Sidewalk Flower

by Carlene Love Flores

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Still no word from him?”

  “Don’t want to talk about it, Jaxon. Do you have your passport? Don’t forget it.”

  “I’ve got it Trissy, for the sixth time.”

  She rolled her eyes at Jaxon. Stefan passed by behind them, noticing as he strutted down the hall, flaunting his passport high enough in the air so she could see it. Will and Marion would meet them at the hotel in New York City later that night since it was only a four hour drive from their homes in Maryland. All she had to do was get herself and the west side contingent of the band on their plane and in the air on time. Excitement danced down the hallways of the studio but passed by her door. It could have been that Jaxon was standing there blocking it and irritating her to no end.

  “Look, I’ll give him a call, talk to his dad. Explain things.”

  “Your uncle? The one you haven’t so much as sent a Christmas card to or called to say Happy Birthday in the past twenty years? No thanks, Jaxon. We should just let them be.”

  “I’m sorry, Trissy.”

  If she started a fund with money she’d gain each time he’d apologized to her the past week, she’d have enough to wipe out world hunger AND a little something leftover to buy his silence on the subject.

  It had been nine days since she’d lost communication with Lucky. He’d called the one time to let her know he was back in Tennessee. But that was it. No hello, no goodbye. His bag lay stuffed behind the passenger side seat of her Jeep. That hurt the most. He wouldn’t even leave her a message with his home address so she could ship it to him. She must disgust him.

  He had gone back to his home. Back to where things made sense in a non-masochistic way. Where intentions, as good as they might be, didn’t strangle and suffocate the one they had tried to set free. He’s better off in Tennessee, on his land, at his shop, with his family. She’d never forgive Jaxon if he made the call behind her back.

  Ben popped his head in, which she nearly chomped off until she realized who he was, and collected up the stack of fabric samples he’d left with her the week before. Only now they’d been sewn together into full length customized vests, each with two bottom pockets long enough to fit his spindly fingers.

  “Thanks, Trista. I didn’t expect you to get to these, you know.”

  “Hey, it gave me something to keep my mind off…”

  Ben’s face contorted through several odd expressions, settling on wide eyes and a tightly drawn smile. “Yeah, so hey, about that, um, I just got a request for the board that you might be interested in.”

  “I’d love to do that with you Ben, but that’s our thing when we’re not swamped in last minute confirmations or private charter coordinating. I really don’t have the time right now.”

  “All right, well I just got a request to be added to our board from a female located in Bugscuffle, Tennessee, who wants her username to be LuckyMe.”

  “Ben, that doesn’t mean anything. It’s probably just some high school girl who happened to hear that Lonerby is opening up for us.”

  Lonerby was a band that Vance had found in Nashville, more rock and roll than what the Sin Pointe guys usually toured with but they were eager to take the gig and would serve to bring new fans to the shows. She’d met them. The girls were gonna go crazy over their scruffy, boyish charm and good looks. Not to mention their clever lyrics. This was probably one of those girls.

  “Really, I have about five things to get done in the next two minutes. And when the first two involve making sure Jaxon and Stefan are going to be able to board the plane that leaves in less than three hours, I have to give that my priority. I’m sorry, Ben; I just don’t have time for the message board right now.”

  Stefan was operating on an expired driver’s license, hence the need for his passport to be in tip-top shape and Jaxon, well, the accent always got him screened more closely. That and a wry sense of humor that most airport officials didn’t appreciate. Private jet or not, everyone had to pass through security.

  Ben shrugged and left her but went right back to his desk, presumably to approve LuckyMe as a registered user on the Sin Pointe board.

  * * * *

  “Crap, no I’m not a female. How do I edit that, wait…? No, I don’t want to add a picture.”

  Lucky was on his fifth go round of trying to create his profile. It was a dumb idea and made him feel even more ignorant the more he tweaked it. “Screw it, I’ll just be a woman,” he mumbled.

  What he hoped to accomplish by registering with the band’s message board was not clear by any means. Initially, he’d only intended to sign up for the newsletter that would alert him of their tour dates. But then he’d thought about somehow trying to make amends with Trista. If she hadn’t run off with Jaxon already…yeah, it was childish.

  The whole situation was juvenile. The way he’d reacted without even approaching her about it that night before leaving. He was sure he still would’ve left. The kissing had pissed him off, especially after remembering how intimate they’d been that night on the beach, and then in the shower. Jaxon would probably have won, but there would have been a fight. So maybe it really was best that he’d left the way he did.

  No, he knew it was wrong. He’d heard the worry in her voicemail. And he’d still waited two days to call. It was prideful and he should be ashamed. And then the cold call he’d made in his depression. He hadn’t allowed her to speak.

  But what about her?

  So she was worried about him? What if that’s all it was? Maybe Jaxon had won her over completely, finally after the way he kept on with the kissing. Kept on until she submitted. Those were the thoughts that had kept him from calling for so long. And that was why he was ready to give up on the whole message board idea.

  But then he received a confirmation email from S.P. Admin.

  That had to be Ben.

  Maybe he could do the right thing and get a message to Trista through Ben. He doubted she’d accept a phone call after the way he’d treated her. He sat there thinking on what he should do. And then he remembered that he’d left, not her. And that she probably could care less. He didn’t bother with it anymore that morning.

  There was work to be done in the shop and Uncle Bear was already ripe with him over the time he’d spent away. Never mind that he was over thirty and a vital part of the family business, he was still the young gun of the Masons and of course it looked like he’d been foolin’ off to Uncle Bear. There was also a bit of disappointment behind their shorter than usual conversations. Uncle Bear had hoped to hear more about Jaxon, but Lucky was ever more tight-lipped whenever that name had come up the last week.

  He grabbed the sandwich he’d made off his kitchen counter and headed out to his truck. He had to get to work. The drive from his house to the shop was quick. He wished he’d had more time to sit and think and be alone.

  * * * *

  Trista settled into her seat on the jet plane. She toyed with her cell phone, flipping it over in her fingers a couple times. She turned it off. But as soon as they were in the air, she powered it back up. She had to know if Lucky was okay and she didn’t want to cart around his bag forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “When do we land?” Stefan nudged her from across the aisle way. He was stretched out across two white leather seats. “Trista? You’re ignoring me. You know how I get when I’m ignored.” He pulled at one of her straggler curls.

  “Ouch, Stefan. I’m not in the mood.” She looked at the time on her cell phone, glad to have some other reason to stare at it. “Seven hours, thirty minutes.”

  Stefan pierced her with his dark brown eyes. “Trista, it’s gonna be a long six months, it’s all I’m sayin’. You want me to kick his ass for you?” He grinned and his eyes returned to their warm shade of chocolate.

  Even though she loved him and he knew it, she ignored him coldly. Successfully. Stefan shrugged it off and closed his eyes to get some sleep but not before he leaned all the way across the aisl
e and plunked a kiss on her forehead.

  It would be a long night—the first gig of the tour. Jaxon and Stefan, along with Vance, Ben, herself and the head of security—Big Mike, all lounged around the private jet. The pilot would be with them for the duration of the tour and she was usually quick to chat them up. But not this time. She was bent. She toyed with her cell and decided she’d give it a shot.

  It was his devastatingly sweet outgoing message, again. When it was her turn to talk, she realized she hadn’t prepared what to say. She was going to sound like a cellphone-stalking idiot and almost hung up. Maybe it was her southern roots, but some grit she’d been surprised to come across kept her on the line. She turned her head away from the aisle for some privacy, her voice lowered.

  “Lucky, it’s me, Trista. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say…I really just wanted to make sure you were okay and also, I wanted to know if you want me to send you your bag. Because I have it and you don’t…You might need it… If I don’t hear back from you, I understand. But anyway, um, we’re landing in New York later tonight. First show. Anyhow Lucky, I won’t bother you again, I’m really sor—.” It cut her off. Good thing too. She’d rambled on desperately long enough. Some pushover I’m not.

  She sat back and let her phone fall into the pocket of her blue dress. Normally she would use a longer flight like this to jump ahead in her work load. She had a list of three more priority items that needed taking care of before they could go live tonight. But it was the warmth radiating from the plane’s window that drew her in. She moved to the next seat over and pulled up on the hard plastic shade.

  A collective baritone groan rumbled its way down the aisle at the sun’s rays. She ignored them, again. Nothing looked familiar below, no landmarks she recognized. Her favorite part of the flight had already passed. The way they flew as if to head out across the Pacific, only to curl it back around before heading east. She wondered when they’d be flying over Nashville and then figured it wasn’t the way the crow flew. She wouldn’t be anywhere near the state of Tennessee on this plane ride. Nowhere near Lucky. Besides, if he wouldn’t even talk to her, there really was no point of her carrying on with these useless thoughts.

  Sadness filled the seat beside her and she instantly fell out of sync with the sun. She tugged the shade back down and turned her back to it. Someone muttered a thank you, probably Stefan. After getting up to use the restroom and receiving a pat on the shoulder from Vance as she passed by, she took her seat again and decided to get some work done.

  The details for tonight’s venue looked in order. As long as Lonerby showed up on time, everything should work out, as it most always did, sometimes miraculously and by the skin of her teeth. She went over the itinerary for the next show, two nights away in Philly. Everything was already set there, too. Okay, four nights away, Baltimore. Taken care of. Six nights? D.C. Done. The pitfalls of being a workaholic, when the time came that she needed something to do—it had already been done. The only productive thing left for her to do was sleep. She closed her eyes and curled up into a ball, as best she could. It was going to be a long six days, let alone six months.

  * * * *

  Lucky sat at his work bench, carefully eyeing the detailed pattern he was etching out. Saw dust had drifted into his eyes. His father gave him the stink eye when he passed by to go rinse it in the shop bathroom.

  “Where’re your goggles, Lucky?”

  “At my station, Dad.”

  His father ignored him, having made enough of a point. When he came back, he put the goggles on. It wasn’t worth being stubborn. That last chip that had flown at him had hurt. And there was the other matter; he was an adult and needed to act like one.

  “When’s that due to the customer?” His father pointed a finger at the coat rack he was working on. It was in the shape of an old gnarled tree, at the very base of the trunk was the chiseled face of a bear cub. The branches up top were to be the racks. And those resembled the fine veneered antlers of a male deer. The customer had sent in a drawing of what she wanted for her husband, not sure if the Masons would be able to produce such a project. Of course that’s what they had Lucky for. He was the artist of the group, the one with the unique vision and the knack for these more peculiar requests. Peculiar to his dad and uncle. He was almost finished with the cub’s face. Then it would be complete.

  “Tomorrow mornin’.”

  “Well, get it done and then I want to speak with you.”

  Luke Mason never requested to speak with anybody. If he had something to say, he just said it.

  His father eyed him until he nodded and added the polite, “Yes, sir.” He’d planned on going straight home to check the website again. Forget it, he thought, as he worked a tiny whisker in beneath the cub’s chin. That plane has already flown. Get over it.

  The rack was finished just before suppertime. Unfortunately, he hadn’t made it to his truck quickly enough to avoid the talk with his father.

  “Son, you haven’t said much since you got back from California.” Luke stood tall but bent at one hip. One arthritic finger curled around the worn strap of his denim overalls.

  “Well, you haven’t asked about much.” Lucky regretted the buff retort to a man he respected more than most.

  “Your uncle wanted to know about Jaxon. How’s he doin’?” Of course his father would do Uncle Bear’s bidding. Pride ran strong in the Mason bloodline.

  He hesitated. Uncle Bear didn’t deserve to be burdened with his issues against Jaxon. “He’s okay. Busy with his band’s tour.” And then he realized something that hadn’t occurred to him before. Uncle Bear might not have any idea he was a grandfather. “You know, he’s got a beautiful little girl, she just turned five and her name is Maryella.”

  “No kiddin’? Well, if he does know, he hadn’t said anything ‘bout it to me. You know, Lucky, you might speak with your uncle about that. I’m sure he’d like to hear about the girl.”

  “Yeah, I’ll make sure and do that, Dad.”

  “Happen to have any pictures?”

  “Uh, yeah, actually I do have a couple.” He’d avoided sharing them because doing so would mean seeing Trista. But, this was family and who was he to keep that for himself? Maryella was his father’s kin too, his great niece. “They’re on my phone. I’ll go get it.”

  “Your phone?” His dad crowed in disbelief as he went out to his truck to retrieve the digital memories.

  When he got there, he found that he had a missed call and a voicemail from Trista’s number. He dismissed the prompt, saving it for later, when he would be alone. When there wouldn’t be anyone around to hear him cussing, crying or sitting in deafening silence, heartbroken.

  He loped back over to where his father had just locked up the shop doors and crouched in closely so he’d have a good view. The screen was only a couple inches in size and his father’s life-sized hands looked haggard holding up the small device.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Look at that. She’s got your uncle’s smile. Hadn’t she? And Jaxon hadn’t changed that much. Geez, that boy is cocked diesel, just like Bear. Is that their house?”

  “Yeah, that was taken at Jaxon’s home.” He erased the image coming to mind before finishing. “That’s his daughter’s room. They were playing with her stuffed animals.”

  His father admired the small snapshot for a while then Lucky figured he’d need to bring the next one up for him. He handed his father back the phone, and tried to act unaffected.

  “Ah, what a darlin’. Looks like a party.”

  “Yeah, that was the next day. She turned five.”

  “And is that the girl’s mother? She’s a pretty one. Humph.” His father referred to the golden-haired woman with the passionate blue eyes. The joyous smile. Too bad she’d been taken, long before he’d come along.

  “No, that’s…Trista…Hart. She works for Jaxon and the band. She’s very close to Maryella.”

  “Huh, well is that it? You got anymore?”

 
“No, that’s it.” He took back his phone and gave Trista’s face a look of regret, then closed the image folder.

  “What’s that all about, son?”

  “What about what?”

  “The girl, in the photo. You and her friends?”

  “Not exactly. I really don’t want to talk about that, Dad.”

  “All right, well I still think you ought to share those with your uncle. You comin’ to supper?”

  “Not tonight. I’m tired. I’m gonna go back to my place. Get some rest.”

  He hadn’t missed more than a handful of Mason-men suppers. The bulk of those times having just come from his recent trip out west. Tonight would have been a good opportunity to show his uncle the photos. But the thought of telling him for the first time that he was a grandpa was not something he felt up to right now.

  “Maybe breakfast in the mornin’ then?”

  “Yes sir, that sounds better.”

  “Hey, son, I don’t think I have to tell you this, but there’s more to life than livin’ out here, and this shop.”

  “Yes sir, I know that.”

  “Well, if that girl in the picture is part of somethin’ outside all this…”

  He wiped at his nose as if he’d just taken a snort of sawdust. “She’s not. You’ve got it wrong, okay?”

  “Don’t interrupt your father, son.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t believe I am wrong. Your face is sayin’ otherwise. If she’s someone to you, don’t feel like you’re obligated to us. You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He took off for home after that. He had a message to hear.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  New York. It had been appropriately hectic and exuberantly successful.