by Tia Siren
I hadn’t been to the Wright’s house in ages, but it still looked the same as back then. The house was about the size of the one I lived in, but there was music everywhere. There were posters and gold records on the walls, vinyl records and CDs stacked randomly throughout the house, and many musical instruments sitting in different corners of the living room.
I stepped into the house, and there he was, sprawled out on the living room floor, face down in the carpet.
“Wayne?”
Bo padded cautiously over to Wayne, sniffing him. I kneeled down, turning Wayne over on his back. His eyes were closed, his mouth was open, and I was having trouble finding a pulse.
“Wayne, wake up, man!” I yelled.
I kept searching for a pulse and was having no luck. At first, I convinced myself that he was passed out drunk and that I was just terrible at finding a pulse.
However, the longer I waited and tried to wake him, the more afraid I became.
I considered calling the police, but the closest hospital was only two miles from Wayne’s house, so I decided to take him there instead. I picked him up, throwing him over my shoulder, and Bo and I moved as fast as we could to the hospital.
I didn’t tell the doctors and nurses much. I said that I found him on the floor; not breathing, not responding, and I had no idea what to make of it. They rushed him to the ER to take care of him.
Since I wasn’t sure how long things would take, I first waited outside by the Focus with Bo. I planned to check on him, but I hated waiting around in hospitals.
“I hope he’s okay,” I said to Bo. “It’s a good thing we checked on him, huh?”
Bo lay down by my feet. I went through my phone and found Bailey’s phone number, thinking about calling to tell her what was going on. Yet, despite the gravity of the situation, I still couldn’t make myself do it.
Bailey and I had a complex relationship. We’d been friends for years when both of us lived in Rome. And we did everything together—went to high school, worked the same jobs, and went out and had fun all the time. We also both loved playing and writing music together. We both played guitar and piano. I played well. She played extraordinarily well.
The more we created music together, our friendship grew, and a physical attraction began to manifest itself. We fought it for months, never acknowledging it or succumbing to our thoughts. We each encouraged the other to try music professionally. But for years, neither of us took the recommendations seriously. Then one day, Bailey was ready to leave Georgia and move on to a place that could nurture and build her music career.
She started putting some of her original songs on the internet, and she began to have a small cult following who adored her music. She used that as the last bit of fuel to finally make the decision official.
Then, we finally succumbed. The idea of her leaving tore me apart, and I begged her to stay. She begged me to go with her. While the begging persisted, we started exploring our feelings and having sex regularly. It was incredible, and it made her leaving hurt worse.
After she left, she would only return to Rome for brief stints to see her dad. I never knew when she was actually in town, and I didn’t want to know. And so, I hadn’t seen her since she moved.
I started seeing her dad more often than she did. I never had a problem with being around Wayne, since I was always close to the Wright family. I only knew Bailey’s mom for a short time before she passed away, but I was extremely close to him and Bailey for years. In some ways, they started to feel like a second family.
I decided to go and check on Wayne, ordering Bo to stay by the car. I never kept him in the car while I was away, and I hated owners that did that to their pets. Bo was a good dog. He stayed when told and didn’t bother anyone.
I went toward Wayne’s room, and the doctor met me before I had a chance to go to him.
“Hi,” said the doctor. “I didn’t get your name. You brought in Wayne Wright, correct?”
“Yes. I’m Darren Holt,” I told the doctor. “I’m not family. I’m a friend.”
“Yes. I was told you’re the one who found him,” the doctor said. “Mr. Holt, I’m so terribly sorry to have to tell you this. I regret to inform you that Wayne has passed away.”
In my heart, I knew that was what was most likely, but it still hurt to hear it. I felt like a boulder had been thrown at my chest.
“We’re not sure of exactly when he passed, but we know it was many hours ago,” the doctor continued. “We believe it was a heart attack. There was nothing you could have done.”
Instantly, I felt lost. I didn’t know what to do.
I stayed in the parking lot of the hospital for over an hour, lying on the hood, letting Bo comfort me with his affection. I was reflecting on years’ past, while also procrastinating the inevitable.
I wondered if the hospital, or maybe even the police, might contact Bailey and let her know what had happened to Wayne. I’d heard that phrase “notify next of kin” enough to believe that it must’ve meant something. I didn’t believe it was my responsibility, and so I stayed away.
Instead of calling Bailey, I called Garrett. It rang many times before he finally answered. I hoped I wasn’t interrupting something important.
“What’s up?” Garrett answered.
“Can you talk for a bit?” I asked him.
“Sure, what’s going on?”
“I’m at the hospital, actually.”
“What?” he said alarmed. “You serious? You okay?”
“I’m okay, man,” I said. “You remember how I was supposed to meet up with Wayne Wright tonight for dinner?”
“Oh, yeah. I totally forgot about that.”
“I got over to his house,” I said. “And dude, it’s so messed up.”
“What?”
“He died. I found his body in the living room.”
“Get the fuck out of here!” said Garrett with a hint of sadness. “You’re kidding. We just saw him yesterday!”
“And, now he’s dead.”
“Holy shit,” he said. “That really sucks. I can’t believe that. How did he die?”
“They think it was a heart attack.”
“Wow, bummer,” Garrett said. “You all right, bro?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “It’s a lot though.”
“You want to get together and chill?”
“Yeah, actually. I’d be really down for that.”
I slid off the hood. Bo and I hopped into the Focus and headed over to Garrett’s house.
When we arrived, I walked in without knocking. That’s how it was with us.
“The person I really feel bad for is Bailey,” I said to Garrett.
“Yeah, no kidding,” he said. “First, she loses her mom, now her dad. And she isn’t even 30 yet, is she?”
“No, not yet. She and I are both 29,” I told him.
“Yeah. That really sucks,” he said. “Did you call Bailey?”
“Nah, I figured the hospital or someone would notify her, you know?”
“Maybe, but don’t you think she’d rather hear it from someone close to her than from a doctor she doesn’t know?”
I chuckled. “I’m not close to her anymore.”
“Don’t pull any of that crap,” he said. “You should call her and tell her. What if they told her you’re the one that found her? Wouldn’t she get super pissed at you for not calling her or anything?”
“Goddamn it, you’re right. I would look like a major asshole.”
“Of course, I’m right,” he said. “Call her. It’s going to be awkward no matter what. Be a man, dude. You know it’s the right thing to do.”
I did agree with him on that. I still wasn’t looking forward to it.
Chapter 4
Bailey
Originally, Leah and I were going to meet with producers from a record label on Sunday afternoon to discuss the possibility of signing with them. But shortly after our lunch at Gracie’s, Jack Howard, the producer Leah was in conta
ct with the most, contacted her and asked if we could turn our Sunday lunch into a Saturday night “dinner and drinks” meeting. I hadn’t gone out for drinks in weeks. I felt confident that they would pay for us, and so we happily agreed.
As Leah and I were getting ready, I started getting a variety of unusual phone calls. Two different numbers that I didn’t recognize called twice, one of them leaving a voicemail asking me to return the call. I’d been getting numerous sales calls and the like for years, so I thought nothing of it.
Then, it got really strange. I began to get calls from a number that I recognized all too well.
I’d deleted the number from my contacts years ago, but I had it memorized from all the times that I used to call it in the past. I didn’t even consider that the series of calls could be related. I merely thought it was a coincidence, a case of bad timing. And, like the calls from numbers I didn’t know, the one I did know kept repeatedly calling—only he didn’t leave a voicemail.
The number I recognized belonged to Darren Holt, a man that I’d grown up with and had been good friends with for years. Darren and I had a complicated history, and we didn’t leave things on a good note. There wasn’t anger, but there was sadness and slight remnants of bitterness left in our wake. I’d decided to explore my talents in Memphis around a healthy music scene, and he chose to work jobs like construction or air-conditioning installation and repair in Rome, Georgia where we’d grown up. I had grown tired of staying in Rome. It was a small town with little to do.
Seeing Darren’s number appear on my phone again sent a wave of emotions through me, and my mind went on a journey back to a past I’d seldom thought about. I thought back on the height of our friendship and how we used to enjoy making and playing music together. I remembered those short few months when we explored our physical attraction to each other.
Then, I remembered when I asked him to go to Tennessee with me. He said no, and that was the end of it. The discussion was short, and the closure was almost nonexistent.
I did wonder why he was calling and what he wanted to talk about. We hadn’t spoken in years, so I did wonder what made right then so important. While I pondered, he kept calling me over and over again. A small part of me wanted to feed my curiosity, but a larger part of me didn’t want to deal with him. Considering Leah and I wanted to be fully focused and on our game when it came time to talk with the producers, it was easy for me to ignore Darren’s phone calls. I was looking at my phone quite a bit, imagining how a phone call with him might go for us at that point in our lives.
“Who keeps calling you?” Leah asked as she finished applying her makeup. “That’s not Jack, is it?”
I considered answering her fully and honestly, but she didn’t know that much about Darren. Anytime his name had entered into conversation, I was always vague about what he’d meant to me.
“It’s a bunch of wrong numbers,” I told her. “Not sure who it is.”
“Maybe you should answer,” she suggested. “In case it’s someone from the label.”
“It’s not. The caller left a voicemail and didn’t say who they were,” I said. “I’m ready to go when you are.”
The restaurant we were in was extravagant: The food was exquisite, the atmosphere was sophisticated, and the company was pleasant.
The producers were smiling the entire time we sat there. They told me that they were happy with what they were hearing, wanted to hear more, and thought that I was a rising star too hot for any other label to handle appropriately. They said they wanted to sign me right then and there.
At first, those words and their importance made a huge impact on me. I’d been independently putting my music out for so long that, even though this meeting had been planned for days, it was still peculiar to imagine me signed to a record label beside many other noted performers. Musicians and artists all around the globe wanted to get signed to a known label. It was the beginning of a real music career and only meant great things.
Yet, even though I knew I should’ve been more excited and been processing every word that came out of their mouths, I couldn’t get my mind off of the phone calls from before. The vague, mystery numbers weren’t what stood out, of course. I was irritated with myself, but I kept wondering why Darren had called me.
I knew that he wouldn’t have been calling just to talk. There were guys from my past who would call sometimes, approach the conversation casually, and try to talk about things as if the past didn’t matter. Darren was never one of those guys, and last I knew, he was still in a similar place as I was regarding our connection.
Since it was Saturday night, I thought that possibly he was drunk and being fueled by liquid courage, wanting to talk for any number of reasons. I also considered that maybe I was deflecting. The producers had been giving Leah and me drinks all night, and while I wasn’t unbelievably intoxicated, I was certainly inebriated.
I can’t recall when, but at some point, Jack Howard put the contract on the table and slid it toward me. I was so distracted that it took me a few seconds to process what was happening.
“We’re willing to sign you right here and now,” Jack said. “Are you ready to conquer the world, Bailey?”
“Whoa.” I laughed in surprise.
“This contract is quite extensive,” Leah said.
“Well, most contracts are,” said Jack smiling. “Most of the details are just necessary things—legal type jargon that isn’t interesting but has to be put in print.”
Leah gave me an inquisitive look as if to say, “Well?”
I was on autopilot, and although I was kind of drunk, I knew well enough not to make an important decision like that irrationally.
“Do you think we could look over the contract for a bit first?” I asked them. “It’s not that I don’t want to sign. I do. I just like to know exactly what I’m getting into before I jump in headfirst.”
“Totally understandable,” Jack said. “Take it with you. Look it over closely, and sign it whenever you’re good and ready.”
“But, we’re ready,” one of the other producers said. “Just to let you know. So there’s no doubt in your mind. We want to work with you, Bailey! We see your talent and want to make sure everyone in the world can hear it.”
“Thank you all so much!” I said. “I promise we’ll be in touch.”
We all shook hands, and they took their leave. Leah and I stayed behind, thumbing through the contract and skimming it.
“I wanted to say we should examine this thing for a bit first, but I didn’t want to tell you what to do right in front of them,” said Leah. “I think you did the right thing.”
“I hope so,” I said while finishing up another drink.
Afterward, Leah and I took an Uber back to our individual houses. I found myself looking at the call log on my phone. I stared at Darren’s number, thinking about how it hadn’t changed in over ten years. My number had changed about seven or eight times since I left Rome, and I’d assumed that he must’ve done the same thing at some point. Since he hadn’t, I wondered if it was because he didn’t feel he had a real reason to change it. Or, perhaps he didn’t change it out of laziness. There was some weird, dumb part of me that thought maybe he hadn’t changed it because he wanted me to be able to get in touch with him again if I ever had the desire. I knew that was a selfish thing to think, but I’d kept my number the same for many months after I left on the chance that he might call again.
Since he finally had called again, I decided to be brave and return his call. I wasn’t drunk, but I was still a little tipsy.
My heart skipped a beat hearing the phone ringing. Every time it rang, I both wanted him to answer it as soon as possible and not pick up. After twenty seconds went by, I assumed that he wasn’t going to take my call.
Then, with only a second or two left, Darren answered.
“Hello?” the familiar voice said to me.
It was intense to hear his voice again. I had forgotten what it sounded like. Instantly, w
ith just one word, I could hear past phone calls we’d made to each other, and I heard his voice as we sang songs together.
“Hi,” I stammered.
“Hey, Bailey,” Darren said.
His voice was still beautiful, and it still made me feel warm. My fear that I would be uncomfortable were quickly fading away.
“How are you?” I asked him.
“Been better, to tell you the truth,” he answered. “I hope I wasn’t bothering you earlier. I’m sorry that I kept calling, but—”
I was expecting him to finish his sentence, but he remained silent.
“Hello?” I said. “Darren?”
“I’m here,” he replied. “Sorry, I just, I don’t know how to say this.”
“Say what?” I asked anxiously.
“Bailey, I’m so sorry, but your father, he passed away earlier today.”
Nothing could have prepared me for that. I was frozen.
“I went over to his house earlier, and I found him,” he continued. “They think he might’ve died of a heart attack. I took him to the hospital, but he didn’t—he was already gone. I’m so terribly sorry, Bailey.”
“Is this a joke?” I asked him in total disbelief.
“I really wish it were,” said Darren. “I figured someone from the hospital or something might call and tell you. But I was the one that took him in, so I figured it’d be best if I told you.”
I laughed, unable to contain myself.
“Bailey?” he asked.
“I just talked to my dad,” I said through laughter. “I talked to him early this afternoon. You’re fucking with me.”
“Bailey, I’m not.”
We sat there in silence, with only the buzzing from the phone line. Nearly five minutes passed where neither of us spoke.
“I don’t know what to say,” I blurted out.
“I’m sorry, Bailey,” he said.
