by Amy Vastine
Her parents exchanged a quick glance.
“We’ve always made room for them,” Amelia said. “No need for you to rush into things before you’re ready.”
“Your mother is right. Why saddle yourself with the stress of car and rent payments?”
In other words, why risk the chance that the added pressure might cause a relapse?
Lillie could hardly blame them for feeling that way. She’d put them through a lot. As her grandfather used to say, “Talk is cheap. You want to prove something? Then just do it.”
And that was just what Lillie aimed to do.
As she had prepared to leave Rising Sun, and during every follow-up session since leaving, the counselors hammered home the difficult fact that yes, some of the people in her life would come around, eventually…but some of them would never believe in her again. When all was said and done, only one opinion would keep her on the straight and narrow: her own.
“What does your contractor say about wrapping up the renovations?”
Liam groaned and Amelia sighed.
“Every week, he tells us it’ll just be one more week. I had a dream the other night,” her dad said. “Your mom and I were silver-haired, shuffling along behind walkers. Kirk had a mop of white hair and a walker, too, when he said, ‘Patience, Liam. Just a few more days and the boys an’ me will be outta here.’”
“That’s not a dream, Dad. That’s a nightmare!”
“Tell me about it!” he said, joining in her laughter.
“For your sake, I hope he means it this time. How great will it feel when you don’t have to duck through those grimy sheets of plastic covering all the doorways or tiptoe around coils of extension cords?”
Amelia quirked a brow, then looked at Liam and shook her head.
“What,” Lillie said. “I have spinach between my teeth?”
“You aren’t fooling us, kitten. Ever since you got home, you’ve talked about everything but Jase. You can’t avoid him forever, especially since you’re bound and determined to pay what you think you owe him.”
“I’m not avoiding him. Why, I saw him today, as a matter of fact. Bumped into him in the music store and he asked if he could buy me a cup of coffee. And when he found out about my work at Hopkins and little Jason’s mock wedding, he offered to sing a couple of duets with me.”
Her mom’s eyes lit up, and it had been a while since Lillie had seen her dad smile like that, too.
“Oh, honey,” Amelia said, “I’m so happy to hear it. Your dad and I have always thought he was perfect for you, haven’t we, Liam.”
“He’s a good guy, all right. But a lot of water has passed under that bridge since you broke up.”
When she’d cited the adage to Jase, he’d suggested flood might be more accurate.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Liam continued, “we think the world of him. But you’ve both changed a lot since then, and things might not work out like you hope they will.”
“I’m not hoping for anything.” Not the whole truth, but not a lie either. “The only thing I hope is that you won’t mind if we practice in the turret, if we decide to go ahead with the duet thing.”
“Mind!” her mom said. “We’ll love it! It’ll be so lovely, hearing you two sing together again. Such perfect, close harmony!”
He’d provided her all the information she needed to call him. Lillie wanted to, more than she cared to admit. But the way his disposition had changed from warm to aloof made her wish she hadn’t said yes to his coffee invitation or his offer to help with the ceremony.
“I’m stuffed,” she said, hoping to change the subject. “Shouldn’t have taken that second meatball.”
“Wouldn’t have been a problem if you made ’em smaller,” Liam pointed out.
Amelia gave his forearm a playful slap. “Bite your tongue! My family never makes tiny meatballs!”
Leaning closer, he placed a sweet kiss on her cheek. “After forty-five years together, you’d think I’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
Lillie could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen them angry with one another. All her life, she’d dreamed of finding a love like that. She’d found it in Jase. But…
Far better, Lillie decided, to adopt a Scarlett O’Hara mindset, and think about it tomorrow. Or the next day.
She began gathering plates and flatware.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Amelia said. “You cooked. I’ll clean up.”
“It won’t take long. I really don’t mind.”
“But we do,” Liam chimed in. “You haven’t stopped working since you got home.”
Lillie laughed. “I only worked the breakfast rush this morning.”
“I don’t mean today,” he countered. “I mean since you got home.”
“Two months ago,” Amelia said.
“Nearly three,” Liam interjected, “but who’s counting!”
Her parents now stood side by side at the sink, Liam rinsing the plates, Amelia stacking them in the dishwasher.
“She’s still here,” Liam said from the corner of his mouth.
Amelia echoed his phony irritation, “I know. The kid can’t take a hint!”
Laughing, Lillie held up her hands. “All right, okay, I’m going up to take a shower and get into my pajamas. And when I’m finished, I might just tote my guitar into the turret and put some of the sheet music I bought today through a test run.”
Her parents gave her approving smiles, then sobered, as if remembering that they’d been pretending to be annoyed.
“She’s still here!” Amelia whispered.
“Stop making eye contact and maybe she’ll go away…”
“Okay, all right,” she said again. “I’m going!”
Just outside the kitchen door, Lillie stooped to tidy the old rug her mom had placed in the entryway to capture drywall debris and sawdust from the workers’ boots.
“Does she seem happy to you?” she heard her mother say.
“That’s a relative term.”
“I’m serious, hon. She’s trying really hard to put on a good front for us, but she isn’t fooling me. I can see it in her eyes…”
Lillie froze, because if she went upstairs now, the half-dozen creaks in the wide-planked foyer would let her parents know she was eavesdropping.
“…she misses Jase. And if you ask me, she wants him back in her life.”
“I agree, but much as I’d like to see those two get back together again, let’s not push it, okay? In fact, let’s just stay out of it altogether. Lillie is hell-bent to prove herself. We need to let her see that we believe she can do it this time.”
This time. With just two words, Liam had reminded her how many times she’d hurt and disappointed them. She had so much to make up for. To them. To her siblings and their spouses, her nieces. The guys in the band, who’d once been treasured friends. And Jase…
She shook off the self-pity and tried to remember which boards squeaked. Sam had taught her and Molly how to avoid them when they were teenagers. Now how did his little rhyme go? “Two steps forward, one to the side, left foot, right foot, or prepare to hide.” Thankfully, it worked, and Lillie hurried up the double-wide dark oak staircase.
Her room was strewn with notepads, sketches and pens across the bed and desk. She’d almost forgotten her work on the flyers and pamphlets that would make as many people as possible aware of the inn’s reopening. She’d written drafts of the media press release, plus a newsletter-type invitation for friends, family and neighbors. With some minor tweaking, the text would be soon be ready for the print shop.
Next, she’d make a trip to the attic in search of old photographs that told the inn’s story, from its 1799 brewery days to her folks’ most recent addition, and every change in between.
Lillie changed into old jeans and a T-shirt, traded her flip-
flops for sneakers, and tucked her hair into a baseball cap. On the way to the narrow curved staircase, she grabbed a flashlight and hoped the batteries were fresh.
An hour later, crawling across the dusty wood floor, Lillie counted the boxes she’d gone through. Just one more, she thought, lifting a fifth box. Her mother had printed “Kids” on its lid. Chances were slim that she’d find photos of improvements her folks had made to the inn, but Lillie opened it anyway.
Sam, Molly and Lillie, romping through the sprinkler.
The three of them tearing into their gifts on Christmas morning.
Her folks’ long dining room table—extended by two card tables—decked out for a family Thanksgiving feast.
The Sams’ wedding. Molly and Matt’s, too.
Her prom. The eight-by-ten black-and-white head shot her first agent had insisted on sending to pub owners and lounge managers from New York to LA.
An envelope plopped into her lap. She saw in her mother’s handwriting “Lillie and Jase/Three-Eyed Joe’s.”
On top of the stack, a picture of her and Jase, sharing a mic and looking into each other’s eyes in the halo of a single spotlight.
Beneath it, another picture of her and Jase, this time sitting side by side on the inn’s top porch step, her head resting on his shoulder, his head resting atop her curls.
Next, Jase and Liam, laughing at something. And one of him with her dad, brother, and brother-in-law, cheering over something on the blurry color TV in the background.
Jase, by himself, sneaking a brownie from the kitchen table.
And Jase, arms wrapped tight around her as they admired the nine-foot-tall snowman they’d built using stepladders and stools and gardening tools. He’d stolen her scarf to wrap around its neck, and while he was busy jamming stick-arms into place, Lillie had grabbed his Orioles cap and climbed the ladder to put it in place.
Tears stung her eyes as she slipped the pictures back into their envelope. She’d chosen eight photos to use on the flyers, and standing, tucked them into the back pocket of her jeans.
Halfway down the stairs, the flashlight began flickering. Lillie might have credited herself with good timing…if she hadn’t mistimed so many things in the last two years.
Sitting crouched on the grubby attic floor, leaning on beams to dig through boxes, had left her feeling achy from neck to knees. That’s what you get for skipping your exercises three days in a row. Every injury sustained in the accident had healed. The surgical scars had faded.
She found aspirin and ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet, and behind them, a bottle of Percocet, prescribed by her dad’s doctor following a tooth implant several months earlier. Lillie clutched it so tightly, her fingers ached. Had her father left the prescription here to see whether she’d developed the willpower to avoid temptation?
You’re being paranoid, Lill. Dad isn’t like that.
He’d forgotten, was all.
The pills inside click-clacked against the plastic as she read the label. Liam Rourke, it said. On one side, 325 mg. Take one tablet every six hours as needed for pain. And on the other, This medicine is a blue, round, scored tablet imprinted with “ALV 196” and is manufactured by ABC Pharmaceuticals, Inc. She unscrewed the childproof cap. Sure enough, there were round blue pills inside.
Lillie’s mouth went dry and her hands began to shake as every muscle tensed, adding to her discomfort. She held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut and summoned self-control. If this wasn’t a supreme test, she didn’t know what was.
“You’ll face temptation,” her counselors had warned. “Devise a plan for how you’ll smother it.” Several people in the circle said they’d picture themselves, staggering, stuttering and hollow-eyed. A few more decided to visualize the disappointed looks on the faces of their loved ones. When it was Lillie’s turn, she’d simply said “Jase.” She’d never forget the way he’d looked at her, his beautiful, expressive face a mix of sorrow and pain, anger and regret. Lillie’s mom had been only half right. It would be a dream come true if she could reunite with Jase. But what she wanted even more was to see the look of approval in his eyes.
You’re supposed to stay clean for yourself. “Think of it this way,” one counselor had said. “It’s like you’re in an airplane that’s going down, fast. You can’t help others if you’re a mess. That’s why you put your oxygen mask on first.”
You’re supposed to take care of you so the rest can fall into place.
Lillie opened her eyes, put the cap back on the bottle, and returned it to its shelf. It wasn’t until she closed the mirrored door that she realized she’d been crying.
Weakness had been the root of all her problems. But she’d worked hard to leave that behind.
Grabbing a tissue, she dried her eyes and blew her nose, then threw back her shoulders.
On the heels of a cleansing breath, she looked into the mirror again.
“You did it,” she whispered. “You did it.”
It hadn’t been the first time she’d passed such a test, and it wouldn’t be the last. Temptations would occur less frequently, the counselors had assured, and each victory would help bring about triumph over the next.
One day at a time…
Something Jase had recently told her came to mind.
After pointing out that drive and determination had seen her through months of punishing physical therapy, he’d reminded her that she had worked through several months of grueling psychotherapy at Rising Sun, as well. He’d called her tough. And stubborn. “You’ve got that going for you,” he’d said. “If you really want to beat this thing, you will.” At the time, Lillie hadn’t liked the way he’d emphasized if, but now the word helped her raise the bar. She’d show him. She’d show them all that she was no longer weak.
She limped to her room and quietly closed the door behind her. A good night’s sleep promised a fresh start in the morning. Despite the pain, it felt good knowing that the ugliest facets of her character were in the past. But if she didn’t focus on them, they’d become part of her present. Of her future. She’d focus on better, happier times, too, to help her reach for what had seemed an unreachable goal.
Jase had been a big part of those better, happier times. No matter how many ifs and buts peppered his dialogue, Lillie would continue working to prove that she’d changed, permanently. They’d probably never revive the love they’d once shared—he was with Whitney now—but they could be friends, couldn’t they?
Tomorrow, she’d call him to set up a rehearsal. Hour by hour and day by day, she’d show him that she could be trusted, that she hoped his life would be full and rich and happy…even if he shared it with someone else.
Exposure to the kids would be good for him, and Jase would definitely be good for them.
He’d be good for her, too.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JASE CHUGGED DOWN the last of his coffee and put the mug into the dishwasher, trying to decide where to call for takeout.
Whitney had called first thing this morning and invited him to lunch. He’d agreed, but suggested they meet at her place. He decided on pizza. Easy. Cheap. No muss, no fuss.
During the drive from the pizzeria to her place, he admitted that he had no appetite—for food or the dialogue he intended to open.
Whitney wasn’t home when he arrived. He knew, because her car wasn’t parked in front of the garage-turned-storage unit. So Jase sat in the pickup, inhaling the pizza scent, hoping she wouldn’t keep him waiting too long. Despite the thick cardboard, it wouldn’t stay hot for very long. And the ice was already melting in the drink cups.
Jase climbed out of the truck and pocketed his keys. Grabbing the drinks tray handle with one hand and balancing the pizza box on the other palm, he used his rear to slam the driver’s door.
Though it was eighty-five degrees, he was almost comfortable on her shaded porch step.
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Another five minutes passed, and still no Whitney. On the phone this morning, she’d told him how much she hated days like these, with no client appointments or court appearances to help the time pass more quickly. Lunch with him, she’d said, would break up the day nicely.
He could hardly wait to hear her explanation for being late this time.
Jase imagined himself writing a note that he’d tuck into her screen door: “I waited for nearly half an hour. Sorry, but I ate all the pizza.” Shaking his head, Jase resisted the urge to help himself to a slice from the sausage side and concentrated on neighborhood activity, instead. An elderly woman nearly mowing down an already dented aluminum trash can as she backed out of her driveway. A middle-aged guy walking his Great Dane. A rabbit devouring an entire petunia blossom.
“Scram,” he said. It froze and stared at Jase for all of a minute before returning to its snack. Obviously, it didn’t identify him as a threat. “Fine. Insult my machismo. See if I care.”
It hopped away, but only because Whitney had pulled up.
She parked her boxy red hybrid beside his pickup, and approaching the porch, smiled. “Have you been here long?”
“Not really.”
Whitney skipped her usual “why I’m late” excuses—heavy traffic, an accident blocking highway lanes, running low on gas—and climbed the brick steps that led to her door.
Once inside, she stood at the sink and lathered her hands. “Why don’t you grab us a couple of paper plates,” she said, nodding toward the cabinet above the toaster. “The napkins are—”
“On the table,” he finished.
He decided to let her eat before he introduced the subject of them. She devoured two slices of pizza, talking nonstop about the cute young intern the firm had brought on for the summer.
“He couldn’t be more than eighteen,” Whitney said, “and has no idea how to behave in an office setting.” Laughing, she added, “All I can say is, he’s lucky I’m not in charge of hiring and firing.”
“You’d fire a kid?” he asked, feigning surprise. “A kid who works for free?”