Chapter 8 #2
My stomach feels anxious and nervous at the realization he’s actually, truly touching me, and I can’t tell if my heart is palpitating or fluttering.
What’s the damn difference, anyway? Dean doesn’t seem to have any qualms over touching me like this, so I convince myself I should try to enjoy it for what it is.
The more I think about it, the more I’m aware of where he’s touching me.
This time, it’s a hand down my side, resting at the curve of my hip.
His fingers graze the small of my back and send critical shocks down my spine—this man’s touch is divine.
He’s being so protective of me in a way I couldn’t imagine before.
My thoughts drift away from the music and into all the ways Dean could touch me.
I bet he knows exactly what to do with his hands when there’s no clothes in the way.
I imagine him, me, back in our room at the Monarch Resort.
I bet he’s a fucking smoke show with softly radiant skin.
Purely physical, us. A tangled, twisted mess in the sheets.
He’d make me lose it with his hands, time after time.
I shiver, imagining his hands cradling me the way he cradles his phone.
What kind of sick daydream am I having?
I’m shaken out of my thoughts about Dean when another one of Andy’s songs begins.
This time, it’s WHEN THE TIDE TAKES THE COAST. I think it’s one of Andy’s most romantic songs.
Although I’m partial to the intimate acoustic version, I love listening to the live touring version.
It starts off with a lengthy guitar crescendo, before it bursts into a lovely wall of sound with all the instruments playing at once.
I can’t tell if the thumping in my chest is my heart or the bass drum, but it’s steady and rhythmic so I don’t care either way.
“If the tide takes the coast, from starboard to port, you’ll be the one on the boat,” Lily sings, cupping the microphone before raising her arms above her head. She continues, the symphony swelling behind her.
“If the tide takes the coast, you’ll be the one I miss the most,” I sing along with her. I’ve had these lyrics branded into my brain the last five years. Dean gives me a gentle squeeze, reminding me he’s still here, still holding me. “I’ll find you sometime soon, it won’t be long now, honey,”
When the song ends, Lily pauses for a drink of water.
The symphony warms up to begin the next song, but Lily doesn’t quite begin.
“Thank you everyone for coming out tonight,” She thanks the crowd, bringing her hands out in front of her body.
“It’s an honor to be able to sing these songs in Andy’s memory.
We’d like to close with one of his favorites. ”
Lily takes the stage by herself, strumming an acoustic guitar.
Andy often closed his shows with an acoustic set in this manner.
I’m expecting another Leonard Cohen song.
It’s the Talking Heads. Andy never really liked the Talking Heads, but they were one of my favorites, so he learned to play them for me.
Their songs became a staple at his concerts, as a reminder that this is always, without fail, for me.
The song ends and the crowd roars, and without thinking, I reach up to hold Dean’s arms around my neck.
I don’t want him to let go of me, for fear I might keel over and lose it.
While the first tribute performance was purely instrumental, something about this one has proved to be utterly transformative.
I feel like my brain was sucked out through one ear and crammed back in through the other.
The crowd is dissipating, and people are leaving, but I’m frozen in place, statuette.
All I can focus on is the guitar, on its stand, in the lone spotlight where Lily left it.
I hear guitar chords humming in my ear, and I see the ghost of Andy on the stage.
He’s up there, waving at me, pleading with me, begging for me to come with him.
I blink and he’s gone.
“Madeline, are you okay?” I hear in my ear, and a weight is lifted from my shoulders. Dean’s let me go, and I’m spinning back into the universe. The theater is emptying out, and there are a few stragglers, but Dean and I are the only ones standing at the railing now.
I take a big, shaky breath. “Yeah. I think I’m okay.” I nod to reassure myself.
“Let’s go get our coats,” Dean suggests.
I follow him mindlessly, Andy’s song lyrics still floating through my head.
Even though the performance was short, even though they only played three of Andy’s songs, the fact that Andy is still very much alive in this way, somehow, is all I need to take away from this.
I was nervous before, unsure of how I would feel, but I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Andy is alive in his music, and the love people have for him.
Before I know it, Dean has both of our coats.
I’m still hearing the music when I put my coat back on.
People are flooding the exits, and we burst outside with them.
I cross my arms and hug myself tightly to keep myself warm.
The wind has picked up significantly and my hair is blowing around my face.
“Hey, I think I’m getting a call,” Dean tells me. “It’s Sierra. My sister.” He picks up the phone with a confused hello.
“What’s going on?” I ask, as Dean listens to his sister on the other end of the line. After a minute, he hangs up with a frustrated frown.
“She’s drunk and stranded in Island Falls.” Island Falls is a small town, about two hours away from here. He looks around hurriedly, the exit crowd dissipating, so it’s just us and a few other stragglers hanging around. “She needs someone to go get her and she won’t call our mother.”
“She wants you to pick her up?” I ask.
“Yep.” He sighs.
“Well, let’s go get her?” I suggest.
“Fuck. I guess we have to,” Dean rubs his forehead. “I won’t get there until midnight, at least. And then I’ll have to drive her back to our hometown another two hours away, and back. Shit, I’m going to be up all night.”
“I’ll come with you. I’ll sleep on the way there and drive back,” I suggest.
“Okay, with what license?” Dean gives a distressed laugh.
“I can at least keep you company and keep you awake.”
“All right. Fine. But we can’t pull over like before.”
“Deal.”
The van is parked in a small lot out behind the theater. We sit in about 10 minutes worth of exit traffic but are able to quickly get on the highway. Dean’s GPS reads an ETA of about 12:02 a.m.
“This girl is going to fucking kill me,” Dean mutters. “If I don’t kill her first.”
“What?” I laugh. “She’s just like you. Getting drunk, getting stranded.”
Dean just grumbles. “She’s seventeen, she shouldn’t be getting drunk. And I wasn’t stranded. I had you.”
“I think every teenager does it at some point. At least she has a good brother to come pick her up.” I tell him, getting comfortable in my seat and plugging my phone into the portable charger.
“I wish she would just call our mother,” He sighs and thinks for a moment. “It’s probably better that she called me.”
“Why would you say that?” I ask.
“Mom can be a bit of a hardass with her.” He trails off, reading a traffic sign. He swallows a gulp of water from the water bottle in the cupholder. “I was born when my Mom was fifteen. I was thirteen when she had Sierra.”
“Wow, that must have been interesting growing up,” I say. I feel for him. I really do.
“Sierra is something like a do-over child. My Mom is raising her completely different from me…she’d probably ground her till college if Sierra called her,” Dean remarks. “I told her to call me if she ever needs me.”
“It’s good that she can trust you like that,” I remind him. “You’re a good brother.”
“I’m a half-assed brother. I pretty much abandoned her for the job in York Falls.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t think that.”
“Oh, she does. She’s made it very clear,” Dean laughs. “She probably only called me as a last resort.”
“At least she called you.”
“I feel like I’m everyone’s last resort,” Dean says solemnly, changing lanes and dropping in speed. Well, that got dark.
“What makes you say that?”
“Eliza only went out with me because our mothers made us. Sierra only called me because she couldn’t call our mother and her friends ditched her. Fuck,” Dean rubs a hand through his hair. “You’re only with me because you needed a van and driver.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “We’re friends.”
“That wasn’t the case when we started.”
“Does it matter how we got here?” I ask. “We’re friends now.”
Dean shakes his head. “I guess you have a point.”
“You only drove me for the money! You can’t dwell on the past like that, or else it’ll consume you forever. I know that well enough,” I remind him.
“Fuck,” Dean mutters again.
“Now you, with the sailor’s mouth,” I laugh.
“Stop laughing,” He grumbles.
“It’s funny when you curse,” I smile, hoping he sees it, lit up by the dim car stereo.
“You should rest,” Dean’s voice returns to a normal level, without grumbling. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“I’ll try,” I close my eyes for a beat. “I can’t sleep. I’m too wired.”
“Just try. You didn’t even give it a real try,” Dean reaches over the center console to put a hand on my leg. He squeezes gently, and I feel electrified, reminded of my thoughts from earlier. Now, I really can’t sleep.
“What’s with all the touching today? I ask defensively, as if I wasn’t daydreaming about gobbling him down like a sex-crazed animal.
“What touching?” Dean removes his hand from my knee, and places it back on the steering wheel.
“The leg squeeze just now…and at the concert.”
Dean clears his throat, trying to buy himself some time. “I’m sorry,” He apologizes.
Ah, fuck. I didn’t want him to apologize. “It’s okay,” I hesitate. “I liked it.”