Better Than This

by Tia Souders

  “What’d your dad want in the hospital after I left?”

  I huffed. “What does he ever want but to make my life miserable? He took my guitar. Claimed he was worried about me, about my health, but it’s always the same. He’s just worried about having someone to take over business.”

  Tad whistled. “He took your guitar? He’s brutal.”

  “Yeah.” I paused. Looking down at my hands, I picked at the purple polish on my nails. “Tad, why don’t you ever talk about your parents?”

  He scratched his head and said, “My dad died when I was just four.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot about your dad.”

  How could I forget? It was the whole reason June pushed me away. Maybe because I never really believed her. I never believed her son’s deteriorating health was the reason for shutting me out of her life. June was like a grandmother to me. I didn’t buy the notion of her being incapable of caring for her ailing son and his family while having me in her life as well. After all, I had been family too. I always thought it was just an excuse to push me out of her life.

  Tad shrugged. “After my grandmother dies, all I’ll have left is my mom. I’m not sure she’s any different than your dad. She’s never around, and when she is, she doesn’t seem to care much. I may as well have no one.”

  “Well, at least you have June now.” I didn’t mention how I, too, knew what it was like to have her once. “I don’t think she’s going anywhere, so you don’t need to worry.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Sam?” June’s voice resonated from the hall. “You’re here.” Leaning against the wall, she gestured me and Tad to the hallway. “I have something you can help me with in the sunroom.”

  Tad and I got up and made our way out of the room, where she led us to the sunroom at the back of the house. Light spilled through the floor-length windows. Potted plants hung from hooks in the ceiling and lined a dozen stands. Wicker furniture with bright yellow cushions formed a seating area in front of an enormous, battered coffee table. Taking a seat in one of the chairs, June pointed to a file cabinet, tucked away next to her in a corner of the room, hidden behind some of the plants.

  “Today, I’d like to go through some of my paperwork. Most of the stuff is just old bills, receipts, old tax returns, things like that. There are years’ worth in here and there’s no sense in having them around. I figured I’d tell you what to save and you could go through them. I’d do them myself, but bending over to sort them would be too uncomfortable with my back and arthritis.”

  I plunked myself down in front of the file cabinet and crossed my legs. “Why don’t you just have Tad do this stuff? I mean, it just seems like this, especially, is something he can do while you two are hanging out.”

  “She won’t let me do anything,” Tad said.

  “He shouldn’t have to go through all this old junk.” June waved the thought away. “I struck a deal with your dad in repayment for the damage of my things outside, so I may as well have you do it, even if it is busywork. Besides, having you over here has made Tad’s whole year. Gives you something to do while he talks your ear off,” she said, winking at him.

  “I’m not going to deny it,” Tad chirped.

  June snickered. “I didn’t doubt you would.”

  Longing unfurled in my stomach, so I glanced away and turned to the cabinet. I opened the bottom drawer, trying hard to ignore the way Tad’s name rolled lovingly off her tongue or how when she looked at him, her eyes softened and a smile formed on her lips. I once shared the same thing with her. It was hard not to feel at least a twinge of jealousy.

  I began purging files. The work was monotonous, but Tad made sure to fill the time with plenty of conversation. June directed me on what documents to put in a shred pile and which to keep. Mostly everything was being thrown away.

  “I don’t understand why you keep all these papers, if you don’t really need them,” I said, putting a file of old utility bills in the shred pile.

  “I did need them, but I don’t have use for them anymore. Make sure you keep that folder there,” she said, pointing to the one labeled “LAWYER.”

  I shifted the file aside and removed the one labeled “Receipts.” Before I could grab the next folder, June’s bony arm reached across me and yanked the file out, but not before I caught a glimpse of the black lettering on the front.

  “Hey! That had my name on it,” I said pointing to the file, now tucked under June’s arm.

  She stood there, staring at me with incomprehensible eyes.

  I reached toward her again, fluttering my fingers toward the folder. “The file had my name on it. I saw it.”

  “No, dear. You must have misread it. It’s another file of sales receipts.” She flashed the file in front of me. Her hand covered everything except the “S-a,” but before I could argue, she hobbled out of the room. I glanced back at Tad, who shrugged.

  When she returned a few minutes later, she carried a tray of shortbread cookies and milk. It trembled slightly in her frail hands as she placed it on the coffee table in front of us.

  “Sweet,” Tad said, shoving a cookie in his mouth. When he spoke, a trail of crumbs coated his lips and fell down his shirt. “She makes the best shortbread.”

  “I know,” I mumbled. A vision, one of me with pudgy cheeks and two dark pigtails sitting in the very sunroom I sat in now, flashed in my head. I pushed it back. Nothing good would come of going down Memory Lane—especially when mine had no happy endings.

  With my mind still on the file, the one I knew for certain had my name on it, I continued my work.

  12

  Clearing his throat, Laird spoke first. “I tried to call you.”

  “I know.”

  The sounds of the band warming up behind us started. The Clover was busy for a Monday night. By the time I had returned home from June’s, it was no longer possible to keep thoughts of Laird at bay. I had a million things pressing down on me, yet the one thing I thought of most was him, so I decided to find him as a way to get at least one thing off my mind and keep my sanity.

  At least, that’s what I told myself…

  He moved toward me and grabbed my hand. My skin warmed at his touch, and I shivered when he murmured, “Come on,” and led me to a booth in the corner of the room. It was tucked away in a nook, and the only one far enough from the band where we’d be able to hear each other talk once they started to play.

  Taking the seat across from him, I began to move my hands to my lap under the table. “Don’t.” His voice was soft but firm as he gently grasped my wrist. He slid his hand up until his finger pressed into my palm and brought my bandaged hand to lie on the table in front of us. I caught his gaze, letting the warmth of his touch soak into my skin like sunshine and wondering if time could stand still. Because if it could, I would freeze us in this moment.

  First to break the trance, he said, “I know I already apologized for what happened with Marcus and my taking you there, but I wish there was more I could do.”

  I shook my head, and an image of Laird’s fist connecting with Marcus’s face, along with his returning right hook, flashed through my head. “You stood up for me. You may be the first and only person who ever has. It meant a lot.”

  He smiled. “Of course, I stood up for you. Anyone who wouldn’t isn’t worth having in your life.”

  I let those words sink in a moment, astonished at the sincerity behind them. If you only knew, I thought.

  “I just hope we can put it behind us because I really want to spend more time with you.”

  My heart lunged into my throat, and so I nodded, unable to speak.

  “So, I’ve been thinking a lot about you, and there’s so much I don’t know.”

  I raised a brow. “Like?”

  “Where’s your life headed after high school? Are you going to do anything with your music?”

  I shifted in my seat and rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease the mounting knot of tension. “I want to go t
o Juilliard. I’m hoping to audition this spring.”

  “That’s amazing. I have no doubt, after some readjusting, you’ll have no problem getting in.”

  “I wish I were as confident.” I placed a hand on my leg, which shook violently under the table to steady myself.

  “What do you have to play for them?”

  “A lot for a girl with an injured hand. Two contrasting movements of a Bach suite, partita, or sonata; two etudes by Heitor Villa-Lobos. Plus, a complete work of any period and two contrasting works, one of which must be a twentieth-century composer.”

  Laird whistled. “I only know so much about classical, but that’s some line-up.”

  “Yeah. Remind me why I’m here with you and not at home practicing?”

  Laird laughed. “You mean on your toy guitar?”

  The guitar, I almost forgot.

  I smiled, thinking of the gift. “Thank you. It was a great surprise.”

  “Did you play on it yet?”

  “Only for a bit, but I’ll get to play with it more tomorrow.”

  “I hope so. That was quite the costly instrument. I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

  “Was it really?” My stomach sunk. For the first time since receiving the gift, the cost crossed my mind.

  He laughed. “Yep. A whole twenty bucks. Left me broke.”

  “Ha!” I suppressed the pang of guilt I felt at Laird spending any amount of money on me. I was so unused to gifts, I had to hold back the urge to tell him he shouldn’t have gotten it for me

  “How did you prepare for the auditions? Before your finger, that is?”

  “Mr. Neely is sort of my mentor. We practiced all the time before school and sometimes after. He’s amazing on the guitar and a great teacher. Otherwise, I just practice by playing the songs over and over until I get them right. I listen to recordings, watch others play, train my ear, see exactly how it’s supposed to sound…” I trailed off, then tucked my hair behind my ears and glanced up at him from under my lashes. “Do I get a turn?”

  “A turn for what?”

  “To ask questions.”

  He leaned closer. “In a minute. First, I have one more.”

  “Okay?”

  “Will you go out with me next Saturday night? Somewhere else, away from here? Just us.”

  I studied the sincerity in his expression—the softening of his eyes and the way his forehead creased as he looked up at me.

  “Why?” I blurted.

  He laughed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Seriously, Sam. Do I have to make it any clearer?”

  Irritation pricked at my skin. “Make what clearer?” I asked, unable to contain the harsh edge in my voice.

  He laughed again, setting my nerves on edge, before his features smoothed. The laugh lines around his mouth disappeared into his golden skin and the blue of his eyes intensified. He reached out and took my hand in his.

  “I more than like you. And I want to get to know you better. I’m not sure I can take no for an answer. There’s just something about you I can’t stay away from,” he whispered.

  I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry and I couldn’t.

  Laird shook his head and continued. “I’ve watched you for I don’t know how long. But there always seemed to be some reason I should leave you be, like Derek or the closed off look in your eyes every time someone different showed any sort of interest in you. I’ve watched you keep everyone around you at arm’s length, except those sorry excuses you call friends.”

  I wanted to tell him they didn’t know me either. Not really. Even with them, I formed a small cocoon around myself, wrapped away from anything and everyone in the outside world. But all I could do was listen as he spoke. All I could do was marvel at his candor and the incredible feeling of having someone care.

  “When I heard about what happened…” He shook his head. “I knew it had to be killing you, then you came in here a week later. Your band was playing without you. I watched you walk among the crowd like you had the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders, and for some reason all I wanted to do was make it go away. I told myself I’d be the one to make you smile.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Then I made you pass out. And then I exposed you to Marcus, so I’m not sure how great of a job I did.”

  I knew it was a joke and I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. Not while my mind worked so hard at wrapping itself around the concept a person could care about me that much. Enough to want to make me happy.

  His words rang in my ears as if they had been screamed through a bullhorn instead of murmured from only a foot away. The music in the background disappeared, everything drowned out with the intensity of his eyes.

  His gaze shifted to my mouth, and my pulse raced as he brought his hand to my lips, tracing the swell of my cupid’s bow with his finger.

  He smelled good—fresh, like the outdoors—and when I closed my eyes against his touch, it took everything in me to open them again. When I did, his face was only inches away from mine. The feel of his breath on my mouth brought chills up my spine. I parted my lips in anticipation and wondered if his mouth would be as soft as it looked. But before I could close the distance and find out, someone slammed a bottle of beer down on the table in-between us.

  I jumped at the sound, and all the air in my lungs whooshed out at once.

  Laird leaned back and glared at the boy. It was Doug, the drummer from the band that had played tonight. I frowned as I glanced behind my shoulder at the now empty stage. Apparently, I had been too caught up in Laird to notice a break in the music.

  I turned my gaze back at Doug, whose stony eyes swept from Laird to me. A student at Thomas Nelson Community College, and more often than not, Derek and Ron’s hook-up for illicit beverages, and a regular at the club, he sometimes frequented our parties. Occasionally, he hung out and played with us when we practiced, but mostly he spent his time trying to seduce Lauren.

  The thought of Derek and my friends turned my stomach. They wouldn’t like me hanging out at The Clover without them, especially after I had told them I’d be working at June’s all night. And worse yet, with someone as straight-laced as Laird.

  “Hey Doug,” I said.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone gruff.

  “Uh, I—”

  “She came to see me.” Laird leaned back in the booth. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Interesting. I was just about to call Derek and see if he wanted to have a couple beers.” Doug shot me a knowing look.

  “I’m sure he’d like that.” I smiled, managing to keep the emotion from my voice.

  Doug rubbed his chin. “Hey, where’s… ah… what’s her name?” he asked, snapping his fingers. “The girl you were going with a while back? Dakota!” He pointed at Laird. “Aren’t you still—” Doug raised his eyebrows and tapped his fists together. “—with her?”

  Laird’s bottom lip curled. “If you were so informed, you would know Dakota and I were never anything more than friends.” At Doug’s skeptical look, Laird continued. “She dated one of my buddies and they broke up. She went through a rough patch.”

  “Whatever, who you date is your business, dude. I’m just here to give Sam fair warning.” Doug glanced at me. “He’s in college, has more experience. And a guy gains experience only one way. But I know that’s irrelevant, right? Because you have Derek.” He backed away from the table. “I’ll tell him you said hello.” With one last look at both of us, he turned and left.

  “Prick,” Laird said.

  I watched Doug stalk off toward the stage, but the hairs rose on the back of my neck when I turned my attention back to Laird. The warmth I felt for him just moments before had vanished, replaced by the itchiness of nerves.

  “Dakota’s the girl from the other night. The brunette I was talking to. What I said to Doug is true. Besides, she’s not my type.”

  “What’s your type?”

  “You.”

  Si
ghing, I glanced at Doug who stood on the opposite side of the room, still watching us. Laird followed my gaze and opened his mouth to say something, but I stopped him.

  “I better go.”

  He reached his hand up and grabbed mine. “Hey, the last thing I want to do is cause trouble with you and your friends. I hope you know that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I shrugged it off, knowing I was overreacting, when there was no point in worrying about Doug catching me there with Laird. I had enough on my plate without fretting over this too.

  Laird stood with me. I flashed him a smile and began to turn, when he reached out. Taking a lock of my hair in his fingers, he wrapped it around his finger before tugging gently and letting go.

  “You never answered me,” he said.

  “What?” My head spun. He had already said so much tonight, keeping up was difficult.

  “About Saturday. When can I pick you up?” His mouth flattened into a single line of determination. Even if I wanted to resist him, I couldn’t. But the thought of my drunken mother and the possibility my father might be at home caused me to hesitate.

  “Why don’t I meet you somewhere? How about we meet here, and then I can ride with you to wherever?”

  He frowned. “Okay,” he said, drawing out the word.

  If you only knew, I thought. “Great. Seven o’clock then.”

  He nodded, and I turned to leave without another word, knowing I would think about him the rest of the night.

  * * *

  The next morning came after a night of fitful sleep. No matter how hard I tried, the soft curve of Laird’s lips, the warmth of his hand, and the feel of his breath as his mouth drew near tortured me all through the night. I pictured his bright blue eyes above a perfect smile and replayed our conversations inside my head.

  Eager to think about anything else, I arrived at school early. I practiced with Mr. Neely, playing our imaginary guitars and performing more newspaper crinkling and other stretching exercises. Third period study hall would have provided a lot of time to dwell on Laird, but I did my best to sink myself into the calculus homework I received the class before. Not once had Doug or my friends crossed my mind until lunchtime.