The Sound of Light

by Claire Wallis

  But, from the sound of the voice on the other end of the line today, the puppy must still be afloat. And maybe, just maybe, she’s finally nearing the shore.

  “I know you will,” I say, pride swelling in my chest. The broken pieces of my heart rearrange themselves back into some semblance of order, the tiny Cupid’s arrow now holding them loosely together like a toothpick through a sandwich. Precarious and teetering, but together.

  My deal with Winston Sinclair may bring some good to this world after all.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you,” she adds, a quiet tremor in her voice vibrating between us and causing a flutter in my heart.

  I open my eyes and stare at the dark ceiling, waiting for more words and wondering why she sounds so raw.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  I slowly close my eyes again and let her revelation sink in.

  “But, don’t worry,” she continues. “Tasha’s gonna let us live with her and Elijah until I can get my own place. The classes I’m gonna take at Blue Cliff are at night. I’ll watch both babies during the day, and Tasha will have them in the evening, until my classes are over.”

  I sit up in the bed and put my free hand on top of my head. This baby has the ability to either be Charlie’s savior or her sword to fall on. What a huge weight for such small shoulders to bear.

  “How pregnant are you?”

  “Nine weeks.”

  Nine weeks. The reason for her eight-hundred-dollar phone call a few weeks ago is clear now. She was either going to end the pregnancy and has since changed her mind, or she needed the money to get away from the what’s-his-face and start a life of her own. I’m not going to ask her which one is the right answer.

  “The money that came in the mail today…” she adds, “…it’s incredible. Did you know about the baby? Did Tasha call and tell you?”

  “No. No. I just…I picked up some extra work, and I thought it might help you out.” It’s the same lie I told her before. “I’m doing okay here, and I wanted you to have it. Sounds like my timing was pretty good though, huh?”

  “It definitely was.” She sounds so unsure, like she doesn’t believe she can do this.

  “You’re going to make a good momma, Charlie. A much better mother than Louise McGee ever was, that’s for sure.”

  “Thanks, K’acy. That means a lot.”

  Neither of us says anything for a long time. We just listen to each other breathe and think our own thoughts. I’m going to be an aunt. And my daddy is going to be a grandpa. If he were alive, he would be singing at the top of his lungs, filled with hope and promise and love.

  After she gives me her new cell phone number, I say good night to my big sister. Before we hang up, she promises to call me again next week.

  I tell her how much I’m already looking forward to it.

  WHEN I LEAVE for work on Saturday morning, I see Perry Devine’s dark sedan parked across the street from my apartment building yet again. But this time, the moment he sees me step off the stoop, he climbs out of the car and starts walking across the street toward me. As usual, he’s wearing a dark suit. His crisply ironed shirt is Oxford blue. He’s decidedly uncasual this morning, with a bright yellow tie wrapped snugly around his brawny neck. I keep walking to the bus stop, as if I don’t even see him. I have no idea why he’s here, and since all I want to do is punch him in the throat, I think it’s better for us both if I pretend he doesn’t exist. He calls after me, but I just keep walking.

  The next thing I know, Perry Devine is jogging past me, and when he cuts me off and blocks my way, not only do I want to punch him in the throat, I also want to kick him in the groin. Hard. He stops right in front of me and turns around. I can see my reflection in his mirrored aviators. I look stronger than I feel.

  “Where is he?” he says, his voice a mixture of sadness and anger. It takes a moment for me to realize he’s talking about Adam.

  “I don’t know. Thanks to you and your boss, he wants nothing to do with me. Congratulations.”

  “So, you’re telling me he’s not in your apartment right now?”

  “No, Mr. Devine, he’s not.” I cross my arms over my chest and sling my weight down over one hip. A fire starts smoldering in my gut. “Why did you lie to him? Why did you tell him I only came to the hospital for my money when you know that isn’t true?”

  “Because it’s my job to protect him. And he needs to be with his mother and father right now.”

  “It’s your job to protect him, and yet you’ve somehow managed to lose him? Please tell me you see as much irony in that as I do.” I try to push past him, but he stands firm, stepping in front of me each time I try to walk forward. Flames start to lick up out of the smoldering fire inside my gut. “He’s probably asleep at his place. Or on his way to see his father.”

  Perry Devine shakes his head and eyes me cautiously. “He never came home last night. I sat outside his place until morning, and he never came home.” The flames in my belly cause it to tumble over on itself. “I thought he might have come here last night, while I was driving his mother back to her hotel.”

  “He did come here last night,” I say, my voice full of contempt. “But, thanks to your lie, he left quickly. He was only here to say goodbye.” Grief and rage and confusion pump my veins full of bile and suffocate me with their intensity. I want to scream and cry, but more than anything, I want to lift a fist and swing it hard and fast, straight into him.

  As he nods in understanding, his expression changes ever so slightly. It softens into something closer to worry than anger. It reminds me he’s known Adam since he was just a small boy. He’s watched him grow and seen how his parents have treated him. Perry Devine has seen Adam’s mother choose shopping over spending time with her son. He’s seen the full extent of Mr. Sinclair’s need for control. He’s seen Adam at his best and his worst. He probably knows Adam better than his own parents do. I’m sure he cares about him.

  Hell, Mr. Devine probably cares about Adam more than his own family does.

  He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a business card, holding it out for me to take. “I know you don’t like me much, Miss McGee, and I get that. Really, I do. But would you just text or call me if you happen to find him before I do? I just wanna make sure he’s safe.” There’s something else in his voice now, beyond the worry and concern. Compassion, perhaps. Maybe even love.

  Today, Perry Devine isn’t just doing his job. He’s trying to find someone he cares about.

  I take the card from him and tuck it into the pocket of my scrubs.

  He steps aside then, and lets me pass. I keep walking to the bus stop and see him drive by soon after I take a seat on the bench. As I wait for the 61A, I think about the possibility of him being wrong. Maybe Adam did go home last night and Mr. Devine just never saw him. He couldn’t have spent the night in the hospital or at Pine Manor because overnight visits aren’t permitted. I sort through the reasons why Adam may not have gone home last night, and they cause a bullet of worry to burrow its way into me. Maybe there’s something else going on. What if Mr. Sinclair’s accident wasn’t an accident at all? The newscaster mentioned that foul play wasn’t suspected, but maybe that’s changed. Is Mr. Devine worried something’s happened to Adam, too? Has he tried calling or texting him? Does Perry Devine even have Adam’s number? Panic starts to set in just as the bus pulls up to the curb.

  I climb the stairs and find a seat in the front as I fumble for my phone. Once it’s out of my purse, I open up my texts. The moment I do, it rings in my hand.

  The ringtone is sharp and familiar.

  CHAPTER 35

  Back when Crackerjack Townhouse was new, we’d spend most of our practice sessions either jamming or playing cover songs, but eventually, we started writing our own music. Liam, Calvin, and I would build the base of the song, and then the horn players would come in and blow it all out into something really special. Jarrod’s words would be added last. He’s always had a knack for str
inging a bunch of syllables together and making them sound like they were created to spread the very message he turned them into. We all play a part in piecing everything together, and watching a song come into existence is nothing short of magic.

  Over the years, we’ve played a lot of live shows, made two albums of original music, and knocked out a few dozen extra songs that didn’t make the cut. But “Ecce Homo” and “Break It Out” are the songs we’ve always hoped would take us somewhere. They’re the ones we’ve wanted a recording exec to hear us play live for the past few years. And, at long last, one of them is going to get the chance to hear those songs. Tonight, at The Upstage.

  As “Ecce Homo” blares out of my phone on the 61A, I have to take a second to catch myself. After all these years of making music together, I won’t be there for what might be the biggest night Crackerjack Townhouse has ever seen. I won’t be there because someone else needs me more than they do. No matter where Adam is, and what’s happening at The Upstage, I’ll need to be with Mr. Sinclair. Because if I’m not there, tomorrow—and every other day for the next three weeks—will be filled with misery beyond what any human should ever have to bear. It will bring eventual death, yes, but a seemingly endless parade of agony will come first. My promise to Ms. Sinclair has to be fulfilled tonight. If it isn’t, then I’ve lost everything that makes me, me.

  Before the song can continue beyond the intro, I answer the phone, lifting it to my ear and saying a soft hello. When I look up, the man across the aisle is staring at me in disapproval, as if my ringtone didn’t play well with his sensible shoes and leather briefcase. He quickly looks away as Jarrod’s voice comes through the phone.

  “Good morning, schweetheart,” he says in a whisper.

  “Hey, Jar. What’s with the whispering?”

  “Someone’s still asleep.”

  “Grace?” I ask, hoping to hell it’s her and not some ankles-to-her-ears woman. I don’t want him to mess anything up.

  “No, it’s not Grace.” My eyes close as I release a silent, disappointed exhale. “Your Mister is passed out on my couch,” he adds.

  My eyes pop back open, and I lean forward in my seat. “What?”

  “He called and asked me to go get a couple drinks with him last night. I guess I can handle my liquor a little better than he can because, next thing I know, I’m taking his stumbling ass home with me and prodding him to sleep on his side so he doesn’t choke on his own puke.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. The man was shit-face drunk. He downed half a bottle of bourbon and bought like five rounds for the entire bar. Must be trying to spend some of his trust fund.”

  That explains why Perry Devine couldn’t find him all night.

  “Thanks for taking care of him.”

  Jarrod doesn’t reply for a few seconds, and when he does, he sounds different. He’s still whispering, but there’s more sentiment behind his voice than there was before. “He told me he went over to see you last night. He said walking out of your apartment was the hardest thing he’s ever done.”

  “The whole thing sucked.”

  “He was a fucking wreck about it, in all honesty. I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t know what was going on with you guys, so I told him everything I know about your deal with his dad. He didn’t seem all that surprised.”

  “Well, he couldn’t have been too wrecked about it, or else he wouldn’t have walked away.”

  “Yeah, but here’s the thing, Kace…he didn’t want to walk away. He believes what you told him, but he’s terrified of what else his father is willing to do if he stays with you and the man lives long enough to find out about it.”

  My lungs deflate and my chin drops to my chest. I can’t believe what he’s saying.

  “Adam told you all this?”

  “Yeah, but like I said, he was pretty shit-faced. I’m not sure he’ll remember, but that’s definitely what he said. Sure seems to me like the guy’s trying to protect you.” My head is spinning. I can’t even think straight. “Do you know exactly when this is going to be over? I hope it’s soon. I really feel for the guy.”

  I was going to call and tell him later, but I might as well tell him now. “You’re gonna need to get Stevie to play for me tonight.”

  “What? Why? Jesus…wait…is it going to happen tonight?”

  “Yes. And I need to be there.”

  He sighs and pauses, obviously unhappy with what I’ve said. “We can’t play without you. Stevie needs to be on sax, not bass. You and I both know he’s a second-rate bassist. Come on, Kace. Don’t bail on us. You’ve worked too hard to jump ship on this show. The man’s gonna die whether you’re there or not.”

  I can’t tell him that isn’t the truth.

  “I’m sorry, Jarrod. You can be mad at me if you want, but just… Please don’t tell Adam we talked this morning, okay?”

  Another long pause. “I can’t believe this.”

  “With all the epic ass shaking going on tonight, no one’s even gonna notice I’m not there.”

  “I will.”

  I wonder if he can hear me smile.

  “Will you call me tomorrow?” he adds. “Just to let me know you’re okay.”

  If he were here now, on this bus, I would reach over and give him a big hug. “Yeah. Of course.”

  “And you’ll let me know if you change your mind, right?”

  “I won’t change my mind, Jar,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster. “Good luck tonight. And tell the guys I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I hang up as soon as we say our goodbyes. My heart is heavy knowing Crackerjack Townhouse isn’t going to be quite as epic tonight, on the one night it matters the most. I might be shooting all of us in the foot by not being there. It sucks.

  I pull Perry Devine’s business card out of my pocket.

  Perry W. Devine, Head of Security

  Sinclair & Associates

  Seattle, Washington

  I turn the card around over and over again, flipping it between my fingers until the bus arrives at my stop. As I walk the block to work, I send Perry Devine a single text message.

  Adam is safe. He spent the night with a friend.

  PINE MANOR IS QUIET TODAY, too quiet for a weekend. The weather is starting to change, and this time of year, it always seems like everyone tries to enjoy every last bit of sunshine they can get. Autumn is officially here, and for the first few weeks of the season, visitation is always down. People want to spend their weekends outside, instead of in a stuffy place like this. It’s a tough time of year for the residents. They know the holidays are coming in a few short months, and many of them won’t be able to be with their families. Some of them can’t leave the facility. Others don’t “get company” at the holidays because their families are too far away or they don’t seem to think they have the time to make a visit. It’s difficult to see.

  Our social coordinator is always looking for extra resident activities this time of year, and today is no exception. After breakfast, we’re hosting a cookie-decorating contest in the community room with a local bakery. It’s a fun September tradition, and I spend my morning getting the residents ready by helping them put on aprons and wash their hands. Once everyone else is settled in the community room, I head back to Ms. Sinclair’s room to see if she wants to join the fun.

  According to this morning’s shift change report, Ms. Sinclair had another rough night. She had a night terror and woke several of the residents with her screams. The nurse who filled out the report said it took them a long time to get her settled. Apparently Ms. Sinclair didn’t know where she was, and she thought the nurses were there to hurt her, instead of help her. She physically fought with them, and it was a struggle to get her to calm down. They didn’t get her back to bed until nearly five o’clock this morning.

  My precariously pinned-together heart aches at the thought of her being so afraid and confused. I’m not sure my presence would’ve made a difference, but I
wish I had been here last night to try to comfort her. I wish I could’ve held her hand and told her everything would be okay. I suspect her nights are going to become even more difficult over the coming weeks, even if Dr. Kopsey convinces Adam to up her medication yet again. They didn’t call him last night because Ms. Sinclair wasn’t injured, but protocol says Sue Campbell will be calling and telling Adam about the incident sometime this morning, if she hasn’t already.

  As I walk back to Ms. Sinclair’s room, I think of Adam, hung-over and confused, and hope he finds some comfort knowing I’m here with her today, making sure she’s all right. It can’t be easy on him, being with his mother and father when I’m sure he’d rather be with his gram.

  I hope when tomorrow comes, things will be different.

  I open the door to Ms. Sinclair’s room to find her sound asleep in the bed. There’s a bright yellow tray of untouched breakfast on her bedside table, just like there was the morning after she fell for the first time. Only today, Adam isn’t sitting in her recliner with his index finger to his lips like he was that morning. He isn’t here, but his bouquet of daisies is. Their smiling faces are tucked into her green plastic water pitcher, offering their happiness and cheer. Just like a different bouquet of them did that morning, all those weeks ago.