by Scott, S. L.
“Sorry,” she says, looking down, the shirt she snagged from me suddenly the most fascinating thing ever. Seeming to realize she’s paused too long, she adds, “It’s been a while since anyone asked about me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because if it wasn’t about Cassie or something she needs, I was told what I needed to do for Alfie.”
“He’s six. He doesn’t need much but love, I reckon.”
Agreeing, she stands, shoving her hands in her back pockets. “He’s changed me for the better. I’ve screwed up my life, but he loves me like I haven’t.”
“How old are you, Hannah?”
Feigning offense, she places her hand on her chest and her lips go wide into the prettiest smile. The shirt engulfs her small frame, the collar hanging wide and exposing some of her shoulder. I’ll never ask for it back. It looks a lot better on her than on me. “I do declare, Mr. Crow, that a lady never gives up her secrets.”
I’m just about to tell her I can guess, but Alfie walks back in and says, “Hannah’s twenty-four.”
Pretending to be a monster, she goes after him with wiggly fingers. “You weren’t supposed to tell him.” When she catches him, he’s giggling uncontrollably while trying to form words to make her stop. Setting him free, she asks, “Can you give me and Jet another minute to chat? Maybe draw a giggle monster to show me?”
Nodding with excitement, he runs back to his room. She turns back to me. “There. Now you know.”
“I still don’t know about your dreams.”
“It’s too early to get into all that, don’t you think?”
“Too early to start living your dream? I don’t think so.”
“Let me ask you something. Did you always know you wanted to play music, to be in a band, to perform for live audiences?”
Leaning against the counter, I reply, “Yes. That’s why when money was tight I quit college. I couldn’t see how sitting in an auditorium learning about gravitational dynamics would help me land a recording deal. Playing music every night whether to a coffeehouse or at the Austin Music Awards would. Every time I got on stage, I got more comfortable, I honed my skills, my talent, and I figured out our sound.”
She sits back down and looks my way. “What about Alfie? I want him to go to college.”
“He will go to college. Just like Rivers and Tulsa.”
“They have degrees?”
“Rivers does. Tulsa graduates next December. He can’t go full time with our gigs, so it’s taken a little longer. I haven’t gone back, but I think you understand the sacrifices you’re willing to make to take care of others.”
It’s the minutest of nods, but I see it as her gaze falls to the floor.
We’re in uncomfortable territory for her, and as much as I’d love to delve deeper, I won’t risk her shutting down just when we’re getting somewhere. “It’s not just the coffee that makes you a catch, you know?”
She hates attention and starts dusting imaginary lint from her jeans. “What else makes me a catch, Jet?”
I return to the couch, setting my mug on the table in front of me. “Everything.”
“Everything?” She snorts, and I think I fall a little more for her.
“You’re not what you think, Hannah.”
“What do I think?”
“You think you’re hardened and in control all the time. That everything rolls off your back, no problem. Your feelings play like a movie in your eyes—sadness, conflict, happiness, and anger, sometimes directed at me. You give them life, beautiful complicated emotions.”
She stands, scoffing as if I couldn’t possibly be referring to her. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
I take the dare and touch her leg, my hand spanning the inside of her right calf to stop her from leaving. She rests her hand on my shoulder and whispers, “You don’t know me.”
When she walks away, I ask, “What if I want to?”
Her modus operandi is back in play, and she ignores the comment and continues like she didn’t hear me. “I made up the bed. You should get some sleep. I’ll text you the details to pick up Alfie later.”
“So that’s it?”
I watch her hesitate and then nod. “That’s all it can be.” The sound of her talking to Alfie carries. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he replies.
When he returns to the living room, I catch him and whisk him into my arms. He’s happy. This kid is so damn happy, even at an ungodly hour. Carrying him upside down, I ask, “Have you seen Alfie, Hannah?”
Coming back with his jacket and backpack, she takes his lunch from the counter and pretends to look around. “Nope, haven’t seen him.”
“Now where could he be?”
He’s a giggly monster. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“I think I hear something.”
“Where?” Hannah plays along.
Alfie flails his arms while laughing even more. “Here. Here. Here.”
Spinning him right side up, I come face to face with him. “Ohhhh here you are.”
He rubs his hand up the side of my cheek. “Ouch,” he teases.
Taking his hand, I kiss his palm. “Better?”
“I get to come here after school, right?”
“You do. I’ll pick you up from school.”
Hannah walks by and tugs his shirt. “C’mon, kiddo. We have to get going or we’ll be late.”
I hug him to me. It’s purely selfish. “You have a good day and work hard. Okay?”
When I set him down, he runs to the front door and takes her hand. Eyeing her, I ask, “You stealing that shirt?”
“I am.” Walking out the door, I see the smile she tries to hide. That smile. The ghost of a smile. That was for me. God, she’s gorgeous.
“See you later, gators.”
“Bye,” Alfie calls back and closes the door.
Taking the mug with me into the kitchen, I devour the eggs they made for me and then head to bed. I need sleep. With a full belly and running on only a few hours sleep, I make my way to my bedroom.
The bed is made, but I mess it up when I climb in. Lying here in the darkish room, I focus my senses. The scent is faint, but I can smell her on my pillow.
I could lie here all day breathing in her perfume as if she’s still here, and it would never come close to having the real thing. I close my eyes, and her words come back to me. “Showing up is what matters most.”
Show up.
Not just for Alfie, but her.
Show up.
12
Jet
On Tuesday, I’m standing in front of the school at two forty-five, as directed.
I picked up Alfie on Friday. Hannah came over after he fell asleep to watch him while I played my gig. He never knew I was gone, and she dashed out the door as soon as I walked in.
Other than that, I haven’t seen him since Saturday morning when I dropped him off at Hannah and Eileen’s for their scheduled days. The band’s busiest nights are the weekend, so Hannah offered to take him those days to help us out. This week, I’ll only have him until Thursday.
The band flies to LA on Friday morning to meet with Johnny and the rest of the band to get a plan in place. We received the contract, but I haven’t had time to go over it fully. After a brief review, I’m still stuck on how I’m going to care for Alfie if I’m stuck in a studio or on tour. My brothers and I toured for years, but we were only responsible for us. There were no strings or attachments holding us back or tying us down, except for Rivers. On our last tour, his girl was still in school, so it was me and my brothers with our ex-drummer. We were four guys with few cares riding high on our popularity while doing something we love.
The next time will be different. There’s talk of touring with the The Resistance and opening for them. That means stadiums and arenas, which is a whole other ballgame.
I may have stars in my eyes this time around, but I’m not going in blind. Touring is taxing on the body and mind, but it kills r
elationships, as Rivers can attest to. Only the strongest bonds will survive. Alfie has to remain a priority, and I have no problem doing that. I think deep down, Hannah knows that, but at some point, when I know where we’re heading career wise, I’ll have to sit down and work this out with her. She needs to be a part of the decision too.
A few walls have come tumbling down over the past week. I think she wants to hate me more than she does. At least that’s what I’m counting on.
The doors open, and the classes file out one by one. Alfie’s is third, and he’s already jumping up and down, excited to see me. I may not be jumping, but I’m just as excited, something I could’ve never imagined before meeting him.
His teacher waves to me, and I see two other teachers next to her waving. I look behind me, but no one is standing there. I’m used to attention when I’m at a show, but the school setting perplexes me. Alfie is tapped on the shoulder, the signal he’s free to go. He runs around a baby stroller and two moms and straight into my arms. “I did a pitcher for you, Jet.”
“A picture, buddy.”
“I made one for the fridge. Look.” He holds up green construction paper, and I turn my head all the way to the right.
“Heeey, that’s pretty good. It’s a guitar.”
“It’s your ka-tar. We were told to draw something that makes us happy.”
Hugging him, I reply, “My guitar makes you happy?”
“When you play, it makes you happy, and that makes me happy.”
“You’ve got a big heart, Alfie.” When I set him down, I hold the artwork in one hand and his hand in the other. “Who are the people drawn in the corner?”
“Our family.”
“Are those your uncles?”
We cross the street to where I’ve parked the truck. “No, silly, that’s me and you and Hannah.”
I almost stumble over my own feet. The drawn people are all holding hands, with him holding Hannah’s and me holding her other one. If only life was that simple.
I navigate to a different topic, one I’m more comfortable talking about. “I like that you drew a star and a sun.”
“The star is Mommy. She’s in heaven.”
Stopping in front of my truck, I feel my chest squeeze. I’m always at a loss for what to say about Cassie. I don’t want him not to talk about her, but I also don’t want to say the wrong thing or screw up.
When I open the door for him to climb in, I wait for him to settle and then buckle him up. “You know, Alfie, we haven’t talked much about my mom, but she’s in heaven too.”
“Is she my grandma?”
“Yes. Louisa. That was her name.”
“Do you have pitchers?”
“Pictures.” Chuckling, I rest my weight on the truck door. “I do. I can show you when we get home.”
“Grandma Eileen once said I was born with only one, but I knew she was wrong because my teachers told me everyone has two. Brandon Lowery has three because his grandpa married a nurse.”
What the fuck? I don’t even know what to say to that. I just rub my temple instead and let him keep talking. He says, “I don’t argue with Grandma, or I get sent to my room.”
“Look, little man, I know it’s tough to have all these changes at this moment, but your mommy meant a lot to Eileen. She loved your mommy very much.”
“Did you?”
“Sonic or Wendy’s for dinner? I’m thinking Sonic, but I’m open if you have a preference.”
“Happy meal?”
“You got it.” Shit. This kid catches me off guard, but I can’t let him see me sweat. I also can’t make him think his questions aren’t valid. Fuck. I sound like a psychologist. I shut the door and walk around the back of the truck. Stopping at the tailgate, I pretend to secure it because I need a damn second to figure out what to say if he bombs me like that again.
I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine. With my arm on the back of my seat, I turn around, and look at him in his booster chair in the back. His eyes reveal his curiosity, and I owe him an actual answer. “I loved your mom, Alfie.” I just say it.
He did nothing to deserve anything less than to hear good things about his mother, but would she really tell him bad things about me? In my gut, I feel she wouldn’t. He also doesn’t act like I’m a monster. The kid accepted me the second he saw me, so that’s what I’ll hold onto. That’s what I’ll believe in—him.
Turning back to pull out of the parking spot, I freeze when he says, “She said she loved you.”
First, my eyes find his in the rearview mirror, and then I turn around again. “She did?”
“She said I would like you. I do, Jet. I like you.”
“When did she say that?”
“I would sneak into her bed at night. I was careful not to wake Hannah.”
“Where was Hannah?”
“In our room.”
“You shared with her?”
He nods. “I have a room, but I liked Mommy’s room, but sometimes her machines kept me awake. Hannah would let me sleep in her bed when I was scared or couldn’t sleep.”
“How often were you scared?”
“Most nights I have bad dreams.”
He hasn’t here, not at my house. I check on him all the time. “Do you still have bad dreams?”
Shrugging, he replies, “Not really.”
I find some relief in his answer. I’m not a psychologist, but he seems to be internalizing his emotions. He’s dealt with more than any kid should have to yet remains positive on the outside. Is it an act he puts on, or is he starting to heal in some ways? And I’m still curious what Cassie had to say about me. “Tell me about when you would sneak with your mommy.”
He says, “We would read together, and she would teach me all the things she wanted me to know before she goes.”
“She taught you about me?”
Another nod. When he starts losing interest in the conversation, I start driving. “What did she say about me?” I glance at him in the mirror.
He smiles. “She said she loved you, and you loved her, and that love made me.” I’m about to say something, but he adds, “If Hannah loves you and you love Hannah, will I get a baby brother?”
My foot almost slams on the brake, bringing us to a skidding stop, but I keep driving, flustered by how I should reply. I swear he can hear my thoughts scrambling around my head over the rumbling of this truck. “Umm, do you want one?”
“You got two. All I want is one.”
I’m four years older than Tulsa and two years older than Rivers. I had two baby brothers by the time I was Alfie’s age. This is brand new for both of us and too soon to think about what might happen, much less adding another kid into the mix, another kid with Hannah apparently. “Hannah and I are friends, Alfie. Like you have friends at school.”
“Oh,” he says, sighing and looking out the window.
We pull into the parking lot of the fast food joint, and I look back again. “Hey, this is good—you and me. As for more kids, I’m not sure what will happen, but I’m happy to have you.”
“I’m happy to have you, Jet.”
Squeezing his hand, I say, “I want you to know that I like you too, Alfie.” I want to push him for more information about what Cassie told him, but by the way he’s looking out the window, he’s ready to eat. So am I. “Nuggets or burger?”
“Nuggets.”
* * *
Stubbing the cigarette into the bucket of sand, I say, “I’ll fly back every few days if I have to.”
Rivers shakes his head. “You can’t be gone when we’re trying to record. The whole project will be put on hold every three days.”
“I don’t know how to manage this. I was fucking around with music, having a good time without any real responsibilities. Without any heads-up or warning, I became a father less than two weeks ago.”
We continue to talk while watching Tulsa teach Alfie how to throw a baseball. Rivers pats my back. “Normally, I’d give you a hard time about
what’s happened, but you’re doing the right thing, Jet.”
“He’s a great kid, and I had nothing to do with it.”
“Sure, you did. It’s your genes mixed up in that kid.”
“Let’s hope he gets his mother’s sensibilities. If he’s anything like me when he becomes a teen, I’m fucked.”
Laughing, he says, “Karma’s a bitch.”
“Karma sure is.” We sit a minute, more on my mind than I know what to address. I go with the heavy stuff that’s been weighing down my heart. “It’s bullshit that she was taken from him.” I look over at him. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I’ve been trying to think back to the time you were dating. She wasn’t around long.”
“No. Even though we were dating, we didn’t see each other that many times. We were gone for part of the tour that month.”
“Man, this whole thing is heavy. How are you holding up?”
“I’m doing fine, but Alfie deserves a mother.”
“You know we’re here whenever you or Alfie needs us. As for the contract, if it doesn’t work out, it’s not meant for us anyway.”
Rivers has always been more reasonable than Tulsa or me. I think my mom’s accident made him grow up faster than he should have. We all reacted differently or acted out differently, I should say. He looked inward for answers, and I did everything I could to bury myself in whiskey and women, lost my soul to music, and gave in to the demons of my parents’ death.
I hit my low on the road while sitting in a drunk tank in Nacogdoches. Rivers was only seventeen and busy fighting with his girlfriend on the phone. Tulsa wasn’t old enough to bail me out, so he had to convince the bar manager to bail me out after paying him our earnings.
Rivers needed a big brother he could count on, and Tulsa needed a father figure. I became both that day. My role in Alfie’s life comes more naturally this time around. “I won’t hold you guys back. If you have to sign without me, I’ll still do what I can, whatever you need me to do. I just can’t take the risk of hurting Alfie. He’s already lost one parent . . .”
“We’re not just a band, Jet. We’re brothers. All for one and one for all.” We stand, our bodies mimicking each other’s—hands in pockets, nearly the same height. Nudging me with his elbow, he adds, “Enough of this sappy shit. Let’s eat and go over the contract.”