I’ve been saving to have corrective surgery.”
“There’re clinics that do it for free,” Tate pointed out.
“Where I come from,” Jaxon advised, “nothing’s for free. They’d probably take a kidney to cover the bill.”
A crooked grin spread across Tate’s face. “You’re in Oregon, kid, I’m pretty sure you’re safe from organ trafficking.”
“Just saying, when you don’t have family or a permanent address, you’re expendable. When I go under the knife, I’m going to have one or the other as incentive to return me with everything I was born with.”
“He sounds like you, Carter,” Shane spoke up. “Always said you thought there was some man walking around with your leg.”
The table erupted into laughter, breaking the tension. Jaxon let go of my hand. Like Shane, his hands sweated terribly. I rubbed my palm along the leg of my jeans.
“Jesus!” Tate laughed. “I forgot about that!”
“I always pictured some full grown man limping around with this really small leg,” Jake agreed. “Like a girl with a broken heel.”
“Jess used to tell me that he was a serial killer,” Carter reflected, “and every time I did something bad he was coming to take my other leg.”
“Did it work?” Jaxon inquired. “Did she scare you?”
“No,” Carter laughed, “but Mr. Watkins’ leather belt did. Straightened my ass right out. No pun intended.”
“You mean you were worse than you are now?” I said with a smirk. I couldn’t imagine it. Actually, I could. He was probably an atrocious kid. Back in Nampa, he'd thrown a wet roll of toilet paper over the partition at Shane in the restroom. Another night, he'd fed the puppies baked beans under the table. They had gas all night, and Rake shit all over the floor on Shane’s side of the bed. Carter blamed it on Levy, of course.
“Were?” Shane mocked, looking up from his sandwich. “He hasn’t grown up a bit. He’s still pulling the same pranks now that he did in grade school.”
“So what,” Carter scoffed, “you’ve been clean and sober for a month or two and you have the right to judge me?”
“I’m not judging you; I’m calling it like it is.” Placing the remnants of his sandwich down, he wiped his hands and face. “I might fall off the wagon on occasion, but you’ll always be an a-hole.”
“Nice," Carter stated, glowering at Tate, "are you going to make him leave your table now?”
“He didn't curse, technically.”
“Neither did I. All I said was bah humbug.” Levy gasped. Carter sighed and shook his head. “Someone really needs to explain to that kid that it's not a swear word.”
“The point is Shane honestly slips,” Coop pointed out. “You, on the other hand, just don’t care.”
“Get a grip, sweetheart. There’s a lot worse things that can happen to your kid than hearing a few swear words. You’re traveling with a rock band, not a Disney On Ice show.” Rising from his seat, he gathered his trash. “I’d stick around, but honestly I just don’t feel like it.” With that, he walked off, leaving us nonplussed over his behavior. “Fucking bitch brigade.”
“I’m going to get Levy’s cake,” Coop choked, near tears. She pushed away from the table, leaving Tate, Evan, and Taylor, to chase after her.
“Coop…come on, babe,” Tate pleaded, consolingly. “You know that had nothing to do with you.”
“That went south quick.” Jake sighed and sat back in his chair.
Shane pushed his plate farther away, his appetite quashed. “Maybe I shouldn't have harassed him.”
“You didn’t say anything he wouldn’t normally laugh off.”
“True.”
“He better straighten himself out, and quick, because Tate’s going to do it for him if he keeps this up.”
“That’s exactly what Coop doesn’t want,” I pointed out. "Her biggest fear is breaking up the band, however distant her involvement might be.”
Jake took a swig of his beer and shook his head. “This doesn’t have anything to do with her.”
“That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel in some way responsible. You guys have had a lifestyle long before she came along, and she’s disrupting it.”
“Hey, I never said anything to make her feel that way.”
Shane, however, had. Sitting back in his chair, he dragged a hand down his face.
“Um, thanks for lunch,” Jaxon said, garnering our attention, “but I think I’m going to roll. It’s just that this sounds personal and all, and I don’t want to intrude.”
“It’s fine, kid,” Jake assured. “This is nothing. Tate can handle Coop. He’ll just do that Coop…Coop…Cooper thing he does. Works every time.”
Shane frown rose into a smirk, matching Jake’s. The three of us laughed softly. “That’s because she’s so mesmerized by the sound of his voice.” Rising from my chair, I gathered what was left of Levy’s meal and wiped the table down. He’d eaten nearly all of his chicken and half of his fries, or maybe the puppies did. They looked well sated lying under Levy’s feet. “You don’t want to leave yet, Jaxon. You’ll miss out on the cake and ice cream.”
“I hab cake?” Levy asked, brightening at the notion.
“And ice cream,” I concurred.
“Chocowit?”
“Dear God, help us all,” Jake muttered. “Break out the raincoats and galoshes. We’ll be swimming in the stuff.”
“Snips and snails and puppy dog tails, that’s what little boys are made of,” I said in dismissal. “They’re supposed to make messes.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to clean it up when he’s not yours.”
“I don’t need a little boy when I have those two.” I pointed to the puppies lying at Levy’s feet. “They’re just like having kids. Shane even gags while I’m cleaning up their poop.”
“I do not.”
I stuck my tongue out in response. He did too. Giggling, Levy followed suit, sticking his tongue out at Shane.
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