by Caisey Quinn
I didn’t expect to hear from her so soon, but I’m a liar if I say I’m not fucking thrilled she’s calling me.
“Hey, everything okay?”
“Um, yeah. No. I don’t know.” The promise is clear in her voice. My adrenaline spikes and I try to remain calm.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you safe? Where are you?”
I can hear the panic in my own voice and I realize I’m gripping the phone hard to enough to dent the damn thing. So much for remaining calm.
“I’m safe. It’s not me.” She sighs loudly. “I’m mean I’m not upset about anything to do with me. I’m at Waffle House with Liam and I just . . . he . . .” Her voice catches and a sob breaks through.
“I’ll be right there.”
“You got here fast,” Dixie tells me when I walk into the Waffle House. When I glance around to see if she’s alone, she explains where her date for the evening is. “He had to go to the bathroom.”
“I was at the Tavern. I rented the loft above it. And I borrowed Cal’s truck.” Now that that’s out of the way, I slide into the booth across from her. “So tell me what’s going on. What’s wrong with Liam?”
Dixie’s eyes are still shining and I can see how hard her throat is working to keep control of the lump of emotion clogging it.
“He . . . He’s got marks, Gav. Like all over. I saw his arms and his back when he was getting into EmmyLou and . . .” She squeezes her eyes shut for a brief moment. “I don’t know if he’s been starved or what but he didn’t even recognize hash browns or scrambled eggs. How is that even possible?”
I sigh and keep my voice down since Liam is walking out of the bathroom and heading toward our booth.
“It’s possible if the person raising you just feeds you enough to keep you alive. Scraps. Boxed and prepackaged stuff. Frozen meals full of unrecognizable substances. He said he doesn’t go to school much.”
The corners of her mouth turn down and my heart cracks open wide in my chest. “Is that how it was for you?” she asks. “Did your mom, did she not . . .”
“No, she didn’t,” I answer quickly. Turning to the side I slide out to let Liam in. I figure he’d prefer his own side of the booth. “Hey, Liam,” I say in greeting. “It is cool with you if I join you for dinner?”
He moves slowly to the middle of the bench so I take the spot next to Dixie.
“It’s breakfast,” he says evenly. Then he looks at Dixie and says, “For dinner. Brinner.”
I smile, remembering when Dallas and Dixie’s grandma used to make bacon and pancakes and sausage gravy with biscuits and eggs however you wanted them for dinner. They called it brinner and I thought it was crazy but I didn’t have any complaints about free food. And no one turned down Nana Lark’s biscuits any time of day or night if they knew what was good for them.
“Awesome,” I say while lifting a sticky laminated menu off the table. “Sounds good to me. What did y’all order?”
“Waffles and bacon and hash browns,” Dixie says. “We were going to get eggs but Liam wasn’t sure if he liked them or not.”
I make a show of carefully considering my menu. “Hm . . . well, how about I get the cheese and eggs plate and you can try ’em out?”
He frowns while considering this and I study him while waiting for an answer. Was I this careful and introspective as a kid? I’m not sure, but Dixie says he reminds her of me and I do see some similarities. Mrs. Lawson has obviously been bathing him but his clothes are about a year too small and his hair is too long and falling in his eyes. His arms are small, wiry, and bruised and contain several sores and old scars.
“I guess that would be okay,” he finally answers, and I have to think for a second to recall my question.
“Great.” I set my menu behind the napkin holder and turn to the frizzy-haired, frazzled-looking middle-aged waitress bringing Liam and Dixie’s OJs to the table. “Can I get a cheese and egg plate, white toast, with bacon and hash browns scattered, covered, smothered, and chunked?”
“Sure, handsome,” the waitress tells me. “And to drink?”
I glance at my companions. “I’ll have what they’re having. Orange juice, straight up.”
Dixie rolls her eyes but Liam looks mildly amused. Kid could use a little entertainment in his life. And I’ve been where he is. Having people feel sorry for you and giving you sad-puppy eyes, while I know they mean well, doesn’t help. It just makes you more uncomfortable because now you’ve got the burden of their pity and pain and discomfort to deal with on top of everything else.
I understand something about Liam that Dixie may never grasp.
He doesn’t know his situation hurts other people because they care about him. He only knows that his life is the way it is, and as far as he knows, everyone goes hungry, or has junkies all over their house, or gets shoved or hit or kicked or sometimes completely ignored like an unwanted pet. I was nearly in middle school before I completely understood that my life wasn’t like everyone else’s—that it wasn’t that way for other kids. What I understood long before that, though, was the pity and sickening sympathy I got from teachers and social workers and ladies from the local Junior League. I didn’t like it and I’m betting Liam won’t, either, so I resolve to behave normally and to try to help Dixie ease up and mask her concerns—for now, at least. I remain cool and calm and laid-back on the surface, making jokes and small talk until our food arrives.
Under the table I am texting Sheila Montgomery like a madman telling her to call me as soon as humanly possible.
After taking a few bites of my food and scooping a few bites of eggs onto Liam’s plate so he can try them out, I realize Dixie isn’t eating. She’s watching Liam. The way he’s testing food to make sure it’s edible—a habit that develops after you’ve desperately ingested soured fruit or chugged milk that has long since gone bad because you had no other option—and then shoveling it in like it’s his last meal once he realizes it’s okay.
I nudge her knee gently with mine. “Eat, Bluebird,” I mumble under my breath.
She jerks a little as if in a trance and then picks up her fork.
Most of the time we eat in comfortable silence. Liam is out of breath when he finishes because he hardly took one while he filled his belly.
“After this,” Dixie begins, turning to me as she continues, “we’re going to have a campout at my house. Movies and a tent and sleeping bags. We’re even going to make s’mores by roasting marshmallows on the stovetop like Nana and Papa used to. Would you like to join us, Gavin?”
The way she speaks my name, enunciating both syllables, I can tell it’s an invitation of desperation. I know she’d really rather have space from me after everything I told her but she needs my help tonight, with Liam, in not letting her huge heart show.
“What do you say, man?” I dip my head to catch Liam’s eye. “That okay with you? I’m pretty good at roasting stovetop marshmallows. Not to brag or anything . . .”
He shrugs but I can see the interest in his eyes. Not sure if it’s for the camping or the marshmallows, but at least it’s something.
When I glance over at Dixie, she has a certain gleam in her eye as well. Maybe she’s not dreading spending time with me as much as I thought she was.
That’s something, too.
I’ll take what I can get. It’s what I’ve done all my life.
23 | Dixie
I FEEL LIKE I can breathe again when Liam and I arrive home with Gavin following us in a green pickup.
Gavin seems to understand Liam in a way I can’t. He relates to him, chats easily with him, and doesn’t seem as nervous about screwing up as I am. When we were getting into the van earlier, I went to help Liam up and I saw some alarming scars on his back. One is dangerously similar to the shape of a belt buckle.
Each mark on him, each sign I missed all this time while giving him lessons, is affecting me in ways I can’t understand. I do the best I can to hide how much I want to curl up and have a good cry. I don
’t deserve to get to cry. Liam is a tough kid and he deserves my strength, not my pity or my tears. Gavin has kept my pity party in check and I’m glad he’s here.
But it’s hard, too. Hard to look at him and not kiss him, hard to be so close and not touch him.
We walk toward the house, the three of us, and there is an odd peaceful feeling soothing me as if I am exactly where I need to be in this moment.
Gavin holds the door open and we step inside and get busy pulling out the old two-person tent he and my brother used to use and every pillow, blanket, and sleeping bag we can find. I put Liam in charge of organizing the snacks on a plate at the kitchen table and he remains very serious and intense about counting out and lining up marshmallows, graham crackers, and pieces of Hershey bar in methodical groups.
“Good job,” I tell him once Gavin and I have the tent and pillow and blanket fort assembled in the living room. “Now let’s get cracking on these s’mores.”
Liam grins, proud of himself for his hard work, and it both warms and breaks my heart to see him smile. He’s so small and vulnerable and my mind keeps drifting to how big his dad is and what kind of life this little boy has had so far.
Gavin catches me tearing up a little and steps in. “How about Liam and I handle the s’mores and you be on movie duty?”
I nod and my skin heats from the embarrassment at being caught breaking down again.
Buck up, buttercup, my subconscious scolds me. I take a deep breath and do that.
I’m tough. I lived on the road alone for nearly three months. I started a business by myself. I’ve got this.
Even though I do feel as if I can handle this, I also know that just as Gavin’s pain is my pain, Liam’s pain is also seeping into the broken places inside my heart and that I won’t allow this child to receive another mark on his skin or miss another meal no matter what I have to do.
The ire burns in me, anger at the kind of people who allow children to be hurt or go hungry, rage at those who inflict pain on the innocent and helpless.
“Breathe, Bluebird,” Gavin tells me quietly. “Go pick out a movie. One of those Disney ones you’re always telling me I need to see.”
I take a deep breath and turn to go into the living room, but not before hearing Liam ask, “Why do you call her Bluebird?”
I can’t help myself, I need to hear the answer. Once I’ve stepped out of sight, I lean against the wall and do my best to eavesdrop.
“Well . . . that’s kind of a long story, I guess,” Gavin says, barely speaking loud enough for me to hear. He mentions something about a story he already told Liam outside this morning but I don’t know what he’s referring to.
When Liam doesn’t respond, Gavin continues.
“When I was a kid, I didn’t have a whole lot of hope. I didn’t hope to see my friends, or hope to play with my toys, or hope to get anything for my birthday or Christmas. I had done that and been let down a lot. So I didn’t have much hope or dare to think that my life would ever get much better.”
I close my eyes and place a hand on my chest to keep my heart from breaking apart.
“Then I met Dixie. And her brother Dallas. And I don’t know . . . I felt . . . alive. I felt hope.”
Liam is still quiet and I wish I could see his face.
Does he have hope? Does he get birthday presents? Has he ever had a Christmas?
“Remember what I told you about today,” Gavin continues. “When Dallas, my friend and Dixie’s brother, was mowing grass by a pond and he saw a bird. One of the blue finches like you and me saw in the backyard. This one was small and lying down in some high grass but there wasn’t a tree or a nest around. It was just . . . there. And it looked dead.”
“But you said it wasn’t. You said it flew away,” Liam’s voice is soft and yet heavy with the sound of betrayal.
“I told you the truth. It didn’t die. We just thought it was dead. But then Dixie showed up and Dallas picked it up and carried it home and the next thing we knew, it was chirping and flying away, right out of his hands.”
“But . . . how?”
I have to strain to hear Gavin’s answer. “I think, maybe, that our little bluebird was lying there, feeling bad and defeated and maybe thinking about giving up. But then we came along and lifted it up off the ground and took it somewhere safe. We gave it hope. And when it came to and we watched it fly away, it gave us hope right back.”
I smile when the inevitable question slips from Liam’s lips. “Okay. So you saved the bird but what does that have to do with Miss Dixie?”
Gavin chuckles lightly. “I call Miss Dixie Bluebird because she gives me hope. When I’m lying down feeling bad and thinking about giving up, it’s her that makes me pick myself back up again and fly. Even when I think I can’t, even when I don’t want to. As long as she has hope, has faith in me, I’ll still try to be the best that I can be.”
And here I thought it was because I had blue eyes and my last name was Lark.
Fighting tears at this point just feels stupid so I let them out, wiping them gently and wondering why it took a child to get that story out of Gavin. Why he never told me how he felt.
The room falls quiet so I peek around the corner. Gavin turns on the burner and pulls up a chair for Liam to watch while he roasts the marshmallows.
Seeing them does strange things to my insides. I don’t know what it is, but somehow they are right together. As if my only purpose in life was to unite these two wounded souls. As if somehow they belong to me and I belong to them.
“How goes the movie search?” Gavin calls out.
Even though his back is to me, I know he knows I haven’t looked for movies.
I take a few steps back from the entryway and call back, “Oh, it’s going. Disney really has the corner on the princess market, though. Not sure you boys would like any of these.”
“How about The Wizard of Oz,” Gavin calls back.
I smile because that’s always been my favorite. Hence my fiddle being named Oz. “I think I can scrounge that one up. Bring me some s’mores! I’m starving in here!”
We play at the banter, mostly for Liam’s sake, while we settle in with the movie and the s’mores.
“There’s no color,” Liam says when the black-and-white movie begins to play.
I smile, glancing over at Gavin and his tattoos and his hazel eyes and bright white smile.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “There will be.”
Liam falls asleep somewhere around the time Dorothy meets the lion. Gavin looks pretty beat and I’m exhausted myself.
“Want me to turn it off?”
Gavin blinks sleepily and shakes his head. “Nah. Leave it on in case he wakes up.”
He maneuvers onto all fours and tucks Liam in while I watch. There is something happening, something bigger than us that I can’t explain, but I can feel deep down into my bones that this moment matters. That whatever is going on with our motley little group here is monumental.
Maybe it’s just wishful thinking—not a promise of what’s to come but the little girl in me still fantasizing about Gavin being my future.
Gavin crawls out of the tent and extends his hand to help me out. The contact of our palms makes my entire body tingle. I stumble over the bottom lip of the tent entrance and nearly plow him down.
“Well that was graceful,” I say quietly so as not to disturb Liam.
Gavin looks down into my eyes and I realize I am still in his arms. His full, masculine lips part and I don’t know if he’s going to say something or kiss me but he closes them and shakes his head.
“I’ll sleep on the couch. Keep an eye on him and let him know where he is in case he wakes up scared.”
“Okay,” I say, gently extracting myself from his embrace. “Good night, Gavin.”
“Good night, Bluebird,” he says quietly. “Sweet dreams.”
I watch him retrieve an extra pillow and blanket from the tent and toss them on the couch before I make my way to the bath
room. After I close the door behind me, I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my mascara is smudged under my eyes, and I look like I haven’t slept in a week. The s’mores were messy and there is chocolate smudged at the corner of my mouth. I would’ve never known by the way Gavin just looked at me. He gazed upon my face like I was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen and I’d unexpectedly fallen from the heavens and landed in his arms. He released me as if holding me for just a moment was a privilege he didn’t feel he had a right to. The reflection of myself in Gavin’s eyes is a lot different from the one I see now in the mirror under unforgiving lights.
Leaning forward over the sink, I wash my face and brush my teeth. Drying off with a hand towel, I catch my own eye in the mirror and briefly remember seeing him behind me in a hotel in Austin.
Gavin is the color to my memories. He’s the shadows that make my light shine brighter.
Our past, our mistakes, they seem so . . . small compared to what we have.
What he did the year I was in Houston was fake. It was empty and meaningless and I don’t feel threatened by it—just sad that it happened. I was angry about the accident, livid, actually—but Dallas is a grown man and he wasn’t completely innocent, either. It’s the hiding it from me that still bothers me. The fact that he didn’t trust me enough or think I was strong enough for the truth. Maybe I wasn’t then. But I am now.
Tonight was real. I needed him and he was there. Despite what he may think, he is what I need, he’s who I need, and he will forever be the one man I want to see across the table, beside me in bed, and behind me onstage.
Bracing my hands on the sink, I try to let my emotions wash through me the way the music does. I can handle Gavin. I can handle this situation with Liam. When the time comes, probably after the baby is born, but soon, I’m going to have a long talk with my brother about not telling me the truth about what was going on the year I was gone.
I’m going to let the guys know I want to play the new song I wrote and I’m going to play it my way.
I am stronger than I used to be. Better. Braver.