Drummer Boy

by Toni Sheridan

“Tim!” Aida’s booming, jolly voice—completely at odds with her four-foot, eight-inch, ninety-pounds if soaking wet frame—met him as he walked through the door. “Good to see you again.”

  He grinned back at her, shaking his head. “You, too.” He found their greetings hilarious, every day the same, as if they hadn’t just seen each other the day before.

  “Your Jane’s here already. Probably putting out chairs, though I told her not to.”

  Tim’s heart skipped a beat, the way it did every time he heard Jane was there, although that was almost as silly as his and Aida’s greetings because Jane showed up practically every day now, too.

  “Don’t say ‘your’ Jane. She’s just a friend.”

  Aida waved a heavy wooden spoon at him. “Such a kidder,” she said and laughed—literally a “ho-ho-ho”—and went back to stirring her soup.

  Tim walked through the kitchen into the hall-like room where they served the food. Long tables sat in rows, blue plastic chairs at almost every spot.

  “You’re not supposed to be putting out chairs,” he said, restraining himself from touching her in greeting.

  Jane grinned up at him. “Well, when the boss is off slacking, the minions have to carry the burden.”

  “Ha—nice. I always wanted minions.”

  Jane swatted him. “There’s quite a line gathering already, and Marcy and Layla can’t make it today.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “OK. I’ll serve. You greet. Maybe Alphie will hang around and help clean up after.”

  “Sounds good.”

  They went to the entrance together. Like it’s our home and we’re receiving company, Tim thought.

  “Are you all right?” Jane asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You just turned pink.”

  “Ah, it’s nothing.” He turned the deadbolt and pushed the doors open.

  Spring sunlight bounced through the doorway, brightening the clean but faded lino, making the whole room a cheerier version of its normally tired self.

  Jane chatted away, directing a few new faces to the buffet line and greeting familiars by name.

  “Heya, Tim,” said a man with a low gravelly voice.

  Tim recognized the distinct tone right away. “Alph! Good to see you.” Note to self, Tim muttered in his head, you spend too much time with Aida. He whipped the pair of drumsticks out of his back pocket.

  Alphie’s pinched-with-worry face relaxed for just a second, and he flashed a rare smile. “Man, you remembered.”

  “Of course I did. Us drummers got to stick together.”

  Alphie rolled his eyes, but almost cracked another smile. “That’s a sad joke, man. Don’t let Jane hear it—she’ll roast you.”

  “Let me hear what?” Jane called, but then she was off talking to someone else.

  Somewhere, sometime in his careful, slightly paranoid travels and collecting and accumulating, Alphie had landed his hands on a practice pad.

  “Come look what I got,” he’d said last week after lunch was done and the dishes were cleaned. Alphie had taken to helping with clean up and was surprisingly efficient and fluid in the kitchen, not as jumpy and scared as usual. “You’ll like it.”

  Tim had followed him and had been surprised. “You drum?”

  “When I was a kid.”

  “Well, hey, I’ll bring you some sticks.”

  “Sure,” Alphie had said, unlocking his shopping buggy from the streetlamp pole that he always chained it to. Sooner or later, Tim figured, someone would come and complain that having it there broke some bylaw or another, but so far so good.

  Now, seeing Alphie’s ice-blue eyes light up with interest, Tim was relieved he’d remembered the drumsticks. He was about to push his luck and see if Alphie wanted to lay down a beat, but the white noise of mellow chatting behind them suddenly changed.

  “Not drunk—only hadda couple.” A tall, burly man with a long, straggly beard pointed a belligerent finger at Robert, a slightly whiny regular, who must’ve made the offensive accusation. The man staggered a little, cursing under his breath, and let loose a wet-sounding belch.

  Tim jogged across the room, but Jane was already beside the man.

  “Let’s get you seated,” she said. “Then I’ll grab you something to eat, OK?”

  The man, still grumbling, complied, following the gentle pressure on his elbow as Jane guided him. He was about to sit when his face went a nasty pale shade.

  Tim had been this route a few times and grabbed a garbage can—too late.

  The man threw up a foul, sour-smelling mess down the front of his jacket and onto the floor.

  The room went still, and Tim realized that this was probably where he lost Jane. Why hadn’t he manned up and asked her out on an actual date or something? Cleaning up puke was the antithesis of romance. He thought of Natalie and looked up, expecting to see a similar expression of absolute distaste on Jane’s face. Though, to be honest, it took a lot less than vomit to offend Natalie. He blinked.

  Jane had whipped a mismatched pair of latex gloves—one huge and one small—out of her hip pocket. In a quiet, conversational tone, she asked the man if she could please take his jacket.

  “I’ll give it back,” she promised. “I just want to clean it for you. I hate throwing up. It feels awful doesn’t it?”

  The man’s eyes had a dull sheen—not embarrassment, but a sort of resigned hopelessness that made Tim’s stomach clench.

  “Tim, could you grab some paper towels and spray cleaner?”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He practically ran to the cleaning cupboard. When he returned, Jane had the man’s jacket folded in on itself in a neat pile, and she’d wiped his face and beard with a napkin.

  She left Tim to cleaning the floor.

  “Are you all right to walk, maybe get some fresh air?”

  The man nodded.

  “Alphie, would you mind getting us a coffee, a bottle of water, some buttered rolls—and maybe a bit of cheese?”

  Tim and Alphie found Jane and the man—Bill, she introduced him as—sitting in the sun on the cement steps in front of the hall.

  Bill shook his head at the water but took the coffee.

  Jane tucked his water, the sandwich baggy of buns and cheese, and two oranges and an apple that Alphie had also brought, into a navy messenger bag that Tim hadn’t even noticed the man was carrying.

  “Try to drink the water later, if you’re up to it,” Jane said. “And please come back for lunch another day.”

  Bill grunted and heaved himself up to his feet.

  “You don’t need to leave yet,” Jane said. “It’s a nice afternoon to just take it easy.”

  But the guy was already in motion. He turned back at the bottom of the stairs. “My coat.”

  “I’m going to take it to the Laundromat. We’re done here about two o’clock. Can you meet me here three-ish?”

  Bill scratched at his chin and then nodded.

  Jane hopped up, gently pulling off the loose glove protecting her damaged hand. Then she snapped off the fitted one from her right hand. She twisted the gloves into a ball, tossed them into a trash bin wired to the stairs’ handrail, and dusted off her bottom.

  “Well, let’s see how Aida’s doing. She probably could use help.”

  Tim shook his head.

  “What?” Jane’s voice was almost alarmed.

  “You’re amazing.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Well, yes, yes, I am. Thanks for noticing.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Me, too,” she said and then laughed and clapped his shoulder as they headed back inside.

  He shook his head again, feeling his heart beat spike.

  “I wouldn’t have cleaned up that old drunk’s puke,” Alphie muttered behind them.

  Jane stopped and turned. “Oh, come on. Everyone throws up sometimes. Think how bad that would feel, throwing up in place you just mustered up the courage to go
to for a first time, in front of a bunch of people you don’t know.”

  “He didn’t feel bad. He didn’t even apologize. Disgusting,” Aphie groused.

  Jane frowned, but her voice was soft. “I’m sure this is just one more incident in a long list he feels badly about. A person gets numb to survive. And sure, it’s unfortunate it happened in the dining room, but it was what it was.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “And by the way,” Jane added, resting her hand on Alphie’s shoulder, too, so she was holding both Tim and him. “Thanks for thinking to bring fruit. His body could use the vitamin C.”

  Jealousy surged through Tim. Well, actually, not jealousy exactly. He didn’t begrudge Alphie the affection, but he wanted to believe the way Jane touched him was something more than the friendly gesture she extended to Alphie.

  “You are deluded, man,” he muttered to himself. “Seriously deluded. What do you have to offer someone like Jane?”

  9

  Jane tapped her foot nervously and surveyed the hallway, as Heber, the landlord, knocked on the door to apartment 203. The building was immaculate and smelled very lightly of a lemon cleaner. There was a sound of movement in the apartment, but no one came to the door. The landlord knocked again.

  Jane ran through the details Heber had given over the phone. Stacking washer and dryer in closet off bathroom. Fresh paint and new laminate flooring throughout. Utilities, plus Wi-Fi and basic cable included—

  “Sorry, just a second. I’ll be right there.” The voice that came from somewhere behind the door was muffled, but Jane would’ve recognized it anywhere. Tim. She was looking at Tim’s apartment? Where was he moving?

  The door opened and Tim was there, pulling a tank top over his washboard abs. He hadn’t noticed her standing behind Heber yet, and Jane couldn’t help gawking. My, the boy was built nicely. And now maybe she understood a bit about why he was self-conscious of his tattoos. The left half of his body was mostly clear, but his right side, chest to hip, back and shoulder, plus a complete sleeve, was covered in dark, violent images—pictures that were hard to reconcile with the Tim she knew.

  Heber moved into the small entranceway.

  Tim glanced Jane’s way, and his eyebrow lifted in surprise. “Jane.”

  “In the flesh,” she said and then broke off flustered because it was a stupid thing to say when Tim was wearing nothing but boxers and a tank top.

  He looked down at himself and the tips of his ears reddened. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I was out late last night. Totally forgot Heber had arranged a viewing.”

  Heber was pointing out features in the small apartment, but Jane only had eyes for the personal details. A gorgeous, huge, black drum kit and an equally gorgeous stereo system took up most of the living room.

  “I didn’t know you were looking for a place.”

  Jane shrugged and smoothed her hand along the back of Tim’s butter-soft, ivory leather loveseat. “Candy has Dean, now. I’m not needed around the house the way I was. They’re getting hitched January 1. Being roommates with them as a couple would just feel weird.” Her toe nudged something. She looked down, and then stooped to retrieve a well-worn Bible from the floor by the couch.

  She handed it to Tim, who set it on the breakfast bar. “Makes sense to move on, I guess.”

  “But what about you? Why are you moving?”

  Tim flushed deeper. “Just thought it was time to get something a bit bigger, in case, well, I don’t know. I might not be single forever, you know.”

  Heber was saying something about the damage deposit, but he interrupted himself. “You guys know each other. You talk—and you let me know if you want the place by tomorrow 5:00 PM.”

  “I will. Thank you so much. It’s lovely.”

  Heber smiled, nodded once, and left.

  There was a second of awkward silence, and then Tim said, “So this is weird…I would’ve invited you over before, but—”

  “But you were busy with whoever this “not going to stay single forever” person is?”

  Jane had just noticed something else telling about Tim’s tattoos, but as if he sensed her staring—and her questions—he grabbed a soft flannel button up shirt from the back of a kitchen chair and pulled it on.

  He met her gaze. “You misunderstood me. There’s no one else.”

  No one else. The implication of his words made her want to jump up and down with joy—which was stupid. Totally stupid. She didn’t want him to be saying or thinking any such thing. She just wanted to be friends—to have none of the pressure of going out, none of the hassle of breaking it off when it wasn’t working out. She sighed heavily.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Do you want to grab a coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  They took the stairs down, Tim in front, her behind. From her vantage point, for the first time, she noticed a tattooed snarl of barbwire poked out just above his collar.

  She pressed her fingers against it.

  He stopped stock-still.

  “You hate your tattoos,” she said. It wasn’t a question, and his head bowed at her words.

  Tim kept his back to her, his face averted. “They…It’s just always in my face. The guy I used to be—so filled with rage and hate—or fear that masqueraded as hate. Confusion. I hate being reminded, but mostly, I hate people seeing that mess and thinking that’s still me. You should hear my mother go on about them.”

  Behind Tim, where he couldn’t see her, she shook her head. No one who knew Tim could think that.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said, and meant it. “Inside and out. Really.”

  He didn’t respond to that.

  “So you’re covering them up with new tattoos that suit who you are a bit better?”

  “Yeah, I wanted to remove some of them, but it’s too costly—inefficient.”

  “Roses,” she said.

  “What?”

  “White roses. The barbwire will convert to a beautiful vine, no problem. And you could add your brother’s name…”

  Tim pivoted on the step he was on and looked up at her. “They really don’t put you off?”

  Jane shook her head.

  “You’re something else, you know that?”

  Jane wanted to bend down and kiss him. It would be so easy to do, but that was the whole problem. They were growing close. What if the second it got serious, she wasn’t as keen anymore? Or once she wasn’t a challenge any longer, what if he stopped being interested? She had no doubts about her ability to attract men, but it was another thing to keep someone over the long haul.

  Tim was fortunate. His problems were exterior. Ugly tattoos.

  No, if she was going to get to keep Tim in her life at all, she had to make sure they kept some distance.

  10

  Something buzzed near Jane’s head, interrupting her good dream. She was on a beach, maybe in Tahiti? Somewhere gorgeous, anyway, with white sand and an ocean so blue it looked fake…The phone. That’s what the annoying noise was.

  “Hey, guys,” she croaked. “Get the phone.”

  It kept ringing.

  “Kaylie? Matt? Michael? Anyone?” she asked louder.

  No response.

  Fine.

  She picked up the handset half covered by one of her pillows. “Hello?”

  “Jane?”

  “Yeah,” she admitted grudgingly, still sleepy, but chilled now. Her dimly lit bedroom was the furthest thing from the sunny heat of the beach.

  “It’s Tim.”

  Her stomach did a little flip, and she bit her lip. “Hi,” she said and left it at that.

  “Uh, I was wondering…you haven’t returned any of my calls since you checked out my apartment. Is something wrong? Did I do something—or not do something?”

  Jane changed positions carefully, turning to lie flat on her back, and stared up at the ceiling. Little trickles of salt water ran from the outside corners of her eyes, down her ch
eeks, and into her ears—an icky feeling that made her tears flow harder. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Are you sure? Are you all right? You sound a bit—”

  “I’m coming down with a cold.”

  “Oh, OK, then. Well, if you’re going to that tea thing of Sarah’s today, I’d love to accompany you. I’ll drive, and maybe we could hang out afterwards?”

  Right. Sarah’s celebration tea. It was today. How had that day arrived so quickly anyway? Where was time going?

  “I guess.”

  “Don’t sound so enthusiastic. It might go straight to my head.”

  Despite herself, Jane chuckled—a dried up, out of practice sound. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s definitely me, not you.”

  “Uh huh,” Tim said. “That’s what all the pretty girls say.”

  “Oh, is that what I am to you? A pretty girl?” She’d meant to sound teasing, but the question came out strangely serious.

  Tim’s tone matched hers. “Actually, uh, about that…I’m happy you brought it up. I’ve been wanting to talk about what you are to me for a while now.”

  Butterflies swarmed Jane’s stomach. Happy nerves or dread? She wasn’t sure. “You have?”

  “Yeah,” Tim’s voice was so quiet, Jane strained to hear it. “Maybe we can talk after Sarah’s thing?”

  “OK,” she said. “Yeah.”

  After they hung up, she looked for something to wear and finally settled on a dress with a long, loose-fitting shrug—not her usual sporty wear, but less constrictive on her arm. If they had to have an awkward ‘where they stood with each other’ conversation, she might as well be comfortable.

  She was watching for Tim and when he pulled into the driveway she hurried out to meet him.

  He was already out of the car and walked around the side of the car to open her door for her.

  “You look lovely,” he said. “Different, though.”

  “Yeah, me in a dress. Write it on a calendar.”

  “The softness suits you.”

  Jane rolled her eyes and snapped into her seatbelt, one handed. She really was becoming more adept. It wasn’t just her imagination.

  “Do you need help with that?” Tim asked as he slid into the driver’s seat and then spotted the burgundy strap that crossed her chest. “Ah, I see not.”