“Why are we exiting here?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise. You’ll see.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling into the parking lot of a Sam Ash music store.
“Come on, let’s go in.”
“What? Why?” I look down at Reggie sleeping on my lap. “What about him?”
“Hand him to me. I got this.”
As we walk through the front door, we’re stopped by store security.
“No pets allowed,” says a burly guy dressed in all black like a bouncer.
Auntsie smiles. “He’s a rescue dog who needs to be socialized,” she says. “We were told to expose him to a variety of people and environments.”
The security dude, Phil, according to his name tag, looks dubious.
“Like music stores?”
“Exactly, Phil,” Auntsie says.
Phil’s not buying it, but he still waves us in. “Fine. As long as you hold him. If he pees on the floor, he’s out of here.”
Bet he doesn’t get to say that every day.
Auntsie salutes him with her free hand. “Can you point me toward the drums?”
“Left at the guitars. The drum room is in the back of the store.”
“Thanks, Phil. Come on, Quinn baby.”
I smile at Phil and follow Auntsie, who walks through the store like she comes here every day with a one-eyed, toothless Chihuahua mix. I look around, surprised at the number of people who are here at lunchtime on a Wednesday.
“Don’t these people have jobs?” I ask.
“Musicians,” Auntsie answers.
“Right.”
We reach the drum room, and Auntsie makes a beeline for a red sparkle set that’s sitting on a low platform. She steps up onto the riser with Reggie still in tow, sits on the stool, and begins to pump the kick drum pedal. The thump, thump, thump summons a sales associate sporting funky glasses and a long ponytail. He looks confused. I’m guessing it’s because of the dog.
“Uh, can I help you?”
“You sure can, Mike.” Auntsie’s very good at paying attention to name tags. “My niece would like to take these for a spin. Would you have some sticks she can borrow?”
“Sure thing. I’ll get you some.”
I’m shaking my head as we watch him retreat to find drumsticks. “Auntsie, what are you doing? I don’t want to play drums right now.”
“You have to.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to be sure you like them before I buy them.”
“Auntsie, I can’t let you do that. They’re too expensive and—” I’m about to say that I’m not in a band anymore when Mike returns and hands me the sticks.
“Here ya go. Cool glasses, by the way.”
“Back at you.”
Auntsie vacates the seat and motions for me to sit. I was kind of hoping Mike would leave, but no. He’s in this for the long haul. He crosses his arms over his chest and settles in for the Quinn Show. This is so embarrassing. Drummers usually get to hide behind the band. Here, on the riser, under the fluorescent lights of Sam Ash, I am the band. I make myself as comfortable as I can under the circumstances and begin playing a simple groove—a groove I’m certain I won’t screw up.
I’m holding my own when Mike calls out, “Try a roll!”
“Hey, Mike,” I hear Auntsie say. “Do these come in green?”
“They do. Let me check our inventory to see if we have them in stock.”
When Mike’s out of sight, I get fancier, playing some of the more complicated drum parts I worked out for Malcolm’s songs. I’m really getting into it when my phone buzzes with a text. I can’t help it. I stop to check it. It’s been four days since I’ve seen or spoken to Malcolm. His silence is burning a hole in my stomach. I glance at my phone. It’s Liam. CALL ME!
The exclamation point and all caps give me a heart arrhythmia.
“Q!” He sounds breathless when he answers the phone, and I panic.
“What’s wrong? Is Malcolm all right?”
“Geez, Q. It’s like you have an Italian mother’s sixth sense. He’s fine. I’m fine too, by the way.”
I feel like a jerk. “Liam, I’m sorry I—”
“Yeah, yeah, save it, Q. We’ve got a huge problem.”
I grip my drumsticks tighter. “Problem?”
“Malcolm’s auditioning drummers on Saturday.”
I’m being replaced? The irony of finding out this news while I’m surrounded by drums is not lost on me. So much for leaving the decision about the Keegan’s gig and the tour up to me. Just friends. Just nothing, Malcolm meant. I try to play it cool.
“Well, it makes sense. I quit the band. He needs a drummer.”
“Un-quit. Come to practice tomorrow night.”
They’re practicing without me?
“Who’s playing drums?”
“Malcolm’s going to play drums while Travis learns the bass parts.”
“Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”
“Q, we need you there.”
“Malcolm doesn’t seem to think so. Look, if he wants to audition drummers, I’m not going to stop him. I was considering playing with you guys at the Keegan’s gig, but the tour—” I break off because even though I’m hurt and pissed, I know Malcolm’s right to move on. I don’t know what I want and I can’t expect him to sit around waiting for me to decide. He leaves in two weeks. “He should replace me.”
“You’re irreplaceable, Q. Malcolm knows that.”
When did Liam get so sweet?
“Thanks for saying that, but we both know there are much, much better drummers out there.”
“Maybe, but there’s only one Q. Come to practice tomorrow night.”
I miss our power trio. I really do. But the magic the three of us had is already gone. The addition of Travis changed our dynamic. And yet, I know in my heart that Travis has more of a right to be part of Malcolm’s next band than I do. They shared the same dream once. They probably still do.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do, Q. I’m going to tell Malcolm to call you.” Liam hangs up.
Auntsie gives me a side squeeze as I step down off the drum platform. “Sounds like Malcolm’s taking care of Malcolm. Might be time for Quinn to take care of Quinn.”
Mike returns before I can answer.
“We don’t have the green in stock, but if you order them today, we can have them shipped to your house for free.”
“I don’t think—” I begin.
But Auntsie cuts me off by handing me Reggie.
“Hold the dog, please.” Then she reaches into her bag, whips out a credit card, and gives it to Mike. “We’ll take them.”
THIRTY-SIX
I’m a drummer with drums, but no band.
That’s what I’m thinking as we merge back onto the Garden State Parkway toward the shore. I know I won’t be showing up for practice tomorrow night. Not without hearing from Malcolm first. It would be too awkward.
“Auntsie?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks again for the drums. I love them, but you didn’t have to do that. They were so expensive.”
“I wanted to. Consider it your birthday present and Christmas present.”
I laugh. “For the next two years, you mean? And you’re okay with me setting them up in the living room?”
“Yup. They can stay there for as long as they want.”
“I’m pretty sure they want to stay through the fall, maybe longer.”
“Fine with me, but they should probably discuss that with your mom.”
We’re crossing the Driscoll Bridge, “The Big Bridge,” as we used to call it when Mom drove us from North Jersey to the shore. It spans the Raritan River and marks the halfway point in our trip.
“Auntsie? Do you mind making some additional stops on the way home?”
“How many is additional?”
“Two. Possibly three, if we’re feeling ambitious.”
“The destinations will determine my level of ambition.”
“Well, one of those stops definitely needs to be food. I’m starving,” I say.
“A fish taco would definitely incent me. What are the other two stops?”
“Monmouth University and Ocean County College.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Cemeteries and colleges? Next time I have a day off, I’m so picking our destinations.”
“At least I didn’t drag you to a Narcan training session. That’s where I’m going tomorrow.”
“Seriously?”
I nod. “The health department is hosting it.”
Auntsie shakes her head in a way that says I’m not touching that topic now. “I was teasing about the colleges. I’m actually thrilled to hear you’re thinking about college.”
“Don’t get too excited yet. I’m only tossing around some ideas here.” I tell her about my phone call with Ricky and how it got me thinking. “Monmouth has an audio engineering program, but it’s super expensive, and I’m not sure I’m ready to commit. I thought I might ease into the whole college thing with a couple community college classes in the fall.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? This is exciting.” She puts on her blinker to exit the highway. “Okay then. Pee stop for Reggie, fish tacos for us, then on to the colleges.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“I hate to admit that Mom could be right, but yes. Yes, it does.”
My whirlwind of college tours with Auntsie and Reggie helps me forget about Malcolm and the cold reality that he’s moving on without me. At times, especially while Auntsie’s reliving her glory days at Rutgers, I don’t even think about how much it hurts that I haven’t heard from him. Liam said he was going to tell Malcolm to call me. Did he? Will Malcolm listen? He didn’t have any trouble listening when I told Kiki to tell him I needed space.
By the time we leave Ocean County College, poor Reggie is exhausted. He’s actually snoring in the back seat. We take him home, feed him, and leave him sleeping comfortably on the couch. So much for setting limits.
That night, Auntsie and I walk along the boardwalk, eating blue cotton candy. The sun is setting on what seems like a very long day. It’s like I ran an emotional marathon. I’m both energized and nervous by the thought of taking college classes, and unsure if I want to remain a bandless drummer.
“Liam wants me to go to practice tomorrow night. He thinks I should play the Keegan’s gig and go on tour.”
“What do you want to do?” Auntsie asks.
I pluck off a big chunk of cotton candy and let it dissolve on my tongue. “It’s hard. I’m worried about Malcolm being on tour. Travis has already challenged his sobriety. What kind of friend hands a recovering addict a beer? I feel like I should go, even if we are only friends. Even if I’m not the drummer. Someone needs to have Malcolm’s back.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What do you want to do?”
I can’t answer that without knowing what Malcolm wants me to do. But I know that’s not what Auntsie want to hear.
I shrug. “Today has given me a lot to think about.”
“It certainly has.”
We walk out to the edge of the ride pier and watch two kids tethered to a cable get hoisted two hundred feet into the air and hurled out over the dark ocean like a human slingshot.
“I have a feeling if I ever did that, it would be the last thing I ever did. They’d have to use the defibrillator on me,” Auntsie says.
“Come on, let’s go to the free fall tower.”
“That’s more my speed.”
After handing over our tickets, we kick off our flips-flops at the base of the tower and harness ourselves into our seats. We wait for the ride attendant to do a final safety check before she gives the all clear. This is the moment that makes me feel like I need to pee. The ride’s hydraulics make a loud chuuush and we’re whisked to top of the hundred-fifty-foot tower. My heart pounds while we’re held in place, anticipating the drop. I take in as much as I can: the boardwalk’s neon glow, the waves crashing for miles along the shore…and then bam! I’m falling. Auntsie and I scream the whole way down. When we hit the bottom, the thrill of the fall is immediately replaced by the melancholy of falling back to earth. Gravity. It gets us every time.
THIRTY-SEVEN
I stay glued to my phone while getting ready for my shift at the Ben Franklin, bringing it everywhere, including the bathroom while I shower. I keep hoping Malcolm will call or text to tell me about the drummer auditions, to ask me to reconsider practice tonight, to tell me he misses me. I’d also be okay with him saying he never wants to see me again. Sad, crushed, but okay. It’s the not knowing that’s killing me.
I’m rinsing the conditioner from my hair when I hear my ringtone. I rush out of the shower. With water dripping into my eyes and no glasses, I can’t make out the caller ID. I pick up.
“Malcolm?”
There’s a long pause before a woman who isn’t Malcolm speaks.
“Is this Quinn?”
Her voice is vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it.
“Yes, this is Quinn.”
“You sound so grown up.”
“Um, who is this?”
“Sorry, hon. This is Mrs. Sullivan, Lynn’s mom.”
I wrap myself in a towel and sink down onto the edge of the tub, dizzy. The shower steam, poor ventilation, and the lump in my throat are preventing any oxygen from getting to my brain.
“Quinn, are you there?”
“Yes, yes. I’m here. Sorry. Hello. How are you?”
“I’m okay, hon. How are you? Your mom tells me you’re living with your aunt this summer. I called her for your phone number. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? No, of course not.” I forgot how, like my mom, Lynn’s mom used to call everyone “hon.” Do you want some more milk, hon? Did you want to stay for dinner, hon? How can she still stand to call me that after all that’s happened?
“We were at the cemetery yesterday, visiting Lynn. We must have missed you by a few hours. The lovely flowers you left were still fresh.”
It takes me a few minutes to process that Lynn’s family and I visited her grave on the same day. I open the bathroom door, let in the fresh air, and breathe deep.
“Again, I hope you don’t mind, hon, but we read the letter you wrote to Lynn. After reading it, I knew I had to reach out. I had to clarify something. Those days and weeks that followed her death were very dark for all of us. I think maybe you didn’t get all the information, or maybe you don’t remember. The person in the SUV that killed Lynn was texting while driving. Not only that, but she also ran a red light. There were witnesses. She was looking at her phone at the time of the impact. She never hit her brakes. She never even saw our Lynn. If she’d looked up… If she’d hit her brakes… But that’s not what happened.”
“Or if we’d gone to the library that day like Lynn wanted to,” I say in a voice just above a whisper. “Or if she hadn’t followed me across that busy street.”
“Quinn, listen to me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after losing Lynn, it’s that the ‘what ifs’ will kill you. You are not responsible for what happened to Lynn. After reading your letter, I couldn’t let you live another day thinking that you were.”
She’s being far too generous. I’m having a hard time believing that I deserve this reprieve. I’m comfortable with my guilt. I wear it like a scratchy, wool scarf in all kinds of weather.
“Mrs. Sullivan, what I wrote in that letter, I should have said those words to you too. I’m sorry. I’m so, s
o sorry.”
“I know you are, honey. And I’m sorry you’ve spent all this time blaming yourself, but I want you to know we never did. Lynn wouldn’t have wanted that. She loved you. You were her best friend.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. “Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan. Thank you for saying all this.”
“I’m happy we found your letter and that timing…fate, maybe…brought us back together.”
“It wasn’t fate. It was Lynn.”
It takes her a few seconds to respond, and when she does, I can tell she’s crying.
“Take care of yourself, Quinn. I told your mom that next time we’re in town, we should all get together.”
“I’d like that.”
“Oh, and one more thing before I hang up. Your song? It’s beautiful. You have a gift, hon. I hope you use it.”
Sometimes the ocean wipes the slate clean. Other times, it’s a phone call. And the power of forgiveness.
I sit there, frozen, in my towel for a long time as Mrs. Sullivan’s words slowly penetrate the portion of my brain where this tragedy has lived like a parasite, eating away at my life. When I finally move, my hair is almost dry. I walk to my room. My limbs are lighter, like the anchor that held me down for so long has finally broken free. I could run five miles if I wanted to. I don’t want to, but it’s amazing to feel like I could. I grab my cell and dial the one person I need to talk to right now.
“Lynn’s mother called.”
“Tell me everything.”
“It could take a while,” I say.
“That’s okay. I’ve always got time for you, hon.” Although it isn’t always easy to tell with Mom, I think I hear her smiling through the phone.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Mom sounds genuinely surprised.
“For being a screwup. For the way my screwups affected and embarrassed you. I’m sorry if I let you down. I know I’m a disappointment.”
“Quinn, listen to me. You’ve never been a disappointment. I’m proud of you. I’m sorry I never knew you felt responsible for Lynn’s accident. Until I talked to Mrs. Sullivan yesterday, I had no idea how you felt. You’ve been living alone with a hurt you should have shared. After the accident…” There are tears in her voice. “I couldn’t reach you. I knew you were hurting and it broke my heart. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. I worried about the choices you were making. You seemed determined to hurt yourself.”
August and Everything After Page 15
