After the Rain

by Bruce, Brandy

  My thoughts ran in a million different directions. When the rain finally started to fall, I opened my back door wide, not caring that water splashed indoors. I left the door open so I could hear the splatters on the ground. I sat on a chair and just watched the rain, thinking of Texas, thinking of Luke and our friends, thinking of how my life had looked so different a year before. We’d danced in the rain once, Luke and I. We’d gone out to dinner and he’d brought me back to my apartment. We’d dashed through the parking lot, rain soaking my hair. Then I’d stopped, taken his hand, and pulled him to me, and we’d danced, right there in the parking lot.

  I wondered if he ever danced in the rain with Sara.

  The rain grew louder and began to change. I got up and moved closer, watching as little icy balls started to hit the ground, clattering as they fell. Harsher than before, hail came down. I closed the back door but kept watching. I used to hate being alone. Not so much anymore.

  But I’d hurt Ben. After all he’d done to help, I’d blurted out Luke’s name. Was Luke still so much in my head? I reran last night like a movie reel.

  It was Ben washing dishes.

  Ben praying.

  Ben singing to Gilly.

  Ben putting towels in the dryer.

  Ben waking me up when I fell asleep.

  Ben with that look in his light brown eyes that unnerved me—desire and challenge and excitement and intimacy. Ben with his dark hair twisted in a topknot. Ben with stubble on his face and that dark tattoo snaking down his arm as he played the guitar. With Nike sneakers and rock-band T-shirts and a voice that reached me when nothing else could.

  Ben ... in my head.

  The hail rattled louder, hitting the window, pouring over the roof. I reached for my phone and sent another text.

  YOU’RE MORE THAN MY SECOND FRIEND.

  The rest of the week passed without a word from Ben. Paige invited me to her place Friday night. She shared a paired home with two roommates in Centennial, a little farther south from where I lived. But one of her roommates was out of town, and the other was a nurse who worked the night shift at Sky Ridge Hospital. She had the place to herself and wanted to cook dinner for me. I showed up at seven with a bottle of Moscato wine. Paige opened the door with a squeal and a big hug.

  “I’m so excited that you’re here!”

  I considered the way I normally greeted Paige when she came to my house—rarely with squeals and hugs. I’d have to work on that. I handed her the wine and followed her into the kitchen.

  “Something smells good. What are we having?” I asked, setting my purse on the counter.

  “We’re having chicken divan. It’s Daneal’s recipe—she’s the nurse. She gave me the recipe and told me to make it whenever I wanted to impress someone. So this is me impressing you. I hope you like broccoli. And curry.”

  “I’m easy,” I assured her. “I like everything when it comes to food.”

  “Oh, good. Pour us a couple of glasses of that wine. We can dish out plates here and eat at the coffee table. And in honor of you, I got a movie for us to watch. I’ve never seen it, but it seems right up your alley.”

  “What is it?” I asked, grabbing a wine glass and filling it halfway with Moscato.

  “La La Land. Heard of it?”

  “Of course. You’ll love it.”

  “Hmm,” Paige responded as she filled two plates with large portions of chicken divan.

  We sat on the sofa, our plates on our laps, a basket of French bread on the coffee table, along with our wine glasses. The casserole—chunks of chicken in a curry sauce, spread over steamed broccoli stalks and served over white rice—was delicious, and I ended up wiping my plate clean with that French bread, trying to get every bit of the curry sauce.

  “I want the recipe,” I told her.

  She took a bite of bread and chewed while nodding. “You can make it for Ben.”

  “I doubt that,” I muttered.

  “What happened?” Paige asked immediately. I figured I might as well tell her—I was desperate to talk about Ben with someone other than Dr. Clark. I told her the whole story of Sunday night. She covered her mouth in horror when I told her I called Ben, Luke.

  “Oh no,” she whispered.

  I lifted and dropped a shoulder. “There’s nothing I can do now. He won’t respond to my texts.”

  Paige tore another piece of bread in her hands, her mind obviously turning. “Do you want to fight for Ben, Deb? Do you like him that much? I know you don’t want faith to be a big part of your life, the way it is with Ben. I’m asking this as a friend—whichever direction you go in, I’m here to support you—but if faith is the foundation of who Ben is but you can’t share that with him, do you think that would eventually come between you two?”

  I sighed. I wasn’t angry she asked, and I knew that Paige meant it when she said she’d support me. “Faith is this ongoing discussion in my head. I’m trying to work it out. Trying to find a balance I’m comfortable with. God just doesn’t feel very real to me anymore. I keep waiting for him to do something to prove to me he’s here, prove to me he loves me like the Bible says he does.” I set my plate on the counter. “Ben says maybe my faith journey will look different from here on out. That people go through things that change them. That makes me wonder—if I can’t go back to how I was before, at church all the time and super involved and reading my little daily dose of Scripture—is there still a place for me? Can I still be a person of faith if it looks different?”

  Paige scratched the top of her nose and reached for her glass of wine. “Of course you can. If you find yourself wanting to talk to God, say whatever you’re thinking. Yell, cry, share your deepest doubts and fears. Don’t hold back. You don’t want to go to church? Fine. Go hiking. If you get the urge to go to church, go. Don’t worry what anyone else thinks. Do what you need to. Just be you.”

  “That’s sounds like a good start actually.” I tilted my head to the side.

  “What’s happening with the house idea?” Paige asked.

  “It’s still there. I was thinking of going and looking at places with a realtor, but it seems too soon. Maybe after the new year. I’m definitely going to sit down with the lady at the model home nearby for a consult.”

  “You could always buy a place and then let a roommate rent the second bedroom to help with cost.”

  I poured another glass of wine for a second. “That’s true. But I feel like I want a place to myself if possible. I want to decorate it and make it mine.” I pushed away thoughts of the still-packed boxes in my apartment.

  Paige smiled. “That sounds really fun actually.” She clapped her hands. “Okay, ready for our movie? And maybe some brownies?”

  “Yes. On both accounts.”

  We watched the movie, which Paige ended up loving, but my mind kept wandering to Ben. At the end of La La Land, the main two characters end up going in different directions. The ending always made me a bit sad, to be honest. That had already been my story once. I needed a new song and dance.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Close your eyes and let the music set you free.

  Phantom of the Opera

  Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of my phone dinging. I reached to the nightstand and held up the phone. When I saw Ben’s name, I sat up straight in bed. I hadn’t heard a word from him since that terrible Sunday night.

  CAN YOU GO TO A CONCERT AT RED ROCKS WITH ME TONIGHT?

  My brow wrinkled. A concert? I scrolled up through our text messages to see whether I’d missed something. Some important text where he acknowledged my apology and told me everything was okay.

  No such text.

  I leaned back against the headboard. Who’s even playing at Red Rocks tonight? I did a quick search on my phone and found that a well-known rock band was in town for one night, playing at the infamous Red Rocks amphitheater. I knew their music and had desperately wanted to go to a concert at Red Rocks ever since moving to Colorado—but like this? Were we just pre
tending nothing had happened?

  On the other hand, did I want to go even twenty-four more hours without seeing Ben?

  I texted back. YES. AND WE NEED TO TALK.

  He told me he’d pick me up at seven thirty. And this—a concert at Red Rocks—I decided I’d treat it like a date. With all the rain and hail we’d had lately, cool weather had slowly replaced our summer warmth. Red Rocks was up near the mountains; the rock formations were legendary, and I couldn’t wait to experience a rock concert at such a cool venue, but I had a feeling, especially after dark, that it would be cold. I showered and took extra time with my makeup. It was a rock concert, after all. Dramatic eyeliner and mascara, smoky eye shadow, and pink lipstick. I put a little product in my hair to tame my crazy curls, then went to my closet to find something warm to wear but still worthy of a Red Rocks date.

  I found my ripped black jeans and then dug out my favorite cowgirl boots—the ones that had cost me a fortune back in Texas. I pulled my boots on over my skinny jeans. The boots fit perfectly, and as I looked down at them, the thought crossed my mind that I’d brought a teeny bit of Texas with me after all. I found a long, fitted gray sweater that I’d bought at the Galleria in Houston. Then I spun around in front of my floor-length mirror.

  One thing was missing.

  I went to my jewelry box and found my sterling silver leaf-shaped earrings. They dangled almost to my shoulders. And as I put them on and stared back in the mirror, I looked and felt like me again. A little changed, sure. This version of me didn’t mind some quiet. She didn’t mind being on her own. This version hiked and rafted and climbed mountains. She asked hard questions.

  She still liked karaoke. Music still echoed through the chambers of her heart. It still called to her.

  She still liked dangly earrings.

  When I got the text that Ben was waiting outside, I grabbed my old, worn brown leather jacket and my purse. I paused at the door, straightened my shoulders, and enjoyed the few butterflies swirling in my stomach at the thought of seeing Ben. Then I rushed downstairs, ready.

  We weren’t even out of the parking lot before I turned to Ben.

  “I was shocked by your text, inviting me to go tonight. You realize that, don’t you? We leave things in an awful way Sunday night, I text you and apologize and try to reach out, and you don’t respond for a week—then you text me randomly and ask me to go to a concert with you.”

  “Almost a week,” Ben said as we exited the parking lot and headed toward the interstate.

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine. What are you thinking? Do you not believe me when I say I’m sorry?”

  He exhaled, his gaze fixed on the road. “I believe you.”

  “But you’re still annoyed, right?” I tried to clarify.

  “It’s like I said in Breck. I wish I could get that guy out of your head. I’m tired of fighting against someone who’s not even here. And if you really want him, I can’t help thinking that I’m wasting my time.”

  I sort of wished I hadn’t pushed for clarification. “So why did you ask me tonight?”

  “There’s a reason, but I don’t want to talk about it yet. And if I haven’t said it yet, you look beautiful, Deb.”

  I smiled, warmth filling me at the compliment.

  “I want you to tell me what you’re thinking,” Ben continued. “Why did you say yes tonight?”

  “Because I like you. I’m sorry I said Luke’s name. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. Even more scary, I can’t swear it will never happen again.”

  Ben worked his jaw and his gaze narrowed a bit.

  “I like going to the zoo with you, Ben,” I said. “I like hearing you sing. I like camping with you. I like seeing you in my apartment. I liked”—my heart sped up, but I never was one for holding back—“seeing you hold Gilly. I like waking up when you say my name.”

  Then Ben glanced over at me, his eyes filled with pleasant surprise.

  After a few silent moments, he finally spoke.

  “I like all of those things too.”

  As we got closer to Red Rocks, we slowed to a crawl in a long line of cars entering the park for the concert. At eight o’clock, the sun had dipped behind the mountains, but you could still see a glow of orange and yellow shining behind the rocks. That sunset, along with the sight of the huge rock formations flanking the amphitheater, stole my breath. I wanted to soak in the beauty, to somehow take the magic of it with me.

  It took forever to park; then we had to go to will-call for our tickets. My eyes rounded as Ben accepted two backstage passes from the clerk.

  “What? How did we get those? How long have you had these tickets?” I shrieked as we left the booth. We stopped for drinks before finding our seats.

  “I knew Branham Street was coming, but I hadn’t planned on trying to get tickets. Then this week I was thinking that I’d like to take you—so I called their manager and left a message for Scotty Van Horn.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “You left a message for Scotty Van Horn. Like you know him?”

  Ben nodded, moving us back in the direction of our seats. “Yeah. I do. Scotty and I went to college together and were friends back then. His manager called back and said he’d be leaving two tickets and backstage passes for me and that myself and a guest were invited to the post-show after-party.” He raised one eyebrow at me. “You up for that?”

  I almost bounced up and down. “Of course I am! This is going to be so fun!”

  Ben, again, seemed to lack the gusto I’d seen in him so many times. But I was excited enough for both of us. We found our seats, midcenter, and the glow of the sunset disappeared, replaced by the chill of night and the bright lights on stage and the beat of a drum.

  The crowd was wild and we shared in the energy. Jumping and clapping and singing along, first with the opening act, then later as Branham Street took the stage. Scotty Van Horn, lead singer, grabbed the microphone and started to sing, and the crowd took wild to a new level. And finally, when the encore had finished, Ben and I made the trek to the bottom of the stage. Ben showed security our passes and they let us through. We saw the Red Rocks tunnel, signed by hundreds of singers as they went onstage. I tried to temper my eagerness as we were led to a room with a buffet of food and drinks and people milling about. We were told to help ourselves to whatever we wanted, that it would be a little while before the band arrived, so we got drinks and food and waited.

  Finally the band came in, greeted by applause from all of us. They made the rounds around the room, shaking hands with everyone, taking a few pictures. When Scotty Van Horn saw Ben, his bloodshot eyes grew large. He came over and pulled Ben into a sweaty hug. I stepped back, watching as Scotty held Ben tight, patting him hard on the back.

  “Dude, I didn’t think you’d come. I couldn’t believe it when Dennis said you’d called.”

  Ben nodded, putting a hand on Scotty’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, man.” Scotty’s red eyes moved to me.

  “You must be Ben’s girl. I’m Scotty.” He held out his hand, and I shook it, noticing the jerk in his hand and the way his eyes darted every which way.

  Ben’s girl.

  “I’m Debra Hart. It’s really nice to meet you, Scotty.” The sickly sweet smell of marijuana and who knows what else drifted around the room and off Scotty. Someone put a drink in his hand and he downed it.

  “Let’s find some chairs. I want to catch up,” Scotty said to Ben. “Jack is over there.” Scotty pointed to another corner of the room where a guy was chatting up a group of girls.

  “I should say hello,” Ben murmured.

  Scotty put an arm around me. I tried not to breathe in—the body odor, the weed, the whiskey. “Debra and I will find a place to sit.”

  Ben looked at me, his eyes blinking question marks. I waved him off. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d been backstage at a concert, though normally I would be taking quotes and interviewing. Scotty steered me to a couple of chairs and we sat down.

 
; “So how long have you and Ben been together?”

  “Um. It’s new.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  He nodded. “We go way back.”

  “He told me you guys went to college together.”

  “Yeah. We were tight. Lived in this cheap apartment with a couple of other guys. At least until Jane and Ben got their own place. We partied hard. Those were good times.”

  “I can imagine,” I said, lightly taken aback at his reference to Jane. I glanced over at Ben, who was being hugged by someone named Jack.

  “But you know Benji,” Scotty said, his tone now sarcastic. “Always too preoccupied with the afterlife and all that.”

  I held back a smile.

  Well, that’s one way to call someone a believer.

  “Yeah, there is that.”

  “He was the best out of all of us. It should be him up on that stage.”

  “Branham Street wouldn’t be on top if you weren’t good at what you do,” I reminded him. His head bobbed, but his gaze stayed on Ben.

  “Thanks.” He shook his empty glass.

  Ben came back, the other guy with him, and we stood as he introduced me to Jack. They’d all been friends since college. “Did he tell you we lived together on Branham Street?” Ben asked.

  “That’s where it all started. Do you still sing at all?” Jack asked. I saw the subtle change in Ben. His neck stiffened; he crossed his arms.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a band out here.”

  Someone handed Scotty a fresh drink, and he sucked it down, looking more on edge.

  “Man, you’re singing again? Why didn’t you let me know? I could hook you up with people.”

  “Nah, we’re just a small band. We play local bars and that sort of thing.”