by Amanda Dick
As I tuned back into the room, I saw that Jack was talking to the couple now, too. I watched them for a few minutes, as they chatted away. They were about my age, early-mid thirties. The guy had short, dark hair and he was tall, leaning against the bar as if he’d been there his whole life. He had the kind of presence that Steve McQueen had on the big screen, like he was someone.
His companion was a woman, and he was one lucky bastard, because she was gorgeous. She had short, dark hair that looked black in the bar light. It came to just above her collar, blunt cut and messy, like she’d just gotten out of bed. Her skin was porcelain pale, and her features were so finely chiselled, they looked like they’d been carved out of marble. She wore a black leather biker jacket and skin tight black jeans that hugged her slight frame. In fact, she was so slim that she bordered on skeletal, like she hadn’t had a decent meal for quite a while.
She was tall, almost as tall as him, but she didn’t wear his confidence. That struck me almost immediately. She was a reluctant beauty, someone who would rather blend into the background than stand out, which was odd considering how obviously beautiful she was. Where he looked content and comfortable, she looked awkward, as if she’d rather be somewhere else.
Her lips tilted up at the corners as she and her companion parted ways with Jack, but it looked more like a gesture of courtesy than an actual smile.
The overall effect was confusing, to say the least. Jack grabbed our beers off the bar and came back over to the booth, setting them down on the table between us.
“Who were they?” I asked, picking up mine.
“Shit, sorry – I should’ve introduced you. That’s Leo Hathaway and his sister, Sass. They’re our new tenants – well, half of them, anyway. Along with his wife, Gemma, and their little girl – can’t remember her name.”
Before I could stop it, my heart leapt at the news. Not a couple, but brother and sister. Interesting. I knew Jack was renting out his Dad’s place, but I didn’t realise the tenants had already moved in.
“They’re in already?”
“Yeah, last week, or maybe the week before. With everything that’s been going on, I guess I forgot to tell you.”
“Did you move your Dad’s stuff out of the garage then?”
“Not yet. I still need to do that, actually. Are you still okay to give me a hand?”
“Sure, just let me know when.”
“I’ll talk to Leo and find out when it’s convenient, then let you know. They’ve got a lot on their plate right now, so I think we’ve probably got a few more weeks before it gets urgent. I told you they’ve bought the Green Door?”
“Yeah, you did. I still can’t believe someone paid money for it, though. I thought they’d be giving the place away by now. How long’s it been empty? Seven years, maybe eight? They must be suckers for punishment.”
“Yeah, well. I’m looking forward to seeing what they do with the place. He told me a few of their plans, and it sounds like it’s gonna be awesome. Be good to have a choice of bars around here again.”
He picked up his beer and took a gulp, and we fell into comfortable silence. What kind of name was Sass? Maybe it was a nickname. Was it short for something? If it was, it was the only thing short about her. She had legs up to her armpits.
“She’s pretty hot,” he said.
I looked up, wondering if I’d said something aloud.
“What?”
“Sass. She’s hot. I can see the attraction,” he deadpanned.
I weighed up the idea of denying it versus agreeing with him. I decided to play it cool instead.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
He smirked.
“Dude, it’s written all over your face.”
“What is?” I snapped.
He picked up his beer, leaning forward. I’d said his was a three-beer problem. I wondered what mine was.
“I haven’t seen you look at a woman like that in… forever. Even Jane, and I was there when you asked her out for the first time.”
I cringed. Jane and I lasted longer than any other relationship I’d ever had, but it wasn’t without its problems – most of them mine. Hell, who was I kidding? All of them mine. We were still friends, and her new boyfriend was a good guy. She deserved better than me, and I had no right to hold a grudge.
“You trying to change the subject?” I said, taking a swig of beer. “I thought we were talking about your impending fatherhood problem?”
I felt a little guilty for bringing it up again, but obviously not enough to stop me.
“Yeah, well,” he huffed. “That’s not going anywhere, is it? Anyway, like I said – she’s pretty hot. I think you’d be crazy not to pursue that.”
“Don’t you think you have enough to worry about without poking your nose into my social life?”
He ignored the hint, and the discomfort mounted.
“That’s the problem – you don’t have one.”
“I don’t need one.”
“Bullshit,” he said, fixing me with one of his patented soul-deep stares. “You’re human, aren’t you? Everyone needs someone.”
I shook my head, taking another swig of beer. This was veering dangerously into chick-flick territory. If he continued following that path, I was out of there.
“I don’t know how many times you have to hear it, but you’re not your Dad. Tell me you get that.”
I glared at him, leaning against the back of the booth.
“I’m serious. What’s stopping you from asking her out?”
“Well, for one thing,” I bristled, sick of the subject already. “She might have a boyfriend. Or she might even be married, for all I know.”
“Stop making excuses, dude. Find out. Make a damn effort, for once. Do you want to end up working eighty hours a week at the garage, spending every night in here for the rest of your life? Don’t you want more than that?”
I wanted to challenge him, especially when he sounded so high and mighty about it. But the truth was, he was right. I didn’t want that – I didn’t want any of it, but it wasn’t that easy
Chapter Five
“No one likes to have less than they did before.”
– Joni Mitchell
Sass
In my other life, the one before the accident, I could perform onstage for two hours, down a bottle of vodka at the after-party, grab a couple of hours sleep and then do it all over again. Perform, drink, sleep, repeat. Days on end were a blur.
That was then.
After the accident, drinking became a crutch. I couldn’t play, but I could still drink. I drank to try and forget. I drank to try and fit in again. Then came the realisation that my old life was gone. It came with a monster emotional hangover that took me months to get over.
I’d been helping Leo out at the bar every day for the past week, and most nights I went to bed feeling like I’d been fed through a wood chipper. My body was still finding ways to compensate, even a year later. My shoulders ached, and even though I was practically skin and bone now, I felt sluggish all the time, like I was carrying extra weight. I had barely touched a drop of alcohol in months. I didn’t miss it, either. I wasn’t an alcoholic, I was a shadow, looking for a dark corner to hide in. It took a while for me to realise that no corner was darker than the hole inside me.
The bar was coming along well, but I could feel the tension in the room as we discussed opening night. Leo was worried, and I couldn’t blame him. We still had a lot to do, and everything was riding on this. He’d sunk a big chunk of their savings into this venture, and he had a wife and child to support. All his eggs were in one basket. We had to make it work, there was no other option, and I had to pull my weight, but I still felt like the weakest link. The more determined I was to prove that I wasn’t, the more obvious it became that I was fooling myself.
I’d dropped a full crate of glasses today. Leo had offered to carry them instead, but I’d insisted, because I was desperate to prove myself. Regardless of the substantial muscl
e damage to my left forearm – not to mention the fact that the arm itself now ended an inch before where my wrist used to be – I had convinced myself that I could do it. I was wearing my prosthesis, I justified. It would provide support. I’d picked up the crate and slid my left arm underneath, grabbing the handle with my right, only I’d grossly miscalculated the weight. It seemed to happen in slow motion. The crate slipped out of my grasp and every last glass smashed into a million pieces.
I exploded to defcon five immediately, kicking the plastic crate and laying every single insult I could think of on it. Except it wasn’t the crates fault, it was mine. Things that had been so simple a year ago were still beyond my grasp – both figuratively and literally speaking – and it frustrated the living shit out of me.
While Gemma made dinner, I sat on the step at the back door, staring into space and trying desperately to find some balance. Ever since the crate incident, the black cloud hovered above me, waiting to pounce. Its presence was so heavy and oppressive, it was like an extra layer of clothing.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to remember what the therapist had told me. Grounding, she’d called it. It was supposed to help me keep my focus. And God, did I need focus.
Count off five things you can see, five things you can hear and five things you can feel.
The backyard of our new home, the steps, my shoes, my black jeans, the dandelion tattoo on the inside of my forearm.
Aria’s laughter, Gemma’s voice, Leo playing guitar, a car driving past, a door closing.
The step beneath my butt, my fingernails digging into my palm, my prosthesis resting against the stump of my arm, a soul-sucking emptiness inside me…
Stop it!
I felt like I was drowning. I had to stop this, I had to handle it. God, I wished I knew how. Every time I got close to figuring it out, I discovered it was a hologram, and instead I was drifting further and further away from a solution.
Desperate, I grabbed on to the positive stuff in my life, like a life-raft. I needed the real stuff, the stuff that anchored me here, to this place, to this time, to this life.
Leo, Gemma and Aria.
I owed them, much more than they would ever know.
“Hey.”
My heart flew into my throat.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
I shook my head, angry at myself for being so self-absorbed that I didn’t even realise that Leo had stopped playing.
“No, it’s okay. I was miles away,” I said, looking up at him. “What was that you were playing?”
He sat down on the step beside me.
“Revolution – John Butler Trio. It’s one of Gemma’s favourites.”
He was probably looking to earn some brownie points, and that was more than likely my fault. I should be doing more than I was, helping him carry more of the load.
Good luck. You can’t even carry a crate of glasses.
“What are you doing out here anyway?” he asked, surveying our new backyard.
He was subtle, but I knew him. He’d tried to placate me after the crate incident, but I’d brushed him off. I didn’t want to be placated, and he had enough to worry about. I’d been distant since we’d gotten home. I tried not to be, but I couldn’t help it. Now he wanted to make sure I was alright.
I wanted to burst into tears, to scream that I wasn’t alright, and that I was sorry and that I was trying, really trying, but it was so unbelievably hard sometimes and I had no idea if I was doing it right.
But I didn’t.
“Just enjoying the peace and quiet,” I said instead.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Reminds me of when we were kids.”
We were in agreement there.
“I don’t miss the city – at all,” he went on. “The traffic, the time it takes to get anywhere, the lack of space and the feeling of being enclosed – by walls, by buildings – even the sky felt lower. I feel like I can breathe again. If everything works out, I think we could really be happy here.”
When he said ‘we’, I had no idea if he was including me. Personally, I was still undecided. Part of me still missed the city. Part of me missed my old life so much it still physically hurt. But another part of me, the little voice inside my head that I could only hear at night, reminded me that I was still healing. I still had to find out who I was and where I belonged. Maybe I belonged here, maybe I just had to give it a chance. Maybe I just had to let go of wanting my old life for long enough to see what this one had to offer.
I looked over at him. He had permanent black smudges beneath his eyes these days. Sitting around a couple of months ago, talking about moving across the country, buying this bar and making it our life had seemed so much easier than the reality of actually doing it.
He wanted the bar to be more than just a job for us, more than just a business. He wanted it to be our salvation. It was his dream, and I wished like hell that I shared his passion, but the brutal truth was that I didn’t feel passionate about much these days.
“Do you remember when we were kids,” I said, the distant past a much safer place to navigate than the recent past. “You used to lock me in the garage when I was pissing you off.”
He chuckled, the sound coming from somewhere low in his chest. Hearing it made me feel lighter, a break in the ever-present darkness that hovered nearby.
“Vividly,” he said, turning to me with a smile as he jostled my shoulder. “You were an annoying little brat.”
Despite everything, I smiled back. Those were good times. Before the chaos of life on the road, before the bright lights and big city, before quasi-fame and the hollow trappings thereof. Before the accident.
“Do you really think I’ve done the right thing?” he asked, his smile fading. “Dragging you guys out here? It’s a huge risk. Sometimes I wonder.”
His green eyes, so like mine, burned into me.
“I can’t figure out if what I’ve done is brave or stupid,” he said. “I mean, what the hell do I know about running a bar? Then I think that it was fate, seeing this place for sale. It’s just what we all needed – to get away, to start again. We deserve a second chance, right? Why not here?”
I only heard what he didn’t say.
You needed to get away. You couldn’t stay there. I didn’t want to lose you, even though you wanted to lose yourself.
“Right,” I said instead, sounding more like three-year-old Aria than myself.
I cleared my throat and tried again.
“You’re right. Why not here? A fresh start.”
It took him a few moments, but he eventually smiled, and I could see the hope in his eyes. I prayed he couldn’t see the lack of it in mine.
Relief lifted some of the worry out of his expression and he sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The air seemed to come alive around us and I could feel the burden lifting from his shoulders, just a little bit.
I had no idea if we’d done the right thing or not. I didn’t know anything anymore. My powers of reasoning were so skewed lately, but I knew that he needed my support.
My gaze fell to his hands. He had hands like Dad, square and strong, with long fingers. Guitar-playing fingers. The music seemed to ooze out of him, even when he was sitting still like this, his hands empty, staring at nothing. Envy ate away at my insides.
He still had it. I didn’t. I’d lost it. No, I’d thrown it away.
Leo was what they referred to as ‘a commanding prescence’. He was thirty-four now, three years older than me, and so much wiser that lately I felt like a child in comparison. He was the sensible one, while I had always been the flighty younger sister, prone to following my impulses. Look where that had gotten me. He’d had his shot at fame, only to give it all up – for love. For Gemma. He’d found someone that meant more to him than the groupies and the paycheck. He had a hundred times more talent than I did, and he was a hundred times more practical, too.
While I was living my shallow life, touring with the band, d
rinking and partying all night with people I thought were my friends, sleeping with guys I’d just met, trying to pretend that it was what I wanted, he was back home, making a family. I guess the joke was on me, because he still had his family. What did I have? Certainly not a career. My so-called fame was actually more of a burden, especially now, when I’d have preferred to fade into the background. My friends had scattered in the wind. But the loss that I felt most keenly, above everything, was that of my music. My soul was empty.
He draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer, kissing me on the temple. I felt like I was five years old again. If anyone could fix this, it was Leo. I trusted him, I just had to remember this feeling, this sense of belonging, of being safe, when everything started to fall apart again.
“Gemma says dinner’s gonna be a while,” he said, releasing me. “I think I’m gonna see what Aria’s up to. She’s way too quiet.”
“Okay. I think I might take a nap till then.”
I stood up and he followed suit.
“You okay, Sass?”
For a moment, I was speechless. I wanted to snap out a hasty reply, but I didn’t think I could make him believe me this time. The truth was, I was just too broken for words. Instead, I just nodded, conjuring up a smile that I hoped would suffice.
From out of nowhere, Aria came running out of the house, hurling herself at my legs. She’d been doing that a lot lately. I think she was missing me. Most nights, Leo and I got home after her bedtime. She held on tight to my knees, burying her face between them as I tried to lean down to give her a hug and separate her from my legs at the same time.
“Hey Doodlebug, where ya been?”
“Sassy sick?” she demanded, her little blonde head finally detaching itself from my knees and looking up at me with big, blue eyes.
For a three-year-old, she was so observant. I needed to remember that.
“Nope, I’m good. Just tired. I’m going to have a nap before dinner. You wanna come too?”
I managed to kneel down and pull her into a hug. She immediately cosied into my side, her face wrinkling up in disgust.
