No Place to Fall

by Jaye Robin Brown

  Maybe I’ve made a mistake. Maybe the banjo was a bad idea. Its sound is unique, and not everybody likes it. I start jiggling my knee so hard, I shake the seats around me.

  Will whispers, “You’ve got this.”

  I nod.

  He puts a hand on my knee to calm me as another girl sings “Ave Maria” to piano.

  Finally, it’s my turn.

  The male judge calls my name and I approach the stage. Slick wooden stairs lead up from the audience. My cast sounds like a hammer as I walk to the microphone set center stage. Will slips into a chair on the side.

  One of the female judges looks down at my paperwork, then up at Will. “Banjo? For ‘Ave Maria’?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, but I hear her mumble, “Interesting.”

  I close my eyes for a minute and try to calm my beating heart. If I do this, I’ll be someone special. Gone. Living a new life, away from Sevenmile. I look at Mama and Coby and my throat constricts. Mama smiles and nods. She waves Coby’s little hand.

  I put my palms over my stomach. Will takes his cue and starts moving his fingers on the strings, bringing his instrument to life. I open my mouth. For a split second, I think nothing’s going to come out, but then the song soars from my center. I open the door and let the songbird fly through. I imagine sitting out on the mountaintop with Will, sending my notes out to the sky. My voice wavers, but not enough to make a difference. I get through “Shenandoah” and “I Wish My Love Was a Red, Red Rose” without incident. Then it’s time for “Ave Maria.”

  The judge who’d made the banjo comment leans back in her chair and crosses her arms.

  I glance at Will and see that he’s there, waiting on me. He winks and I almost start laughing. But then he starts playing that slow beautiful movement of strings that climbs like they’re headed for heaven itself.

  I open my mouth and allow all my high and lonesome to flow out in my song. If they want me, they’re going to have to want to shape the raw voice I have. I can’t sing arias like the girl with all the rounded notes and rolling crescendos. I can only sing like me.

  When I finish, I take a huge gulp of air.

  The skeptical judge uncrosses her arms and allows a small “humph,” but from her raised eyebrows, I can tell she’s been pleasantly surprised. Whether they’ll want me or not, though, who knows.

  I do notice all three of the judges on the review panel are making furious notes, almost as fast as they had after the opera singer.

  “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you so much.”

  I look for Mama to gauge her reaction, as I leave the stage, but she’s not in her seat.

  Will and I find her in the hallway, her brow furrowed, talking on her cell phone and nodding. She looks up and holds up one finger. We stop and wait.

  She hangs up.

  “Who was that?” I ask.

  “Your daddy.” Her mouth is a straight, tense line.

  “Is everything okay?” Will asks her.

  She sighs and picks up Coby from the mess of bubble wrap he’s found to pop. “Just a little issue at home,” she says. “But let’s not worry about that right now. Today’s your day, Amber honey. Your daddy’s going to take care of it.” She looks between the two of us. “Well? What did they say?”

  My grin spills over. “They were impressed by Will and his banjo.”

  “And by your amazing voice.” He looks at me and grabs my hand again, right in front of Mama.

  Mama’s smile is guarded. “I never thought I’d say this, but this might be a real good thing for you.” She kisses Coby’s head. “A real good thing to get away.”

  “Mama?” I ask.

  “Nothing, honey. I’m so proud of you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  When we get back to Sevenmile, Mama drops Will and me off at his car. We’d gone out to eat in Boone after the audition.

  “Bye, Mama.” I lean back across the seat and kiss Coby, then kiss her on the cheek. “I had a great time today. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sugar. I’m so glad things are okay with you.” She turns to Will. “Bring her home by midnight, no later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mama drives away.

  Now it’s already well past dark, and the party’s gotten started when we get to C.A.’s condominium complex. Through the brightly lit window, I can see Sean dancing with C.A.

  Nerves pop up like dandelions. Will and I have been holding hands all day, but walking in holding hands in front of everybody is going to cause some kind of scene.

  I look over at Will, and he’s started to unlatch his banjo case.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  He looks up, hands me the case, and straps the banjo around himself. “Surprise,” he says, grinning.

  We don’t knock. The door opens onto a small alcove connected to the living room, where some people are dancing. We slip past them and head toward the kitchen.

  When we get there, Devon shimmies over to us, a blue plastic cup in each hand. “Plain and Small.” He kisses me on each cheek, à la française, he calls it.

  “Will,” he says, and looks over the rim of nonexistent glasses at his brother, who’s right by my side.

  Devon thrusts a cup into my hand. “Here. Liquid courage.” As usual, Devon wants me to dance.

  “Don’t think I can tonight.” I point down. “Ankle.”

  A tall, slightly awkward boy who doesn’t look comfortable with his height yet joins us, walking up right next to Devon. He has big, curly brown hair and a gap-toothed grin. He puts out his hand and says, “Hi, y’all. I’m Gil, C.A.’s cousin from Bristol.”

  “Hey. I’m Amber,” I say, smiling. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  There’s a look that flashes from Devon to Gil to Devon. No wonder Devon hasn’t been devastated by how things turned out with Kush. Judging by the bouncy excitement ricocheting between Gil and Devon, my guess is there’s a real thing between them.

  “Devon?” I cock my head, then glance at Gil.

  Devon grins and pushes Gil toward me. “Gil, Amber here is my BFF. Amber, Gil is my . . .” Devon pulls Gil’s elbow so they’re both leaning in and whispers to just me and Will, “Well, I’m not sure what he is, but we’ve been Skyping every night. Poor thing’s lonely up in Bristol.”

  Will and I laugh as Devon and Gil step back, their eyes sparking at each other.

  “Poor thing, indeed,” Will says as our hostess, C.A., bounces in, breathless and laughing, Sean right behind her.

  “Hey, Amber, how’d it go today?” Sean asks me, his blue eyes big and bright.

  He’s the first person to mention my audition.

  “Really good, Sean. Thank you.”

  Will starts playing his banjo then—and it’s the bouncy theme to The Beverly Hillbillies, a tune I haven’t heard since the first soccer game of the year. He croons,

  “Now listen to a story ’bout this girl Amber,

  Who traveled up the road to sing a song for sure,

  And then one day she was sitting on a chair,

  When along came a letter said,

  Yes, we want you here!

  Winston-Salem, skyscrapers, shopping malls!”

  He finishes with a flourish on the strings and everybody bursts into laughter.

  And that’s when Will turns and kisses me. Square on the lips for all of our friends to see.

  I feel the blood rise to my cheeks, but I kiss him right back.

  I look back at our friends and see Devon let out a big, dramatic breath. “Well, now.”

  “How’d y’all like my song?” Will turns in a circle, threatening to wipe everybody out with the neck of his banjo.

  C.A. pats our heads like we’re children. “That’s nice, Will, but I’m turning the music back on. It’s time to dance!”

  The music goes up and Sean, C.A., Gil, and Devon push each other into the living room. Even Deana May is there, about to dance with a boy I recognize from chorus. Will and I don’t go anywhere.
We stay in the kitchen, me sitting on a stool and Will moving to stand in front of me. I put my hands on his hips and he leans forward until his perfect lips meet mine. I breathe into his kisses and he runs his fingers across the back of my neck, up along my jawline, behind my earlobes. I feel like I’m going to burst with the rightness of it.

  He murmurs against my ear, “I almost don’t want you to get into that school.”

  I slip my thumbs into his waistband and pull him closer, locking him against me, between my legs. “They have a college.”

  Our tongues collide and—there’s a banging on the door. Louder than the music.

  Will and I break apart, give each other a questioning look, and walk to the living room, where everybody else is. Someone peeks out the window. “It’s somebody’s dad. And the cops!”

  Cups and bottles disappear quick, and then C.A. opens the door. Someone turns off the stereo.

  Mr. Whitson fills the door frame, one of the new county officers by his side, all dark blue uniform and shiny badge. Mr. Whitson looks angry. “Hello, young lady,” he says to C.A. “I need to see Sean.” His voice is harsh as it travels down the narrow hall.

  Sean cuts through the crowd to meet his uncle. “What’s up, Uncle Eric?”

  Mr. Whitson’s face is hard. Harder than I’ve ever seen it. “We’ll talk about it outside. We’ve gotta go.”

  C.A. takes a step forward, then stops, thinking better of it, I guess.

  Mr. Whitson and the officer separate, allowing Sean to move through the door between them. The cop hesitates and looks around the room. “I’d suggest you go ahead and break this party up. Unless you want me to call for backup.”

  “Yes, sir,” C.A. says. Everybody’s already grabbing purses and coats.

  When the door shuts, the room erupts in speculation.

  “What do you think Sean did?”

  “Oh my God, C.A., the cops were here.”

  It sounds like the chattering of crows. Then, I think—

  Today, after my audition. That phone call from Daddy. Something’s happened. Something with my sister, and that means something with Sammy. A sinking suspicion settles into my bones, and I lean against the wall, wishing I were invisible.

  Devon watches Sean, Mr. Whitson, and the police officer from the window. “Oh my God, what was that? Sean isn’t the kind of guy the cops show up for. Do you know what he did?” he asks me.

  I shake my head, but I can’t talk.

  Will’s packing up his banjo. “Let’s go to our house, have a porch party.”

  He leans in to kiss me again but I look away. “I need to go home,” I say to no one. I look back at Will.

  “Home?” A quick hurt flashes across his face.

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  On the car ride home, I stare mutely out the window. I can’t stop thinking about Mama on the phone outside the audition. Her serious face. The flashes of disappointment that followed the rest of the day. And if it really is something with Sammy and Whitney, then is it possible they found that stupid bottle, and connected it to the Whitsons? To Sean? I close my eyes for a second and replay every conversation I’ve had with Sammy. No, it can’t be. He swore the bottle was gone.

  Will interrupts my thoughts. “I don’t understand, Amber. Did I do something?”

  I press my hands against my face, hoping to stop the shame I feel inside. “No, you didn’t do anything, Will.” I pause. “I did something. Something really, really bad.”

  I look out the window again, and my breath steams the glass. I feel it all. All of the anger I felt the night after I took the pills. Anger at Kush, yes, but an even deeper anger, too. At Mama, and at Whitney, for not fighting back. At Daddy. At Sammy. But all of that hot anger, and now, all I feel is chills.

  Will pulls over into the car wash parking lot. It’s the same spot we turned into before going to the party in Erwin earlier this fall. I almost laugh at the coincidence, but can’t.

  Will faces me and touches my hand. “I’m listening.”

  I rub my arms. “Remember how you said you needed to stay away from guys like Sammy, because of the stuff with your dad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, the same thing’s happened to Sean.”

  “Whoa.” Will leans back against the seat. “Sucks for him.”

  “You don’t understand,” I say. “Sean didn’t do anything. I did. I took pills from his aunt and uncle and Sammy gave me the money. It’s how I bought Sean his guitar.”

  Will shifts in his seat again and turns back toward me, leaning close. “What are you talking about?”

  I can’t meet his eyes. “I stole pills. For Sammy.”

  “You what?”

  “Don’t make me say it again.”

  “Jesus, Amber. Please tell me you didn’t take the prescription bottle.”

  I’m quiet, even as I talk. “Sammy took the bottle. I tried to get it back, but he promised me it would never link back to anyone. Besides, it had Kush’s name on it, not Sean’s.” But of course the Whitsons would look at Sean. He’s the one with the new guitar. He’s the one with the past.

  Will stares out at the road and rubs at the scar on his cheek. Then he starts the car without saying anything and starts driving again.

  “Will, talk to me.” How can I make him understand it made a horrible kind of sense in the moment? That I was so incredibly angry at Kush? That at the time, Sean having the thing he most wanted seemed to be the only sure bet. That if Sean got his dream because of me, then I might get mine, too.

  Will shakes his head, and his voice is quiet. “I don’t know what to say.” He flicks the signal to turn onto my road.

  When he pulls into my driveway, I say more to myself than him, “I made a stupid mistake.”

  Will takes my hand again. “Amber, it wasn’t just stupid. It was illegal. The only reason I didn’t end up in huge trouble is because of my dad.” He leans against the window. “Look, I get that you were trying to do a good thing. But how you did it was crazy. Why didn’t you go to your church? Or ask your friends?”

  “I did ask . . .” But I drop it. I didn’t ask enough. I didn’t try hard enough. All I know was that Kush made me crazy and I acted impulsively. And when I had chances to fess up, I kept going. I did everything wrong.

  And in that moment, I know I can’t get Will involved in my mess. I can’t risk the tender balance he’s found with Judge McKinney.

  I take a deep breath and pull my hand free from his. “Will.”

  “Yeah?” His hand rests on his thigh like he’s waiting for mine to come back.

  “I’m . . . not sure us dating is such a good idea.”

  “What are you talking about?” He tries to lock me down with his eyes but I look out the windshield.

  “We’re so different. I mean, don’t you think this is sort of a fluke?”

  “You’re crazy,” he says. “We’re great together.”

  He’s making this hard. “No, Will. We’re not. We play great music together, but beyond that, we’re nothing alike.” I bite my lower lip to hold back the words I really want to say.

  He rubs his hair off his forehead and I see the muscle in his jaw working, his eyebrows bunched like he’s trying to figure me out. “I told you before, Amber. I don’t think I’m better than people from here.”

  I plow on. I’m breaking my own heart, but I’m not going to kill Will’s dream, too. Not like I think I’ve done to Sean’s. “It’s not that. I’m not ready for a relationship, Will. I want to focus on myself.” I face him and look him square in the eyes, keeping mine free of emotion. It’s not a complete lie. At least not till I work out whatever mess I’ve gotten Sean into. Besides, this is neater. And Judge McKinney won’t fault him if I’m not around.

  He stares back, searching for something in my face. After a long second, he straightens, then leans across me and opens the door, just barely brushing my arm. Cold air rushes in. “Good night, Amber,” he says. Will’s expression is awful, his jaw stiff.r />
  I climb out and push the door shut.

  Will drives away, and I watch. His taillights grow smaller and smaller until they’re gone.

  My hand opens and closes, feeling the ghost of his hand, the warmth trailing away like a dying campfire.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The house is dark except for the flickering light of the television.

  I linger for a minute outside, under the maple trees. I watch bats dart across the cow field. A chant of stupid, stupid, stupid rushes through my head. I’d been ignoring it, but I always knew, somehow, I’d end up found out. That I wouldn’t go unpunished for my sins. And now I’ve let Will go, too.

  I hug my arms to myself and lean against the tree’s wide trunk. I allow myself a moment to think about something good, something that should have made me happy. Will’s kisses in C.A.’s kitchen, less than an hour ago. Will’s wicked smile onstage, earlier today. His belief in me, always.

  I wipe away the wet tears of regret rolling down my cheeks, then push myself back to standing and walk inside the house. I’ve got to be strong. I’ve got to trust my decision was the right one.

  Inside, Mama is slumped in Daddy’s recliner, a Kleenex wadded in one hand, her face red and swollen from crying.

  I feel my stomach drop to my feet, but I knew something was going on. “Mama?”

  She turns in the chair to face me.

  “Mama, what’s wrong?”

  A strangled cry tears her throat. I go and crawl into the recliner with her, curling up on her lap like I’m six.

  “Oh, baby.” She sniffles in my hair. “They came for Coby.”

  I pick my head up and look at her. “What?”

  She sighs and dabs at her eyes. “Your sister and Sammy got taken into custody. Again. Social Services came for Coby.” A new sob escapes her lips. I hug her.

  “But what about us? Wouldn’t they have left Coby with you and Daddy?” Why on earth wouldn’t they have left him with us?

  Mama shakes her head as tears roll down her cheeks. “No, sugar, they say they have evidence that we might not be fit to take care of him.” Her shoulders curl and uncurl with the shake of her breath. “He’s in foster care.”