Under the Dusty Moon

by Suzanne Sutherland

  “Yeah,” I said, “it did. Anyway, there’ll be more games. Lucy and I are going to start our next project soon, and I’m going to illustrate it.”

  “You really love this, don’t you?” Mom asked, studying the smile on my face.

  “I think I might.”

  “So what’s your next game going to be about, your saintly mother?”

  “Easy,” I said. “You better sign me up for one of their workshops first. So I can truly capture your beauty in pixel form.”

  “Well,” Mom said, fluffing her hair, “if it’s for a good cause.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Wow, sweets. That’s … wow. I’m really proud of you. You know that, right?”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “I know.”

  “But you’re serious about Europe? Just think about it, okay? It’ll be an amazing adventure. I know you’ve got lots going on here, but it’s Europe, you know? It’s Europe. We’ll be playing all over. It’s going to be amazing.”

  And she was right. When I stopped to think about it, she was offering me an unbelievable trip. But it would mean spending six weeks away from Shaun, and could we even afford the extra plane ticket and all the expenses?

  “I’ll think about it, okay?” I said. “Speaking of which, don’t you have, like, an enormous show to play?”

  Mom checked her phone. The screen was full of message notifications asking, I’m sure, where the hell she was. “Yeah,” she said, clearly not in much of a hurry. “I guess we better go.”

  And we walked, hand in hand, along the path connecting Ward’s to Centre Island, though eventually I forced her to pick up the pace.

  As we got close enough that we could start to hear the rumblings of the crowd, I turned to her. “Sorry about the stuff with Ken,” I said. “I mean, I don’t like that you’re dating him, but I guess I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I know the timing’s awful, but I really like him.”

  “The timing wasn’t exactly my biggest concern.”

  “Yes, sweets, I know that. Anyway, I don’t know what’s happening. We might take a break or something. Things are going to get messy once the book comes out.”

  “Once you see what he’s actually written about you?”

  “I’ve read it,” she said. “Well, most of it, anyway. His first draft. It’s good, and his publisher’s really happy with it. This could be big for me, you know?”

  “Because it’s going to give all the Dennis truthers more fuel?”

  “He didn’t write about that stuff,” she said. “Those rumours. He wrote it exactly like I told it to him. That Dennis is gone.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “So you think it’s going to, like, boost your career?”

  “It might,” she said. “We’re talking about doing a big American tour in the spring. We’ll be all over. I think things are finally starting to happen for me again.”

  “Yeah?” I said.

  We were interrupted by the rising volume of the crowd as we checked in through the side gate of the stage, Mom flashing her Performer lanyard, and taking me under her arm as her plus-one.

  “There’s going to be a lot more touring,” Mom said, as we weaved through the assembled gear and the stray band members heading to and from the stage.

  “Good,” I said. “Then maybe you won’t walk in on me and Shaun the next time.”

  “I am gonna kill you,” she said, just as one of the tech dudes grabbed her for a super-last-minute tune-up. “Now go on, you know the drill.”

  I walked ahead up to the side of the stage where a few familiar friends-and-family faces were gathered backstage, waiting for Mom to go on. Among them were Shaun and Ken, who couldn’t have looked more relieved to see me. Well, Shaun, anyway. Ken was still a profound shade of red. And just behind Shaun, almost totally lost in his shadow, was Lucy. Oh no.

  “Why the hell didn’t you answer my texts?” Lucy said, pushing Shaun aside to get to me.

  “I’m so, so, so sorry, Luce. Oh my god. I totally forgot.”

  “Were you ditching me or something?”

  “I wasn’t, I swear. My phone died!” I said, taking it out of my bag and waving it in front of her as evidence.

  “Whatever,” she said. “At least your mom still checks her phone.”

  “Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s been, like, the weirdest day of my life. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

  “If I’m still speaking to you,” she said.

  “Aw, come on,” I said, “you can’t resist my charms.”

  “Watch me.”

  “Uh, hey,” Shaun said, coming over to talk to us when it was clear that our fight had died down. “So … we’re really here?”

  “It’s one of the few perks of putting up with Victoria,” Lucy said.

  “It’s a pretty good one,” Shaun agreed.

  “Um, Luce, this is Shaun,” I said. “Shaun, this is my friend Lucy.”

  They exchanged a wave.

  “So you guys do this a lot?” Shaun asked. “Hang backstage, I mean?”

  “The novelty wears off after a while,” Lucy assured him.

  “I don’t know,” he said, his eyes big like a kid who’d just crossed through the gates at Disney World. “I don’t think this could ever wear off. I mean, I know your mom’s going to murder me and everything, but I gotta say, this is worth it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Shaun. “For lying, I mean. I just … I wanted you to like me for me, you know? My mom has a habit of bulldozing over my life. I mean I love her, but I can’t just share her life forever.”

  “Yeah,” Shaun said, “I mean, it is kinda weird.”

  “Weird-bad?” I asked, staring out at the sea of people fighting to get up close to the stage. To get up close enough to see my mom play.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Shaun said, turning to me. “This is definitely weird-good.”

  Twenty

  Ten minutes later Mom and her band took the stage. Another band called Falter would be playing after them, who definitely had a bigger draw, but the feral roar of the assembled mass made it sound like they were the only band in the world.

  Shaun, Lucy, and I had snagged a spot just behind Jana’s drum kit. Ken had grabbed some toilet paper from the porta-potty backstage, and we’d all stuffed some into our ears to keep from going completely deaf.

  “How you guys doing?” Mom called out, waving like she was addressing a small group of close friends instead of a giant crowd of screaming fans. “You’re lookin’ good tonight, Toronto. You feelin’ good?”

  A few voices in the front row carried over the din.

  “Feelin’ great!”

  “We love you, Micky!”

  “Play ‘Stranded in Daylight’!”

  “That’s good,” Mom said, “real good. Thanks for having me out here. The bands today have been amazing, and I am so lucky to get to share this stage with so many talented musicians. It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?”

  And over the white noise of the crowd’s screams, I started to think.

  I thought about how I really needed to work on being a better friend to Lucy. It wasn’t fair the way I’d put my relationship with Shaun ahead of my friendship with her all summer. I couldn’t wait to spend more time with She Shoots, but I had to remember that Lucy was the reason why I’d found them in the first place. She was the reason why I’d found something that I might love, and that I might someday even be good at. She was the only one I’d shared my drawing with.

  I knew the story that I wanted to tell. About a man who wakes up one morning in Mexico with no idea who he is. Who sets up a bar on the beach, adopts homeless dogs, and learns how to surf. I wasn’t sure I had the words, but I could already picture the game in my head.

  I thought about how I couldn’t keep Shaun separate from the rest of my life anymore. He knew all of my secrets now, and as strange as it was to see those parts of my wo
rld that I’d fought so hard to keep apart suddenly collide, nothing had exploded so far. I knew that there’d be more fallout from the knowledge that yes, Micky Wayne was my mom. The conversation wasn’t over yet, it had barely even started. But the impossible grin on his face as he looked out at the stage said it all.

  I hoped that it wouldn’t be too weird. I knew that once Mom and Shaun got to know each other — once she stopped plotting creative ways to kill him, that is — she’d be just as crass and weird around him as she was around me. So I figured I’d let him enjoy this last sliver of a moment when he still thought my mom was the coolest person ever. Next to me, obviously.

  Mostly, though, I thought about Mom. And how, as much of a mess as she was, Mom was just herself, nothing more and nothing less. And that’s all she was ever going to be. We were different, fundamentally, and that was good, that was the way it was supposed to be. I didn’t have to share her life. I couldn’t. There wasn’t room anymore.

  Micky Wayne might not always have crowds of adoring fans screaming her name, but, as flawed as she was, she would always be my mom. And the fact that she wouldn’t always be there when I needed her, that we’d have more birthdays apart and holidays with her away on the road, was a trade-off. She had more albums to record. She’d be tied up in the recording studio as soon as she got home from her European tour, I knew, and I wouldn’t get to see her much for a while. She’d be up until all hours of the night, recording songs to win over new fans.

  She didn’t belong just to me; a part of her belonged to everyone. It was the sacrifice we made for our remarkable lives. And I hoped that it would always be worth it.

  Jana counted out the band’s first song, and I was brought instantly back to the moment.

  The band started blasting through their set list, and the crowd frothed into a frenzy with the blurred faces of the pit pressing up against the barriers to sing along. I’d never seen that kind of reaction to one of Mom’s solo shows. It was pretty wild. The crowd owned some part of her that I knew I never would.

  “Thank you guys so much. Wow, thank you!” Mom said as they finished up her newest single, called ‘Stay Home Forever.’ The irony of which wasn’t lost on me. “I want to play you guys an old song, if that’s all right. You guys remember a band called Dusty Moon?”

  The chorus of cheers and yeahs and all rights rippled its way from the back of the crowd to where we were backstage. Ken stood not far behind us, though he was thankfully without his notebook. I caught his eye and we nodded. I wasn’t happy he was still here, but I was curious to see what he’d written. Maybe Mom was right about the book. We’d have to wait and see.

  “I miss that band every day,” Mom continued from the stage. “Dusty Moon was my first real family.”

  The crowd crowed its approval.

  I was glad Gran wasn’t here for this. Not that she would have come anyway, but still, it was definitely a slight.

  “My first real family,” she repeated, “and I miss that. I do. And I bet some of you miss that band, too.”

  Another wave of agreement crested over the crowd. Somehow it hadn’t struck me before just how much Dusty Moon had meant to so many people. It was different actually seeing it.

  “But that family kind of fell apart, as you guys know. But fortunately, out of the wreck of that family tree, I started to plant my own.”

  Oh god. She wouldn’t.

  “Vic, sweets, can you come out here, please?”

  Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit.

  One of the roadies grabbed me by the arm and started leading me when it was clear that I wasn’t going to walk out under my own power. I clutched at Shaun’s hand and dragged him with me as the roadie led us to stand right next to my mom at the front of the stage, where the row of lights that hung above us blotted out the massive sea of people that lay ahead of us. All I could see was the mic and Mom, with the hysterics of the crowd nearly drowning out my own heartbeat as it kerthump-kerthumped-kerthumped in my chest like it was about to make a break for it.

  “This is my daughter, Victoria,” Mom said, addressing the crowd. “Say hi, Vic.”

  I gave her the most vicious cut-eye I could manage. “Hi, Vic,” I deadpanned into the mic.

  “She’s got her mom’s sense of humour all right,” Mom said. “Now Vic’s got her boyfriend Shaun up here with her. She’s nervous, isn’t that cute? Hi, Shaun.”

  Mom waved at him, and Shaun waved stupidly back, his mouth all but hanging open as the crowd yelled back, “Hi, Shaun!”

  “Now these two are probably going to kill me when I tell you that I may or may not have caught them in something of a … compromising position? Not half an hour before I was due up here on stage.”

  From either the heat of the lights or this death by humiliation, I was going to pass out, I knew it.

  Mom turned to look at me then, and when she noticed how ghostly pale I was — I’d used up my blushing quota for a lifetime, apparently — she pulled her mouth away from the mic and said, “Sorry, sweets. I had to.” Then, back into the mic, she said, “You two go on backstage. I’m sorry, okay? Bad joke.”

  Shaun had to push me back to where we’d been standing because I was still too stunned at Mom’s trick to move.

  “Yikes,” Lucy said, after Shaun had hauled me safely backstage. “That was brutal.”

  “Aw, come on,” Shaun whispered to me. “You think my parents wouldn’t have done worse than that if they’d found us in the bushes? She’s your mom, she embarrasses you, that’s what she does.”

  “She’s the worst,” I barely managed to articulate. My hands were still shaking with adrenaline.

  “I’m not arguing with you,” he said. “But I don’t think she’s done yet.” He gestured back out to where Mom stood.

  “Okay,” she said, “that wasn’t very nice. And this is what Vic deals with every day, poor thing. So to make it up to her, I’m going to play a song I wrote back when she was just a little lima bean in my stomach. This one’s called ‘Little Love Song’ and it’s dedicated to my daughter, Vic. If she ever decides to speak to me again.”

  Mom tapped the time out with her foot, and they launched into it, a slow and sweet ballad. Shaun held my hand tight.

  “I haven’t met you yet,” Mom sang, as the crowd’s collective voice swelled to join her.

  Mom used to sing that song for me when I was little and had trouble falling asleep. When there were too many words and thoughts and pictures in my head that wouldn’t stop spinning around and let me rest. Nothing bad could happen, she said, and nothing bad could touch me if she just sang that song for me. It was a spell, she promised. A powerful charm.

  And I watched as the crowd — it looked like almost everyone, but maybe it was just everyone at the front of the stage — sang with her. This song, this spell, that she’d written just for me.

  That nothing bad could happen to me was a lie, I knew, but I wanted to believe it anyway.

  Shaun squeezed my hand so tight that I thought my fingers might fall off, and I leaned into his chest.

  Lucy laughed at us but then she smiled.

  “I know I’m gonna love you,” Mom sang, “whether I want to or not.”

  And for now, at least, that was enough.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks first of all to my amazing writers’ group, who helped shape this story from its infancy. Vikki VanSickle and Laura Hughes, thank you for all the beers and book recommendations over the last two and a half years, and here’s to many more.

  To my family, immediate, extended, and honorary (including the Christians, of course), for your love, support, and dogged guerrilla marketing tactics. I am so lucky to have you all in my life.

  I am humbled by and thankful to Jennie Faber and Dames Making Games, the Toronto organization that inspired She Shoots, for allowing me to share my work within their community and use DMG as inspiration. Dames Making Games is a not-for-profit feminist video game arts organization, working to make i
nteractive storytelling accessible to those whose voices are often underrepresented. Please check out their work at http://dmg.to, and, if you’re in town, be sure to attend one of their many events.

  I’m forever indebted to my beta-readers: my internShipmate Michelle Petrie, and DMG community members Kaitlin Tremblay and Allison Meades. Thank you so much for sharing my excitement and for making sure this book didn’t suck.

  A big thanks to Sheila Barry for providing early feedback on the story, and to Shannon Whibbs for the editorial expertise that helped bring it all in to shore.

  Thank you to the Ontario Arts Council, whose support through the Writers’ Works in Progress and Writers’ Reserve programs helped make this book possible, as well as the Toronto Arts Council for their support through the Grants to Writers program. Big thanks to Avril McMeekin, too, for editing the sample I submitted with my grant applications.

  And, lastly, to the staff of the Pueblito-Manzanillo Writers’ Retreat, where I finished writing my first draft and, a year later, furiously revised it — you really made me feel like family.

  More Books From Dundurn

  Since You’ve Been Gone

  Mary Jennifer Payne

  Is it possible to outrun your past? Fifteen-year-old Edie Fraser and her mother, Sydney, have been trying to do just that for five years. Now, things have gone from bad to worse. Not only has Edie had to move to another new school — she’s in a different country. Sydney promises her that this is their chance at a fresh start, and Edie does her best to adjust to life in London, England, despite being targeted by the school bully. But when Sydney goes out to work the night shift and doesn’t come home, Edie is terrified that the past has finally caught up with them. Alone in a strange country, Edie is afraid to call the police for fear that she’ll be sent back to her abusive father. Determined to find her mother but with no idea where to start, she must now face the most difficult decision of her life.

  Throwaway Girl