Redeem

by Rachel Schurig

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Sam?” Someone calls from across the room and she straightens.

  “That’s Alice. I should go see what she wants.” I nod and she pauses. “You wanna come with me?”

  “Nah. You go be with your people. I’ll find you in a while.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Cash.”

  I watch her walk away, beautiful and sunny in her yellow dress. Alice is standing by the table with a pastor and Sam embraces them both. This whole life she has, I think to myself. All these people. All these memories. And it has nothing to do with you.

  I turn back to the pictures, Doug Warner, hometown hero, through the years. I can’t help but wonder what pictures would be displayed of me at something like this. The pictures from the show this morning come to mind and I have to walk away, my hands shaking.

  I find a bathroom and shut myself in, needing a minute to get it together. I’m seriously doubting the wisdom of my coming here. Sam is clearly in a good place and doesn’t need me—and why would she? Why would she need a fuck up like me when she’s surrounded by people gently reminding her of her great love?

  I know I sound like a selfish asshole even in my own head but I can’t get the fucking pictures out of my head. The pictures of me on that damn show. The pictures of Doug out there on the table. The difference between us couldn’t be more severe. He was a man who had lived a full life in his twenty short years on earth. He had an entire town that remembered him, that loved him. He married the best woman I’ve ever met. Had parents that loved him. Had a son. And he’d dedicated that full, short life to Sam, sacrificing everything to make a future for them—sacrificing his life.

  I stare at myself in the little mirror over the sink, fully aware that I haven’t done shit in my life. I have a band, and I’m proud of that. We work hard, sacrificed a lot to get to where we are. But those sacrifices were selfish. They were for us. All I ever cared about was not having to get a real job. Being famous. Having the money to do what I wanted. Getting as much tail as I could.

  A great list of accomplishments.

  There’s a knock on the door and before I can call out that it’s occupied, it swings open. “Hey—” I protest, but a girl is sliding through the opening and shutting the door behind her. She’s tall, dressed in a blue sundress, her red hair long and curly.

  “I thought that was you,” she breathes, smiling.

  “Do we—have we met?”

  She shakes her head, eyes wide and excited. “I heard you and your brothers were in town and that one of you was dating Sam. But I had no idea you’d be here.”

  “Well, uh, I better get back out there.”

  I’ve had some strange encounters with fans over the years but being cornered in a bathroom at my maybe-girlfriend’s ex-husband’s memorial might just take the cake.

  “What’s your rush?” she reaches behind her and locks the door and I suddenly realize that this cannot end well.

  “Excuse me, please.”

  She pushes off from the door and comes straight at me, her arms around my neck before I can move out of the way, her body pressed flush against mine. “Let’s have some fun first.”

  “No, thank you.” I try to keep my voice firm without being too sharp. I’ve had some girls freak out on me when rejected and I really don’t want to make a scene here.

  “Oh, come on, Cash. I know you’re up for it.”

  I take her hands from behind my head, pulling them away. “I’m not, actually.”

  She laughs. “Are you kidding? I heard you never turn anyone down.”

  It feels almost like she slapped me. Because that is what people have heard about me—that I never say no. Be it booze or partying or chicks, Cash will be up for it. It’s the thing everyone knows about me, from the media to complete strangers.

  This chick thinks you’re going to do her in the bathroom at a memorial service, I realize. That’s what people think you’re capable of.

  “Excuse me,” I say again, feeling like I might be sick.

  She pouts. “Oh, come on. I won’t tell Sam.”

  I push past her, done with being polite. I fumble with the lock on the door, finally pushing it open and practically falling out into the hallway beyond.

  Right in front of Wyatt.

  “Cash!”

  The kid always sounds so damn excited to see me.

  I slam the door shut behind me, not wanting him to see the chick, and pull him further down the hallway, away from that damn bathroom. I still feel nauseated and my heart is hammering in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

  “What’s up?”

  “You wanna see my room?” he asks, his little face hopeful.

  Suddenly I want to punch something. Why in the hell am I putting myself through this? I don’t belong here. This kid is no better off if I hang around. And neither is Sam.

  “Maybe another time.”

  His face falls and I turn away, pretty sure I might actually puke in a minute. I turn and head back down the hall, desperate to get out of here. To get away from the pictures and the stories and all of the evidence that I just can’t measure up.

  “Cash?” he calls, but I don’t stop. I walk straight to the door, not saying goodbye to anyone, not stopping to look for my brothers. All I can think of is one thing—I do not belong here. I need to get as far away as I can.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Sam

  I have no idea where Cash has gone. One minute he was looking at the picture display of Doug and the next he was gone. Granted, I was pretty much constantly bombarded with people from the moment the memorial party began until the last guest finally left, so it makes sense that I didn’t see him leave.

  But it doesn’t explain why he left.

  About an hour after I last saw him, Daisy, Paige, and the other Ransome brothers approach. “Sam,” Daisy says, taking both of my hands in hers. “Thank you for inviting us to this. It was really special.” She leans in to hug me. “I’m so glad I got to learn about Doug today. I feel like I know him.”

  I’m touched by her sentiment. “It almost feels like he’s here,” I tell her shaking my head. “I can’t believe so many people came out to share their memories.”

  “I can,” Lennon says, patting my shoulder. “He was obviously a really special person.”

  I nod, but I can’t help looking over his shoulder. If they’re all leaving, where is Cash?

  Lennon must notice my searching eyes because he smiles. “I think he wasn’t feeling very well.”

  I’m immediately concerned. “Is he all right? He didn’t say anything to me.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Daltrey says. “He probably just didn’t want to take you away from all of this.”

  Reed glances around. “Speaking of which, we seem to be attracting a bit more attention than is probably appropriate. We’ll get out of the way.”

  “Thank you for coming,” I tell them, feeling myself well up a little bit. “It means a lot to me.”

  “We’ll see you tomorrow?” Paige asks. “At the party?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Great! You’ll get to meet Karen. We’ll take your mind right off of things.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  After they go, I pull out my phone to check for messages from Cash. Nothing. I send him a quick text. Are you okay?

  He doesn’t respond for an hour. Sorry, wasn’t feeling great. Didn’t want to bother you.

  By then I’m sitting with Jed and Jess and a bunch of other people from high school, everyone talking about the good old days while we sip beer from cold bottles. It’s the first time I’ve actually wanted to be around them since Doug went missing. I’m not entirely satisfied by Cash’s text, or his strange behavior, but I push it out of my mind. There’s something in me that feels very strongly that I need to connect with these people. Hear their stories. Join them in remembering. I’ll worry about Cash later.

  By the time everyone has left, I’m exhausted. I h
elp Alice and Bruce wrap up the piles of leftover food that people have brought while Wyatt zones out on the couch, a cartoon blaring in the background.

  “You look very tired, Sam,” Alice tells me. She looks pretty much dead on her feet. “Will you stay again tonight?”

  I’ve spent the night every night since leaving Cash’s on Tuesday, sleeping in the same room where I lived back in high school. I had been planning on going to the cabin after the gathering, wanting to see Cash, but the idea of the drive suddenly seems insurmountable. “Yeah, I’m staying.”

  After the food is put away I change into pajamas and cuddle with Wyatt on the couch, watching Toy Story. When he falls asleep on my shoulder I walk him down the hall to his room, tucking him in. Someday I’ll do this every night, I think, willing myself to believe it.

  Back in the living room Alice hands me a glass of wine. “That went really well.”

  “It did. I’m so glad you decided to do it.”

  She sniffs a little, looking down into her glass. “He deserved to be celebrated.”

  “Could you believe how many people came out?” Bruce asks, sliding his hand into hers and giving it a squeeze. “I think he would have been very proud.”

  I nod. “It was great to hear everyone talking about him.” I pause, wanting to be honest with them. “It’s not always easy for me—to talk about him.”

  “I know, sweetie,” Alice says, her voice tight. “It’s not always easy for me, either.”

  “But today felt good. It felt…right. Don’t you think?”

  They both nod, though Alice looks close to tears. “Our boy was very well loved.”

  “He was,” I say. “He really was. And by no one more than the people in this room.”

  Bruce holds up his wine glass. “To Doug. May he continue to inspire us for the rest of our lives.”

  I swallow back a lump in my throat, thinking of the dark haired boy who first won my heart. It used to hurt so bad to picture that face. My missing him felt like a wound, painful and raw. Eventually the thought of him brought about not sadness, but guilt. Guilt at what I had become in his absence.

  I raise my glass, feeling, for the first time in a long time, like I could remember him without hating myself. Without wanting to die from missing him. I could just remember him and let that be enough. “To Doug,” I echo, tapping my glass against theirs.

  ***

  I leave the Warners in the morning with a promise to Wyatt that I’ll come over to watch the Premier League game the next day. Since I’ve basically taken the entire week off, I spend the day working on the benefit. There are what feels like a hundred phone calls to make and dozens of emails to send. Paige sent me several promotional posters to choose from, and I send her a quick text to say thank you.

  I stare down at my phone. Why hasn’t Cash called? I have no idea if he’s feeling better. He probably just doesn’t want to stress you out with everything that’s going on, I think, trying not to worry. Just send him a text and stop thinking about it.

  Feeling any better?

  His response makes my phone buzz a moment later. Much better, thanks.

  I’m glad. See you in a few hours?

  See you then.

  Okay, so his responses seem a little brusque, but I have too much work to get through to devote too much energy to it. We’ll talk about it tonight.

  As I cross the last item off my to-do list, I’m feeling pretty satisfied with myself. What at the beginning of the week had seemed impossible—getting through the news of Doug’s confirmed death—had been handled. In fact, I would even say that it had gone well. For the first time ever I actually feel peace about Doug. And a shocking lack of guilt about myself. Sure, my initial reaction had been to rush to Cash and seek distraction in his touch. But once he got me talking, I found that I could actually deal with it without the aid of sex or booze.

  It’s like I’m making progress or something.

  I’m actually grinning as I get ready for the party. I crank up some music, sticking on a Ransom CD on a whim, and let myself think about L.A. while I put on my makeup and get dressed.

  For the first time since I met Cash, I feel free. I’m not tied to my past or to my guilt. I can be with him—really be with him—without fear or shame. Tonight feels like the beginning of a new chapter for me, and the very idea of a fresh start has me almost giddy. I wonder if the timing might not be coincidental, the remains being found when they were. It feels almost like a gift from Doug, his final gift to me—the ability to have closure, to move on.

  I dab some lipstick on, peering at my face in the mirror. I look rested. I feel beautiful. I think about Cash, about what we might do later, and I laugh at myself, blushing, before turning off the light in the bathroom and heading out.

  I make the drive to the cabin with the radio blaring. There are several cars out front, the house lit up against the dark sky, music drifting out across the lawn. I check my makeup in the rearview one more time before climbing out of the car.

  There’s a giddy feeling in my stomach, like I’m going on a first date. In a way, I kind of am. Cash and I hadn’t had time to enjoy our newfound connection after L.A. Tonight would be our chance to do that, to be together as a couple.

  Daisy greets me at the door. “Sam! I’m so glad you made it!”

  I return her hug, looking around the room over her shoulder. Someone, I’m guessing Paige, has blown up dozens of balloons and strung crepe paper all over the place. Christmas lights encircle the windows and fireplace and a Happy Birthday banner hangs over the sliding glass door.

  “This is festive,” I say, pulling back.

  She rolls her eyes. “Paige,” she says, and we both laugh.

  “Come get a drink.” She gestures me in front of her. The room is already filled with people, most of them strangers. I recognize a few musicians as well as Reed and Lennon. I wave at him, mouthing happy birthday, and he lifts a beer bottle in my direction.

  I follow Daisy into the kitchen to grab a beer of my own, eyes peeled for Cash. “He’s around here someone,” Daisy says, sensing the object of my searching. “I just saw him.”

  “Then I’m sure I’ll see him soon.”

  She hands me a bottle of Heineken just as Paige shows up in the kitchen. “There you are. I can’t get the damn grill turned on.” She reaches out to hug me while talking to Daisy, apparently too busy for a greeting. “Do you know how to do it?”

  “Daltrey does,” Daisy replies.

  “Yeah, well I can’t find Daltrey.”

  Daisy shoots me a sympathetic glance. “Sorry, Sam. Do you mind if I—”

  I make shooing motions with my hands. “Go ahead.” I don’t tell her that I would rather look for Cash anyhow, but the knowing look in her eye tells me that she has her suspicions.

  I don’t find him in the living room or the hallway. I check his room—nothing. It’s not until I see Daltrey head out through the sliding glass doors, tray of hamburgers in his hands, that I realize the party has spread out to the deck. I follow Daltrey and sure enough, I find Cash outside.

  He’s not alone.

  I’ve seen pictures of Karen before, on Paige’s phone. She’s gorgeous, this girl they say he always flirts with. Tall, blond, basically the picture of all American beauty. She’s holding a red plastic cup and laughing at whatever Cash is saying.

  Cash. His arm around her waist, pulling her close. Whispering in her ear. His lips drift down to her neck and it actually feels like my heart stops beating.

  And then he looks up at me, our eyes meeting across the deck. I’m frozen, unable to say a word or take a step in either direction. I can’t read the look in his eyes—defiance? Anger?—but I know it’s dark and unsettling. He watches me for what feels like an age, his gaze perfectly intent on mine.

  Then he bends, kissing her neck again, saying something else to make her laugh, tightening his hand on her waist.

  I have to get out of here.

  That’s the only thing I can thi
nk, over and over again as I push my way through the crowd by the door. I can’t let myself think about what I just saw, the way he had looked at me, the way he was touching her—I feel sick. I finally manage to get inside and I think I hear someone, Lennon, maybe, swear at my side. A hand reaches for me and I push it away.

  I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here.

  But I’m not going to make it, there are too many people and my car is too far away. So instead I turn and tear down the hall, hardly knowing where I’m going, repeating the words again and again. I have to get out of here.

  I push through a door and I’m in Daisy’s room. I breathe in a massive sigh of relief that I’m alone, away from him. But now that I no longer have my escape to focus on, I can’t get his face out of my mind. He wasn’t just kissing some other girl. He had looked at me. He knew I saw, knew I was watching. His lips pressed against her skin. Like a message. Like a warning.

  I stumble to the en-suite bathroom and just manage to fall to my knees before I throw up. Tears are stinging at my eyes and I feel dizzy.

  And then Daisy’s there, rubbing my back, pulling my hair away from my face, saying soothing words. “You’re okay. You’ll be fine.”

  I lean away from the toilet and she presses a Kleenex into my hand. I wipe my mouth, feeling shaky. She’s not soothing me anymore. The bathroom is silent.

  “I’m so fucking stupid.”

  “No, you’re not.” Her voice sounds pained. “Sam, I don’t know what that was—”

  “I know exactly what it was.”

  Daisy sounds close to tears. “I’m so sorry that he did that.”

  I shake my head. “It’s my own fault. I never should have…I knew I shouldn’t have.”

  “Sam, let me go talk to him.”

  I pull myself up, brushing her hands away when she reaches for me. “I’m going home.”

  The idea of walking back into the living room makes me feel like retching again—all of those people—but I hold my head high and make my way down the hall, Daisy following close behind, clearly at a loss for what to do. I don’t make eye contact with anyone, my eyes on the door. I have to get out of here. In my peripheral vision, I see Paige, clutching Reed’s hand. I think she might call out to me but I don’t pause. I walk straight to the door and out into the night air.