Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ROB
Conversation with Dottie
I hear things have progressed.
I’m DELIGHTED!
The Wise Women have some ideas for you. Meet us at the tea shop on Wednesday morning. Eight thirty. We all agreed it’s urgent for you to be there.
I’m just helping a friend, and vice versa. It’s no big deal.
That may be how it started, my dear, but that’s not how it has to end.
I’m busy Wednesday.
Yes, busy meeting with us.
This morning at the park, I’m thinking about Dottie, and her pals, and baby wipes, and about a beautiful woman who begged her cousin for a condom last night just so she could fuck me.
I’m thinking about Sophie moaning. Sophie dancing. Sophie smiling at me like I hung the sun.
“So, this woman’s your girlfriend now?” Emil asks, looking at me like he knows exactly what’s going on in my head.
I stop playing the guitar mid-strum. “Huh?”
We’re sitting beneath a large maple tree in Montford Park, each of us with a guitar. He’s tall for his age, like I was, and all skin and bone with a mop of dark hair. I guess I’ve gotten to the age where teenagers look like toddlers, because he seems so young to me. So innocent and impressionable. But I know from experience how easily it could all go off the rails. He’s smart, but even kids who know better can screw up
He’ll be okay. This too shall pass.
The hurricane that messed up our town over a year ago did a number on this park, but it’s reviving. Things do. Time is the great and only equalizer when it comes to trauma. Loss becomes part of a person, or a place, but with enough time, it’s no longer the whole story. I’m hoping time will help Emil too.
He has the dog’s leash wrapped around the maple’s trunk, and the mutt’s lying in the grass, soaking up some sun. I like dogs, but I don’t like that this one is treated better than Emil, with its expensive collar and organic dog treats.
“Fake girlfriend,” I correct. “But that’s between you and me, because I promised I’d never lie to you. It’s not for anyone else to know.”
He whistles and strums the opening notes of one of the songs he wrote. “Man, your brother’s gotta love that.”
“You’ve seen the bruise on my face. That’s about how much he loves it,” I say, laughing. But there’s an edge of uneasiness to my voice, because Sophie’s not here yet. She’s five minutes late, and she’s more of a five-minutes-early type.
Is she having doubts?
Did I inadvertently piss her off?
Or maybe she wanted a quick and easy way to get back at Jonah, and she decided fucking his brother was just the ticket.
Nah. Sophie would never do something like that. She wouldn’t use another person as a means to an end, even if I’d basically given her a blank check to do it.
Besides, sex aside, we’re… friends doesn’t seem like the right word, but we’re becoming something to each other.
I sigh and set my guitar down, leaning back in the grass next to the dog, who licks my face.
“You’re in a strange mood,” Emil comments, his fingers still playing music like he can’t bear to stop.
“You’ve heard about my week. Sure you still want to come stay with me?”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, man. It won’t be boring. And you own, like, four guitars.”
“Five, but who’s counting.”
“Plus I miss Travis and the other kids at the Beat.”
“We miss you too, buddy. Everyone’s been in a funk without you.”
The sun beats down on me, chasing away some of the darkness and the specter of a sleepless night. A consequence of having come home from Sophie’s and staying up late working on the song I’d started the night of her wedding to herself. My happy song.
All night, I couldn’t get that image of her jumping on the bed out of my head. I wanted to see her do it again. I’m only a man, so I also kept thinking of the way her head had arced back as she came, the sweet sound she made its own kind of music.
I’m soaking in the memories when Emil whistles and stops strumming. “Is that her ?”
I sit up. And gawk.
It is Soph, and she’s walking toward us on the path, wearing a little blue sundress that fits her like a dream, flaring out at the knees. And…shit. She’s wearing the shoes.
“ That’s your fake girlfriend?” Emil asks in an undertone. “What are you thinking, man? You’ve got to do something about that.”
I have to laugh. He has a point. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking. I don’t have a complete thought in my head right now, other than that I have another song to write. One about a little blue dress and a pair of shoes she bought to wear for another man.
Her face lights up when she sees us, and…
You know what? She’s supposed to be my girlfriend. I have every reason to greet her like one. There are plenty of people around to be our audience.
I get up and stalk toward her with purpose. When I get close, she says, “I know it’s a little much, but?—”
I reach for her waist and twirl her around, and she starts laughing. “You’re wearing the little blue dress,” I say as I set her down, crowding her a little so my words are only for her. “You were talking it up so much, I thought it couldn’t possibly live up to its reputation, but I’m glad I was wrong.”
“It’s not the same one I wore last night,” she says as if I might actually care about her laundry habits.
“So you’ve decided to wear nothing but blue to match my face? Are we one of those couples who color-coordinates?”
She gives me a playful nudge, and I lean my forehead down to hers. “And the shoes,” I whisper. “Are you wearing them to taunt me?”
“Maybe,” she says with a wry twist of her mouth.
“It’s working.” I kiss her cheek and pull back, taking her small hand in mine. “I’m happy to see you. I was worried things might be weird because of last night.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have put it out there, like a cat dropping a mouse at its favorite person’s feet. But there it is. I was worried she wouldn’t come, or that she wouldn’t be herself around me anymore.
“Nope. No weirdness.” She checks out her sexy little dress and the heels. “Actually maybe this is weird. I should have worn a T-shirt and shorts. I feel really embarrassed suddenly. Who even goes to the park like this?”
“Women who are so sexy they have to marry themselves so they don’t lower their standards.”
She lets out a single bark of laughter, then covers her mouth, her eyes wide but delighted.
She really is charming. I feel my mood lifting just from being around her.
Releasing my hand and crossing her arms over her chest, she says in an undertone, “I let Hannah and Briar help me get ready. They were very insistent.”
“You look good,” I say, caressing her arm. “But you always look good.”
“I know I don’t.” She stiffens. “I know I usually dress plainly. But it’s because I always feel so self-conscious when I get dolled up. Like I’m playing dress-up.”
Vulnerability lines every word, and I run my fingers up and down her arm again, reminding her I’m right there with her. “Did you feel self-conscious in the wedding dress?”
“Of course I did. It’s a wedding dress. But I knew I looked good in it, and at least we were at a place people go to celebrate. We’re at a park, but I look like I’m going to the prom.”
This time I’m the one who laughs. “You went to prom in a sundress?”
“I didn’t go at all,” she says. The look on her face suggests this is part of the past she’d rather hide from me.
“You can wear whatever you want, and the only reason people are going to notice or care is because you’re pretty. A lot of people here are wearing sundresses,” I say, nodding toward the field next to the path. Emil gives a salute before returning to his strumming, his smile smug.
I lean in closer, toward her ear. “I grant you, most of them aren’t wearing fuck-me shoes, but I’m the last person who’s going to complain about that. You probably won’t be able to play frisbee in them, but who cares. Frisbee sucks. Now, come meet Emil. He knows the truth, by the way. I don’t lie to the kids in my program. That’s a hard line for me.”
Guilt flickers across her face as she smiles at him. “I’m?—”
She stops herself, which makes me grin. “Look at you, cutting apologies short. I’m proud of you, Soph.”
“Because I’m less polite than I used to be?”
“You’ve never been overly polite with me, just overly apologetic. And before you try to apologize for not being overly polite, I should probably mention that I hate polite people. They’re the worst.”
“Yes,” she says, her eyes dancing, “damn them and their kind ways.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Kindness and politeness are not the same things.”
She eyes the field and then her shoes, looking uncertain.
Fuck it. I sweep her off her feet and start carrying her toward the maple tree, and if people weren’t already watching, they are now.
“What are you doing?” she asks, laughing, and I’ll be damned if she doesn’t kick her feet. It’s up there with watching her jump around on the bed, especially since she’s cradled in my arms when she does it.
“I’m being kind but not polite. Saving those shoes I’ve become so fond of.”
She doesn’t say anything else as I carry her toward the tree, but she leans into my chest. I like the feeling of her there a lot more than I should.
I like her more than I should, but I tell myself it’s a problem for a different day. I’m here with her now. I’m with Emil. And I have my guitar. There’s not a whole lot to dislike about the moment.
I set her on her feet as we reach Emil, who shifts from jamming to playing “Here Comes the Bride.”
“Very funny, bud,” I say. “This is Sophie.”
He sets the guitar aside and gets up to shake her hand like a man. I’m proud of him, and of her. A warm feeling fills my chest as they smile at each other.
“You’re really good,” Sophie says, pulling back. “Would you play something else for us?”
Music to his ears. He plays and sings softly for another fifteen minutes, then glances mournfully at the dog, who’s comatose in a sunny patch. “I’d better get back”
“This’ll be done soon,” I say, hoping it’s true.
He grins at me. “Hey, let me take a photo for you. You can use it for social media.”
“Oh, joy,” I say dryly. “You know how much I love sharing my private business with complete strangers.”
Sophie gives me an apologetic look, and I hold up a hand. “Don’t even think about saying you’re sorry,” I say. “We’re going to take this photo and post it.”
“Arms around each other,” Emil says, gesturing. “Stand in front of the tree.”
I give him my phone, and we submit to the photo shoot. Sophie stands in front of me, I wrap my arms around her, and she leans her head back so her hair tickles my chest and neck.
He takes five photos, being fastidious about it, as if he’s secretly joined the photography club, then hands the phone back.
“She’s a total natural. You, not so much.”
“How kind of you,” I say, smiling, and scroll through the photos. There’s a funny feeling inside me as I study the third one. Sophie is glancing over her shoulder at me, I’m looking at her, and…
It looks real, is all.
“Yeah, definitely use that one,” Emil says.
It’s a shitty reminder that these are for other people, not for us, just like this lie we’ve told.
“Can you send it to me?” Sophie asks, inspecting the photo. There’s an unreadable look in her eyes, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am. Or if I just want her to be thinking it.
I send the photo to her, then say, “Are we going Facebook official?”
Emil laughs and murmurs something about old people.
“Let’s,” she says with a sparkle in her eyes. “He won’t like that.”
No, he won’t.
“Let me call my mom first to let her know the score. I won’t lie to her either.”
She nods, her expression serious, and I know there’s an apology on the tip of her tongue. I’d like to kiss it away, but it doesn’t feel like it would be in keeping with our arrangement. She wants to have some fun and put on a show, but that’s not the kind of kiss it would be, and I know it.
“I gotta split,” Emil says.
I nod at him. “Same time next Saturday?”
“Yeah.” He gives me another salute, then actually bows to Sophie.
“Smooth moves, Junior,” I say with a grin. “Don’t outshine me.”
“Don’t listen to him, Emil,” Sophie interjects, laughing. “Don’t you dim your shine for anyone.”
He gives me a smart-aleck grin. “You heard her. She’s smart and stupid-hot. Don’t screw this up.”
He’s talking about Sophie, not the situation with the caseworker, but uneasiness settles inside my chest. What if I’m screwing it up right now? What if I’ve made everything worse by lying about my relationship with Sophie?
If Nelly finds out it’s a lie…
Only, how would she?
Sure, Jonah could call in another anonymous tip, but his word won’t mean much if Sophie insists she’s with me. Besides, we’ve got a whole brewery full of people to back us up, plus Emil.
Emil hands over my guitar reverently, as if it’s his woman. The look on his face is so full of longing, it physically hurts.
I set the guitar aside as I watch him go, feeling helpless.
Sophie turns to me as he walks out of view with the mutt. “I like him. He’s really smart.”
“You just think that because he said you’re hot.”
She shakes her head, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners from her smile.
“Okay, maybe I just think that because he said you’re hot. Want to make out for twenty minutes like teenagers?”
She laughs. “Out here? Won’t we get arrested for public indecency?”
I shrug. “Maybe. It’s also very possible word will get back to Jonah, so I think we owe it to ourselves to make a full and enduring spectacle.”
“Well, when you put it that way,”
I pull her onto my lap and kiss her. We make out beneath the maple tree, the warm breeze wafting around us, making her hair tickle my arms and face as my lips move with hers, both of us seeking and finding something, it feels like.
Finally we break apart, panting. And the sight of her lips, a deep pink from our kissing, stirs something inside of me. I feel inspired, you could call it.
“What do you say, Soph? Should we make it Facebook official? I’ll text my mom a warning and have a lengthy phone call with her later.”
She grins at me. “Let’s do it.”
I take out my phone. After I send a text to my mother about the favor I’m doing for a friend, I connect my Facebook profile with Sophie’s, adding the photo of us as my profile picture.
“Isn’t that a bit over the top?” she asks, still cradled on my lap, which is causing me a problem she’s got to feel.
“Yes, that’s the point. Let’s rub our love in their faces and hope it feels like sandpaper.” As I say it, I caption the photo: With my girl at the park. Summer lovin’.
Her subsequent laughter has her body bouncing on top of me, and dear God, she needs to move now, because my problem is only getting bigger.
“All right, Pollyanna,” I say, lifting her off and trying to pull my shirt down over the bulge in my pants. No go. I try to think deflating thoughts. “We have work to do. That ten bucks isn’t going to waste itself.”
She laughs. “You want to blow our money?”
“It’s been burning a hole in my pocket since last night.”
Angling her head, she asks, “Do you have plans for it?”
“Oh, I have plans for it.”
Her eyes widen. “We shouldn’t waste it on condoms. I still have the rest of that rainbow strip.”
A laugh escapes me. “Not what I was thinking, but it’s good to know the rebound isn’t over.”
She gives me a long look that has my blood running hot again. Must think more deflating thoughts. Jonah. Patricia’s fake wart. My dad’s dictator coffee shop. “Not for me. You know…if you’re okay with that,” she says.
I get up and hold my hand out to her to give her a boost. “I’m more than okay with that. But, as it happens, I have a different plan for our money. You up for an outing?”
She glances at her shoes, then slips them off one at a time, my gaze riveted to the view as she does it. Carrying them one-handed, she says, “I can hold one of the guitars if you’d like.”
“I’d like,” I say, because the only thing sexier than Sophie barefoot in the grass wearing that dress, with her fuck-me pumps in her hand, would be Sophie holding one of my guitars.
A voice inside suggests this definitely isn’t going to end well, but we’re supposed to be putting on a show, aren’t we? And people are watching. I don’t blame them. She’s a sight to see in that sexy blue dress, her hair loose and flowing, and her eyes bright.
This can’t last, whatever Dottie and her club would like to believe, but it’s a glowing moment. It’s now. And it’s good .
Maybe that’ll be enough.
The lyrics of a new song start taking shape in my head, humming through my brain.
A beautiful girl who never got her prom…
A stolen moment…
When we reach the parking lot, she slips the shoes on. We tuck the guitars into the back of my Subaru and then climb in.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
I turn the car on so I can crank the air conditioner. Then I shift in my seat to get a better look at her. “You never went to prom. We’re getting you a corsage.”
“What?” she asks, laughing. “They don’t just carry those at the grocery store all year round.”
“No, but I know a crafter who can make something out of anything. I was thinking we’d get a Trader Joe’s bouquet, some ribbon, and make one ourselves. We can do a boutonniere too, if you want.”
“Really?” she asks. “Did you go to prom? I saw a few old photos of you at your parents’ house?—”
“My dad’s house,” I correct, feeling like a bit of a dick because it came out harsher than I’d intended. “It’s my dad’s house.”
She nods, understanding flickering in her gaze. “Sorry. I know that. Did you go?”
“Nah. I was a loner mostly.”
People pass by my car, giving us curious looks through the windshield. I suppose it is unusual to sit in a hot car talking, when we could be out there under a tree in the warm summer breeze, but it feels like we’re alone in here. It feels…intimate.
“Did you already play in a band back then?” she asks.“Yes.” A phantom ache throbs in my hand. The old anger isn’t far behind, but I swallow it down.
“Garbage Fire?”
“Nah…” I rub my chin. “I was in Bad Magic.”
Her hand lifts to her throat. “ The Bad Magic?”
I nod again, my throat tightening. “I was the rhythm guitarist.”
“How did I not know that?”
Bad Magic made it big nine years ago—after I was forced to quit because I couldn’t go on tour with them. They’re a local fucking success story, and their lead singer is famous. I could have been too.
It’s been hard to let that one go. Every day, going about my business, it whispers in my ear.
That could have been you.
But there’s plenty to like about my life now, things I wouldn’t willingly let go of.
If I’d gone on tour with the band that summer, I’d be richer. More successful. But maybe not better. Maybe the drive to drink would’ve hit me anyway, and it would’ve been harder to stop with no one around to tell me no, or to give me a reason to think I should.
“Jonah has his reasons for not wanting to talk about it,” I say, clutching the wheel hard enough that it hurts. “I have mine.”
She reaches for my hand, grasping it. As I release the wheel to weave my fingers through hers, an awful, aching need fills me. Oh, this is no good. No fucking good at all.
My eyes find hers again, like I can’t help myself.
“It was his fault,” she says. “Jonah’s.” In her tone I can hear how much these last weeks have changed her. She’s on my side, no questions asked.
“Are we telling each other?” I ask gruffly.
She knows exactly what I mean, and a look of panic flashes across her face, cutting the tension with the efficacy of an obsidian knife. “Not yet.”
I’m disappointed but not surprised. She didn’t share her secret with Jonah, and she’d almost married him. Why would she tell me? We’re just having fun together. Making Jonah jealous. Helping Emil.
“All right, sunshine,” I say, clearing my throat, trying to pull myself up out of those low registers. “Let’s get you those flowers.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’m afraid you’ll look at me differently once you know.”
I try to smile, but I don’t quite manage it. “Don’t start caring what I think now, Soph. You might give me the wrong idea.”