If You Must Know

by Beck, Jamie

  My sister’s inexperience with disapproval left her vulnerable, though. I suggested ignoring Mom until she surrendered. That always did the trick for me, but Amanda didn’t have my alligator skin. In the time it took me to pick an outfit, shower, and laze around my newly cleaned room, she’d already cooked dinner and done a load of laundry to win back Mom’s good graces.

  Lexi honked her horn a second time, so I barreled through the living room to avoid being trapped by the tension, quickly waving goodbye.

  I told myself my staying home tonight might cause a setback in Amanda’s battle for independence. But I also tore out of there because it was easier to run away than be cast aside once the “star” child made amends. A part of me—a selfish part—wondered whether Amanda’s return would affect the little rhythm Mom and I had forged while watching Jeopardy! and making sugar scrubs. We three Turner girls—soon to be four—faced weeks or months of breaking old habits and forming new ones.

  And, aside from all those reasons to bolt, there was the fact that I hoped to bump into Eli tonight.

  But running out the door didn’t make it easier to ignore my sister’s misery. She’d been brave today, calling Lyle’s dad and moving forward with the cops. We’d had an awesome sisterly breakthrough, yet I still hadn’t told her or Mom about my run-in with Lyle and Ebba. My dad had warned me not to build a relationship on lies, but this truth was more likely to destroy the progress we’d made.

  I darted across the lawn—red Converse in hand—and flung open the dented door of Lexi’s Corolla.

  “You look hawt, E!” Lexi smiled, eyeing my supershort, fitted black dress with white and red stripes running down each side. By pairing the dress with my sneakers, I’d put together a trendy getup, if I did say so myself.

  “Thanks.” I buckled up before she pulled away from the curb, without mentioning the motivation behind my outfit. “Where’s Tony?”

  “I dropped him at the club first so he could do a sound check. You know how he gets, taking this so seriously, like he was Garth Brooks or something.” She giggled, but when Tony sang onstage, he was Garth Brooks in her eyes.

  Like every reference to country music lately, this made me think of Eli, who might actually know Garth Brooks.

  I wondered if he’d recovered from his surprise ghost-a-gram since he’d scrambled away from Nancy and me on Monday. Each morning my yoga students had grown restless while I’d stared at the sliders, giving him an extra minute to show up. And every single time he didn’t, the sky seemed duller. Then I’d remember my mom’s advice and decide his disappearing act might be for the best. But tonight the buzz of anticipation swarmed my stomach. If he was at the Lamplight, I would check up on him. “Are we eating at the bar or stopping somewhere cheaper first?”

  “Did you forget about the ladies’ night special on open-mic nights? How ’bout we drink our dinner? We can get a bucket of Bud and a bowl of peanuts pretty dang cheap.”

  “Split an order of wings and I’m in.” I reached over to hug her shoulders while she was driving. “You’re the best date ever. Does Tony know how lucky he is?”

  “He does.” Her satisfied smile reminded me of how my sister used to grin when discussing Lyle. But in Lexi’s case, she’d found the real deal. “You know, you haven’t said boo about Max these past few weeks. Do you miss him at all, or are you ready to move on?”

  “I don’t miss him.” That sounded idyllic, but it actually made me a little sad. Watching Amanda agonize over her divorce had me questioning whether I lacked some essential gene needed to form a loving attachment to any man other than my dad. “I could move on with the right guy.”

  With no trouble whatsoever, I conjured Eli’s face. Practice makes perfect, like my mother claimed. If I closed my eyes, I could picture the way his solemn eyes lit up whenever the first hint of his soft smile peeked through, like the sun cutting through fog. Man, that little smile did things to me.

  “How about going out with Tony’s drummer, Dan? He’s pretty chill, and cute. Big brown eyes—all soulful like you like. We could double-date all the time.”

  I nodded noncommittally but preferred Eli and his teal eyes. Lexi knew nothing about him, though, because bringing him up would invite questions I didn’t want to answer. “What time does Tony go on?”

  “He’s second in the lineup, so probably between eight thirty and nine o’clock. There’s another singer after him and then two comics.”

  “Ooh, comics.” I cringed. “They’re pretty painful in a joint like this. Maybe we can cut out before they go on.”

  “Oh, come on, E. You gotta support people with the balls to get up there and try.”

  “You’re right.” I practiced a fake laugh with a snort to see if I could pull it off. “Think that’ll convince ’em they’re funny?”

  Lexi shook her head as she threw the car into park. “You are so weird.”

  “Thank you!” I opened the door and got out.

  The Lamplight took its name seriously, with oil lanterns twinkling outside and in. My parents used to come here on dates to listen to live music. Mom would put on one of her fancier dresses, her hair done up, lipstick glossy and perfectly applied. I’d catch my dad patting her butt on their way to the car, and she’d half-heartedly shoo his hand away while flashing a flattered smile.

  That sudden memory made me ache for yesteryear. For the chance to have done some things differently, and for another dozen years’ worth of hugs from my dad.

  The Lamplight seemed like the only thing that hadn’t changed in the intervening years. Deep grooves marred its wood floors. High-backed red-vinyl-cushioned booths flanked the walls, creating little hideaways. A dozen or more café tables, all chipped and sticky because the waitresses couldn’t keep up with the spilled beer and barbecue sauce, were scattered around the open space. Some nights they pushed those tables aside to make room for a dance floor, but on open-mic night they positioned them here, there, and everywhere to give the illusion of a full house.

  Max and I had hung out here from time to time early in our relationship, when he still got amped about music. Those had been exciting days, when we’d happily discussed everything and anything to learn as much about each other as possible. He’d been quick to laugh and high on his own dreams until he butted up against rejection.

  Some nights I wondered where it all went wrong, and whether his attitude hadn’t been the only problem in our relationship. Had my disjointed lifestyle caused Max to lose his way? Had I expected to rise with his balloon and, when that didn’t happen, popped it so he fell back to earth with me? Those answers eluded me, but one truth was clear: he and I hadn’t brought out the best in each other.

  In truth, I didn’t even know what my best was—an uncomfortable confession to make so close to my thirtieth. Even recently I’d gotten swept up into our family drama instead of focusing on making those big changes I’d vowed to make. But perhaps that was fate’s way of showing me that my best required help from people whose skills complemented mine.

  “So we down with a bucket of Bud and some wings?” Lexi asked while scanning the room, presumably searching for Tony.

  “Yep. Go give your honey a good-luck kiss. I’ll grab us a table and place the order.” I waved her off, nabbed a small table near the front, and flagged a waitress. My once-over of the room didn’t reveal Eli. Bummer.

  Lexi returned before the food and beer arrived. Then the lights dimmed, and the first musician—a fiftysomething soloist with a growly voice—strummed his guitar.

  He wasn’t half-bad, but the three beers I’d sucked down in forty minutes made me an easy audience. His average music gave me an excuse to zone out. My thoughts kept wandering to my mother and Amanda, and whether things would get better or worse for us. For the first time, I understood what it meant to be “in a funk.” I wished I could shake it off like Mo did bathwater. This malaise wasn’t as crippling as the grief I’d experienced a year ago, but I felt like a bird caught in an oil spill, gummed up and losing buoy
ancy.

  During the dead zone between Growly’s set and Tony’s, I excused myself to use the restroom. On my return, movement in the back booth caught my eye. Granted, the dark corner made it difficult to see, but something about the man seated there made my body hum to life. When he looked up, my responding smile hurt my cheeks.

  I waved before it occurred to me that Eli had chosen that particular booth to avoid people—maybe even to avoid me. Now he looked a bit like a cat burglar in a spotlight. Tapping into newfound maturity and empathy, I offered a friendly nod and began turning toward my own table, but then he waved me over.

  A glance at Lexi showed that Tony and his two bandmates setting up had her full attention. She wouldn’t miss me for a while.

  Eli studied me as I approached, making me self-conscious. I didn’t know what I hoped to gain by the “chance” run-in. From the first time we’d met, something about him had tugged at my chest, and my efforts to resist that pull were failing.

  I slid onto the bench opposite him, determined to play it cool.

  If my dad were here, he’d tell me to be myself so that, whatever happened, I wouldn’t have regrets. That advice had never been hard to follow, yet Eli was like a new world that I didn’t know how to navigate. A world with one rule: don’t discuss Karen. I repeated that in my head a few times to make it stick.

  Then I promptly went with the most honest thing I could say. “I kinda hoped to see you here tonight.”

  “Is that why you came?” He sat back, hiding his hands beneath the table, gaze searching mine.

  “Not entirely. My friend Lexi”—I hooked a thumb over my shoulder in her direction—“asked me to come support her boyfriend, the guy setting up now. Did you come alone?”

  “I did.”

  Good. “You don’t seem shocked to see me.”

  “I’m not.”

  I teased, “Is that why you came?”

  “Not entirely.” He raised one shoulder with a slight tip of his head, grinning. “I like open-mic nights. You never know when you might hear someone with talent and original material.”

  He straightened his shoulders, fidgeting a bit in his seat. His apparent nerves made me feel less like a freak.

  “Are you scouting or something?” That idea prompted several thoughts. First and foremost was the fact that someone like Eli had the power to make a person’s dream come true, whereas someone like me did not.

  “Not officially.” He brought his hands back atop the table to toy with his half-empty beer bottle. I couldn’t tell whether his anxiety was because he liked me or now regretted our not-entirely-accidental run-in.

  “It’s great that you’re keeping your toes in the business.” Jesus, to hear me you’d think Max also stole my conversation skills.

  “I’ll never quit music altogether, even if I’m no longer writing. It’s too much a part of me to fully walk away.” He tucked his chin, looking twice as cute when a little embarrassed, although I didn’t know why that admission made him uncomfortable.

  Fortunately for him, I could demonstrate how to well and truly make a humiliating confession. “You’re lucky you have something that matters that much to you. Most of us don’t.”

  He pulled a sip from his longneck while keeping his gaze locked on mine. “Seems to me you have a lot of things that interest you . . .”

  Namely him, at the moment.

  “Passing fancies, as my mom calls them.” I almost covered my mouth after that unintended confession.

  He narrowed his gaze. “So there’s nothing you’re devoted to?”

  His pointed question unmoored our little booth. If my goal was to make him less interested, I was killing it! Actual self-improvement would have to wait until a later date. Right now, I had to spin my fatal flaw. “I’ve got too many dreams and ideas, so I can’t devote myself to one thing.”

  The relief from my mildly clever answer got cut short in a matter of seconds.

  “Dreaming’s easy. It lets you feel productive while you avoid the work it takes to make a dream reality.” He sipped his beer while that observation simmered. “You don’t strike me as lazy, though. Maybe you don’t try so no one can say you failed?”

  Those words triggered a long-forgotten memory, dazing me like a camera’s flash.

  “Why are you quitting the dance team when you’re finally old enough to audition for the Christmas show?” My dad cut into his apple and ate the slice straight from the paring knife.

  I shrank in my seat, swinging my feet while drinking chocolate milk. Amanda had been picked to play Clara in The Nutcracker when she’d been in fifth grade. I’d probably end up as one of the mice. “I’m bored of it now.”

  He handed me a slice of his apple. “Bored, or scared?”

  “‘Scared’?” I laughed a little too hard before biting into the apple.

  “Part of trying new things is learning what you like and don’t like, so if you’re bored, then quit. But, Erin, getting good at things requires commitment and learning how to come back harder if you fail the first time. Promise me you won’t quit things because you’re scared you’re not good enough.”

  “Erin?” Eli leaned across the table, his hand stretched out almost far enough to touch mine. He didn’t, but heat radiated between us, brushing against my skin nonetheless. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “It’s fine.” I waved him off, still shaken by the memory of my dad as a younger, healthy man. I wanted to hold that image close, or, better yet, have him back for one more day. More dreaming . . . “But since we’re speaking about not trying things, you haven’t come to another yoga class.”

  “Nothing personal.” Eli swigged more beer while I tried to read his giant, soulful eyes. “I’m . . . not over the shock from what happened last time.”

  Tony’s voice momentarily snagged my attention. Lexi had her chin on her fists, probably smiling at him while he sang the opening line of “Wild Horses.” I turned back to Eli, sidestepping the Nancy topic. “That’s my friend’s boyfriend. He’s a foreman by day. What do you think?”

  “He’s not half-bad.”

  “But only half-good?” I teased. Tony could carry a tune, but that was about the limit of his ability.

  “He looks happy enough singing for this crowd.” He pushed his empty bottle to the edge of the table. “When you love to play, it fills your soul whether there are ten or ten thousand people listening.”

  Eli had no idea about my Google-stalking him and Karen. That had led me to a bunch of his work—an impressive list of cowritten songs plus a few YouTube videos of him performing. His singing voice sounded a bit like Don Henley’s, which I wouldn’t have predicted. Regardless, I’d give up a full cup size for a private concert. “Do you miss performing?”

  “Sometimes.” His nonchalance didn’t fool me, though.

  I gestured to the stage. “Why don’t you get up there?”

  His gaze shot into space while his fingers drummed the table. When he finally returned from his mental meandering, he said, “’Cause my old songs make me sad, and I haven’t written anything new.”

  “Oh.” I interlaced my own fingers together instead of reaching for his hand. Don’t say it. Don’t . . . Oh, hell. I was gonna say it. “If your wife actually spoke through Nancy, maybe she wants you to write again.”

  Crap.

  His blue eyes turned the grayish color of a stormy sea.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, glancing toward Lexi to escape Eli’s glare. She shot me a questioning look. My subtle shake of the head was meant to keep her away.

  Eli shifted in his seat again, and I half expected him to ask me to go. “The thing is, I’ve been creeped out ever since that day. There’ve been times since Karen died when I would’ve sworn I felt her—when I’d honestly believed I had—but they’d been more like a dream or a wish. Now I’m walking around wondering if she’s here with me all the time—watching me, hearing my thoughts, listening to my conversations—like right now, sitting here with y
ou. I hate that idea, which makes me feel shitty because I loved her and would give anything for her to be alive. I’m truly effed-up.”

  The layers of emotion he’d unpacked settled around me like discarded diary pages tossed in the air. The moment felt fraught, as if our booth had become a spring-loaded booby trap I could trip with one wrong word.

  “It’s hard for me to know what to say because I’ve never lost someone I loved that much. Well, I loved my dad, but that’s different. Still, part of me likes the idea that he might be around all the time, and that he actually hears me when I’m talking to him. And that maybe he’s enjoying when I play a favorite album and picture something we’d done together while listening to it. Sure, there are some things I wouldn’t want him seeing or knowing”—my cheeks grew hot because I was thinking about sex, at which point I started looking at everything but Eli—“but he probably wouldn’t want to see them, either, so I bet he’d make himself scarce whenever they cropped up. Heaven is supposed to be better than earth, so there have got to be better things for spirits to do than spy on us twenty-four seven, right? I guess I think spirits only come back now and then to check in and make sure people are getting on okay without them.”

  When I looked up at Eli, he surprised me with a wide grin. “You’re odd. You know that, right?”

  His affectionate tone kept me from being offended. Besides, who can fault a guy who admires uniqueness? “So I’ve been told. My dad found me charming, so I’ve never felt the need to fit in.”

  He drummed his thumbs on the table again. “Your dad sounds like a wise man.”

  “He was wise and kind and warm and wonderful.” Traits Eli seemed to share. No wonder I felt some familiarity even though we barely knew each other.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” I leaned forward.

  “Why are you here on a Saturday night alone?”