by Sarah Tipton
“Gotta go potty!”
“Tristan.” Justin groaned. “Can you wait? There’s nowhere to stop.”
“O-tay.”
Crisis averted. A steady thumping of kicks hit the back of Justin’s seat. There was his turn. He slowed and turned onto an uphill dirt road. A half-dozen switchbacks later, he found the right number posted on a spruce tree. He crept past the property, searching for Mom’s van, but the house and any cars were sheltered by spruce and birch. He did a U-turn and stopped at the base of the drive. Now what? Did he dare turn into the driveway, hoping no one saw him or recognized his car? He hadn’t come all this way to leave without an answer.
“Gotta go potty!”
“Tristan, seriously? Can’t you hold it a little longer?”
“No! Now.”
Justin glanced over his shoulder.
Tristan bent over rocking back and forth, his face twisted in desperation. “Potty right now.”
A three-year-old did not make a good covert ops partner. Only one solution: the hundreds of trees surrounding them. He put the car in park and opened the door. He might as well check out the driveway on foot anyway. Maybe that would be less noticeable.
“OK, buddy, see that tree?” He pointed at a birch tree that looked like all the other birch trees with its curling white, paper-thin pieces of trunk. “That’s where you can go potty.”
“Outside?” Tristan stared up with round eyes. “Doggies go outside.”
“So do people who have to go potty right now where there aren’t any.” He led his brother to the other side of the driveway. “Just aim at that plant, OK? I’ll be right over here.”
After scanning the hill and trees for signs of moose or dogs, he moved a few feet up the driveway looking for the cars, but the driveway snaked behind the house.
“All done!” Tristan shuffled up the hill, his pants around his ankles.
This was insane. “C’mon, buddy, pull up your pants.” He bent to help his brother.
“Justin!”
The voice startled him, and he nearly gave Tristan a wedgie.
“Mommy!” Tristan, fully clothed, ripped past him and up the driveway.
“You’re here.” He didn’t know whether to feel relief or embarrassment at the sight of Mom’s red, pinched face.
“Of course, I’m here.” She patted Tristan’s head, and he wrapped his arms around her legs. “But why are you?”
“Um...” Should’ve thought of an excuse just in case, because seeing her, the truth sounded awfully stupid.
“I really want to know, Justin.” Mom’s mouth tightened until her lips almost disappeared. “I want to know why, when Natalie cried, ‘Some kid is running naked out there,’ that I discovered it was my kid running naked. My kid who is supposed to be home, getting ready for bed.” She paused again staring at him for an answer.
The prickly porcupine was back in his gut shooting poisonous quills through him. What right did she have to be angry with him? Sure, he’d been spying on her, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have a good reason. She expected him to baby-sit nearly every day, even after he’d gotten a job. How was he not supposed to be suspicious?
“I’m serious, Justin. I don’t understand what’s gotten into you lately. First a fight with your friends in the garage, then you destroy your guitar, now you can’t even handle putting your brother to bed?”
He remained frozen staring at Mom, the quills digging deeper and deeper. He just wanted to know how much more of his life was about to be destroyed. And he wanted a chance to stop it or fix it or at least understand it. Because none of it made any sense. But he couldn’t put all that into words.
“Explain to me what you are doing here before you find yourself grounded for a very long time.”
“I thought you were cheating on him again!” The words exploded from him, stronger and louder than he’d expected.
Mom’s face shifted to colors like a turnip—from white to almost purple. “Get in your car.”
He trudged back down the driveway. That had come out wrong. Or maybe it had come out right. Even with the certain grounding about to follow—like he had anything to be grounded from—the tension melted from his shoulders. He’d said it. Now she’d have to talk to him about it.
Or maybe not.
He slid into the driver’s seat. Mom helped Tristan in the back before sitting in the passenger seat.
“How dare you.” Her voice was quiet. Dangerously quiet. Calm before the storm-of-the-century quiet. “You don’t have the right to spy on me and accuse me of that.”
He stared at the steering wheel. Didn’t he have a right to know if his life was about to be destroyed? Even hurricanes and tornados came with warnings. But he had experienced an earthquake. An unexpected shaking of his world bringing everything crashing to the ground. Followed by endless aftershocks.
“Why...why would you even think that?”
“Because you’re going out all the time lately to meet people, like before.” He turned his hot stare on her. Those questions he’d bottled up inside all these years suddenly burst forth. “When you told Dad that you’d been cheating on him, you said it started with coffee dates.”
“You heard that?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
He nodded.
“I’m sorry.” She sank against the seat. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, what about now? Who are you meeting on your coffee dates?”
“Friends, Justin.” The irritation in her voice returned. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been spending time with girl friends, talking, shopping, and drinking coffee. Satisfied?”
No. She still hadn’t explained why it happened in the first place. What had led her to sleeping with some man other than Dad? Why had she risked their family and ruined their friendships?
“Have I been asking you to babysit too often? Is that why you’ve suddenly become suspicious? And, by the way, your dad knows where I am tonight. I’m not hiding anything from him.”
He pulled a pick from his pocket and twisted it through his fingers concentrating on something other than the never-ending ache. So forgiveness had worked for them. Why wasn’t it working for him? “Zoey broke up with me.”
“I thought so.” The anger faded from her voice, and she rubbed his shoulder. “Hon, I’m sorry.”
“She kissed Sawyer.”
“Oh.” Mom withdrew her hand.
“Why’d she do it?” He stared at the shiny blue plastic flashing between his fingers. “Why’d you do it? Why would anyone cheat on the person who loves them?”
She stared out the window for a few minutes. In the back seat, Tristan had curled up and fallen asleep. A truck passed them on the road kicking up a cloud of dirt.
“Even if I could explain that to you, it wouldn’t answer your question about Zoey. There are so many factors and reasons, and none of them may have anything to do with you.”
Yeah, right. He could’ve done something different. “How do I convince her I’ve forgiven her? How did you and Dad stay together?”
“It’s not the same thing.” She shook her head. “Your dad and I are married. We had you and Savannah and a commitment to do everything we could to stay together. And it wasn’t easy. It’s still not easy.” She brushed a tear from her cheek with a knuckle. “For you, it might be better not to get back together. Because it’s hard when you can’t trust someone.” She grabbed a fast-food napkin from a cup holder. “Even harder when you’re the one who can’t be trusted.”
A heavy silence settled around them. He’d never expected the answers to his questions would make her cry. But even if that’s how she felt, it wouldn’t be the same with Zoey. Sawyer was the one who couldn’t be trusted.
He looked at Mom and the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“Well.” Mom wiped her eyes and gave him a tight, sad smile. “I’m blocked in or I’d follow you home. I’m not in much of a movie mood anymore.”
“Sorry,
” he repeated. He should’ve stayed home or picked his timing better. Like somewhere private and secluded twenty years from now.
“It’s OK.” She tucked the makeup-stained napkin back into the cup holder. “But come with me and get the car seat out of the van first. And never take Tristan without his car seat again, unless it’s an absolute emergency, which”—she jabbed a finger at him—“for the record, this was not.”
“I know.” He followed her up the driveway again. She continued into the house, and he wrestled the car seat loose from the van.
Mom might have experience, but she was wrong about Zoey. He loved her, and now that she was out of Aurora Fire, they’d get back together. They could even reform their band, just the two of them, like it should be.
After all, they didn’t really need a drummer.
45
Circus, Circus
The acoustics in Zoey’s family room were terrible. She’d never noticed until she, Sawyer, and Chey took over with their instruments, but their playing sounded like loud noise instead of music. Then again, maybe they were just bad. Not a comforting thought.
She and Sawyer eyed each other.
“We sound horrible.” He crossed his arms. His words carried the conviction of a guilty verdict.
Zoey sighed and glanced down at her bass. Its weight felt good in her hands. And singing songs she helped write healed the sore spot on her heart from breaking up with Justin and failing with Aurora Fire. She was lucky Dad understood her need for music, but she was grounded in pretty much every other area of her life for a while.
“Is it that bad?” Chey asked.
Poor Chey. She really was trying.
“Yep.” Sawyer delivered his gut-kicking honesty. “But it’s not you.”
Sawyer’s reassurances to Chey were so cute, but they reminded Zoey of Justin. He’d done the same for her. She missed that. She missed him.
“It just doesn’t sound quite right,” he added.
“We need Justin.” She whispered the statement to her bass, but everyone heard her.
“Yeah.” Sawyer started drumming. Even if no one else was playing, Sawyer was drumming. Tiger seemed to appreciate it. The cat who hid from everybody, even his own family, curled up underneath Sawyer’s drums during practice. Maybe he found the vibrations soothing.
“Then what do you suggest?” Chey raised her voice over Sawyer’s playing.
He stopped and looked at Zoey. “Guess we could ask him.”
Him. Justin.
The scab ripped right off that sore spot, and her heart felt raw again.
Justin was the most logical solution—possibly the only solution. Sawyer didn’t look any happier about the idea than she was, but Justin was the missing piece in every song. After everything that had happened, why would Justin ever agree? Then again, maybe he needed their band again as much as she and Sawyer.
One of them would have to ask him, and she was the one most likely to earn a yes.
“I’ll go over to his house tonight.” The thought shook her knees. She hadn’t seen him in over a week, not including church, and after dumping him in front of Aurora Fire, he might not want to see her either. But she had to try. The band depended on her. And on Justin.
After practicing another half-hour on one song, Sawyer had to go to work. Chey followed him, and Zoey was left alone.
She couldn’t leave until Dad came home from teaching at the University and gave her permission—he never had his cellphone on, so she couldn’t text him. She waited on the couch in the family-room-turned-practice-studio, strumming the bass to her favorite song she’d written with Justin—“Forever Having Yesterday.” From underneath Sawyer’s drums, Tiger watched and listened to her sing along.
“Wherever life takes you
On this road to tomorrow
We will forever have
Memories of yesterday.”
A tear dripped onto her hand. Were memories all she and Justin had anymore? She’d read I Corinthians 13 a half-dozen times since her conversation with Livvy on Saturday. That was the kind of love she wanted, not kisses that sent tingles all over. Sawyer might not be the mean, rude guy everyone else saw, but he wasn’t the guy for her. He was the guy for Chey. And Zoey wouldn’t risk her new friendship with Chey by hanging on to something with Sawyer that would probably always be nothing.
But Justin...he’d been the perfect boyfriend. He understood love. He understood friendship. He understood Zoey. If only things could go back to normal—playing in Justin’s garage as if Aurora Fire and the kiss had never happened.
A door squeaked and interrupted her thoughts. She glanced through the stair rails and saw Livvy step onto the landing.
“Hey.” Livvy walked down the stairs and joined her on the couch. “Practice over?”
“Yeah. Sawyer had to work.” She set aside her bass.
“How’s it going? Think you’ll be ready by Saturday?”
Zoey flopped back against the cushions and groaned. “I don’t know. If we still had Justin, we’d be great. But without him...” The hopelessness in her voice finished her sentence.
“I’m sorry, Zo.”
“When Dad gets home, I’m gonna ask if I can go to Justin’s and ask him to play with us.” She twisted her necklace. “Do you think that’s OK?”
“To go to Justin’s?” Livvy arched her brows. “You’ll have to ask Dad. I’m not allowed to give you permission for anything right now.”
“I meant, do you think it’s OK to ask him to play with us?”
“Oh.” Livvy shrugged. “Why couldn’t you ask? You’ve been playing together for almost three years.”
“Yeah.” She concentrated on her necklace. Silver bead, rosette, green glass oval. “What if I got back together with him?”
“Well, I don’t think Dad’s going to let you go out on a date anytime soon.”
“Justin wouldn’t care if we couldn’t go anywhere.”
“You’re probably right about that.” Livvy spoke slowly, as if she didn’t want to say what she was thinking. “You still love him?”
“Yeah. I mean, I hate that I hurt him, and I still care about him. A lot. I really miss him.”
Livvy was quiet. Zoey looked at her, trying to read her thoughts. Sadness? Worry? Did Livvy not believe her? Because Zoey did care, and she missed Justin. She wanted to hear his music blend with hers, feel his hand wrapped around hers, see that grin aimed only at her.
“I guess that’s really between you and Justin then.” Livvy smiled in a way that wasn’t encouraging but more like it’s-your-decision.
Zoey jumped to her feet. “Thanks, Liv.”
Clutching her bass in one hand, she ran upstairs to wait for Dad. The heaviness inside was gone, and she felt bouncy inside and out. In a few hours, everything would be back to normal.
46
Falling On Deaf Ears
Sawyer scanned the bulletin board in the Rhythm and Notes entry for the flier he’d tacked up Saturday night. It was gone. Who would remove it? Sure, he was there to do just that, but still. Wasn’t worth worrying about. But he was here, so he should pick up some sticks. He’d broken a couple and already lost half the ones he’d found in his room last week. How did he do that? He entered the store and went straight to the room with drumheads and sticks.
Someone entered from the opposite door.
Justin.
Sawyer froze, his heart pounding like a hyperactive kid on the drums.
Justin’s mouth opened and shut without a sound.
When it came to being a band, they’d almost developed a telepathic communication, but today, there was a power outage. They stared at each other, a local rock station filling the awkward silence.
“Hey.” Sawyer choked out the word.
Justin stiffened and glared before walking off.
Sawyer heard that loud and clear.
Justin hated him.
He moved in front of the drum stick cubbyholes looking at the round ends without seeing the
m. Should he leave? Wasn’t like he needed new sticks today. And being in the same building as Justin could be dangerous. But before the glare, Sawyer had caught a flicker of emotion in Justin’s eyes he’d seen a long time ago—on the day in seventh grade when Justin’s dad had moved out.
Breaking up with Zoey had destroyed Justin’s life again. And he blamed Sawyer.
Sawyer swore under his breath, and then he clamped his mouth shut. He really was trying to stop. Cussing was probably on Chey’s list of reasons why she wouldn’t go out with him yet. He snatched a couple of sticks from a cubby. Drumsticks weren’t the only thing he’d broken. Maybe he should do something or say something or just be something. Something instead of his angry, can’t-fix-it-so-forget-it self. Taking a deep breath, he carried the sticks to the counter.
Justin stared down at the register and punched the keys.
“I’m sorry.” Sawyer forced out the words.
Justin glanced up, long enough for Sawyer to see the flicker of surprise, and then he shoved the sticks into a plastic bag. “Sixteen seventy-five.”
Sawyer pulled money from his wallet. “Look, what happened with...with Zoey...” The words clawed his throat on their way out. Saying this out loud to Justin was harder than he expected. “I’m sorry. It never should’ve happened.”
“But it did.” Justin yanked the bills from his hand and made change.
“I’m sorry.” Those words were getting easier to say.
“What does that mean?” Justin thrust the change at him, every muscle in his face tense. “You’re sorry. So what?”
“It didn’t mean anything—kissing her.”
“So I should forgive you for kissing my girlfriend because it didn’t mean anything to you?”
Each word landed like a punch in the gut, and Sawyer felt pain. Physical pain. He looked away from Justin’s heated gaze.
“Then why’d you kiss her? Huh? Why’d you do that if it didn’t mean anything?”
“I don’t know.” The truth came sharp, every word distinct. “It just happened.”
“Yeah, right.” The anger on Justin’s face didn’t overpower the hurt in his eyes. “But it doesn’t matter now, does it? She broke up with me, and now you two have a band together.”