by Tia Souders
“Well, then you’ll be pleasantly surprised. This particular stretch of beach is never overcrowded, even in the summer, because only locals know about it. They have great food, and it’s the kind of place where you can linger and they won’t bug you.”
“Sounds nice. Any place with hardly any people is good with me.”
He glanced at me and laughed. “Are you always this antisocial?”
I shrugged. “No.” When he smirked, I said, “Okay, maybe. I just… I have a long record of disappointment when it comes to other people.” I snapped my mouth shut. The moment the words left my lips I wanted to shove them back in.
My face grew hot as I sunk further into my seat. This was the kind of stuff I avoided sharing with people, and I just blabbed it to Laird on our first real date. Smooth, Sam. Real smooth. Now he’ll think there’s something wrong with you.
He frowned and said nothing for a moment, so of course, I decided to fill the awkward silence. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just… this is my first real date and so I’m kind of nervous.”
I bit my lip, knowing I made things worse but unable to retrieve the giant foot from my mouth.
“What about Derek?” he asked. “He never took you out? Never mind, maybe I don’t wanna know.”
“Trust me. There’s nothing to tell. We never really go out like this. I mean, we have, but usually when we do, it’s to go to a party, The Clover, or something like that. There’s not much in his repertoire other than drinking, smoking something, and playing drums. It’s rarely the two of us.” And if I’m being honest, I prefer him being a deadbeat.
Neither of us mentioned the fact that, technically, I was still with Derek, yet here I was with Laird.
“He doesn’t deserve you.”
The way he said it was a statement, his tone so matter-of-fact, I couldn’t help but glance over at him and study his face, and all I could think about was how maybe Derek doesn’t really have me. Maybe he never did, and so, whether he deserved me or not was irrelevant.
The heat of blush rose to my cheeks. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out the band’s plans for me. They spewed out of my mouth like the break in a water main. “They have some big plan to put on this comeback show.”
I swallowed and took a deep breath, then continued. “It’s supposed to be like my unveiling since I lost my finger. Sick, isn’t it?” My eyes searched for confirmation. “They want me to pretend to play along with a dubbed CD since I’m not going to be ready in time. They’ve already told people about it. They think this will get us a lot of buzz and ultimately help them when it comes time to get a record deal. I don’t know how they even think I could pull it off so people wouldn’t notice…”
“Why do you let them treat you like dirt? They use you, and you let them. Why do you even stay friends with them? That is, if you can even call what you have friendship.”
I sighed. How did I explain something even I didn’t understand?
I shook my head and when I thought about my friends, I thought about my parents. It was like the two things went hand-in-hand. “My mom had an accident when I was eight. She had been seven months pregnant. To make a long story short, she went into early labor and the baby died only seconds after she gave birth.” I paused and swallowed over the lump in my throat. “She never got over it. Neither did my father. I got pushed to the back burner, and over time, my father started having an affair and was almost never home. When he was home, he blamed me for everything, including my mother’s drinking. Even the accident. I was the reason they drove separate that night. I was the reason he hadn’t been with her, the reason he hadn’t been the one driving.” My stomach clenched as the words left my mouth. I had so much baggage. Maybe I settled with Derek because settling meant not having to put myself out there, to worry about someone rejecting me because of all the weight I carried.
Despite my better judgment, I licked my lips and continued. “Anyway, for a long time I didn’t talk to anyone. Not my teachers or kids at school. But June had given me a guitar just after the accident, and the music teacher I had must have noticed there was something wrong. After some prodding, he found out about it, and that’s when I started to play. When I met the band, I had no close friends and was still pretty much shut off from the world. We had music to tie us, though, a common bond, and at the time, I was at a point where I wanted nothing more than to make my father angry. Anything to get a reaction or hurt him like I was hurting. He hated them from the start. Especially Derek, which I guess is where it all started. I guess you could say they filled a need.” I barked a nervous laugh. “Sounds pretty bad, but you know, if I think about it… I suspect I’m doing the same thing for them. I’m just filling some need, some gap in their lives, until something better comes along to fill the void. And how can I get angry about that when I’m just as guilty?”
“What about now? Something’s changed.”
I nodded. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. I’ve been hiding behind the pretense of the band for a long time. They gave me a way to get back at my father while numbing away some of the pain. I’m used to them. I know what to expect from them, and they rarely surprise me. They’re all I’ve had for a long time. It just feels easier to go along with them now. Not very noble of me, is it?”
He shrugged. “I think that depends on how you look at it.” He shifted gears then took my hand. “You’re a survivor, Sam. Maybe you made mistakes, but you did all you could at the time to get through. All the best artists and musicians have something unpleasant in their past. It’s part of what makes them so good. When you play, the whole room stops to watch. You can’t help but stare. You can’t help but feel the music, and there’s no mistaking the depth of emotion in which you play.”
Words escaped me. How did he seem to know just the right thing to say?
I wanted to lean forward and touch him and found myself wishing with everything in me we had kissed the other night. That Doug hadn’t interrupted us. What would a kiss from him have been like? To get so close to someone who might actually care?
As if reading my thoughts, he took his eyes off the road and looked at me closely. For a moment I felt as if, for the first time in my life, I was exactly where I needed to be.
Our charged stares led to silence, both of us stealing glances at each other the rest of the drive. When we pulled into the small gravel lot of the café, the energy in the air of the Jeep was so electric, the fresh air outside felt like a relief.
He got out and walked to my side, but I jumped out before he could open my door. Grabbing the toy guitar, he clasped my hand and led the way inside the restaurant.
A bubbly waitress in a blue “Maggie B’s” t-shirt and jeans greeted us. “Hey Laird. It’s been a while.”
I shifted in my seat and tried to remove my hand from his, but he grasped it tighter. Without any hesitation, he smiled and said, “Yeah. Classes this semester have been brutal.” He turned his gaze to me. “This is Sam, by the way.”
“Hey, Sam. Nice of you to come. You must be pretty special.” She cupped the side of her mouth and whispered, “Laird never brings any girls.” She winked, and if that wasn’t enough to make my insides fuzzy, the way Laird’s thumb drew lazy circles over the top of my hand turned my insides to mush.
“Why don’t I get y’all a seat?” Turning, she guided us to a booth in the corner of the restaurant away from most of the other patrons.
Pieces of driftwood hung in different arrangements on the walls along with several stuffed fish of various varieties. A giant swordfish stared at me with its glassy eyes above a net, entangled with a myriad of seashells and starfish. Old black and white photos from the area, depicting various activities of coastal living, hung above each booth, and each table gleamed as if the wood had just been polished. The dank scent of the sea and driftwood mingled with the aroma of the seafood dishes being prepared in the kitchen, creating a surprisingly appealing atmosphere.
I glanced back at Laird to notice him watching me. �
��What do you think?” he asked.
“I love it. In fact, I’m wondering why I haven’t come up this way in so long.”
“Wait till you try the food.” He handed me a menu but didn’t bother to look at his.
“You already know what you want?”
“Yep. I’m a creature of habit. I always get the same thing.”
“And what is that?”
“Crab cakes. They make the best ones around, served with this amazing remoulade sauce.”
“Hmmm… I’ll get the same. I trust your judgement.”
“I do happen to have impeccable taste,” he said, reaching across the table and lacing his fingers through mine.
“Is that so?”
My skin blazed everywhere he touched, making it hard to think. I blinked and cleared my throat, unused to flirting like this. “So, tell me about you. I feel like you know so much about me, yet I hardly know anything about you. Other than the fact you play the guitar, hang out at The Clover in your spare time, and go to the College of William & Mary.”
He leaned back in his seat. “What do you wanna know?”
“What are you going to school for? I don’t even know what year you’re in.”
“I’m in my second year. I’m a biology major, and I plan on going to med school when I graduate.”
I whistled.
“I know. I couldn’t just pick something simpler and with a smaller tuition bill, like teaching, which is what my father wanted me to do.”
“Wait. You plan on going to medical school to be a doctor and your father wants you to be a teacher?” Not that there was anything wrong with teaching, but in what world did it make sense for a parent to be disappointed their kid chose med school? Didn’t every parent dream of their kid becoming something “prestigious” with a high payroll, like a doctor or lawyer?
I wondered what my father would think if I wanted to pursue something like medicine. Would he be proud? Or would he still be so stuck on his bank? Somehow, I had a feeling any career choice other than banking would be considered a poor choice.
“Well, I shouldn’t say that. He’s cool with what I’m doing. He just comes from a long line of teachers, and so I guess he assumed I would end up teaching, too. When I first told him what I wanted to study and why, he just had this blank look. Like he’d never heard of med school before.” Laird chuckled. “He’s supportive enough, though, and what he lacks, my mother makes up for in spades. She’s a total sweetheart. I guess it takes growing up and moving out to fully appreciate your parents.” He grew quiet, then added, “You’d like them.”
Would I? I knew nothing about the image he painted. Long ago, I stopped wishing for different parents and just accepted the hand I was dealt.
“What kind of medicine do you want to practice?” I asked.
“Not entirely sure yet, but I think I’d like to do ER work.”
“Intense.”
“Yeah. I kind of like the idea of not knowing what to expect every day, you know? I actually volunteer right now. I don’t have a lot of time to devote to it, but on the weekends, I usually spend about five hours in the ER. Of course, I don’t get to do any of the cool stuff, but it still gives me a chance to learn the ropes.”
“That’s great,” I said, and I meant it, even if a part of me felt even more inadequate of his time than I did before I found out about his plans for medical school or his happy family.
Pushing my self-doubt aside, we talked as we waited for our food. Conversation flowed with ease, making it easy to relax and enjoy the atmosphere, along with Laird’s company. By the time our food arrived my nerves had all but vanished, and we ate in a comfortable silence I’m not sure I had ever shared with anyone before.
After we finished, Laird fished the toy guitar off the seat and handed it to me. “Okay, let’s see what you got. No pressure,” he said, raising his hands.
Smiling, I picked up the guitar and held it in my arms. I wracked my brain for the perfect song to play. When the chords to “Brown Eyed Girl” trickled from the toy, I glanced to Laird, whose smile spread. Playing was difficult because of the delay in the notes and the distorted sound, but I managed well enough. By the time I finished, my hand ached, but the way Laird’s eyes lit up made the slight discomfort worth it.
I set the guitar down and clenched and uncurled my fingers a couple times.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not too bad. Everything’s just kind of stiff and sore.”
“That’s normal. The tissue and muscle are all connected so when you’re moving your fingers like that, it’s to be expected. Moving along the headstock and stretching is the problem. If you just played on one fret and the notes right next to it, the discomfort probably wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Okay, Doctor.”
He tipped back his head and laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
“Makes me nervous though. I mean, if it’s sore now, what’s my hand going to feel like when I have to put pressure on real strings? If I would’ve taken care of myself the first time around, I wouldn’t have had to mess with this infection and I’d be fine. It hurts way worse now than it did following my injury.”
Laird shrugged. “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. You suffered severe infection, so there is going to be more inflammation and things like this take time to heal, but you can do this. You want Juilliard, and one way or the other, you’ll have to get it.”
I stared at him a moment. This guy can’t be real.
“Why do you have so much faith in me? In reality, you barely know me.”
“Because I’ve heard you play. And because you can tell a lot about a person by the lyrics of the music they make. You need to have some confidence.” He rubbed his chin. “You know, it’s funny. You have no belief in your ability or that you’ll overcome your injury, yet you think there’s something wrong with me for believing so. You’ve got it in you, Sam. Everyone sees it. Not just me. It’s time you saw it too.”
We spent hours talking and playing with the guitar, until the night wore on and before I knew it, I glanced around to find we were the only ones left in the restaurant. I peered out the window next to me into the inky black sky. “Crap. It’s late.”
Laird checked his watch. “Eleven-thirty. I suppose it’s time to get back. Home by midnight for the high schooler.”
“Oh, funny guy, are we? I see how it is.” I laughed and stood, then followed him outside.
I shivered as I stepped into the crisp night air and hugged myself to ward off the chill. In the background, seagulls cawed and a car backfired against the sound of the nearby ocean. I turned to him, hating we had to leave and wishing we could stay in this moment, when he closed the small gap between us. He stopped only inches from me, and when I met his eyes, my breath caught in my throat. Shadows danced across his face in the moonlight as he reached out. He brought his hands to my cheeks and cupped my face, stroking the curves of my face with his thumb, stealing my breath and disintegrating the cold.
Emboldened by his touch, I lifted my injured hand to his face, praying he wouldn’t cringe and pull away, and before I could process anything, where this was headed or what he might do, he pressed his lips to mine. My stomach tumbled to the ground with my heart as my mind went numb. I leaned into him, kissing him back with everything I had without overthinking it.
He moved his mouth under mine, coaxing me with warm, soft lips. My heart thumped in my chest with every passing second until he consumed all my thoughts. His hand moved from my face and down my arms, warding off the chill of the evening and replacing it with the fire of his touch. Time slowed, and everything else in my life faded away. My problems forgotten. My insecurities irrelevant. While we kissed, nothing else mattered, and when we drew apart sometime later, I wondered if this might be what true happiness felt like… Maybe a little like contentment.
And then, with my heart in my throat, a thought hit me. I had to break up with Derek.
* * *
Angry clouds dotted the
gray sky, casting the parking lot in shadows. Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I took my time, making my way down the path that led from the school to student parking where I knew Derek would be waiting for me. I avoided the band all day, my friends included, but the inevitable had arrived. Our break up was past due.
It’s funny how some of the worst things for you in life were the things you clung to the most. I told myself breaking up with him shouldn’t be a big deal. The safety net of my friends would still be there, even though deep down I could see the toxicity of our relationship. Each of us using each other for one purpose or another. Yet I clung to the remnants of the band and my friends like a lifeline, as if losing them meant losing something vital, despite the truth that they were probably nothing more than a giant anvil weighing down my life.
I thought of Laird—his sandy blond hair and blue eyes. His gentle touch and the way he looked at me as though I hung the moon. As if he really saw me. The opposite of Derek, with his dark, roughened exterior and penetrating gaze, which saw nothing but a guitar and how it might be able to take him where he wanted to go.
Laird cared for me in a way no one had, and that knowledge carried me through the day and propelled me forward. No one ever got what they wanted by sitting around and watching it pass them by. For the first time, I had a glimpse of good in my life and I wanted more. There was no way I would cling to Derek while Laird faded from my life.
Derek never really cared about me. I was a convenience. I was there, nothing more. This should be easy. So, why wasn’t it?
My heart thumped with every step as I made out his stalky form leaning against the side of his prized Mustang. A wave of relief washed through me as I confirmed no one else was with him. The last thing I wanted was to have to do this with an audience.
I slowed as I approached, and he turned to the sound of my footsteps. He crossed his arms in front of his chest as if he somehow sensed what was coming and braced himself for a fight.
I cleared my throat as I came to a stop, and his lips pressed into a firm line.
