by MK Schiller
“Lots of things, but they’re even more complicated than my coffee order and require far more adjectives.”
“Fair enough,” he said, turning back to his newspaper.
I wondered if that would be the end of our conversation. He continued to flip the coin between his fingers. It was the color of a penny but the size of a quarter. “Don’t you usually drive?” Evan asked. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had been paying attention. Had he watched while I’d done my mad dash across the street?
“My car just died.” I winced. “A bad choice of words, considering where we just came from.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Too much to fix.” I busily wiped the invisible crumbs on the shiny tabletop. “I don’t mind the bus, though.”
“Why?” he asked, his voice dropping, as if we were sharing secrets. I had a feeling we were.
“It gives me time to think.”
“And what is it you like to think about?”
You. Pinpricks of guilt hit me like a dozen needles, but I swept them aside. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Actions were objectionable, whereas thoughts wandered carelessly of their own volition. “Just random things.” I looked across the street, where my bus was pulling up. His gaze turned there too. We both watched it pull away without comment. The sky darkened to a dark, smoky color that gave the false illusion of night in the middle of the day.
“You have a bike, right?” It was a dumb question, considering I’d watched him and even moved his helmet.
He pointed to the window where the gleaming piece of machinery with polished chrome and black leather sat like a lone soldier amidst the rain.
“A bike comes with training wheels. I have a Harley. I’m waiting out the rain too. It’s not a good idea to ride in a storm, much less a lightning storm.”
“There is no lightning.” My statement drowned with the harsh, raw crackle of a lightning strike. I gasped, but his expression never wavered as the brief flicker of brilliant blue-white light illuminated the chiseled planes of his face.
“I could smell it in the air.”
Well, that explained the spark I felt earlier…static electricity. I averted my eyes, forcing myself not to stare at the tattoo that started at the right side of his neck and dipped below his sweatshirt. I tried my damnedest not to imagine the black ink as it slid down his body.
“What do you do, Price?”
Did he just call me by my last name? And why did it turn me on? Perhaps in some ways, it created a sense of familiarity between us—one that didn’t exist.
“I’m a writer.”
“Have you written anything I might know?”
“No.”
He arched his eyebrow. “The next time someone asks you that question, you should reply, ‘not yet’.”
“Not yet.”
“That’s better.”
“Are you visiting your family while you’re in town?” I wanted to steer the conversation away from my own failings.
“Yes.” The copper coin rolled between his fingers faster. “I’ll be here for a while.”
“Do you have a lot of family here then?”
“I suppose. My mom, dad, a younger brother and sister.”
“And they all live around here?”
“Yes and no.” He took a deep breath and stared out of the window. We didn’t speak for a while, the silence taking over.
“I visit them at the cemetery.”
My mouth didn’t just gape. It snapped open and shut several times.
“It makes me sound like a walking tragedy, doesn’t it?” The comment would have been dark, if not for the lightness in his voice.
“I can’t imagine it. How do you not raise a white flag?” I asked, my voice cracking in process.
“I do raise one, but it’s a symbol of survival, not surrender.”
“I’m so sorry, Evan. I don’t know what else to say.”
“That’s plenty right there. It’s been ten years.”
“How?”
“A family vacation to Sri Lanka.”
I searched my mind using the references he provided until I figured it out. “The tsunami?” I blurted.
He drummed the coin against the table, but it wasn’t nerves. It actually sounded rhythmic, as if he was accompanying the piped music. “Correct.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You didn’t. It’s funny, most people shut down and quietly try to get away from me, like death is a disease and I’m a carrier. Don’t be afraid to ask. You can ask me anything.”
“It happened around Christmas, didn’t it?”
“The day after.”
“And you survived.”
“Only because I wasn’t there. I was here.”
The weight of those words was heavy. They carried with them a thick, palpable tension. I didn’t ask the question, but he provided the answer anyway.
He slid lower in his chair, his long legs extended. “I was eighteen, in my freshman year of college. I didn’t want to go. Plus, there was this girl.” He shook head, his eyes darkening slightly as his grin weakened. “Always a girl. My weakness.”
“Oh, Evan,” I said, placing my hand on his, my lips quivering and my voice unable to conceal my sorrow.
“Shit, are you crying, Price?”
I shook my head as if he’d accept that response, despite the hot, salty tears rolling down my face.
“Don’t cry about my stuff.” He waited for me to get a hold of myself, handing me a napkin, which made me cry even harder.
“I can’t even imagine what that would be like.” I shivered with the briefest thought of losing just one of the people I loved. The tears came more forcefully then.
“It sucks, but you keep going. That’s all you can do. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Who do you visit?”
Just when I thought the tension was at its high point, my posture stiffened to painful levels. “I can’t tell you.”
He shook his head. “That’s not fair.”
“You don’t understand. It’s really pitiful.”
His face grew serious. “Is it hard to talk about?”
“No, that’s the problem.”
“You owe me a sad story, Price. Let’s cry about your stuff for a while. Spill it.” He flipped the coin in the air. I caught it in my palm. The penny dug into my skin as I closed my fist around it.
“What’s this for?”
“Payment for your thoughts.”
“Only a penny?”
“Consider it a down payment.”
I sighed in resignation. This was by far the most abnormal conversation of my life, yet it had a natural feeling about it—a comfort underneath the curiosity. “Lorraine Malter.”
“Who is she?”
“A writer.”
“Were you close to her? Was she like a mentor to you?”
“No and yes. I’ve never met her. She died five years before I was born. I’ve always admired her work, and I found out she was buried here. I come out whenever I get a rejection letter.” I tilted my chin. “I sound pathetic.”
“Not pathetic, but it does raise a red flag.”
A moment ago I’d been a mess, but now I couldn’t hide my smile. “Yeah, I carry a red flag for sure. You said you were in town for a while. Where are you going after this?”
“Not sure yet.”
“You’re some kind of a drifter then?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“How long have you been nomadic?”
“For the last ten years.”
Oh. “Oh.”
“I dropped out of college after it happened. I go where the next job or gig takes me.”
I sucked in a deep breath. “You’re a musician?”
“I strum a guitar and sing.”
Guitar? Did he say guitar? “That sounds like a musician, Evan.”
“A musician is someone who plans a career. I open for musicians or
play backup. Sometimes I do other things. I was playing at this dive bar and doing roofing during the day in Miami.”
“What kind of music do you play?”
“Whatever I like.”
“You’re not very specific.”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself? Have you ever been to The Lost Souls’ Club?”
“Are you a member of that club, Evan?”
He roared with laughter. “I know this conversation turned deep, but it’s not a metaphor. It’s a bar.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Oh, I see.”
“It’s new and close to here. Some friends of mine own it. I play there and bartend occasionally. Would you like to come out tonight?”
“This is the other side of town from me. I live in Edison Park.”
“I can pick you up.”
I mentally hit the pause button, which mimicked the sound of a screeching record. I’d never expected to have such a strange connection with a random stranger. “I’m sorry if I misled you. You seem like a great guy but I have a boyfriend.”
“Of course you do,” he said, his smile tightening. “No foul, no harm.”
“Isn’t it the opposite way?”
“Not today.”
“The next bus will be here soon,” I said, pointing to the window. The rain had died down to a tolerable drizzle. “I had a nice time talking with you.” I gathered my dishes, my movements lacking both grace and speed.
“Best of luck, Billie, and I’m sorry if I misled you as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not a great guy.”
Chapter Two
A week had passed since that interesting conversation with Evan Wright. I’d done my best to get him out of my head. He kept popping up at the most inconvenient times—an appealing but uninvited guest crashing my mind.
I twisted my hair into a tight knot and finished applying makeup. Ironically, Best Day of My Life by American Authors was the next song on my random playlist. Very coincidental because I had a feeling this was going to be the best day of my life.
Marley knocked on my door. “I made breakfast.”
“Be right down.”
In the grand scheme of things, I’d never imagined living with my sister and her husband after graduating college. But my job didn’t pay a great deal and they’d offered. I’d tried moving back home, but things were very crowded there. My mother had married the man of her dreams. Hell, he would be the man of any girl’s dreams. Rich, powerful and handsome, but perhaps Damien Wolfe’s best quality was his ability to be humble despite all those other things. I think he was the only man alive who could make my mother give love another chance.
Mom never thought she’d have kids again, but with Damien she’d changed her mind. They’d gone to India to adopt one child. They’d come back with three. Triplets, who they named John, Paul and George, in keeping with the musically minded naming strategy that had become a tradition in our family. Damien often joked that it was good they weren’t quads or we’d have a Ringo. I loved my brothers, but they’d just turned three and tore through the house like a hurricane, making it difficult to get any writing done.
I headed to the dining room of Marley and Rick’s spacious house, surprised to see my entire family there. I paused at the foot of the steps just watching them. For a long time it had been the people who shared my blood who’d made up my family. Now I realized how it wasn’t just the people who shared your DNA, but the ones you picked up along the way who made you whole.
Dillon was Marley’s best friend, but we’d adopted him as an honorary brother the day Marley had brought him to dinner and he’d started rearranging our furniture. Adam had been our annoying neighbor forever, so he’d already been in our fold, but Marley and I had figured out he was meant for my sister, Stevie, even before she had. Now they were married and had a five-year-old son, Robert.
“There she is,” my mother greeted, spotting me. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. What are you all doing here? Did you come to wish me luck?”
They all exchanged puzzled glances. “Actually, the boys were playing golf today so we just tagged along and thought it would be nice to have breakfast together,” Stevie answered. The guilt on their faces was almost laughable.
“Oh.”
“What is today, kid?” Dillon asked.
“My boss wants to meet me for brunch.”
“Why is that special?”
“For one thing, it’s Saturday and for another, they were supposed to announce who got the feature position yesterday but didn’t. I think it’s me.”
“That’s great news, honey,” my mother said, carrying a plate of fruit. Damien took it from her, holding it high above the three little boys who danced around his knees.
“You only get a piece when you’re sitting,” he said.
My mom crouched so she was eye level with George and signed Damien’s words to him. We’d all wondered why George was late in talking. A few months ago, we’d received the devastating confirmation that he was deaf. It tore my mother’s heart. She had always used music as a means of communication and that was something she wouldn’t be able to share with George.
Mom and Damien continued to search for specialists that could help, but in the meantime they’d hired a sign language teacher. More of a coach, really, and we’d all signed up. None of us wanted George to feel left out, or to miss the chance to be part of his childhood in any way.
“Everyone ready to go?” Rick, Marley’s husband, asked.
“You’re not eating?” Marley asked.
“We have an early tee time. We’ll eat at the club,” Adam said, stuffing a piece of sausage into his mouth. He winced as he chewed. “I think the sausage is bad.”
“They’re soy sausages,” Marley explained. “Soysages.”
“Never mind then. They’re not bad…just gross.”
Dillon stared at Marley’s massive bookshelf in the living room.
“Go ahead, you know you want to,” she said, patting Dillon on the back.
“Honestly, I have nightmares about this bookshelf.” Dillon immediately set about bringing order to chaos, something his OCD personality craved. Thankfully, we always had stuff for him to do.
“Be good for your mom,” Damien instructed the boys, “and maybe we’ll go out for ice cream tonight.”
They jumped up and down before attacking him. And for their benefit, Damien toppled over like Gulliver on his travels.
“You’re taking them for ice cream?” Stevie asked, her trademark pout showing itself. “We never got ice cream.”
“It’s dairy-free frozen yogurt. They don’t know the difference,” my mom, the vegan, proclaimed, winking at Stevie. My sisters and I shared a bittersweet look, knowing yet another generation would be subjected to her strict food guidelines.
“Are you going to be a good boy, Bobby?” Adam asked.
“Are you?” Bobby retorted.
Adam shook his head at Stevie. “Why does he do this?”
“The pediatrician says it’s perfectly normal for him to challenge us.”
“Turning every question back on me is not a challenge. It’s a battle for alpha male.” He turned back toward his son. “In case you’re keeping track, I’m winning.”
Bobby grinned, showing off the most adorable gap in his front teeth. He tipped his angelic face toward Stevie. “Daddy said I was poop, Mommy.”
A hush fell across the room as Stevie narrowed her eyes toward her husband. “What?”
Adam held up his hands. “Seriously, you really think I’d call my son poop?”
“He did, but he used another word. He did!” Bobby screamed, running around the room.
Stevie crouched to Bobby’s level, taking his pudgy hands in hers. “Sweetheart, when did Daddy say this to you?”
“This morning,” the little boy said, feigning tears.
Adam shook his head, muttering something incoherent.
“You know Daddy loves you and he would never say something like that to you.”
“Then why did he do it? I am not poop.”
“You’re telling tall tales for such a short little guy. Refresh my memory, son of my loins. When did this happen?” Adam asked through clenched teeth.
“I said I am the funniest boy in the family. He said that I was number two and he is one. Number two means poop. You said so, Mommy.”
We all started giggling. Bobby put his finger in his mouth, possibly trying to defuse his mischief with a cute, impish smile.
“That came out weird and you know it, Bobby,” Stevie said.
“Told you so,” Adam replied, mussing his son’s mop of thick dark hair. “We should go before this kid gets me into any more trouble.”
“He’s like an evil genius,” I said, fixing Bobby’s hair.
Bobby rewarded us with a look of pride before placing a bucket on his head, smacking it, and running around the room proclaiming, “I’m a human drum!”
“Or maybe he’s just evil,” Dillon replied.
“Funny,” Adam said, picking up his son before he ran into a wall.
“You sure you don’t want to come, Dillon?” Damien asked.
“Nah, I’ll hang with my girls today. Besides, next week you guys are watching the kids and we’re going on a spa day.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Rick said.
“Man, you sure you want to volunteer for that?” Adam asked. “This crew is rowdy.”
“I should get used to it,” Rick said, walking up to Marley. He placed a hand on her waist. “I didn’t get a chance to ask. How are you feeling?”
“Good. No morning sickness today.”
He kissed her cheek then fell to his knees and kissed her waist. The sighs of all the ladies echoed through the room.
Adam picked up Bobby and hugged his wife. Damien gave my mother a deep kiss before my brothers pulled them apart, trying to get in one last wrestling match with their dad. He managed to pick all of them up in his arms and embrace Mom at the same time.
“Any requests?” I asked Dillon as I approached the stereo.
“Ladies’ choice.”
I didn’t even think about it as I scrolled through the list and put on Drops of Jupiter by Train—a song I’d been listening to at an alarming rate for the past week.