2. Callum
2
CALLUM
“ M y husband just loves you. Don’t you, Oliver?”
I forced a smile as the woman who had just grabbed my arm pushed her husband in front of me. I tried to feign interest in the couple, even as my eyes scanned the room behind them, searching. The husband, Oliver, was spouting on about his favorite song on our most recent album, and I tried to nod enough to convince the man I was paying attention. But my real interest was in someone else. Where was Darcy?
I went to the open house hoping I would run into Darcy Stevens. After all, she ran a business with my sister, Liz. Every time Liz mentioned Darcy’s name on our frequent phone calls, I felt a flash of excitement as I thought about her. It was strange, considering I hadn’t seen her for more than ten years. Even more surprising was how my breath caught in my throat when I saw Darcy for the first time after all those years. Or the way my heart pounded when we locked eyes.
Now I struggled to look around Oliver’s balding head to try to catch Darcy’s gaze once more.
“It was a group effort,” I said, using some of my stock responses when I spoke about the Horizon’s most recent album. “Everyone contributes a little bit to make these things successful.”
There! I caught sight of Darcy over the man’s shoulder, but she wasn’t looking at me. Instead, she grabbed her purse and headed to the door. Wait! Where was she going?
“Would you excuse me?” I asked, interrupting the couple who were now telling me all about their grandchildren. I pushed past them, an uncharacteristic move for me, and I heard Liz apologizing on my behalf. But I was only focused on one thing: I had to talk to Darcy.
But just as I pushed my way around the couple, I saw Darcy slipping out through the side door, a hard slam drawing the attention of a few people standing around us. I felt the energy drain out of me as I realized Darcy had disappeared.
“Sorry, man,” Liz said, appearing next to me. “I think she’s a little spooked.”
“Spooked? What did you say to her?”
My sister tended to meddle a bit too much in my business. I couldn’t help wondering what Liz had said to Darcy to freak her out.
“Nothing!” Liz said, putting her hands up in the air like someone about to be arrested. “I just said you were looking forward to saying hello.”
“Why did you do that? No wonder she’s freaked out.”
“I thought it would make things better! Let the two of you have a fresh start.”
“Fresh start? We hardly know each other.”
“Not anymore. But there was that date …” Liz let her voice trail off, letting me know there was something more she wanted to say.
“When we were teenagers?” I thought back to that time. I remembered my friend group hanging out with Darcy and hers here and there. That was in the last summer before I went to college. For a little while I thought Darcy might be interested in me, but that first and only date told me definitively that she wasn’t.
“That was a million years ago,” I said. “We were just kids then. Times have changed.
But even as I said this to Liz, I wasn’t sure I believed it. If Darcy didn’t like me back then, what made me think she would like me now? Maybe I should take Darcy fleeing the house for what it looked like: she wanted nothing to do with me.
“Cheer up,” Liz said, jabbing her elbow into my arm. “It’s a long summer. You have lots of time to meet someone.”
A man came to ask Liz a question about the layout of the second floor, and she walked away, heading toward the stairs. I was left standing alone at the kitchen island, wondering why I had bothered to come here. Even after all these years of fame and attention, perhaps because of it, I still felt bad in the face of rejection. It was particularly bad when I was rejected by someone I actually liked. Someone I wanted to get to know better.
I was looking for something real in my life. Not the endless string of women who hung around me on tour, more attracted to fame than the guy underneath it. Some part of me had fantasized about finding someone in my hometown who might see me for me rather than the character I played. I realized now how stupid that idea was.
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw my manager’s name pop up on the screen. This made me groan. The last person I wanted to talk to was my fast-talking, money-obsessed manager. But I knew the man well enough to know he would keep calling until I picked up. And he would only get more animated and upset the longer it took me to answer.
I slipped outside through the same door Darcy had left by and picked up the phone.
“Hey Brady,” I said, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
“Callum! My man! Where are you?”
“At my sister’s real estate open house,” I said. “Didn’t you get my email?”
“I did, buddy, I did. It’s why I’m calling. Look, I knew you were heading home for a charity concert. That’s all good, man. But this email, it says you’re going home for the summer . The band itinerary has you home for three nights. We can’t lose you for three months , man.”
I sighed as I heard Brady’s words, even though I wasn’t surprised to hear them. I knew Brady wouldn’t be happy about my email announcement telling him I was taking three months off. I knew it was the cowardly way to communicate, but if I’d tried to talk to Brady in person, I would still be in Singapore. Lately, it felt like I was constantly on a different page to Brady and the rest of my band.
“I know, Brady,” I said, running my hand through my hair. “But we’ve been going nonstop. Don’t you think we could all use some time off?”
“But our momentum, man!” It was Brady’s favorite thing to talk about: Momentum. Keeping things hot . Staying on top of fame. They were Brady’s constant refrains.
I held the phone away from my ear as Brady started pontificating on what hard work it took to be a rock star.
“Like you would know,” I muttered under my breath. Luckily, Brady was too in love with the sound of his own voice to hear my dig. As Brady prattled on, I felt anger and frustration rising in my body. I knew I needed to move, or I might explode, so I started walking. The house Liz and Darcy had been showing wasn’t far from the town’s Main Street, and I took off toward it, excited to see all the old haunts of my childhood.
“You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone,” Brady told me through the phone, as if this were some nugget of information I should find brilliant. Brady was constantly stealing people’s lines and making them his own.
“Doesn’t absence make the heart grow fonder?” I asked. I smirked to myself. I couldn’t help messing with Brady a bit, throwing famous lines and sayings right back at him.
“That might be true for your love life, but not for rock and roll,” Brady told me. He launched off into a list of the theaters and arenas that were ready to book our band for a summer tour. I wasn’t surprised that Brady was pushing us to keep performing. After all, Brady got a big cut of any money the band made. And despite the hundreds of thousands of dollars my bandmates and I had raked in for Brady, it never seemed to be enough for the guy.
“Brady, look,” I said, ready to put an end to this conversation. “I’m taking the summer off. You can’t convince me otherwise. And I already cleared it with the guys.”
“The other guys are ready to go back out,” Brady assured me. “They’re ready to extend the tour.”
I sighed again as I passed a cafe I didn’t recognize. The decor was bright and rustic, making the place look more like the hipster coffee shops I usually saw in major cities. When did Maplewood get something so modern?
“They’re at a different place in their lives, Brady,” I said. I glanced at the posters hanging up in the windows of the cafe, advertising community theater musicals and the local farmer’s market. As my eyes crossed from poster to poster, I was surprised to see my own face staring back at me: Callum Jones. One Night Only. A special acoustic event.
This concert was how I convinced Brady to let me come home.
“I got a solo gig back home in Maplewood,” I had told him. “It’s a fundraising event. Something to give back to the community. I’ll be home for a few days, tops.”
Brady had loved the idea—he wouldn’t stop talking about the “positive public relations angle”. He pitched the story of a benefit concert in my hometown to reporters and radio personalities all over the country to drum up positive press.
It was only my email this morning that told Brady this little trip home would be for a more extended period.
“You know I’ve been eager to try things on my own,” I said, letting frustration filter into my voice. I was trying not to yell at Brady, but I needed my manager to listen to me. “I told you I want to work on a solo album. I’ve wanted that for a long time.”
“But it’s not the right time—” Brady started, but I cut him off.
“Enough, Brady!” I yelled. “You’re not listening to me. I’ve been trying to tell you for months that I need a break. I’ve been telling you that I’m unhappy running around from city to city and taking red eyes to God knows where. And you haven’t listened. So I’m taking the summer off. And you all need to deal with it.”
I hung up with a grunt and had the urge to throw my phone onto the pavement. Luckily, I kept my cool and simply shoved my phone into my back pocket with enough energy it tested the seams. I took off down the street, walking with all the anger that had accumulated in my body.
I was tired of people not listening to me. Brady was high on this list, but my bandmates were also to blame. For months I had been trying to tell them I was burnt out. The pressure of writing all our music and serving as the lead singer and guitar player in the band was weighing on me, especially with a full tour schedule. But no one seemed to hear me. They simply asked about new music and then talked about what they were having for dinner.
And so, when Liz invited me for the summer, laying on a lot of guilt about how I was going to forget what my niece and nephew looked like, I said yes. It was the break I needed. Brady calling me today had just solidified how much I needed this time away to decide what I really wanted.
I felt a little better having told Brady off. I let the adrenaline of that conversation rush out of me as I walked down Main Street. I even smiled as I passed the comic book shop I used to visit as a kid. I hadn’t been back to town since college, so it was fun to find the stores or trees or road signs that I recognized.
As I passed a new clothing store, I recognized the hardware store on the corner that had been in town long before I was born. I remembered visiting the place as a kid. But from my spot across the street I could see the shades drawn and a “Closed” sign in the window. It was strange the store was closed on a Saturday.
Just as I was about to keep walking, another sign caught my eye in the window, this one nearly as surprising as seeing my own face on that poster: “For Sale”.
The hardware store’s for sale? I thought. It was the last place I would expect to shut down. I had an unmistakable urge to see inside again, to remember visiting with my grandfather and helping him pick out the right-size screws for whatever project he was working on in the garage.
I crossed the street to get a better look.