Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
ROB
I’m not leaving until Sophie comes out of the building.
It’s a small thing I can do for her, so insignificant it’s probably laughable. But I’m going to be there for her today, and then I’m going to beat the shit out of my brother.
Okay, maybe I won’t do that. He’d probably have me arrested. But I’m owed something, aren’t I? Both for what he did to Sophie and for roping me into this mess.
I’m daydreaming about how good it would feel to crunch my fist into his face when my phone rings. For half a second, I think it’s going to be Jonah, calling me from Sophie’s phone, but it’s my buddy Travis.
To say Travis is a good guy would be as insufficient as saying my brother is a douchebag. Travis and I started Garbage Fire six or so years ago. He’s the drummer, and I’m the lead on vocals and guitar. Our buddy Chance Bixby is on bass. We used to have another guy on guitar, but he quit a few months ago and hasn’t been replaced yet.
Travis also pulled me into our other project: The Missing Beat, an after-school music program we run together. We teach the kids guitar, drums, song-writing, and singing, and they have performances around town. It fucking rocks.
Without Travis, I would have slid deeper into the dark place I fell into after what Jonah did to me. So, obviously, when he calls, I answer. I’d hide a body for him. Don’t know how, but I’d figure that shit out.
“What’s up?” I ask, picking up the call.
“You’re awake.”
“I’m awake.”
“I figured I’d get your voicemail. Anyway…shit.” He pauses, and I can imagine him rubbing the spot between his eyebrows—his go-to for when he’s about to say something unwelcome. “Bix and I ducked into the Hot Spot last night, and Emil was working the register. That’s why he hasn’t been coming to the program anymore. His foster dad told him he has to contribute to the household. He’s got him working so much the kid can’t do his homework. And he’s still not allowed to practice guitar at home. Not even if you give him one.”
I swear under my breath.
Most people would tell you being a talented musician doesn’t matter much. So few people are able to make a career of it. The dedicated are like us, part of a band that takes up the majority of our free time and only brings in enough money to pay a couple of utility bills. But this kid is magic on the guitar, and he writes his own songs. I truly believe he could make something of himself if he’s given the chance.
The program wasn’t costing his foster dad anything. Emil was one of our scholarship students, referred to us by the school music program. But I can’t force his foster dad to send him.
Which is why I’ve had something cooking on the down-low.
“There’s this idea I’ve been working on,” I say.
My friend gives an easy laugh. “Why am I worried?”
“You probably should be. Look…I’ll tell you about it later. I’ve gotta go. I’m Pollyanna’s getaway driver.”
He laughs. “Jonah’s girlfriend has resorted to a life of crime?”
“Something like that. I’ll fill you in on that later too.”
“Nice. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
As soon as we hang up, I text Nelly, the caseworker who’s helping me get approved as a foster parent.
It’s a perfect solution. Emil’s sixteen, nearly seventeen, and he doesn’t really need another parent. He needs a place to stay with someone who’s going to let him do his homework and practice guitar. I’ve got a spare bedroom that’s home to nothing but my instruments mounted on the wall.
The guitars could go elsewhere, or they could stay—Emil would be over the moon to sleep beneath them.
I let Nelly know that Emil’s foster dad has him working long hours, and she texts back seconds later.
Crappy but not illegal. We got this. A few more weeks. Hang in there, my friend.
I hold the phone for a second, lost in thought, then tuck it away when I see Sophie hurrying out of the brewery with another woman, the same blonde who met her out front fifteen minutes ago. I’ve played sets at most of the breweries that host live music, so I recognize her, but I don’t remember her name. Bixby calls her Goldilocks.
They open the back door, and they both slide into the back seat as if I really am their getaway driver.
“Go,” Sophie says.
I don’t hesitate or ask what happened, even if I really, really want to know. I pull away from the curb just as Jonah comes jogging outside. He waves his hand at the car, the gesture urgent.
Nope, can’t let this go.
I park the car and turn to face the ladies.
“Please, Rob,” Sophie says, leaning forward in her seat.
A few tendrils of hair have escaped her usual ponytail, and she has a wild, almost untamed look. I have the strange urge to reach back, not to tuck her hair behind her ear, but to tug the rest of it free.
“I’ll be right back,” I say. “Then we’re getting out of here. I’ll bring you wherever you like.”
I climb out of the car and cross the road, making a beeline toward Jonah. He looks anxious, which I enjoy, but he clearly wishes to talk to me, which I do not enjoy.
In this moment, it feels like all the problems in the world are the result of Jonah and his devil-may-care dick.
“So you know,” Jonah says as I get closer. He’s dressed in a suit that’s about as weather appropriate as wearing shorts in midwinter, and sweat has dampened the collar of his shirt. “Can you help me convince?—”
I punch him in the face. His nose gives under my fist as pain bursts across my knuckles, and I’m not sorry. Not even if I’ve messed up my hand and won’t be able to play right for weeks.
“What the hell?” he shrieks, lifting his hands up to cup his nose.
“That’s for being just like our dad, you absolute piece of shit. How could you?”
“I…I don’t know,” he sputters. “I messed up. I’m going to fix it. I’m going to figure out a way.”
“No. You’re not,” I say flatly. “You’re going to leave her the fuck alone.”
With that, I turn my back on him, knowing he could attack me from behind. Not really caring.
I cross the road to the car, from which Sophie and Goldilocks are gaping at me. Sophie’s face is practically pressed to the glass.
When I get to the car, I glance back. Jonah is still standing there, his hand wrapped around his bleeding nose, watching me with some sort of emotion written across his face. I’ll be damned if I know what it is. I doubt he’s learned anything from all of this, other than that he should be a better liar.
I slip behind the wheel, clear my throat, and say, “All right, ladies, where to?”
“You punched him,” Sophie says in wonder, our eyes meeting in the rearview mirror. She doesn’t look like Jonah’s Sophie right now. The expression in her eyes is the same as it was this morning—fiery and vindictive—and it makes me smile.
“Since we’ve decided to be truthful with each other, Pollyanna, it felt pretty damn good.”
It’s only as I start the engine that I realize I may have just screwed everything up.
If Jonah calls the cops, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do, and they may not agree that he had it coming.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re sitting in a booth at Tea of Fortune, a tea shop picked out by Sophie. Apparently the owner is her next-door neighbor. The same next-door neighbor who was watching us from her window this morning.
I’ve seen Dottie Hendrickson around town before. She’s the kind of person you can’t help but notice. She must be in her eighties, but there’s a spark in her eyes that makes her seem younger. Her white hair is always dyed a different color—a soft purple right now—and she wears colorful dresses that look like they’ve been seized from a fifties’ diner. Today’s dress has little clusters of hearts all over it.
The tea she selected is supposed to be a calming blend, but I’ve barely touched it. It tastes like the sachets my stepmother keeps in her bathroom closets smell, and it feels strange to drink something hot when it’s warm outside. Besides, I’ve been distracted.
I can’t stop watching the video of Sophie ripping Jonah a new one in front of his client, which her new friend sent to me so I’d stop hogging her phone. Never in a million years would I have thought she’d confront him like that. In that video, she’s more of a warrior than a Pollyanna. The look on her face…the way the diamond ring pinged off Jonah’s nose…it’s glorious . I want it to play behind my eyelids when I lie down to sleep at night. Good God, there’s nothing as intoxicating as seeing Jonah humbled.
It turns out my little brother probably had at least three secret girlfriends. One is Briar, the woman who took the video. Sophie texted the other two from the car after getting their numbers from her cousin Otis. One of them will be meeting us at the tea shop, and the other hasn’t responded.
“Here you are, dear boy,” Dottie says as she hands me a silicone bag full of ice and little fragrant specks that look like dried flowers.
“Oh, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” I say, taken aback.
I hadn’t planned on requesting ice, but when the little old lady came around asking about what had brought us in, Sophie told her that I’d slugged someone in the face defending their honor and needed an ice pack befitting a hero. I’m guessing she’s tipsier than I realized.
“No trouble at all,” Dottie says as she pats my hand directly on my abraded knuckles. “Chamomile helps heal wounds in the body and soul.”
She obviously means well, so I don’t tell her it’s nonsense.
When she leaves, I feel Sophie watching me—and what do you know? I press the ice pack to my knuckles.
“Good,” she says, back to her slightly prudish, missish self. This is the Sophie who likes needlepoint and coordinating potluck dinners.
I’m kind of fascinated by the different sides of her I’ve seen today. Like she’s a puzzle whose pieces fit together in dozens of different formations.
“This place has really good tea,” Briar says. “Really good.” She’s still talking about the tea, probably some kind of nervous tic, when a short woman with curly bright-red hair comes through the front door.
“GingerBeerBabe?” Briar whispers.
Sophie shakes her head, her gaze on the redhead too. “Can’t be. She never answered my text. I’m worried Jonah got to her first and is filling her head with BS.”
The short redhead says something to Dottie and then approaches the table.
“Sophie?” she asks, her voice husky.
Sophie raises her hand and then starts laughing, either from the alcohol or nerves.
“I’m Hannah, from Big Catch. Oh good, we’re drinking? I didn’t think this place had liquor.”
“It has tea,” Briar says as the redhead slides in next to her.
“And you are?”
“I’m Briar,” she says, picking at her manicured nails. “I’m another one of the…well…”
“She’s SilverStarBabe,” Sophie gushes. “She and Jonah were dating for five months. How long were you with him?”
Hannah snorts. “I wouldn’t say we were together together. But he did say he was single. Six months, maybe.” Her gaze turns to me, her brow furrowing. “You look a little like him.”
“I’m guessing I should. I’m his half-brother, Rob.”
Her expression tightens, but Sophie wraps an arm around me before I can get my balls lopped off. Her scent surrounds me—clean with just the slightest hint of beer. “We like Rob. He punched Jonah in the face for us.”
“It wasn’t only for you,” I feel compelled to admit. I’m done with her acting like I’m some kind of hero.
She tips her head at me, a silent question, acting like it’s just the two of us in this whole place.
“My dad did the same thing to my mom with Jonah’s mother. I’ve never thought much of Jonah, but after all the trouble our dad’s cheating caused, you’d think he would have learned something.”
A stricken expression crosses her face, her lips parting. “Oh, no. But his mother’s so…”
She trails off, as if she can’t find a word for the woman. Fair enough. I’ve been trying for decades.
I glance at the three of them, cozy around the table, and sense the obvious—it’s time for me to go.
Sophie’s arm is still around me, a testament to her tipsiness, so I turn to Briar, who seems like the type to have a cabinet full of tinctures at home, as opposed to Hannah, who almost certainly has a flask in her purse. “Can you make sure she gets home safely?”
“You’re leaving, Rob?” Sophie asks, sounding thrown by it. “Will I ever see you again?”
This morning, I wouldn’t have cared much about the answer to that question, but I’m invested now. I want to know how this plays out for her. And from the way she asked it, she cares about the answer too.
I smile at her. “We’re playing at the Buchanan Brewery tasting room in a few weeks. Maybe you’ll be working that night. I’d buy you a drink if you hadn’t already told me you don’t drink on the job.”
Hannah snaps her fingers in recognition and points at me. “Ah, you’re the guy in that band. Garbage Fire.”
“That’s not very nice,” Briar says, scrunching her nose.
Smiling, I say, “It’s the name of my band, and no, it’s not very nice. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. Don’t get into too much trouble, ladies.”
Sophie surprises me by hugging me one-armed before letting go. Peering into my eyes with those big blues of hers, she says, “Thank you, Rob. I think we restored some truth today, don’t you?”
Something softens in my chest as I smile back at her. “Yeah, I’d say. I’m never going to challenge you to beer pong. You know, I’m starting to think you might be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Pollyanna.”
I get up to leave with the ice pack pressed to my hand, but I find myself glancing back when I’m a few feet from the table. Sophie’s talking to the other women, her hair hanging around her face now, more down than up. Her eyes are big and bright and full of life. She’s going to be okay. For some reason, that’s important, possibly because I don’t want any more reasons to be ashamed to be a Price.
On my way to the door, I look for the owner and find her in the middle of a deeply personal conversation with a woman who’s unloading about her stalled-out sex life. A middle-aged man is sitting at the table with them. Judging from their wedding rings, the conversation is about him , but he’s playing blackjack on his phone while he disinterestedly eats a cookie.
I pause by the table, waiting for Dottie to notice me. She glances at me, and before I can even make a gesture, she lifts a finger and tells the woman, “Put a pin in that thought, dear. I have to help a friend, but I’m going to prepare a pot of jasmine tea for you. Very sensual. It should help you reconnect. And make sure you keep taking that supplement, Bradley.”
He doesn’t react whatsoever, which suggests apathy is the real problem.
Clucking her tongue, Dottie leads me to an empty table, then sits and gestures for me to do the same in the spindly wicker chair across from her, which looks like it has a fifty-fifty chance of disintegrating under me. This suggests a longer conversation than I was looking for. But I don’t want to continue the Price family tradition of being a shitty person by ignoring an old lady. So I sit across from her and say, “I don’t want to keep you, but I’d like to pay the tab for the table back there. Whatever they want.”
I point to them, grateful to see there are still no tears. Briar’s the closest to crying, I think, but I’m worried about what’ll happen to Sophie once she’s alone and the adrenaline of this morning runs low. She’s a whole lot more complex than I thought she was, but she still has a soft side.
Dottie beams at me. “Oh, how kind of you. Which of the young ladies are you in love with, dear? No, don’t tell me. I enjoy guessing.”
I should stop her, but I don’t. Call it curiosity.
She strokes the crystal pendant around her neck as she peers back at them, then nods in agreement with herself. She fans herself. “Dear me, it’s Sophie , isn’t it? I just love that girl.”
“Uh…she was engaged to my brother,” I say, scratching my chin. “I’ve never thought of her that way.”
Dottie lifts her eyebrows, an amused expression forming on her face. “But you don’t think of her as family, do you?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I want to…you know…date her or whatever.”
“Give yourself time, dear boy.”
I decide not to get into a circular argument that could last hours, so instead I pull out my credit card and give her the information.
Before I leave, she points to the ice pack I’m still holding. “When the ice melts, pour it into a teacup. Then slowly drain it until you’re left with the dregs. Rotate the cup three times clockwise, and then gently tip it over to drain the rest of the liquid. Send me a picture of what you’re left with in the bottom of the cup, will you?”
She scrawls her number down on the back of a Tea of Fortune business card.
I’m about to walk away with it when she surprises me by wrapping her hand around my wrist. I meet her gaze, her eyes a piercing light blue, and she says, “Everything happens for a reason. You remember that.”
Her words shock me into silence before I realize what should have been obvious. “You’re talking about Jonah.”
She gives me a kind smile. “I don’t know. I only knew you needed to hear it. Now, wait here. There’s something else you need.”
It would be rude to peace out, but I really hope she’s not going to come back with promotional materials for a cult.
I have to swallow a groan when she returns carrying a yellow stone that’s two or three inches long.
“It’s golden calcite, dear,” she says, placing it in my palm and pressing my fingers around it. “It’ll help bring you joy. That crystal’s for you to keep, from my personal collection.”
“I don’t really believe in that?—”
I manage to cut off nonsense.
“I’ll believe for you,” she says, which feels an awful lot like cult talk. But she’s a nice old lady, so I slip it into my pocket.
“Thank you, Dottie,” I say. “Have a nice afternoon.”
I can feel it adding weight to my jeans pocket.
“You too, my dear. You too. Remember what I said now.”
My prickly side wants to ask her if she’s talking about her attempt to get me interested in my brother’s girl or the magic rock that’s supposed to make me happy. But I know when to smile and nod.
As I turn to leave, I find myself stealing another glance at Sophie. She’s laughing, her hand slightly lifted over her mouth as if she can’t believe the laughter spilling out of her. In that moment it’s hard to look away from her. Her hair’s a mess, but she’s never looked better to me.
Hell, there’s something to be said for the power of persuasion.
I shake my head, amused at myself.
My phone starts ringing before I’m more than two steps beyond the door. I’m not at all surprised when I see that it’s my father.
I might have gotten to hit my kid brother, but here’s his sucker punch for me.