by Ginger Scott
I swipe the string of messages open, half expecting to see spam or crazy fan messages from some chick who probably found my number.
It’s Claire. Mason, you need to call me. Now!
Mason, R U there?
Mason, 911 – it’s an emergency!!!
Claire—the only reason Claire would have my number is Avery, and now I’m just as twitchy as Ben. My fingers can hardly dial, but I manage to hit the return call button. I’m pacing as I wait through the rings, and Ben is storming around me, tossing cushions over and opening and shutting drawers. I shove my finger in my ear so I can listen to the other end of the line.
“Mason, oh thank god!” she says, and I feel my heart sink to my feet, knowing that whatever she’s going to say, it’s going to be the worst news of my life.
“What’s wrong, Claire. Is it Avery? Is she all right?” I say, forgetting where I am, and stepping off the bus. The screaming starts the second I come outside, but I can’t handle Ben’s jumpiness in the bus, so I walk around to the other side to muffle the sound as best as I can.
“It’s not Avery. It’s Ray. He…Ray passed away, Mason,” she says, and just like that, everything around me turns bright white and my body loses all feeling. I sit down on the pavement, and push my head between my knees, my hand cupping the back of my head, and I’m rocking—like I’m trying to rock away everything she just said.
“Mason, are you there?” her voice sounds like she’s talking through a tin can, so far away.
“I…” I can’t catch my breath, and I start to sob hard, my chest convulsing and my mouth gasping, just trying to take in air. Claire senses my break down, and she talks softly.
“Mason, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I had to call you and tell you, and that it had to be me, and it had to be now. I know you’re probably in the middle of stuff. But it’s Max,” she says, and I don’t know that I can handle it—handle more. My eyes are wide and staring at the pattern of parking lines that stretch hundreds of feet in front of me, drifting in and out of focus until the white and black bleed together into a giant block of gray.
“Max is missing. He overheard Avery talking to one of her aunts, and she hadn’t had a chance to explain things to him yet. When she went up to his room, he was gone. She’s looking everywhere, Mason. Your mom is looking, too. We shut Dusty’s down for the day. Your mom said I should call you,” she says, and then I listen for several seconds to the silence that follows. Somehow, I get back to my feet, push down the vomit that is threatening to come, and start pacing again.
“Where have you looked?” I ask, closing my eyes and flashing through a million visions—Ray’s face, the first time he put me on stage, the way he looked when he gave me the guitar, Max, Avery. In the last two months I’ve built this file of memories, and it’s all wrapped up in the Abbot family—they’re my family.
“We’ve looked everywhere, Mason. We went to his booth at Dusty’s, tore apart the kitchen, searched every nook of the damned house,” she says, and something triggers me.
“School. You have to go to his school, Claire!” I yell, walking back into the bus now. Ben seems to have found his wallet, and he’s sitting on the edge of a sofa watching some show play loudly on the TV. I walk up to it and flip the switch to turn it off. He starts to protest, and I shove him back into his seat.
“There’s a tunnel, in the playground. It’s Max’s safe place. He has to be there, Claire. He has to be,” I say, making a stern face at Ben when he starts to argue with me again.
“Okay, I’ll go look right now. I’ll call you back,” she says, hanging up. I stare at my phone and manage to bring enough sense to my head to save her number as a contact. I shove the phone in my pocket and sit back on the sofa to think.
“What the fuck, man?” Ben says. I’m not even remotely close to being in the mood to deal with him, so I just point at him to stay put and walk out of the bus. It doesn’t work though, and he’s quick to follow me.
“Who was that? Fuckin’ Birdie? What, she want you to blow off the tour? Come back and be her bitch boy?” he can barely finish his last sentence before my fist lands at his jaw. As much crazy crap that I’ve done, I haven’t really been in a ton of fights, and the crunch of his bone against my knuckles stings; I have to shake my hand just to get feeling back in it. But Ben is so goddamned high, he’s right back in my face, shoving me until my feet lose their balance and I stumble into the side of the bus.
I shove him back, adrenaline fueling my entire body; I keep pushing at his chest until he trips onto the ground again. “You say one more word about her, and I swear I will end you,” I say, my knee weighing into his chest. He spits to the side, and it’s bloody.
“She’s just being selfish,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh at how absolutely wrong he is. I walk away from him, back to the bus, and climb inside, slamming the door behind me. Seconds later, it swings open, and I clench my fist, ready to go another round, but I soften when I realize its Matt.
“Josh is outside, cleaning him up,” he says, his opinion of Ben obvious in the face he’s making. Of the three of us, Matt is the one who has always had the least amount of tolerance for Ben. “What’d he do to earn that?”
“Just Ben being Ben,” I say, chewing at my tongue, forcing myself not to say anything more that I might regret. I sit back down and lower my head into my hands. I have to think—process everything. I’m trying to figure out my next move, when my phone rings and I answer quickly.
“Yeah,” I say, and I can already hear familiar voices in the background.
“It’s Claire. You were right, Mason. We found him. Oh my god,” she’s crying now, hard. “How did you know?”
“I just knew,” I say, my heart finally beating for the first time since I heard Claire’s news. “What…I mean, how…I…”
I don’t even know what to ask her next or how to move forward. All I know is that I’m no longer where I need to be, and I’m looking at Matt, square in the eyes, and I know he knows too.
“It was fast, Mason. With Ray? It was fast, in his sleep. He didn’t feel a thing,” she says, I know trying to sooth the burn of the guilt that is absolutely choking me now. “It was a heart attack. He ate like shit, and he drank a lot—probably more than he should.”
“It’s not fair,” is all I can say, and I’m crying again. I push the palm of my hand deep into my eyes, trying to force myself to get a grip; I take a deep breath and look at Matt. “He was a good man, and I wasn’t there. And it’s not fucking fair, Claire!”
“I know it’s not, Mason. But there’s nothing you can do…nothing you could have done,” she says, and I don’t know that that’s the case, but I appreciate her saying it anyhow.
“When…I mean, is there…a service?” I ask, not even sure how these things work.
“It just happened—this morning. I don’t know any details yet. Avery’s…she’s working through it. Probably something this weekend. We’ll make sure you know, though—I’ll call you, or your mom will,” she says, and I can’t help but notice that it’s not Avery, which only makes my tears come faster.
“Thanks, Claire. Hey, call me if there’s anything…” I start, but I know there’s nothing I can do. I’m four hundred miles away, and my foundation is crumbling.
“I will,” she says, and then she’s gone. I just sit there and stare into Matt’s eyes, talking without really talking, for minutes.
“There will be other bands,” he says finally. I don’t know what to say back to him, so I just blink and breathe through my nose slowly, trying to make sense of everything. “You need to go. And I’m fine with that. And Josh will be fine with that. And Ben—whatever. There will be other bands. And there are other drummers. And this isn’t everything.”
My body is tingling everywhere, and I swear if anyone walked into this situation right now, they would think that I’m the one who’s high as a kite.
“If I leave, they’ll drop us—drop everything,” I say, my insides squeezing
at the fork in my road. Both paths are hard—there’s nothing easy left, not that this was ever easy.
“Like I said, there will be other bands,” he repeats, and I look down, finally understanding what he’s trying to say. Matt always knew that we’d never be able to stick to this together for long. I think we all knew Ben would probably ruin us first—the label can only handle so much. We’d replace him, or they’d decide to take me solo—put me with a band they’re used to, that they use for lots of singers. And I know that’s probably closest to the truth. The songs are all mine—but I feel beholden to Josh and Matt…and for some reason to Ben.
“There will be other bands,” I repeat, nodding up and down, convincing myself.
“Yep,” he says, smiling softly to show me he understands.
There will be other bands.
Chapter 23: A Good Life
Avery
“My father had very few regrets,” I say to the rows of familiar faces looking back at me. It’s an unusually warm day, and hundreds showed up for Ray’s service, so all I see are waving programs and note cards as people fan their faces.
“You all knew him, and most of you knew him well, because that’s who my father was. He loved fiercely, he embraced friends easily, and once Ray Abbot was on your side—it was hard to lose him. Some did…but those people were few and far between.
“He never stopped parenting. He was giving me advice up until the very end. I didn’t always follow his advice, and per usual, my father was right—I regret not taking those things to heart. But his lessons will always stick with me, and in his absence, I’m vowing to take his place in this world—at least as best as I can. I’m going to enjoy this earth and the people on it every chance I get, and I’m going to appreciate every single one of you.”
I’m struck when I glance over the dozens of smiles looking back at me. No one is crying, and they shouldn’t. Ray Abbot spread joy in the world—it’s why he loved music so much, and why he tried to encourage people who had that talent to share it with the world—people like Mason.
“I know many of you are worried about what will happen to Dusty’s. It’s been around a long time. My father opened it years ago, and I don’t intend on closing it. Please, bear with me though—I’m not my father, and I don’t really know the ins and outs of the bar business. I plan on getting some help…eventually. But these next few months might be a little bumpy. We’ll open back up in two weeks—an open mic night, in true Ray Abbot style. In the meantime, spend your weeknights with your loved ones. I’m asking you to do this for me. Squeeze in those moments, and make time. These moments are precious, and…as my father said to me not so long ago, ‘you only get to do now once in your life. Do it right.’”
I manage to hold it together until I leave the stage and edge back up into Claire’s side. I lose it again the moment her hand slips in mine. We aren’t a particularly religious family—we’ve been to church a few times, but when it came time to settle on services for my dad, I just went with the same everything that he did for my mom. This stuff mattered more to her.
The minister directs everyone to the burial, and I walk along with Claire. Max stayed at the house with Jenny, his therapist. She’s been so helpful on guiding me through this with Max. My dad’s death isn’t like Adam leaving—Max has memories, even if they’re really more like habits for him, and my dad played an intricate role in his life. He filled a box—and now that box is empty.
The line of cars to the interment is long, though only about half of the guests come for this part—it’s mostly family and close friends. Claire guides me to the site. We picked a simple stone for the marker—right next to my mom’s. I can’t watch this part, so I clasp Claire’s hand and lay my head on her shoulder while others walk up to say their farewells. This part isn’t for me—my goodbye happens in my head, with my memories. I don’t want to taint those visions, the picture I have of him, with anything else.
I recognize the broadness of Mason’s back immediately. He’s not looking either—he wants to remember my dad just the way I do. Claire said he would come, but I didn’t want to count on it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, though, I hoped for it. When he turns to face me, something pulls us together, until our eyes meet. I don’t look away, and neither does he. We stare into each other, my head on my best friend’s shoulder, for the rest of the ceremony.
Claire hugs me tighter to get my attention when people begin to leave. Everyone wants to say something to me, and I know they have to—I would have to too. But when you’re on this side, you don’t really want to hear it. This part takes almost an hour, and by the time it’s only Claire and me, I’m faint and thirsty.
“There’s one person left,” she says into my shoulder. And I know exactly who it is.
“I’m okay, you go on to the house. I’ll go with him,” I say, squeezing her arm to let her know I’m sincere. She kisses the side of my head and gives me one last look, trying to fill me with strength. I don’t have much left.
“Thanks for coming, Mason,” Claire says over my shoulder, and my insides twist just hearing him breathe.
I watch her walk away and make it all the way to her car before I turn to face him completely. “Thank you so much for coming, Mason,” I say as Claire drives away, and I finally take him in. He’s wearing a black suit with a gray shirt underneath. I can tell by the creases on the pants and sleeves that it’s new. He wanted to look nice for my father, and it warms my heart to know that—to see him here looking like this, all for him.
“I hope you know I wouldn’t have missed this,” he says, his eyes just as sad as I feel inside. “It wouldn’t have mattered where I was or what I was doing. I would have come.”
“I know,” I say, forcing my lips into a tight, closed smile, fighting the urge to cry. “You were a son to him, in every single way.”
Mason reaches for my hand and threads his fingers through mine, holding it in front of him loosely. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he says, and he turns his head to the side when his eyes start to water. “I should have been here.”
“No, you were right where you were supposed to be, Mason. You made my dad so proud. You were right where he always wanted to see you,” I say, wrapping my hands around his wrist and hugging his arm.
“We left the tour,” he says, and my breath completely stops. This is too much—too much for right now. I want Mason here, and I want him to stay here and never ever leave—but I don’t want it to be because of guilt or grief or both.
“Mason, you can’t…you have to see that out—it’s your dream. He would have wanted that,” I say, my hands moving to the collar of his shirt, my fingertips running on his neck, willing him to look at me.
“Kevin understood. It just…it didn’t feel right. None of it did, and it’s not where I wanted to be,” he says, his eyes back to mine, still red with emotion.
“I hope you didn’t do this just for me,” I say, immediately sorry how harsh my words came out. “I don’t mean it like that. I just…I don’t want you to do anything rash—not when everything is so raw. Just, promise me you’ll think about everything.”
“I promise,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine, and his face still serious. “Can I take you home? My mom brought a lot of food over to your house before the funeral. I told her I’d come over to help.”
“Thanks. And thank your mom for me. Mason, she’s been amazing—I don’t know what I would have done without her,” I say, taking his arm while we walk along the blacktop to where his car is parked.
“I’m glad my mom was here, too,” he says, opening my door and slipping the edges of my long black skirt inside before shutting it.
We don’t talk for the entire drive back to my father’s—I guess my—house. But Mason leaves his hand in mine the entire time, holding onto me tightly. And when we get to the house, he runs around the front of the car to help me out, grabbing my hand again. He keeps it in his for the next two hours, only leaving my side for minutes at a time to he
lp his mom serve a few guests and to run upstairs once or twice to visit with Max.
When the house finally empties again, Mason and his mother are the last to go. I wonder if, perhaps, Barb wasn’t with him, if he’d try to stay—if he’d say something…more. But she’s loading up the back of his car with her empty trays, and Mason and I are standing at his car, the last light from the sun rapidly disappearing.
Claire has been staying at our house, sleeping in Mason’s old room. I know Mason saw her things in the room, and I overheard him thank her for not leaving me alone.
“Promise me you’ll call me, if you need anything,” he says, his finger lifting my chin, tilting my head to look up at him.
“I promise. But we’ll be okay, Mason,” I say, forcing my mind to shut off the floodgates of everything I now have to figure out.
“Promise me anyway,” he says, and I just smile and nod. He brings me into his arms then, holding me close, and I reach around him, my hands hard against the warmth of his back. He feels like home, and I never want to leave, but I also don’t want to hide in him. I want to deal with everything that’s in front of me, and I want him to too—if we both end up in the same place when we’re done, then it’s meant to be.
After he and Barb leave, I sit in the hallway waiting while Max finishes taking his bath. He asked me for privacy the other day, so our compromise was letting one of us sit in the hallway. I can’t help but remember the last time I sat here now though, and I look at the doorway, Mason’s old doorway, and pretend that the light on inside is there for him. When Claire opens the door, my illusion shatters, and I turn my attention back to the half-open bathroom door in front of me.
I feel Claire’s body slide down the wall to sit next to me, and I’m enormously grateful for her company. But it’s still not the same as if Mason were here. Nothing is. And I’m convinced nothing ever will be.