Rifts and Refrains

by Devney Perry

  I’d leave.

  But maybe this time, I’d look back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Quinn

  “How did you sleep?” Mom asked as I filled my morning coffee mug.

  “Good. You?”

  “Like a rock,” she said, tidying up the kitchen. “I was exhausted.”

  When I’d come home from Graham’s last night, she’d been nearly asleep beside Dad on the couch. The TV had been on, volume low, playing a black-and-white classic from AMC—Dad’s favorite channel.

  Neither of them had mentioned my disappearance from the funeral reception. Either they’d been too tired for conversation or they just hadn’t cared.

  “Sorry I snuck out early yesterday.”

  “Oh, it’s fine. We had lots of hands to make the work light. Our fridge is packed with leftovers, and I won’t have to cook for a week. And that’s just a third. I sent trays home with Walker and Brooklyn.”

  “It was a lovely service.”

  “That it was.” She nodded. “Your song was . . . beautiful. Truly.”

  My heart warmed. It had been a long time since Mom had complimented my music. Once, I’d lived for her praise as I’d sat at the piano. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You have far surpassed anything I could have taught you. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet your friends.”

  “You were busy.” And I hadn’t expected anyone to make time to sit with Jonas and Ethan yesterday. “Maybe another time. Maybe you could come to a show.”

  “That would be exciting.”

  Not a yes. Not even a maybe. A cheerfully disguised dodge that most would have assumed was agreement, when really it was a no.

  “Are they still here? Your friends?” she asked.

  “No, Jonas and Ethan”—I stressed their names since she hadn’t asked and I didn’t like them being categorized as generic friends—“left yesterday. They only flew in for the service.”

  “Oh.” Her forehead furrowed, likely trying to figure out where I’d spent my day if it hadn’t been with them. I gave her props for not asking. She was doing her best to remember I was an adult.

  “I promised Colin a drum lesson,” I told her. “He’s a pretty amazing kid.”

  “You were at Graham’s?”

  There was an edge to his name. The same wary tone I’d heard daily in high school.

  Mom loved me. Mom loved Graham. But Mom had always been nervous and skeptical about the love between Graham and me.

  I nodded. “Yeah. They took pity on me and let me stay for Chinese takeout.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  It didn’t sound good.

  “Colin is a natural at the drums.”

  “He’s a natural at nearly everything,” she said. “He reminds me of Graham in that way.”

  “I thought the same thing myself.” Would Colin do something with the drums? Would he practice what I’d taught him? I’d told him to call me if he got stuck, but I doubted I’d hear from him. Graham’s rejection, though polite, had been absolute.

  He didn’t want me making calls to Colin, but what if I visited? Would he turn me away if I were here in Bozeman? I wouldn’t be able to return often, but every couple of years was possible. I’d fly in to see my parents, siblings, niece and nephews. Then I’d get to hang with Colin too.

  “I was thinking, what if I came home for Christmas? Would that be all right?”

  Mom blinked. “Really? Of course! We’d love to have you.”

  I might have to bring Nixon along. We normally spent our holidays together—Nixon, Jonas and me. There were many Christmases and Thanksgivings where we’d been on the road, either at a show or on our way to one. The few times we’d been on break, we’d had a quiet gathering in Seattle.

  Now that Jonas had a family of his own, we’d have to change tradition.

  “Is Dad gone already?” I asked.

  “You know how he is on Sunday mornings.”

  Yes, I did. Because while a lot had changed, some things never would. Dad had likely woken up at four to be at the church before dawn. He’d practice his sermon one last time before settling into his office for coffee. Then he’d bustle around, talking to anyone who needed a few extra words this week.

  Dad thrived on Sunday mornings. They were when he performed. I expected today, like last Sunday, would be hard without Nan. But the entire church would be there to lift him up, like he’d lifted them so many times before.

  “It’s so lovely out this morning, I was going to walk over,” Mom said. “Is that okay with you?”

  “Oh, uh . . .” I hadn’t planned on going to church. My time there this week had been more than enough.

  “Please? It would mean a lot to me if you were there today.”

  Shit. “Okay, sure. I just need to put on some makeup and dry my hair.”

  “We’ve got time.”

  After eating a bowl of cereal, I hustled upstairs to finish getting ready. The vacuum flipped on as I was in the middle of my makeup. Mom had probably already dusted the main floor.

  While Dad had been at church, cleaning had been our ritual. We’d dress for church, then clean our bedrooms and around the house. The chore board in the kitchen was long gone, and oddly, I missed seeing it beside the fridge.

  This house wasn’t the church’s parsonage. My parents had decided to buy their own home when Dad had taken his position here, wanting that separation from the church. There was a security knowing that if he decided to retire, he wouldn’t have to leave his home.

  But even though this wasn’t church property, it didn’t stop people from visiting often, especially on Sundays. So Mom always kept it clean in preparation for unexpected visitors.

  She was waiting by the door when I came downstairs, the smell of lemon polish and window cleaner hanging in the air.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Ready.” Or not. I slid on my sunglasses as she opened the door. My drumsticks were tucked securely into my jeans pocket.

  The walk to church was fresh and unrushed. The air was warm and clean. I filled my lungs, savoring the smell I’d miss after tomorrow. There was a comfort in the sunshine and green-grass scent of a Montana summer. I’d been ignoring the comfort of this place all week. I’d turned a blind eye to the peace here.

  But the truth was, it was nice to be home, even with all that had changed.

  “I missed it here,” I told Mom. “More than I’d let myself admit.”

  “Are you happy, Quinn? Your life is so exciting. You’re always on the move. Do you enjoy it?”

  “Most days. It’s not as exciting as it looks. I mean, the shows are amazing. There’s nothing like it. The energy and the noise. But the days in between are mostly quiet. We travel. We work on songs while we’re on the road.”

  She smiled. “All I see is the fun. It does look wild.”

  “See? Where?”

  “Instagram. Duh.”

  I giggled. “Duh.”

  My mother was on Instagram, another follower I’d missed in the explosion.

  “I think we will try to make it to a show,” she said. “Your dad’s due for a vacation.”

  “What?” I nearly tripped over my own feet. “You think he’d come?”

  “I think your dad loves you very much.” She took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “And he’s had a lot of time to think about how things went so terribly wrong.”

  “Then why—”

  “Ruby!” a woman called from across the street as she pushed a stroller.

  “Morning.” Mom waved back, pausing on the sidewalk as the woman came over, then made introductions. She was a member of the church and on her way to service.

  My question would have to wait. Or not get answered at all.

  If Dad had changed so much, why hadn’t he talked to me in nine years?

  We made it to church and Mom was mobbed, like it had been when we’d been kids. This was normally the time when we’d find our friends, race around the base
ment and burn off excess energy before being regulated to a pew and expected to sit still for an hour.

  I found a seat, nearly in the same place as I’d sat yesterday for the funeral. But instead of a dress and heels, today I’d gone for a pair of faded jeans, no holes, and a simple white T-shirt. My boots were on my bedroom floor and I’d traded them for my Chucks.

  My fingers found their way to my necklace, fidgeting with it as I glanced around the sanctuary. The necklace was a long golden chain with a pendant of drumsticks. Nan had bought it for me last year on my birthday. It had probably cost twenty bucks from Target, but it was my favorite piece. Jewelry companies sent me pieces all the time in the hopes I’d wear their jewels and get caught on camera. But nine times out of ten, I reached for this necklace.

  I dug my phone from my pocket and opened the camera. Then I snapped a series of selfies from different angles, capturing the necklace and an asymmetrical angle of my face.

  The photo was the first I’d posted on Instagram since arriving in Bozeman. With my nose buried so no one would interrupt or see my glassy eyes, I wrote the caption.

  Nan. Necklace giver. Music lover. Unwavering believer. Always in my heart.

  I hit save and closed my phone, taking a deep breath as I shoved away the urge to cry. The moment I looked up, I noticed the room had filled quickly.

  “Good morning.” A couple with an infant greeted me as they made their way to the seats across the aisle.

  I received a lot of nods and smiles from faces I recognized from Nan’s service. The dull rumble of conversation grew louder as the empty seats dwindled. With ten minutes until it was time to start, the spaces beside me filled up with my family.

  Clearly, people knew to save this row.

  “Morning,” Walker said as I slid down toward the end, making room.

  “Hi.” I waved to his wife and kids, then leaned forward. “Morning, Brookie.”

  “Hey, Quinnie.” She caught the slip and froze. For one moment, she’d forgotten to be mad at me and had used my old nickname.

  I leaned back in my seat, dropping my chin to hide my smug grin in the fall of my hair.

  Mom took her place at the other end of the row, the two of us bookending our family, as Dad emerged and walked to the pulpit. The bustle of the congregation settled as he placed his Bible and papers on the top.

  “Slide over.”

  My head whipped to the voice as a man’s body shoved mine over a few inches.

  Nixon.

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered.

  He leaned down to whisper. “Came to rescue you.”

  I took him in, the black button-up and dark-wash jeans—nice jeans without holes. His Chucks were next to new without a single scuff. “You do know that the memorial service was yesterday, right? This is just church.”

  “I know. But you had Jonas and Ethan yesterday. I thought maybe you could use someone today too.”

  My heart. I looped my arm through his and dropped my head to his shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Nixon knew all about the fight I’d had with my parents. He knew about my issues with Dad’s job and how Dad had pandered to the emotions in this building, even when it had broken his oldest daughter’s heart.

  “Good morning and welcome,” Dad spoke and the room listened.

  I stayed close to Nixon’s side, having missed him this week. The man was a huge pain in the ass, and I worried about him more than ever before, but he was a good guy. He was just dealing with some personal stuff.

  We all had our secrets.

  Jonas’s had been Kira. When that secret had come out, it had only meant good things.

  Dad continued his welcome messages, then nodded to someone in the crowd. The same woman who’d been with Susan yesterday, arranging photos for Nan’s service, came on stage and sat at the piano. She must be the music director. Trailing behind her, five people emerged from the congregation.

  Since the service yesterday, they’d set up the stage differently. I’d been distracted earlier with my selfie and keeping my head down, but they had a legitimate setup for a band. A whole band? They even had a drum set tucked behind the piano. What had happened to the choir and their maroon robes?

  The questions vanished from my mind as a tall, gorgeous man with a sexy beard, rock-hard ass and chiseled arms strode on stage and took the lead microphone.

  Graham carried the same guitar he’d had at the Eagles the other night. He made no introduction as he started playing, the others joining in immediately. A woman played bass and a man sat at the drums while the other two members sat on stools with mics of their own.

  I expected the congregation to stand, to sing along to a traditional hymn, but butts remained in seats as Graham and the band performed.

  Goose bumps broke out on my forearms. My heart jumped into my throat. At the bar, I’d been drawn into the sex appeal of Graham on stage, and while he was absolutely intoxicating up there, the atmosphere and faith music brought out the majesty of his voice. There was no hint of a growl or a rasp as he sang today, only a voice so clear and pure it left me reeling.

  Did these people even know how lucky they were to hear him? Did he have any idea how good he was?

  He finished the song too soon and the clapping started. When had we ever clapped in church? It took me by yet another surprise, but not as much as the smile on Dad’s face as he cheered, returning to his own microphone. “They get better and better each week, don’t they?”

  Lord, have I died and entered an alternate universe?

  The service went on and I sat in my seat dumbfounded. There were more songs, this time the congregation standing to sing along. Dad delivered his sermon and then Graham took the stage once more, finishing with yet another song that left me speechless.

  There was more clapping before Dad adjourned. People in the rear rows filtered out first as others swamped the stage, clustering around Graham still wearing his guitar and a grin.

  “You’ve got some drool on your chin.” Nixon swiped his thumb over the corner of my mouth.

  “Stop.” I swatted him away.

  “You couldn’t take your eyes off him. What’s the story?”

  “Not now,” I hissed, elbowing him in the gut as I motioned to Walker. “Let me introduce you to my family.”

  A string of hellos and handshakes ensued, people leaning across people to greet Nixon. I’d hoped by the time the pleasantries were over, we could escape our row and I’d get to avoid Nixon’s inquisition about Graham.

  No such luck.

  We were stuck because the line to leave the sanctuary was moving slower than a three-legged turtle.

  On the other side of the aisle, I spotted Graham’s parents. There was no sign of Colin, but in the summers, kids didn’t have to sit through the beginning of the service. It had been a bonus. They were excused immediately to Sunday School—meaning the outside playground. During the school year, things were more regimented but summers here were all about fun.

  My eyes drifted to Graham. He was in the same place as before, surrounded by people talking, but he stood unmoving. His guitar was in one hand, balanced on the floor, and his eyes were on Nixon’s arm.

  The arm Nixon had thrown over my shoulders after we’d finished introductions.

  One of mine was wound behind his back in a casual sideways hug.

  There was no reading Graham’s expression. It was cold, devoid of all emotion, like the man who’d met me at the airport one week ago.

  My arm dropped from Nixon and I shimmied my shoulders, shaking out of his hold. There’d been nothing to the hug. Only unity and support. I willed Graham to lift his eyes and meet my gaze so I could silently tell him there was nothing but friendship here, but Susan—I really did hate that woman—walked up and grabbed his attention.

  “What?” Nix’s forehead furrowed as he lifted his arm to sniff his pit. “Do I smell?”

  “No, it’s . . . never mind. When did you get here?”

  “Nice try.”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s the guy, huh? You’re hung up on him. Is now the time you’ll tell me the story while we wait for the line to move an inch an hour?”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “I’m not a religious guy, but I think lying in church is frowned upon.” He tapped his chin. “Let me guess. High school sweethearts?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What’s his name?”

  I curled my lip, wishing he’d stayed in Hawaii. Jonas and Ethan hadn’t been nearly as nosy during their visit. “Graham.”

  “Graham,” Nixon repeated. “Well, I have to say. He’s good. That was unlike any church service I’ve been to before. Kinda cool actually.”

  “A first for me too,” I muttered. “You should hear Graham sing something with an edge.”

  “He’s almost as good as Jonas.” Nixon pinned me with a stare. “And if you ever tell him I said that, I’ll tell him you were the one who was messing around on his acoustic and dented it.”

  “Blackmail? Really?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever works, babe.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “So the ex-boyfriend can sing.” Nixon rubbed his hands together. “But is Graham a better guitar player than I am?”

  “Nope.” I crossed my fingers beside my leg.

  He grinned, but it fell when he noticed my hand. “You suck.”

  “I’m just kidding.” I giggled. “He’s good but you’re better.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “A little.” His arm came around me again and I leaned into his side.

  It was another innocent hug, one-hundred-percent platonic, but at that exact moment, Graham looked over again.

  Damn it.

  I shoved Nixon aside.

  “Hmm.” Nixon hummed as Graham strode toward the rear exit, guitar in hand. “I should have stayed in Montana. I have a feeling I missed an interesting week.”

  “Interesting is one way to put it, but it’s over now.”

  Nixon was here, presumably with the airplane. Tomorrow was Monday.

  It was time to go home.