Chapter Five
“Come on, Candy. It’ll be super fun. The band is awesome. I swear.” Misty Harper, my best friend since forever begs me to join her for an evening out on the town. The two of us have been attached at the hip since before we were born. Our moms were best friends in college. Then next door neighbors. We practically grew limb for limb at the same interval just in different wombs. A night out with her, good food, loud garage rock grooving into my system and hot guys are just what I need after the day I had. The universe, however, has other plans for me.
“Sorry, sweetie, not tonight.”
Her eyes glance over at the calendar. Her bubbling happiness clouds over with sadness. “Want me to go with?” she asks.
“No, I’m good.” I squeeze her hand. Gosh, I love this girl to pieces for caring so much. I need to do this on my own.
“Call if you need anything!” She gives me her don’t mess-with-me-stare. It’s a bit scary. Her normally calm hazel eyes sizzle with intensity. I take a step back and another. My hip bone bumps the hard granite surface of the kitchen countertop my mom had redone two summers ago.
I bite my lip not wanting to cry out, and I feel my eyebrows crease together in pain. But she doesn’t relent her death stare. “Okay, okay, you win. Damn. Girl. I’ll be all black and blue for a week,” I mutter as I throw up my arms in resignation. “You happy now?”
She sticks out her tongue and sashays around me all triumphant. “Very,” she exclaims. In a more somber mood, she comes up behind me and envelops me in a bear hug. “You know you don’t have to do this alone, we’re here for you.” She kisses me on my cheek.
I swallow the lump in my throat. Return her hug. “I know. I think I need to though.”
“I understand.”
The thirty-one degree Celcius temperature is a bit above the average twenty or twenty-two degree July heat and it seems to fry my skin on sight. Damn red hair. I hurry my steps. I find the sound of the crackling yellowed grass under my sling back sandals comforting. Soothing of sort, which is appropriate for a place like this, I think. I know the grass should be plush and verdant to lift the spirits and all, but with the ongoing drought, it’s nice to see how dedicated the management of this establishment is to the water conservation restrictions in place. I think, no I know, my parents would approve.
The boxes under my arm are crushed against me. As if, somehow, they’ll bring me strength to see this through. It’s silly. Why are my outsides melting when my core is suddenly made of ice? Ice, in this oppressing heat—like what the hell! My world no longer makes sense. Actually, it hasn’t made sense in a long time. Hence why I’m walking across a cemetery instead of being jostled by a crush of people enjoying the Edmonton International Street Performers Festival, where the music is awesome, colors explode everywhere, magic fills the air, and food vendors can be found around each street corner. Almost feels like Mardi Gras for ten days straight. I sigh. There’ll be time enough to enjoy the festivities another night. Right now, I need to find the courage to put one foot in front of the other and reach my destination.
With trepidation, I kneel before my parents’ grave. A fresh wave of guilt seizes me. I feel like the worse daughter on the planet. I haven’t been back here since the funeral. I’ve tried many times—my veil crumbled so fast. Everything burned so brightly. I never made it this far. I take in a long breath, filling my lungs with the summer heat. I taste the hint of the blue spruce tree I planted especially for my parents. Like their own Christmas tree all year round to keep them company. My grip on the boxes loosen. Under my mother’s name Joy Rivers I lean her favorite tri-colored white, red and green candy canes. For my father, Shephard Rivers I leave his After Eights. A small laugh burst out of me as a tear rolls down my cheek. The chocolates have no chance of surviving this crazy heat. I’m not sure why it makes me so sad, or am I mad, to realize this simple deduction. All I know is the one tear turns into two, and three and soon I can’t shut them off. The little pearls roll and roll down my cheeks, fuck it, I let them. I don’t want to keep them in anymore.
“Miss you,” I manage to whisper through the onslaught of tears. “You were taken from this earth too quickly. But don’t worry Misty is looking out for me. Yeah, yeah, not much comfort. Mom, Gloria checks in on me too, always asks about my laundry and if I have enough food. As if my fridge is only stocked with mustard and beer. It happened once. Once!” I roll my eyes at the college memory of Mom and Gloria showing up for a weekend visit at our dorm room. Misty and I were mortified when they opened the mini fridge and found it full of beer and a near empty bottle of mustard.
“Oh, and Dad, Giftson checks in too. He’s been picking up your around the house to do list. For the first time since I can’t remember when the property hasn’t over-flooded in the summer rains. Imagine. That’s what clean rain gutters do.” I let out a small laugh through my running tears. “And on July first, by some miracle, all the Christmas lights were up—again. Just in time for your Christmas in July fever. Made me cry. Because, for a brief instant, I forgot...”
The tears clog my airways. I let them take over. In the year since a drunk driver slammed into my parents’ SUV, killing them on the impact I have been living my life behind a veil. As though watching it on a movie screen and not feeling this compressing pain in my chest. In spurts, I emerge or I’m pulled from my movie world and brought into reality where everything is bright and hot, and real and heavy. Like this afternoon with the sexy hunk at the clinic. Oh. My. He made me melt from the inside out. And not because of this heat wave. Could have been dead of winter and I’d still have melted at his feet. How effing embarrassing. So not the time to fantasize about mister sex on legs! I lean my forehead against the sun-warmed granite and inhale a long intake of the perfumed summer breeze.
“Goodbye. Sorry it took me so long to visit.” I stand and walk off toward another grave. One I had to look up in the cemetery directory.
The stone is massive. Onyx black with an impressive etched designed of scrolled music sheets and notes and next to his name is a beautifully carved guitar. It’s obvious someone, his family no doubt, cared a lot about him. My fingers start tracing the engraved letters, one by one, as if in a perverse way I need to imprint them in my DNA or something R Y L E E S T O N E. A shiver runs down my spine. Here lies the young man who snuffed out my parent’s life. And for what? Partying hard, driving at insane speeds only cost him the ultimate price in the end. Yet, I can’t bring myself to care for this life lost. From my back pocket, I take out the last item I brought with me. A small bottle of tequila.
I’ll always remember Detective Gunter, one of my dad’s lifelong buddies, his taciturn expression gone when he rang the doorbell of my flat at three in the morning, he held his hat rigidly under his arm. I knew it in every molecule of my body something went deathly wrong.
“They’re gone.” He took me in a crushing hug and fell to his knees dragging me down with him. “Kid’s car reeked of tequila. He had the bottle open next to him, his seat belt forgotten. So wasted he couldn’t see the red light ahead. He blasted through the 149th Street and Yellowhead intersection at hundred and twenty kilometers an hour and slammed into your parents SUV. Killing them on impact. Kid went flying through the windshield crushing his skull. Another life gone. Damn, drunk drivers,” he cried.
I felt numb. It couldn’t be real. Any minute now. My mom or my dad would pop up and say “Gotcha!” So not. Gunter’s trembling form in my arms affirmed my new reality, yet I couldn’t let it sink in that my parents had been ripped from me. If I did I’d lose grip on my sanity.
“Candy, there are actions you can take against that family. We can help. Never think you’re alone.” He looked at me with a new fierceness in his eyes. One I didn’t care for.
“Gunter, you just told the family lost their son, why on earth would I take action against them. It’s over. Everyone has lost.” I told him in a broken voice.
My fingers squeeze around the bottl
e. “I won’t say to your health or rest in peace. Maybe I’m petty, but I hope you rot somewhere in Hell.” I say. It feels good to get those words off my chest. I’ve been carrying them around for a year. I bend down, lean the bottle against his tombstone and walk away feeling lighter.
Chapter Six
“I said no, Redman. So just drop it.”
“What are we dropping?” Waller asks.
“Tweedle Dee over there wants to dedicate tonight’s show in honor of my little brother,” I say with a jerk of my head in Redman’s direction.
Waller looks pensive.
“Don’t even think about agreeing with him,” I warn.
“Why not? He wasn’t just your baby bro Eaton, he was also a part of this band.”
I arch my brow. “You guys treated my kid brother as a lackey and made him do the worst errands.”
“And he loved us for it.” Redman wiggles his brow.
“Yeah, we were his bros from other mommas,” Waller adds.
“Oh yeah, you were tight.” I laugh. “Still, no one is dedicating this show to him.”
“Fine, fine. Ya got to admit though The Beddable Stones haven’t been the same without him around,” Redman grumbles.
“Of course not, my kid bro is no longer here to see to all your odd whimsies, you grumpy old bear,” I tease.
Redman tosses one of his guitar picks at my head. He’s got a good aim with those suckers. I duck just in time.
“While you buffoons argued, I did something productive and asked Mitchum to send over a round,” Peterman says as he joins us.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The last thing I want is a drink. Nothing sobers you more than getting that call in the middle of the night. Sure, we’d just wrapped up a show. All of us were on a different kind of high when Detective Gunter reached me on my cell a year ago.
“Eaton Stone?” The gruff voice asked
“You got him.”
“My name is Detective Gunter. Mr. Stone, we need you to come down to the Northwest Division Station.”
“Shit! What’s Rylee done now?”
“Mister Stone, are you Rylee Stone’s legal guardian?” The cold voice asked.
“Yes, he’s my little brother. What did he do this time?” I asked exasperated. We do this same song and dance each time Rylee gets in trouble.
A long silence followed.
“Hello? What did my brother do?” I asked again getting more anxious by the ticking minutes. How bad can it be this time? Two weeks ago, he trashed The Carrot—another local venue for artists—when a chic apparently sucked during her open mic session. Rylee picked up a customer’s latte and threw it up on stage. Thankfully, the poor girl didn’t get burned. But, the customer, he didn’t take so kindly to seeing his drink fly across the room. He threw a punch at Ry, and things just went downhill from there. Ted and Carol, the owners decided not to press charges so long as I keep him out of there and pay for all damages. Which I’m still paying off! So, could things really get any worse?
“Sir, I’m afraid there’s been a...” his voice stopped as though he didn’t know how to tell me the rest.
Everything inside me grew cold. I had a feeling things were about to get way worse. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. There’s been a what?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Ahem-ahem,” he cleared his throat.
I felt the lump being transferred from his throat to mine through the wire.
“I’m afraid there’s been a fatal car accident. Your brother was driving while under the influence of alcohol and ran a red light his car collided with another vehicle, killing its passengers on impact.” The already cold voice seemed to grow colder as he delivered this news.
My knees trembled. I could hardly breathe. My vision blurred. Yet, I had no trouble following every word the harsh voice delivers as more somber news tumbled across the line.
“Your brother wasn’t wearing his seatbelt at the time of the crash.” The detective took a pause almost as though he needed to steel himself for what came next. “Your brother flew through the windshield, son. EMTs said he died on impact.” Out of respect, he gave me a moment of silence.
My legs wobbled. Unable to stand anymore. I fell to my knees as his voice started up again “We need you to come down here, to the station I mean, there are papers to sign, you’ll have to identify your kin for him to be released to a funeral home of your choosing for burial.”
I barely understood any of it past my brother killed someone. No, more than one, he said passengers... how many I don’t know? And he’s gone. My baby brother, who I’ve looked after my entire life, is gone. Why? All because he drank too much! What the fuck! How the hell did I let this happen? My head spun. My stomach turned over and everything in it came back up. My phone lay at my feet, the voice still prattled on, but, I couldn’t hear it anymore. My world just imploded.
Mitchum drops a serving tray on the table. A tall, sweating one-liter water bottle stands in the middle of the tray and shooter glasses surround it. I give him a fist bump and offer a small smile.
“Shit, really, Mitch?” Waller complains.
“Yeah. Really.” He gives him a look that brooks no further complaints.
I cap open the bottle and pour the first shot. “To Ry,” I say as I raise it up high.
All the guys pour themselves a shot from the cold water bottle, raise them up, and shout out, “To Ry.”
I shoot it back and let the refreshing drink wash the dark memories away. We pour shots until the bottle is empty and it’s time for us to take the stage.
The energy in the room is contagious. The music pours off of me in ways I can’t explain. My pores vibrate with every timbre of my cymbal. Every kick of my drum. I’m using my glow sticks because I know they’re a real crowd pleaser. The lights swirl around me as I pound on the tight leather. Even with my eyes closed, I see the neon blue sparks fly. It’s almost as though I see the music dancing in the air. No, not dancing it’s more beautiful than a dance. It’s a symphony of sound and movement and color. One I get mesmerized in.
Something lands at my feet, it takes me a minute to realize it’s a pair of lacy panties. The grip of the music has me in its clutches though. My eyes lift toward the crowd a fraction of a second, I don’t want to appear like a total jerk after all. But the music claims my attention once more and I’m plunged within another world where only the melody exists.
We kill set after set. And do two encores. In the end, I find two more sets of panties hanging around my drum. Why girls think I want to hang onto their underwear is beyond me. I kick them off the stage to let the cleanup crew deal with the garments.
“Sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday, Ry.” I run my hand across the smooth black onyx. “I swear I meant to visit, things just got crazy. I know it’s a lame excuse. I should’ve made time for you...” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I promise, I’ll do better, Ry. Who else can I come talk to about girls.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I can hear his raucous laughter in the air. The spontaneous kind he’d just erupt in and no matter how much you tried not to join in, you failed, miserably. “Don’t laugh.” Soon, I’m laughing along to his ghostly laugh. ‘Cause I know the notion that I’d ever need anyone to talk to about girls is fucking mind-blowing. “I’m serious, Ry, I’ve met someone, and I’m not talking about a fangirl or a hot groupie or anything like that. She’s a nurse, and I don’t think she has any idea who I am. And I think she likes me—like for me, me. Can you believe it?” I can see him grinning his shit-ass grin and giving me his as if look. As if it’s at all possible a girl can find anything remotely attractive about me if it isn’t related to my music in some way. I wonder about it too. “What do you know anyway!”
I let my fingers trace each letter of his name. The lump in my throat grows. “Fuck, Ry! I’m all kinds of messed up. I miss you every day and I hate you every day and I hate myself for hating you because, fuck man, I love you, Ry. Do yo
u know how twisted this makes me feel?” My voice breaks. “Shit, kid, what I’m trying to say is, no matter what, I love you, bro.” I exhale a long breath. “You get that, right?” Of course, I don’t expect an answer, it just feels good to let him know he’s loved. Even if my feelings are at war with themselves, I’ll always love my brother. Even if I hate the actions he took and the shit-ass poor decisions he made which lead not only to his but other deaths as well. It can’t eclipse the love I have for him.
The rays of the sun catch on something leaning against the headstone. I crouch to pick it up. I twirl the small bottle of tequila around my fingers wondering who would leave this here? A mystery for another day, there’s another stop I need to make. I check the map printed from the cemetery directory. I follow the path indicated to the spot I’m looking for.
The headstone is simple of muted gray. Elegant. Joy Rivers and Shephard Rivers. Under each of their names leans boxes of treats. Candy canes and After Eights. Something about that specific combo plays in the back of my mind. A swirl of red hair, soft chocolate brown eyes going distant, a warm pale hand stroking me to—Fuck no! Nononononononono.
Chapter Seven
“Oh. Huh.” I feel all tongue tied when I pull open the curtain to see my last patient of the day and find Mr. too-hot-for-his-own-good stretched out on the gurney. Shit! Why is he here? I count the days in my head. Look down at my clipboard. Count the days again. Crap! He’s three days early. Breathe, I remind myself. “It’s so nice to see you again, Mister...” Holy mother of God, I’m gonna burn in Hell for sure.
Impulses Vol. 1 Page 2
