by Trudy Stiles
“But she didn’t do anything wrong!” he pleads with her. “Neither of us did!”
“I’m sorry, young man. But you need to leave. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t appreciate the tone you’re taking with me right now.”
“But–” His voice is cut off by the door slamming in his face.
I hear footsteps getting louder on the hardwood floors, coming toward my room. I pull my knees into my chest and squeeze my eyes shut. My door flies open, and I feel the baseball hat land on the bed next to me.
“I don’t want to see your disgusting face for the next week. Do you hear me, you little bitch?”
I nod in compliance, praying she doesn’t punch me again. She peers out the window, straining her neck to see the Wiffle ball field behind Heath’s house. She snaps the blinds closed and they drop to the windowsill with a bang.
“And look at the mess you made in here. You’re never going to get that blood off of those perfect white pillow cases!”
Stop! Just stop!
“I won’t tell your father what you did. He’d be livid if he knew you disobeyed me.”
I didn’t do anything!
I’m afraid to open my mouth at all but I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“I can’t hear you, what did you say?”
“I’m sorry,” I sob.
“That’s more like it. Remember, you’re grounded for the entire time your father is gone. I don’t want to see your face at all. In your room except to eat. Blinds stay closed.”
My door slams shut, and I open my eyes. She’s gone.
I push my face into my bloody pillow and scream, crying until I’m hoarse.
Daddy, I need you. Please come home.
Heath
Present
THE DRIVER TURNS the town car into my driveway, winding toward the house. It’s not as immense and sprawling as some of the other guys’ houses, but I don’t need as much space as they do. I’m still single, after all. Well, mostly single. There is someone I see on a regular basis, but it’s more like a friends-with-benefits situation, and neither of us is emotionally attached to the other.
In fact, I should send her a text to let her know I’m home. I pull my phone from my pocket as I step out of the car.
“I’ll get your bags, Sir,” the driver says, interrupting me, as the the trunk flies open.
“Thanks, you can leave them right inside the foyer.” I slide a fifty-dollar bill into his hand and unlock my front door.
As I step inside, a fresh scent hits my nose. Home. It feels so fucking good to be here.
Rosie must have been here this morning, getting the house ready for my arrival. There are a few great things that have come out of my odd and somewhat close relationship with Garrett. One of them is Rosie. She’s his housekeeper’s, Peggy’s, best friend. Peggy is also Garrett’s aunt-in-law, or something like that. There’s a fresh loaf of Italian bread on the counter which means she made her delicious lasagna for me. I open the refrigerator to see that it’s been fully stocked and the aluminum-foil-covered-tray is sitting on the middle shelf with the word “lasagna” scribbled on the top in black marker.
I bet she also put fresh sheets on my bed, which reminds me of the reason I took my phone out in the first place. I glance back down at it and type.
Me: I’m home. Want to come by tonight? Rosie made lasagna :)
As I’m about to hit ‘send,’ my phone rings in my hand. My mother’s name appears. I abandon sending the text and answer.
“Hi, Mom.”
“I’ve been tracking your flight all day. I’m so happy to hear your voice, but you sound so tired.”
“I slept a lot on the plane,” I reassure her. My driver carries my guitar case in, placing it on the floor next to the rest of my luggage. He waves his hand and silently backs out of the door, pulling it closed.
“Well, you need to get a lot of rest to combat that jet-lag I’m sure you’re going to have. You know how much I worry about you when you travel.”
“I’m good. I promise.” I walk to the back stairs off the kitchen and go up to the second floor. My bedroom doors are wide open, and the fresh scent grows stronger. She definitely washed my sheets.
“I’m staring at my bed right now,” I say. And it’s going to get some good use as soon as I can send that text.
“Good.”
“How’s Dad?” I change the subject, realizing I haven’t spoken to him in weeks.
“He’s busy closing things down in his office in the city. Before I forget, his retirement dinner is two weeks from tomorrow. Make sure it’s on your calendar.”
“I’m already aware and have confirmed it’s in there at least three times since you told me a couple of months ago.” She’s been dropping ‘hints’ about how important his retirement dinner is and how much she wants me to be there. She’s known our tour schedule for over a year and planned the dinner aware I’d already be home.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she says. “You never know if something more important could pop up.”
“Really? Something more important than Dad’s retirement?”
He’s been the District Attorney for Philadelphia for almost two decades, but working in private practice part-time for the past five years. He’s been “transitioning” from the DA’s office for a while as his replacement was officially sworn in last month. He’s happy to just start practicing law, without all of the high profile prosecutions he’s usually involved with. His office is in Bucks County, not too far from where I live. He gets pulled into cases every now and then, mostly on a consultant basis. And the national news channels will have him speak about the higher profile, nationally-televised cases. I know he secretly thrives off of those cases. My mother constantly worries about the repercussions of the past, especially when some of the more dangerous criminals he’s put behind bars are up for parole hearings.
“We’re both so happy you’re home, Heath.”
“Me, too. I hope our next tour isn’t as long as this one.” But I know it’s already being planned. We were able to get a lot of writing done in Europe, even taking the opportunity to record a couple new tracks during our downtime in London. Stuart is already lining up venues for next year, so our hiatus isn’t going to be too long.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be around for a little while.”
“Are you bringing anyone to your father’s dinner?” she asks, trying to be subtle. She’s been wanting me to settle down for years.
“I’m not sure. I may be seeing someone later tonight, maybe I can ask her?”
“Oh! That’s so exciting! Who is she? Have we met her before? How long have you been seeing her?”
“Mom. Calm down. It’s nothing serious. I see her every so often, but I’m not in a relationship or anything.” I try to let her down easy, but the next question out of her mouth could very well be, ‘When are you getting married?’
“Well, I’ll need to know by next Tuesday when the final headcount for the caterer is due. Do you think you’ll know by then?” Her question is pointed, but can also mean so many things.
“I’ll know if I’m bringing a ‘plus one,’ if that’s what you’re asking,” I respond and can’t help but smile.
“Thank you.”
“Okay, I gotta run. I need to catch a nap before I do anything tonight.”
“Okay, honey. I’m so happy you’re home. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
I disconnect and toss my phone onto the bed next to my pillow. I kick off my jeans, stepping out of them and dive onto the bed. I’m asleep before I can pull the covers around me.
I WAKE UP to the sound of banging coming from the first floor. The room is dark, and I reach for my phone to check the time. It’s dead. Fuck.
The banging continues until I reach the front door, tearing it open. “What the hell?” I ask, Garrett’s hand mid-swing, about to bang again.
He looks me up and down, shaking his head as he walks past me into the foyer. “If I have t
o see another one of you assholes in your underwear, I’m going to punch something.”
I shut the door and follow him through my house into the den.
“Where’s your shit?” he asks, looking around somewhat frantically.
“What the fuck are you talking about. What shit?” I throw my hands out to my sides.
“Your luggage? Your gear?”
“Why?” The hall clock begins to chime, and I notice it’s ten o’clock at night. I’ve been asleep for almost seven hours. Holy shit.
“They sent your guitar to my house, so you must have mine. And I need it.”
I shake the cobwebs from my head and look at him. “You need it now?”
“Yes. You know how it is, you start hearing chords in your head and you just need to get that shit down on paper before you lose it.”
“G, you have about forty guitars at your house. Why do you need that particular one?”
“Because that’s THE ONE.”
“What?” Is this a dream? What is this fuckery that’s happening in my foyer right now? And why am I still in my boxers?
“It’s the only guitar I can use when writing music. None of the others work for me. That’s THE ONE,” he proclaims again and starts pacing.
“Dude, you need some sleep. And some Xanax.”
“I’ll leave as soon as you give it to me.”
He follows me back into the foyer where the pile of suitcases remains from earlier today. I point to the case that is clearly not mine and wonder how I didn’t notice it when the driver brought it in. “There you go.”
He pushes the case on its side and fumbles with the combination locks. It pops open and he strokes the black and white American Telecaster with the tips of his fingers without removing it from the case. “There she is,” he swoons, and I start to get itchy.
“Are you done eye-fucking your guitar?”
He snaps out of his lusty trance and looks up at me smiling. “All is now right with the world, dude.” He shuts the case gently, spinning the locks so it’s secure.
“Well then. That was enjoyable.” I smirk and walk into my kitchen. “Are you staying for a little while or do you have candles burning at home, awaiting your return with your girl?” I chuckle and pull a cold bottle of water from my fridge. I eye the lasagna and realize I was supposed to do something earlier. What was it?
“I’m good. I need to go. Kai is still awake, he was super amped when I got home and Sam texted me when I got here to tell me to hurry back. He wants me to tuck him in, then I’m riding this adrenaline until I can’t ride it any longer. I have a long night of writing ahead of me.”
“You need to get some rest. Trust me, I feel like a different person now that I’ve slept for a few hours.”
“I don’t get it,” he says. “Coming back from Europe shouldn’t affect you as much as going to Europe. Right?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I have no idea how jet-lag works. I just know either way, I’m a fucking mess for days. On that note, I’m going back to bed.”
“Later,” he replies as he strides to the front door. He pauses before he leaves. “Come by tomorrow if you can, I’d love for you to hear the music I’m writing for the songs you wrote. I think you’re really going to love it.”
He closes the door, and I lock it behind him.
Those songs I wrote while we were on the road in Europe were written for one person.
Someone who’ll never hear me sing those words.
Someone who’s been gone for almost twelve years.
Someone I’ll never forget.
Someone I’ll love until the day I die.
Noelle
Past
Age 14
MY EYES POP OPEN, my room filled with warm sunshine. I jump out of bed with a spring in my step, tossing my favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Jingles, on top of the rumpled sheets. Today’s my birthday and for the first time ever, I’m having a party. I hear a noise outside my window and peek out to see workers in the backyard, setting up a tent with tables and chairs. The pool is being cleaned and all of the umbrellas on the surrounding patio have been opened.
The invite list is extensive at the urge of my father. He wanted me to invite my entire class, boys included. So I’m expecting at least twenty-six of my friends and classmates. My heart beats quickly, and I giggle with excitement. Hanging over my closet door is a sundress cover up with a really cute one-piece plum-colored bathing suit hanging next to it. They coordinate perfectly, and I love them. Tonya actually took me shopping last week and helped me pick them out along with a fantastic pair of dressy flip-flops. She’s been really nice lately, quite uncharacteristic for her. I haven’t needed to walk on eggshells as much. It’s also helped that my father hasn’t traveled for a few months and has been home most of the summer with us, working out of his home office. They even took a trip to Napa last month to celebrate their wedding anniversary, and she came home with the biggest cluster of anniversary diamonds on her right ring finger.
Life has been good. And peaceful.
I step into the bathroom that’s attached to my bedroom so I can wash my face and brush my teeth. After splashing cool water on my face, I look at myself in the mirror. I’ve gotten taller over the past year, according to my pediatrician. I talked with her about the changes that have happened to me since I got my first period late last year. My father was really uncomfortable when it happened and Tonya was at a spa weekend with her girlfriends, so he took me to the doctor right away. Thankfully, my pediatrician, Dr. Kathryn, is so easy to talk to. I’ve been completely avoiding saying anything to Tonya since Dr. Kathryn gave me her personal cell phone to call her with any questions that I had. This has been a tremendous relief, and thankfully, I haven’t had the need to call her. But it’s so comforting to know she’s there if I need her.
After I shower, I pull the bathing suit on, noticing the small buds on my chest. I’m suddenly self-conscious. Thankfully, my dress will cover me, hiding my tiny breasts. Some of my friends are much more developed than me, and I hope my girlish chest will go unnoticed.
Tapping on my bedroom window startles me. I quickly pull the dress over my head and walk through my room to see Heath opening the window before I can reach it.
“Hey!” I scold him. “I was in the bathroom. How about some privacy?”
His cheeks flush as he notices the dress that I’m wearing. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Nice dress.”
The dress falls just below my knees, and I flop into the plush chair next to my window. With my bedroom on the first floor, it’s a common occurrence for Heath to stop by unannounced. We’ll sit just like we are now, him outside the window, me in the chair. We talk about everything, but mostly the Wiffle ball games we still play together several times a week. We’ve played hundreds of games against each other since I moved in four years ago–our scores diligently recorded in a little notebook that he carries around with him constantly.
“So I guess we aren’t playing a game today?” he asks, flipping the notebook through the window so it lands on my lap.
“Obviously. It is my birthday today, after all.”
“Oh, I know. How could I forget? You’ve been talking about it for the past three weeks.” He pulls his knees to his chest as he adjusts his position in the well-worn grass outside my floor-to-ceiling window. “It’s hot out here today.” He looks toward the pool. “Good thing it’s a pool party.”
“Yeah,” I say and start to flip through the notepad. “Did you record yesterday’s score? The game I won?” I joke as I search for the record of our game. Months and months of scores scroll by, and I suddenly notice a change in the pattern of notes scribbled. The page after the last game has words scrawled sloppily on it. It looks like a poem. “Hey, what’s this?” I ask.
He quickly leans through the window and swipes the pad from my hands. “Nothing,” he replies flustered, tucking the notepad back into his shorts.
“Whatever,” I mutter. “No reason to act all weird about it.”<
br />
“It’s nothing, okay?”
“Fine,” I snap back at him, now I’m uncomfortable.
“What time should I be here for the party?” he asks, changing the subject. His face is still flushed, his ears bright red.
“It said the time on the invitation,” I respond, folding my arms across my chest.
“Oh, I don’t remember seeing it. I didn’t think you sent one to me since I talk to you every single day.” His eyes lighten up, and a smile spreads across his face.
“It starts at noon.” I glance over to the clock on my nightstand. “You have just under two hours to get yourself ready.” I smile back, and the awkward tension is no longer in the air.
“Should I bring my Wiffle ball stuff? We could play boys versus girls.”
“Sure, that would be fun!” I know my father suggested a couple of things for us to do and he hired a DJ. But I’d rather play ball over dancing any day.
“Great!” He begins to stand up, but bends back down to stick his head through my window. “You look really pretty, Noelle.” He blushes again and pulls his head out of my room, taking off across the lawn toward his house.
I lean back in my chair and smile. I feel pretty today.
I RUB MY ARM along my forehead, wiping the sweat that has formed. Tears sting my eyes as I attempt to avoid eye contact with Heath, who is sitting across from me at a table by the pool. Some awful music plays loudly from the DJ booth, but the DJ is nowhere to be seen since he disappeared inside the pool house about thirty minutes ago. He’s running this crappy music on a constant loop.
“Maybe the invitation had the wrong time?” Heath insists, reaching across the table to grab my hand.
I jerk it away, placing it in my lap. “No, Heath. I saw the invitations myself. It said very clearly that my party started at noon and ended at three.” Tears now spill down my cheeks, and I don’t attempt to wipe them away. “My birthday party started two-and-a-half hours ago. Where is everyone?”
My shoulders start to shake as I pull my hands from my lap to cover my face, sobbing uncontrollably.
