Until Then

by J. L. Rizzo

  My face must confess my thoughts.

  “I know he deserved it,” she mumbles and takes a step closer to me. I love that she read my mind. I can reach her from here, but I don’t dare try until she gives me the green light to touch her. “He tried —.” She stammers.

  Fuck. What did that piece of shit try?

  She shrugs. “Well, he tried a lot of things,” she shakes her head. “But it didn’t get him anywhere. He was a despicable mess.” She steps a little closer. “I told Lily that I wouldn’t be in the band with him anymore. Not until he sobers up for a while, at least.”

  Her words make me release the trapped air I didn’t know I was holding. Summer’s a lot stronger than I have given her credit for.

  “What did Lily say?” I ask her.

  “She agreed. She’s been waiting for an excuse to replace him. She actually already had someone lined up. Then when I told her what happened with Xaden, she called him and kicked him out right then and there.” Summer shrugs again.

  “What actually happened with Xaden?” I whisper. Something that will make me want to kill him.

  Summer searches my eyes for a moment, weighing her words. Then her eyebrows shoot up. “For starters, he showed up at my house when I’ve never told him where I live.” She purses her lips. “He thought he was going to get the chance to do some of the things I imagine he told you he would do to me.”

  I squint my eyes at her. How does she —?

  “You think I’m the first person Xaden’s ‘bragged’ about?” she chuckles. “I know him better than you, Crew. I know he can be a sick son of a bitch.”

  My girl. Even though I don’t get the credit, I’m so damned proud of her.

  She scrutinizes my face, landing on the spot near my eye. “Is your eye ok?” she asks softly.

  “You mean, did I survive your left hook?” I reply. She chuckles once under her breath. “Yeah, Summer. I’m fine.” I swallow. I’m not fine. “I had no idea you were so strong.”

  Summer dances her gloved fingers at me. “The fingers of a pianist are tough and agile,” she smiles, and it’s thrilling to hear her make a joke. It gives me hope.

  “Thank you…for the t-shirt,” she smiles. All I do is smile back at her. I hope she keeps it and wears it daily and thinks of me.

  After a few silent moments, I can no longer resist the urge to ask, “Can we please get out of here so we can talk, Summer?”

  Her face falls instantly.

  Oh, no.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Summer steels herself with a deep breath. “I gave your things to the bailiff and paid your bail. But you won’t be released until later tonight so you can make your flight back to Austin.”

  What?!

  “Summer. Please —.”

  “Go home, Crew.” Her voice is final and insistent. Closing her eyes, she continues, “Please go home.” She opens them and pierces me with the resolve in her warm brown eyes. She’s strong, alright. “Let me be for a while.”

  “Sum —”

  “Please, stop.” She takes another deep breath. “Please. Stop and hear me out.” I sit with bated breath for the words that will kill me. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  “We both need something right now, Crew. I need space. I need to re-establish a relationship with my mother. I need to figure out how to finally move on from my father’s death. I need to work on…the next part of my life.” She pauses for a moment. “I need to listen to my heart’s song,” she smiles, remembering what I asked her to do in Austin years ago. “And right now, it’s singing my praises. Not my father’s. Not my mother’s. Not yours. Mine.” She smiles again. “I’m excited to hear the rest of the prelude.”

  Damn. She’s gorgeous.

  “You, Crew. You need to be in here for a bit longer.”

  “But I need —.”

  “You need to stay here. You said yourself that someone ought to be punished for things that happened years ago. Well, you’re already in a jail cell for beating up the villain and saving the day. Now you need a few more hours to honor the fallen hero.”

  Christ. Pain swells in my heart. Tears begin to well in my eyes. I haven’t cried since I was 10.

  Please don’t hate me, Summer. Please don’t push me away.

  Summer walks up to the bars, ungloves her hand, reaches through and swipes a falling tear dripping down my cheek.

  “I know it was an accident, Crew,” she whispers with a hoarse breath. “It’s a tragedy that doesn’t need to ruin more lives. You weren’t being malicious. You didn’t even have a drink that night.”

  How does she —?

  “Chance looked up your records. You were completely sober that night. I read it in the report.”

  God. Please help me. Her words stab at my open wounds, pouring salt on the exposed flesh. I feel as if I’m being burned alive by the hands of an angel.

  “You’re a good person, Crew Evans.” She wipes with both hands at the river of tears now pouring down my face. “You need to forgive yourself.”

  Pain constricts my chest. I can’t. “Summer —” I start, but the words don’t come.

  “Your mother. My father. You couldn’t save them.” Oh, no. Gripping the bars so hard, my arms feel like they’re catching on fire, spreading the burn through my body. Summer is slowly killing me with her words. But I’ve never felt more alive.

  “I know you tried,” she whispers in my ear.

  I thread my arms through the bars and wrap them around her and grab on her to coat so tightly that I lose feeling in my hands. My chest hurts so badly that I can’t suck in a breath. I can hear her through my aching sobs, but it’s difficult to speak. “I’m sorry, Summer. I’m so, so sorry,” I whisper back with no air to revive me.

  “I know, Crew.” She pulls back. “It will be ok.”

  It will be ok. I don’t see how it will be ok. How could it be ok? Nothing is ok.

  Taking a deep breath, I pull back and study her beautiful face, memorizing every curve, every shadow, afraid that I’ll never see her again. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I will. But she’ll probably be different than she is right now.

  She’s resolved to leave me here. There’s nothing I can do about that. And it breaks my fucking heart all over again. But I revel for a moment in the fact that she isn’t running away from something. She’s running toward her future. A future without me in it. It’s a bittersweet stab to my dark soul.

  “What can I say to make you take me back?” I choke out. “What do I have to do?”

  Summer’s thin lips form a wide smile, her chin trembling and hiding the pain she’s suffering through. I want to steal her pain. But right now, I am her pain.

  “Go home, Crew. Give me time.” She swipes at more tears spilling down my cheeks.

  Time.

  Right now, time is on my side. Time is hopeful, not desperate. Time is calm, not harsh. Time has been the constant missing piece for me and Summer.

  Time hurts more this time.

  I suck in a breath and say, “I’m going to love you until my lungs give out and my heart stops beating.” My lip quivers when I continue, “Then, I’ll love you longer.” Feeling my ribs collapse, all my air runs dry. There’s nothing but pain in my chest, crushing everything I have inside.

  Summer’s tears tell me that I shouldn’t give up, that I can hold on to my hope for as long as I need to survive without her.

  “Will I see you next year, Summer?” The pain in my chest chokes out the words.

  She smiles and nods. “I hope so.” Through the bars, Summer cups my face and kisses my forehead — the same gesture my mother always offered when I was suffering. It breaks my heart even more than it’s already broken. I can taste the saltiness bleeding out.

  “Until then, Crew.”

  Walking away, Summer takes with her my heart in her hands and my soul on her heels.

  Again.

  No one needs a tragedy to die. They just need to fall in love.

 
; Summer

  Tonight, I start packing.

  Summer’s Final February

  After silence,

  that which comes nearest to

  expressing the inexpressible

  is music.

  ~ Aldous Huxley

  26.

  6:05pm

  “I’ll be fine, Mom. Go and have a good trip. Give Chance a hug from me. And take care of yourself.”

  “I love you, sweetheart. I’ll be back next week. Call me if you need me.”

  Her endearment makes me chuckle. Call her if I need her. Last year, I didn’t even think she could use a phone. This year, she wants to be my lifeline. “I will. I love you, too, Mom.”

  Hanging up the phone, I smile thinking about how different our relationship is from last year and how great it feels to have a quasi-normal relationship with my mother.

  Meredith DiPiano.

  As much as I love her and Chance, her new name will take some getting used to. “Meredith Perry” was such a different person than I actually knew her to be. She was a meek, dependent, resolved and kind soul. She didn’t have a phone, only a couple of friends, stayed inside most of her days, and quietly kept to herself. But she was the mother I knew my father loved with all his heart. “Meredith DiPiano” is strong, independent, charming, and bright — all the things I wanted my mother to be. All of the things she actually was. And I berate myself daily for being so blind to it all sooner.

  You only see what’s in front of you, Summer girl. Take a look at the shadows. Her words ring true on so many levels.

  I only wanted to see a life with my father in it. I never wanted to accept anything different for myself or my future.

  I accepted my role as the “provider” and my mother as the “dependent” one, never realizing that our fates were more co-dependent than anything.

  My mother was thriving — a successful job she loved, friends she socialized with, a long-term boyfriend — and I was too stuck in my own narcissistic existence to see past my own shortcomings and appreciate who she is and what she’s done for me. In many ways, the support she was giving me was actually enabling me. It took a blizzard, an act of impulse, and a surprise to turn my world inside out.

  I couldn’t be more grateful all of it.

  Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.

  “Can I borrow these?” I hear Lily shout from my closet. She walks in my room just as I’m grabbing my bag to head out. “I’ve never lived in Austin before, so I don’t own a pair a cowboy boots. I figured I’d try yours first to see if I can fit in with the crowd at this bar tonight,” she states while checking out my oldest pair of shoes. “And I need to invest in some serious hair care products. My curls will never stand up to the summer heat here,” she laughs after catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

  Playfully rolling my eyes, I inform Lily, “Ok. First, I was born and raised in Austin, and I have only one pair of boots. Yes, you can borrow them. But most people walk around in sandals and flip flops all the time. Don’t worry about trying to fit in. Just be yourself.” Grabbing a sweater off the shelf, I continue, “That being said, a good, worn-in pair of cowboys boots will fit like a glove. They might be the only thing your feet prefer one day.” I put my phone, wallet, and keys into my bag with my sweater. “Second. It’s humid in New York, too. Your hair will be fine.”

  “So what are the guys like here?” she asks, completely ignoring my previous advice.

  “Did you not hear anything I just said?” I retort, smiling and giving her a little sass.

  “Oh, I heard it. And now I’m moving on,” she winks and plops down on my bed.

  She makes me laugh. That’s one of the things that I love about Lily — she doesn’t hold on to anything trivial. She’s one of the most carefree, honest, nonjudgmental people I’ve ever known. She’s incredibly supportive of me. I love her like she’s my own sister. I’m grateful that she’s moved to Austin with me.

  But she’s got a one-track mind.

  Rolling my eyes at her, I respond, “Are you seriously asking me what the guys are like here?”

  “I mean, aside from Crew, I’ve never met a Southern guy.” She blows a bubble with her gum.

  “You’ve never met Crew.”

  “Well, you’ve talked about him enough. I feel like I’ve met him.” She rolls her eyes back at me and laughs. “When will I actually get to meet him?”

  Pulling my bag over my shoulder, I lock eyes with her, “You haven’t met him. Trust me.” Wrapping my scarf around my neck, I continue, “And I don’t know. I guess you’ll meet him when the time is right. Which may be never.” Any description of Crew could never encapsulate who he really is when he’s standing in front of you. He’s one of the most manipulative, persuasive, handsome, and charming men I’ve ever met.

  But he scares the living daylights out of me.

  He also excites me beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve done some pretty cool things — played in the world’s best concert halls, met famous artists, been a guest at the Oscars…I’ve even played piano for the royal family. But Crew Evans is an enigma who pushes me past my comfort boundaries.

  A guy like that is worth giving a second chance, if he gives me one. Especially after the year I’ve had.

  “How do I look?” I ask Lily and twirl in my white dress.

  “Umm…good, I guess? I don’t know. What look are you going for?”

  I look over my outfit in the full length mirror. “Casual and comfortable, yet stylish.”

  She looks me up and down, giving serious thought to my question. “Then you need to lose an accessory. It’s a bit too much.”

  I look myself over and decide to take off my bangle bracelets. “Better?”

  “Yep.” Lily smiles. “Just like Coco Chanel would do.” She winks again and smacks her gum.

  “Be nice to my boots,” I walk over and kiss her on top of her head. “Or I’ll kick your ass in them.”

  “Just go,” she retorts. “And I won’t wait up for you.”

  “Chances are you’ll be out later than me, darlin’,” I reply. “Southern boys are cute and charming and great in the sack.” I wink at her stunned face.

  “Summer Perry! If your mother were here —” she starts with mock humor.

  “She’d tell you the same thing.”

  Leaving Lily to get ready for her date, I make my way to the cemetery. I haven’t been there yet, despite the fact that I moved back to Austin almost six weeks ago, right after Christmas. My mother was honest about it — she didn’t want me to leave, but she had her own life in New York with Chance. She knew that it was important to me to come back home. We promised to talk every day and visit often; that was good enough for both of us.

  The cemetery looks different under the light of dusk. The warm day brought in some evening humidity, and there’s a slight fog looming over the grounds, illuminating the ground in orange and pink. If I weren’t in such a somber place, I’d say it looks romantic.

  Cleaning off my father’s headstone, I grab some hydrangea flowers from the nearby bushes and lay them at the bottom. Then I stop a moment, take a deep breath, and smile at my father’s name.

  “Hi, Dad. I’m back. It’s good to see you.”

  Standing there reverently, I don’t speak for a solid ten minutes. I simply pay respect to the man who was my hero, who saved me in more ways than I can count, who continues to be a presence for me in my daily life.

  Things are so different than they were when I first came here. This past year was a roller coaster of emotions and decisions, usually fueled by tears and therapy. But there was one person who constantly whispered in my ear, one person who kept repeating the same thing over and over again, one person who pulled me out of my funk and gave me hope, showed me purpose, found my strength….

  Me.

  This year, I stopped thinking about what everyone else wanted or needed from me and started listening to my own voice, my own heart, my own song.

  I listened to my own
silence.

  Silence is strong. Only when I listened to the silence did I hear myself speak. In the silence, I discovered what I really wanted to do; in the silence, I discovered who I wanted to be; in the silence, I discovered how I wanted to make my life unfold.

  There is power in silence. There is connection when sharing the silence. I feel the energy around me. I’m more aware of my body’s vital signs — my blood thrumming through my head, my heart’s pounding thump, my lungs’ need to draw in breath.

  I’m aware of its dysfunctions — the pain in my stomach that confesses my guilt, the ache in my ribs from crying so hard, the swelling behind my eyes from the constant need to overthink my fate.

  The silence gives me pause. The silence gives me reprieve. The silence gives me hope.

  In the silence, I find myself.

  In the silence, I find time.

  Time can heal.

  Time is forgiving.

  Time invites patience.

  Time teaches forgiveness.

  I stand with my father in silence. Maybe I hear the swarm of bees in the nearby bushes. Maybe I hear the soft chirps of the crickets. And maybe I hear the hum of the fog.

  Or maybe I hear my father.

  Right now, it doesn’t matter. I simply appreciate the comfort of sitting with him and sharing the silence. Because that’s the testament to a strong relationship — sitting with one another and being content in the silence.

  “Thanks, Dad. I miss you every day. I’ll see you soon. Until then. I love you.” Breathe.

  Kissing my fingers and placing them on his stone, I smile and walk back to my car knowing that this year I didn’t come to his grave for advice or knowledge or comfort. I didn’t come because I needed to be saved from myself. I came because I wanted to pay him my respect.

  I came because I love him.

  And he knew it. Crew told me so.

  Crew.

  I’ve lived in Austin for six weeks and have yet to tell Crew. Not because I’m trying to spite him or ignore him but because I’m settling myself. This year, Crew surprised me with information that I didn’t think I’d recover from. He accidentally killed my father, and he didn’t tell me about it immediately. In fact, it took him years. I’ll always wonder about that, and maybe one day I’ll ask him. But after some deep soul searching, I realized something.