by Anthology
“Holy mother,” Lena said under her breath. I shot her a nasty look that might as well have screamed, Mine.
At least she could breathe. I, on the other hand, lost the ability.
“Oh. Uh, hi.” Tyler gave Lena an awkward look. “I’m Tyler.”
Lena smiled nice and wide, her dimples showing in triplicate. “Hi, Tyler. I’m Lena. Maggie’s sister.”
He walked down the stairs slowly, the towel nearly slipping. He caught it and acted as if there were nothing at all out of the norm about parading around my parents’ house wearing a small piece of terrycloth in front of me and Lena.
“My clothes dry?” he asked me, his face pleasant but not smiling.
“Um....”
Lena bit back a laugh.
“Where’s the dryer?”
Lena pointed. I had become a statue, completely entranced by the way his tats danced on the strong curves of his muscled chest and arms.
He walked into the little laundry room off the back of the kitchen where his clothes went Kathunk. Kathunk. Kathunk.
Like my heart.
“You finally decide to sleep with someone and that’s who you pick? You have some fine taste, sis,” Lena said in a conspirator’s voice.
I hit her shoulder. “I’m not sleeping with him.”
“Then can I have him?”
“Shut up! And you’re supposed to be gay!”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t admire.” She snorted. “If you’re not sleeping with him, why is he naked in our house?”
She had me there.
“It’s a long story.” I frowned. “And I need to borrow your car.”
“For what?”
“To drive to L.A.”
Lena’s eyes went wide with surprise, then narrowed with suspicion. “I need cookies for this conversation.”
“I need alcohol.”
“You got any coffee?” asked a deep baritone. Tyler came back from the laundry room dressed in his mostly-dry clothes, finger-combing his wet hair. He was barefoot and, as I now knew, commando, the faded denim jeans all worn and sculpted to fit his hips and ass.
“We have coffee!” Lena said brightly. “What can I make you? An espresso, a latte, a cappuccino, or—”
“Just coffee. thanks.”
Perplexed, Lena watched him like he was an alien.
“Do we have ‘just coffee’, Maggie?” She looked at the espresso machine Dad bought on a business trip in Seattle a few years ago.
“Run a double shot of espresso and let it go until the cup’s full,” I ventured.
Tyler looked at us like we were the aliens.
“If it’s too much trouble, we can just hit a donut shop on the way out of town,” he said.
Lena visibly shuddered. “Dear God, no. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. Not even on my douchey ex.” She pulled out the small ceramic container where Mom and Dad stored ground coffee and began making Tyler’s cup.
Tyler looked at me.
“How long before we can go?” he asked.
Lena flipped the switch and the pump began, thick, black coffee pouring into the white mug. “You’re serious,” she said to me as the coffee poured out. “You need to borrow my car for a road trip?”
“Um,” I said, swallowing. My mouth had gone dry. Tyler just stood there, eyes on the coffee machine.
Lena switched the pump off and handed him the cup.
He surveyed the thick milky foam with narrowed eyes. “Oh, uh—I usually drink it black.”
She smirked. “It is black. That’s just crema. Drink up.”
He took a tiny sip and raised one eyebrow. “Huh.”
“Can I talk to you privately, Maggie?” she asked, teeth together, eyes aglow. There was fear, intrigue, curiosity, surprise, and a determination I knew damn well.
Lena thought I was nuts.
And, really, was she wrong?
She grabbed my biceps and pulled me in the hallway where our parents’ bedroom and office were. Tyler was left alone in the kitchen, now gulping the coffee.
“Tell me what you’ve done with my real sister, because the Maggie I know would never in a million years have a bad boy tattoo’d hottie taking a shower in our house while asking to borrow my car so she could go on a road trip to L.A. with him and have some fun.”
“I’m offended you think I’m not capable of having fun!”
“Don’t red herring me, Margaret,” Lena said in a severe voice, her finger in my face, pointing up. “I’m a lawyer. I was in debate club. I know when I’m being distracted. And I’m distracted enough by that chest. Holy Jesus, did someone carve it out of marbled butter?”
“Hey! Quit ogling my...” Oh, damn. Tyler wasn’t “my” anything. She had every right to turn him into eye candy.
She swallowed, her face softening, eyes going narrow with worry. “What are you doing? Who is this guy, really?”
I leaned against the wall for support. “He’s my friend Charlotte’s boyfriend’s substitute bass player for their band.”
“Oh, well, then. That explains everything. He’s practically family.”
Lena’s sarcasm made me defensive. “He’s fine. I’ve known him for a while.” A small lie. Seeing him a handful of times at concerts over the past year, throwing myself at him on a rooftop, and kissing him in the hospital a few days ago didn’t exactly add up to a long-term friendship, but...
“Look. He got mugged. Someone stole his instrument and his phone and wallet. The guy has nothing but a few hundred bucks. That’s it. He needs to get to L.A. and without ID, the only safe way is to have someone drive him there. I can’t even lend him a car—”
Lena cut me off. “Listen to yourself, Maggie! Lend him a car? Are you nuts?”
“I said I can’t—and won’t—because he has no ID. And suddenly, the band manager called and they entire band has a huge big break. But we have to get him to L.A. in two days. The concert’s Tuesday.”
“You plan to drive alone with this guy for two days?” Those big, brown eyes were calm on the outside but underneath I knew she was evaluating me. Assessing me. Making sure this wasn’t a Maggie who was devolving. She’d seen it before, seven years ago, and the worry lines etched into her face as she studied me made me think of Mom.
Who, thank God, wasn’t here right now. If either Mom or Dad were here they’d talk me out of this.
“He looks pretty menacing to me,” she said, then cleared her throat meaningfully.
I touched my hair. “Seriously? You’re judging people by their exterior?”
“You do it to keep people out.”
I thumbed toward Tyler. “Why do you think he does it?”
“I don’t get tats and crazy hair colors. I can admire them, but I don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to get it. You just have to lend me your car for a few days. Use Dad’s while I’m gone. I can’t take that.”
She smirked. “He’d kill you. No one touches his Tesla.” Dad’s midlife crisis had been to buy a Tesla. Mom said she appreciated that vs. a mistress. Who wouldn’t? Teslas don’t give you herpes. Although, Dad loved that car so much he probably would have sex with it if he could.
Lena sighed and bounced one foot nervously. I watched her face, realizing how tired she was, as she grappled with this. “You need to do this,” she finally said, her voice firm.
“I do?”
“Yes. You’ve been wound tight as a drum for more years than needed. Mom and Dad treat you like you’re broken. They love you, but the kid glove treatment is hard to watch.”
“Jealous?”
She shot me a look that said she was anything but. “Not jealous. I just think that if something in you intuitively says to do this, you should trust your gut.”
My gut. Trust. The words didn’t make sense. Some day maybe they would. All I knew right now was that she wasn’t fighting me on this. Weird.
She reached into her jacket pocket and handed me her car keys. “Good thing we’re all still on a fa
mily car insurance policy.” Ever-pragmatic Lena lived in a small cottage behind the house. Our grandma had lived there until last year, when she’d died. Lena’s return was smooth after she and her long-term boyfriend of eight years had separated.
Having her accept this made me deeply insecure. It was like someone poked a small hole in my slightly under-inflated balloon self. The steady, small leak made me collapse from the inside out. Already on the fence, I found myself questioning this strange ordeal.
And then my phone buzzed, forgotten in my pocket and now insisting on my attention. I held up one finder to tell Lena to hold on and answered it.
“Hi, Darla.”
“Oh, thank fucking God, Maggie. I’ve been half out of my mind sending messages. Tyler emailed me from the library earlier about how he got cleaned out and I freaked and called Charlotte and I can’t believe he lives in the same city as you! How’s that for serendipity.”
Yeah. Right.
“Lucky, huh?” I muttered.
“It’s fate!” she shouted. Lena widened her eyes and I mouthed the words band manager.
She nodded slowly and whispered, “I’m going to talk to Mr. Bad Boy. Give him the third degree.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew Lena. She’d pack him a goodie bag and bake him two dozen pecan sandies while covertly doing an interrogation worthy of the CIA.
“Maggie, you there? Tyler there?”
“He’s here.”
“So you’ll drive him out?”
My answer perched on the tip of my tongue. Once the promise was made I couldn’t back out. Seven long years since the defining moment of my life. Two months since I tried to use Tyler like a white board eraser. I’d needed him to rub me out.
Er...
“Yes,” I answered quickly. Before I could change my mind.
“YAY!” Darla screamed. “You got a credit card? We’ll reimburse you for expenses. If you guys need a hotel room for the trip, let me know.”
Record scratch moment.
Hotel room?
I heard a low, smooth baritone voice laughing in the distance. Who else was here? I walked to the end of the hall and peered into the kitchen to see Lena stacking bags of chips and pulling out coffee thermoses from the cupboards.
And laughing with Tyler.
I’d never seen him laugh like this before. Ever. The sound was infectious, making a grin spread across my face and filling me with a fuzzy glow.
Twenty-nine hours of that sound, alone, in a car with him? Oh, yeah.
“Maggie? You there?”
“Yeah, Darla. I’ll get him there.”
She let out a whoosh of relief. “Thank you so much! I know you and Tyler have a...past.”
“Stop right there. I’m not talking about it.”
“But maybe this is fate.”
Please.
“Maybe it’s just bad luck,” I replied, trying to get her off this track. “And I can help Frown now. It’s all good.”
“The band owes you. Big time.”
“The band can foot the bill for my night at a luxury hot springs spa in Colorado on my drive back.”
I could hear her smile through the phone. “Deal.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
By the time I got off the phone and back into the kitchen, Tyler’s smile was long gone and his laugh was, too. Lena was filling an insulated grocery bag with enough food to feed the entire band for two days.
My bags were packed from coming home. I was just on a plane yesterday. My mind reeled. Tyler drank another cup of coffee and expertly worked the espresso machine, filling a mug with an empty thermos next to it.
Way to make yourself at home. And how had he figured out the machine so quickly, without watching the instructional DVD?
“You need to pack?” he asked, not looking up from the machine.
“Yeah.” I walked upstairs, grabbed three of everything I’d need, and as I went through my suitcase I found the five-pound bag of gummy bears Darla had given me after that night I babysat her, Charlotte and Amy when they’d gotten something psychedelic in their drunk ice cream pie.
Darla had mumbled something about having twelve bags of them and how her mother entered sweepstakes and won shit like that and not homes or cars. On impulse, I carried it in one hand and my backpack in the other.
I pack light.
“I printed maps for you,” Lena said, a little breathless with excitement. “Just in case GPS dies on you. You have two choices: go through Kansas, Colorado and Utah, or the southern route, through Missouri, Oklahoma, New Mexico and Arizona.”
“So boring old farm land or boring old desert,” he said.
Lena just shrugged. “I’d recommend the northern route. More scenic.” I thought the southern route would be easier, but said nothing.
I plunked the gummy bears in the insulated tote and turned to Tyler.
“Ready?”
His eyes locked on mine, seconds descending us into a bond I couldn’t bear. Something about that penetrating gaze and his very few words made me dissolve.
“Yeah,” he said, walking toward the door. “Wait. You got a guitar?”
“A guitar?”
He shrugged, jaw tight with tension. He really hated asking for help, didn’t he? “Yeah. I need something to practice on. Something to keep my fingers busy.” He held out his palms. The calluses were thick.
Lena made a silly snorting sound, then walked upstairs to a small storage closet and came down with her old guitar in the case. A layer of dust coated the top.
“You haven’t played that in years!” I declared.
She looked at Tyler. “You can have it.”
“No way. I’m borrowing it,” he ground out, nostrils flaring, as if she’d offended him.
Lena didn’t notice—or didn’t care—that he was being contradictory. “I haven’t touched that thing since my senior year of high school, and I’d rather see it put to good use.”
He spat out a grudging “Thanks,” then said, “But Maggie’ll bring it back.” And with that, he climbed in Lena’s little red sedan and slammed the door shut.
All Lena did was nod.
Just like that, we said good-bye to Lena, who gave me a big hug and whispered:
“I packed condoms for you in there, too.”
Chapter Five
Tyler
I was stuck in a car for twenty-nine fucking hours with a woman who had thirty hours worth of lecturing built up inside her like a pressure cooker.
And no phone. No earbuds. I was a sitting duck.
“You should have something to eat,” she said as I sank down in my seat and pretended to sleep.
“I’m fine.”
“What have you eaten? Other than Lena’s cookies?” That gave me pause. My answer would have to be nothing. I wasn’t admitting that, though.
My stomach made a nervous sound heard only in movies directed by Ridley Scott.
I gave her a look that said back off.
She did. We drove in tense peace, listening to anything but Random Acts of Crazy. Maggie’s taste in music leaned toward Tori Amos. Christina Perry. Sad chick indie rock. I was fine with that for an hour, but my brain would wave a white flag and beg for POW status soon if I had to listen to nothing but that for twenty-nine hours.
After about a half hour on the road, she turned to me and said, “So when are you going to tell me what really happened?”
“Huh?” I knew this was coming, but it was easier to pretend I didn’t.
“You didn’t get mugged.”
“I got cleaned out.” The memory of this morning made my gut ache. Nothing like being betrayed by your own brother. The one you helped raise since you were eleven.
Not thinking about that. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about that.
“That’s not the same as mugged. Muggers don’t get their hands on your wallet, phone and instrument.”
I said nothing.
“C’mon, Tyler. You
owe me an explanation.”
Owe. They all said that eventually. My life was a mixture of being told what I did and didn’t deserve, and what I did and didn’t owe people.
“I owe you money to pay you back. I owe you my gratitude for helping. I do not owe you an explanation,” I said, all in a voice that I hoped meant she’d put this topic to rest.
“Hah!”
Guess not.
“You think you can just be the Emperor of the Car Trip?” She started using her hands to gesture wildly.
Fuck.
“And declare silence? Nope. You owe me an explanation because you have to admit it was pretty fucking bizarre to have you reject me two months ago, show up at Joe’s hospital room, insult me, then kiss me, and a few days later show up at my home in St. Louis!”
Yeah. She was right. It was loony.
“Okay.”
“Okay? Okay? That’s all you have to say?”
“I guess so.”
“It’s like talking to a brick wall,” she declared to the air, as if it were listening.
I could handle being compared to the brick wall. Brick walls are solid. They stay put. They have your back. They do what they need to do and leave people alone.
Best of all?
They don’t talk.
“Who stole from you?”
My body went cold and my stomach turned into a twist tie.
“What?”
“Who stole from you?”
“A guy.”
“You know him?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
“Was it a drug deal gone bad?”
She went there, huh? Because they always go there. You look like me, you come from my part of the city, you get stereotyped.
I took a deep breath through my nose. My body was crawling with a prickly feeling that someone once said was shame. A teacher at school, maybe middle school. I don’t remember. We were learning about feelings in some social studies class and she said that shame was a social emotion. Other people make it happen to you.
But you have to do it together. They trigger it and you join in.
“Drug deal?”
“Well.” She stopped herself, her voice going quiet. Maybe I could trigger shame in someone, too.
“You assume that’s the only reason someone like me could get rolled?”
