by Emma Nichols
“I’m excited to be here,” Rachel says, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.
“Come here and give me a hug, pretty girl,” he says and he pulls me into his strong arms. “You ladies ready to get The Trees back together? We’re going to rock the pants off the class of 2008 this weekend.”
“I like your confidence, Tom,” I say. I’ve always got along with all the members of the band and hope while I’m in town I can warm up to them again. When I up and left, they didn’t keep the band going. None of them seemed to hold a grudge against me for it, but I still have some guilt. The band is what I’ve missed the most about being home. Well, that and Ethan.
St. Martin’s Academy is a private boarding school. Our parents sent us because it had a reputation for excellence in all things, academics, sports, and music. Rachel and I both inherited the music gene from Dad and he wanted to see us use it. He pushed for us to attend, even though it was expensive. Mom eventually agreed—Dad could be very persistent—and that’s where we both ended up going to high school. Throughout our time at St. Martin’s, Rachel and I became friendly with everyone in the music department. Ethan thought it’d be a great idea to start a band since there was so much talent in our school. We asked our closest friends to join and the chemistry between all of us playing together was almost instant.
Tom’s house is big, open, and everything looks expensive. Rachel and I follow him downstairs. We’re set up in his basement or what most men might call a man cave. He’s got a thick walnut bar set up on one end and a massive big screen TV with plush couches at the other. Based on the size of his house and neighborhood, Tom is doing well for himself.
Ethan arrives ten minutes after Rachel and I do. He’s dressed more casual now in shorts and a t-shirt with his bass guitar case in his hand. He sets it down and shakes hands with Darren, the keyboardist, who stayed in town and ended up married with a baby girl. Of everyone in the band, Darren was the funny guy who loved jokes and playing pranks.
Making his way over to Rachel and I, Ethan hugs my sister and then comes toward me, arms open. Something in my chest awakens, like it’s been asleep for five years. As if no time has passed, I ease into his strong embrace and breathe in his delicious citrus and spice scent. He squeezes me and whispers in my ear, “It’s really good to see you, Linus.” He always loved to call me that, his little pet name for me. He thought it was a silly shortened version of my name and in his opinion it was easier to say. I love that he still feels comfortable enough to use it.
“Is Jane coming?” I ask before we let go of each other. It comes out sounding bitchy, but I want to know what I’m in for.
Drawing back, he swallows hard and stares at me with those steel eyes of his. The same eyes I’ve spent hours and hours gazing into, studying the different hues based on lighting and his mood. Today they’re lighter and have an almost teal tone. “No, she won’t be here.” He doesn’t look disappointed.
“Okay,” is all I can say. Inside, I’m jumping up and down that I won’t have to deal with her tonight, but I keep my enthusiasm in check.
“Looks like we’re all here,” Tom says from the bar area. “What does everyone want to drink? I’ve got everything. Come on over and I’ll hook you up.”
Happy to have a distraction from Ethan, I walk over to Tom. “You got whiskey?”
“Woah, really?” Tom’s eyes widen.
Desperate to loosen up, I know whiskey will fit the bill. “If you’ve got some, that’s what I’d like.”
“My kind of girl.” He gives me a dimpled smile and grabs a bottle of Maker’s Mark from under the bar and pours me some.
Taking a sip, I let the amber liquid warm my throat. “Thank you. How have things been with you?” I ask.
“Great. Not sure if you heard that the App store bought the music streaming app I developed.” His smile is contagious and goes from one ear to the other.
That might explain the beautiful home. “Good for you, Tom. Congrats,” I say.
Darren comes up and stands next to me. “Yeah, our buddy made bank. Lucky son of a bitch. What about you, Caroline? How have you been?”
That’s when I feel it, my inner fake girl that I bring out in times like these, because nobody really wants to hear how I’ve been doing since I moved away. That I haven’t had many gigs and I’m completely unfulfilled by waitressing and haven’t had one solid relationship because I compare everyone to Ethan and they never seem to measure up. “I’ve been great,” I lie.
“No, she hasn’t been great,” Rachel chimes in from over my shoulder.
I didn’t even realize that she was listening. Turning around, my mouth falls open because everyone seems to be paying attention.
How could she throw me under the bus like this? I shoot her a death stare and she cocks her head at me with that ‘what’d I do?’ look.
“Okay, guys, let’s get started,” Ethan says, taking the spotlight off me. I appreciate the distraction whether he realizes it or not.
Tom’s got a couple mics set up, a keyboard, and his drum set. We get our instruments and make sure they’re tuned and ready to go. Taking my usual spot next to Ethan, I do my best to busy myself with my guitar.
Ethan looks at me and says, “Remember the song?”
Of course I remember. How could I forget? We wrote it together and it’s called “Always Just Us.” Everyone loved it, including me. But it’s laced with emotion and feelings, and I’m not sure I’m ready to go there yet. “Yeah, I remember.”
“You ready to do it? It’s a crowd favorite; we have to play it.” Ethan strums a few chords on his bass. The hum of the music is like a time machine pulling me back to 2008.
Everyone plays their parts, and we don’t sound like we haven’t played together in five years. It’s as if I go into myself during the song. I used to get into it, dance and feel the beat, and draw energy from Ethan. Not tonight; there’s no looking at him, although I can feel him staring at me. Heat crawls up my neck and to my cheeks. The words and his voice are as perfect as I remember and it awakens feelings and desires in me that I have long since pushed down, yet I still feel stiff and mechanical.
“Hey, hey,” Darren says and everyone stops playing. “Let’s start again. The instruments sound good, but it needs more energy and emotion from Caroline and Ethan.”
It doesn’t feel right and I don’t know what to do to fix it. This is how it’s been for me every time I try and play a gig in Nashville. Frustrated, I take my guitar off and set it on the floor. “I can’t do this,” I tell no one in particular and run up the stairs and out of Tom’s house.
Ethan
Damn.
Seeing Linus like this is like a punch to the gut. This girl was the center of my world for nine years—the one I thought I’d marry and have a family with—and the distance between us now is as wide as if we never knew each other at all.
When I walked in the diner today, I didn’t expect to see her sitting there in the booth. I was like a moth to a flame; there was no way I could stay away from her. Those deep blue eyes, the second they locked with mine, took me back to a million memories of her and I, some of which were in that very booth. Yet she carries a sadness around with her now like she’s dragging a boulder behind her. That hasn’t changed, she’s been holding onto that since her dad passed away.
She’s no longer the care-free girl who stole my heart all those years ago and took it with her to Nashville, never to return it again. Caroline Carter is now a beautiful woman who keeps her emotions locked up deep in her chest with no sign of a key anywhere.
I’m not the same man either. I’ve been treading water at best for the past five years in a job I hate and in a loveless relationship.
“What are we going to do now?” Darren asks in a huff.
“Think we should cancel?” Tom lays his drumsticks down and stands up, walking toward Rachel.
“No. We’re not canceling. I’ll go to her now and try to talk some sense into her.” Rachel pulls h
er long dark hair behind her back, swings her guitar up and over her shoulder, and leans down to put it back in its case.
Tom stands next to Rachel, a concerned look on his face. “Let’s schedule another rehearsal for tomorrow night. If we’re going to do this, we need at least one productive rehearsal beforehand. Think she’ll be up for that?”
“Sure. I’ll make it happen,” she says, but she doesn’t sound at all convincing.
Rachel starts to walk toward the stairs. I rush to stop her before she can go. “Hey, is everything okay with her?” I raise my chin in the direction of the door. It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to Rachel and I don’t know if she’ll be honest with me or not. She always was before they moved away, so I do have hope.
Rachel moves in closer to me and stares at me with deep blue eyes, just like her sister’s. “You know her, Ethan. I think you know the answer to that question.”
“I do. Go ahead, make sure she’s okay.”
“Bye, see you tomorrow,” she says before she bounds up the stairs.
She’s right. I do know her sister. That’s what makes this so hard. I can’t help her now and that’s all I want to do.
2
Caroline
“Listen, we’re here. You’re doing it,” Rachel says as we pull away from Tom’s house.
Thankfully, she came out shortly after me so I didn’t have to stand around and wait for her. She had the keys to the rental and I didn’t think of that when I stormed out.
“I’m humiliated.” I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, my chin trembling. “We haven’t even been home twenty-four hours and I’ve embarrassed myself in front of the band. I sounded horrible. I refuse to play in front of the entire class of 2008 and look like a fool.”
Stroking my arm, she says, “It’ll be fine if you can just let it go. Get out of your mind when you’re onstage and get into the music. It’s what you used to live for.” Her tone is soothing.
“I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore.” In fact, if I’m honest with myself, I know it’s the reason I haven’t gotten as many gigs as I thought I would in Nashville.
“You’re singing with Ethan again. Why didn’t you look at him at all? You guys click when you’re onstage. Try that next time. They want to practice again tomorrow night, at least that’s what Tom yelled to me as I was running out. It’ll be the last rehearsal before the reunion.”
“Great,” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. My stomach churns even thinking about singing in front of my old classmates. I liked high school and the people that went there, but so much has changed about me. Losing my father hit me hard and, sadly, I’m still not sure I know how to recover.
A text goes off on my phone. It’s Ethan.
You okay, Linus?
I can’t help but smirk. Setting my phone in my purse, I don’t respond. Yes, it’s nice that he’s concerned for me, but it’s better to not engage. What good would it do me to start bantering back and forth with him?
“Why did you throw me under the bus when I told Darren that everything with me was fine?” I frown at her even though she’s not looking at me and paying attention to the road.
Exhaling loudly, she says, “Because it was a lie. You aren’t great and we’ve got to figure out some way to pull you out of your shell again.” Turning to me, she gives me a small smile. “I’d like my sister back.”
I press my lips together in a hard line, willing myself not to cry again, but it doesn’t work. “I really miss Dad. And Ethan. And I can’t have either one of them back.”
Spinning the car around, Rachel does an illegal U-turn and heads back down the road and takes a left onto one of the main roads in town. She pulls up to our favorite ice-cream stand. “It’s still open. Milkshakes make everyone feel better.” Rachel puts the car in park and turns it off. Leaning over, she pulls me into a hug.
What would I do without my sister? Sniffling into her shoulder, I say, “Thanks, Rach.”
My favorite teacher at St. Martin’s Academy was Mrs. Armstrong. She taught music and was the most easy-going, fun teacher I had and we developed a bond over my four years in high school. I would go to her office and chat with her when we both had free time and she always gave me sage advice. We kept in contact through email after school ended and when she found out I’d be in town for the reunion, she suggested we meet at Ralph’s Diner for coffee.
As soon as I walk in, I recognize her. Same red hair, cut shorter than it used to be and a few more grays than the last time I saw her. Her smile is warm and wide when she sees me. Getting up out of the booth, she comes up to me and grasps my shoulders. “It’s so good to see you, Caroline. You’re gorgeous as ever.” She pulls me into an embrace and pats my back.
We hug for what seems like minutes. “Thanks for inviting me,” I say.
She pulls back. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss a chance to see one of my favorite students. Now, let’s sit down. I ordered us coffee and cinnamon rolls. They make the best cinnamon rolls.”
My stomach growls when I smell the cinnamon-laden buttery treat sitting on the table. “Can’t wait to try it. I haven’t eaten breakfast.”
“Perfect. Let’s sit down and catch up,” Mrs. Armstrong says as she skootches across the booth.
“Anything new going on here? I haven’t been home in quite a while,” I say.
She sips her coffee and sets it back down. “St. Martin’s is the same. I’ve got ten years before I can retire, but I’m not sure I will. Bill and I might kill each other if we’re home all day together.” We both laugh. She and her husband Bill were high school sweethearts and seem to have a good relationship based on the stories she used to tell me.
“Yeah, you’re too good at your job anyway.” She was my absolute favorite teacher, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Knowledgeable, kind, and patient, many of my classmates loved Mrs. Armstrong’s classes along with the stories she’d tell us of her travels with her husband and son.
“Well, thank you, dear. What about you? Tell me about all of your adventures in Nashville.” She cuts her cinnamon roll into small bites and pops one in her mouth.
I’d like to laugh because I haven’t really had any adventures. I wish. That’s why I moved there in the first place, to pursue my singing career. “There isn’t much to report. I’ve been working as a waitress and have had a few gigs. Living the dream,” I say with a healthy amount of sarcasm.
“If you don’t mind me being honest with you, I have to admit, you seem less than enthusiastic about your experience in Nashville.” Her tone is sympathetic.
“You’re right. I don’t mind my job, but I assumed that once I moved there that it’d be easier to book gigs and get my foot in doors,” I say and absently stir some cream into my coffee.
She squints her brown eyes at me and pushes up her glasses, asking, “You and Rachel getting along?”
“We are,” I say, but I’m not sure how convincing I sound.
“You sure about that?”
I chew the corner of my mouth and say, “I’m happy she moved in with me after she graduated, but she’s hard on me. Which is probably good, but since Dad died I haven’t really been feeling the music anymore. Haven’t been writing as much and it makes Rachel mad. She says I’m wasting my talent.” I let out a little huff and pick up my coffee.
“It’s been quite some time since your father passed away, hasn’t it?” she asks.
“Five years.” It still hurts to say it out loud. Grabbing a napkin, I dab it at the corner of my eye, anticipating the tears that will inevitably fall. It’s not normally quite this bad, but being home again is like peeling the scab off a barely healed wound.
She reaches across the table to give my hand a comforting squeeze. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I hope you’ve been talking to a professional. It would help because your sister is right. You’ve got talent and it’d be terrible to see it be wasted.”
The tears really do fall now. I
get most of them before they have a chance to flow freely out of control and say, “Thanks for saying that. I appreciate it and your concern. It’s hard for me to know what to do; maybe I will call and talk to someone.” It’s certainly expensive to seek counseling, but at this point I’m ready to do something.
“That’s good, sweetheart. I’ve heard that The Trees are getting back together for the reunion. I personally can’t wait to hear you all play again.”
Mrs. Armstrong was always one of our biggest fans; that’s why it’s going to be so hard to break the news to her. “I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
Her mouth falls open. “What do you mean? Why not? I saw Ethan in here last week and he made it sound like a done deal.”
Chewing a piece of cinnamon roll, I swallow and say, “It’s me. I’m not sure I can do it. When I’m up there, all I want to do is clam up. I don’t know what it is. We were rehearsing last night and started off with a song that was very personal about Ethan and me.” Heat rises up my cheeks at the memory of last night and how embarrassing it was. I look down at the table and tuck my hair behind my ears. “I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t even look at him. I sounded terrible and stormed out.”
“I think you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. Remember before the senior play, you worked yourself up for nothing. You sang beautifully and got a standing ovation. Give it another try with the band and try playing some lighter music, something not so close to your heart. I bet it’ll be great.” There’s so much hope and confidence in her eyes, I can’t tell her no even though I want to roll up in a damn ball and have a temper tantrum.
Lifting my coffee toward my lips, I say, “Okay, I’ll give it another try. We’re supposed to have rehearsal again tonight.”
“Good. It’ll be great. You’ll see.” She pats my hand and peers around, checking out the other tables. “I don’t know if I should bring this up to you or not, but my gut tells me that I should. Are you dating anyone?”