Tomorrow, it’ll be him. I turn and slam my fist into the bare plaster of the wall, sending white powder floating through the air. Volcanic anger erupts from the fiery pit of my gut and spews out in a molten snarl. I punch the wall with my other fist, driving clear through the plaster to the lathe behind it.
“Fuck!” My knuckles throb like a son of a bitch, but not nearly as hurt as my pride. Black shadows descend behind my eyelids. Dave may have her now, but he can’t bring her to life the way I can. Doesn’t know how to push her to her limits or even have the balls to try. He doesn’t know about the little spot at the nape of her neck that makes her whimper, or how to make her eyes roll back in her head. That’s me. Game on.
At the end of the kitchen island sits my laptop. In the drawer below it are a couple of extra flash drives. After icing my knuckles on ancient bags of frozen vegetables from the back of the freezer, I set up the equipment I haven’t touched since Juli’s audition recording in the fall. I spend the next couple of hours playing the shit out of the pieces I’ve composed for her. She once told me I said much more through the piano than I ever did with words. If that’s the case, she’ll get this message loud and clear: We are not finished.
***
Sometime in the early hours of Julianne’s eighteenth birthday, I pull into the alley that runs behind her piano studio and cut the engine. Everything’s still in the same place, but it looks different, like going back to your old school and feeling massive next to the miniature desks. The grass is a little longer, flowers bloom where once there was nothing but pine straw, and the darkened windows seem more sinister. Julianne is a creature of habit so I’m counting on her consistency to leave the studio door unlocked.
It is. Good girl.
I’d planned to simply place the flash drive on top of her grand piano, but once inside, memories assail each of my five senses. She’s rearranged her sheet music. A new plant replaces the one she threw at my head, no doubt a gift delivered during her time in the hospital. It still smells of musty books and innocence, but instead of mingling with the scent of my aftershave—and later, the smell of sex—it’s been replaced by a different yet familiar cologne.
I grit my teeth and tamp down the urge to destroy something. Instead, I gently place the flash drive where she’ll see it and turn to leave. But I can’t just walk away. The asshole in me rears up, and like a dog lifting his leg to mark his territory, I rub my newly shaven face against either side of the door frame. Yeah, it’s a pathetic move, but this is war.
Once I’m out of her neighborhood, I realize what a bone-headed move that was, but it doesn’t wipe the grin off my face. At work, Herman shoots me funny looks.
“There something you wanna share, Romeo?” He scratches his nose, leaving a wide dirt smudge behind.
“Why’s that?”
“Can count on one hand the number of times I seen you smile in the months I knowed you. All them been today. Aw, man, there must be a girl. You get some last night?”
I lean on my shovel, glad for the break, and squint at him through the sweat dripping in my eyes. “Yes and no.”
Herman slaps his knee. “I knowed it! She pretty?”
“Gorgeous.”
“Frisky?”
“You have no idea.”
“Damn. Tell me ‘bout it at lunch?”
“Nah, wouldn’t be right.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, shaking his head. “But whatever you doing, keep it up. Ain’t never seen you work so hard.”
He’s right. All day I’ve been picturing Juli going out to her studio and finding the flash drive. Hope she smelled my aftershave and it sent her heart into overdrive. She’s a sight to behold when her adrenaline’s up, all flushed cheeks and false bravado.
I remember the day she got so riled up she threw a fern at my head and missed. It was a valiant effort, but thoroughly ineffective. When she pulled out her most powerful weapon, that’s when she broke through the thin line separating wrong from right and called my bluff.
She’d slammed her pretty little mouth into mine. Swear to God I wanted to strangle her into submission and show her what dangerous ground she was treading, but that’s when my body went rogue. She sank her teeth into my lower lip and that was the last straw. Even now, I’m overwhelmed at the remembered feel of the flushed, smooth skin at her waist when my hands traveled under the hem of her shirt and how she’d shivered against me when I backed her into the piano. Expected her to be frightened, but instead she’d moaned and deepened the kiss to the point I wasn’t sure I could stop, and damn if taking her right there in the studio in broad daylight hadn’t been tempting.
I draw a shaky breath and channel my energy into the trench I’m digging, lest one of my coworkers notice my growing discomfort and get the wrong idea. At lunch, Herman gives me shit about not telling him what happened, but there’s not much to tell.
After work, I follow the same old routine—shower and eat a pathetic dinner alone. I’m on my second cup of ramen noodles when heavy pounding on the door makes me slop hot broth over my hand.
“Shit. Hold on, I’m coming! Swear to God, if it’s someone from the paper asking me to subscribe…”
It’s not. I see his blond spikes through the glass and snicker, knowing he couldn’t stay away forever. Wonder if he brought Juli with him, if she’s out there on the porch remembering the last time she was here. I thank my lucky stars I showered first and ate later.
As soon as I turn the doorknob, Dave shoves it open. His glare could shrivel a bull’s nuts. “What the fuck?”
“Great to see you too, buddy. Come on in. Can I get you something?”
“Fuck you. What’s this about?” My flash drive dangles from his finger.
“That,” I snatch it from him, “does not belong to you and is none of your business.”
“Correction—everything to do with her is my business, so start talking, fuckwad.”
“Jeez, Dave, relax. It’s a flash drive with some compositions. Remembered it was her birthday. It’s not like I can send a card in the mail and get it past her folks. Or you, it seems.”
He smirks. “Oh, is that all? So that’s why I found her in her room crying her eyes out? You just can’t leave well enough alone. Some days I wonder what the hell goes on in your head, but I don’t want to know. You’re seriously messed up. It’s one thing to keep your craziness locked in your own head, but you’ve got no right to spread it around.”
“Look, I didn’t mean to make her cry, but–”
“But nothing, Ike. You’re not right in the head. She finally starts getting better, and you call her over to your uncle’s.”
“I needed to apologize.”
He throws out his arms. “And you did—over the phone. At least three times, from what she told me.”
“Owed it to her to tell her to her face,” I tell him, already hearing the hint of uncertainty in my voice.
“No, you might tell yourself that, but I know you better. You just wanted to see her and you wanted her to see you. You think you have some power over women, like they can’t resist your movie-star looks or some bullshit like that,” he says.
“Movie-star looks? I didn’t think you’d noticed,” I say, striking a pose. I expect my best friend to laugh, but he doesn’t so much as crack a smile.
“It’s not funny, man. And neither is sneaking onto private property and leaving unwanted gifts. Her parents asked me to tell you if you try to contact Juli again, they’ll be forced to file a restraining order. They could already pin you with breaking and entering.”
“Re– Are you shitting me? That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it? Can you promise you’ll leave her be?”
“And the door was unlocked.”
“Dude, that’s not the point. The fact that you’re arguing about this speaks volumes.”
I open my mouth to answer but the gravity of the situation finally hits me. He’s serious, and until this moment, I had no intention of leaving her alone,
nor did I really see anything wrong with entering the studio.
“She cried?”
“Yeah.”
“And she’s getting better?”
“She was,” he says.
“So I ruined her birthday.”
“Pretty much.”
The fight leaves me and I sag against the wall. “Dave, I never meant to hurt her. Never. Didn’t think–”
“That’s the thing,” he says, pointing at my head. “You never think. You have no concept of how your actions affect others. I used to assume it was because you thought you were above everyone else, but now it’s just sad. You gotta get your shit together, man.”
His words are lead cannonballs. How did I screw things up so badly? When did it come to restraining orders? I’m that guy, the one you look away from on the street who sleeps in dirty clothes, clueless that he’s turned a metaphorical corner and veered off into an empty field muttering to himself while stinking of stale beer and cheap cigarettes.
Just when I thought I was getting back on the right track, doing what Heather suggested.
Heather.
She and her bitch mother probably cooked up this plan to make me look even worse. She’s the one who put the idea in my head, pretending to be concerned and sympathetic. Familiar anger replaces despair. I take a deep breath. This is more familiar territory and the feeling fills me like water on a dry sponge.
“You’re right, Dave. Sorry. You have my word that I’ll stay away from the Casquettes’ house and I’ll steer clear of Juli.” For now. “Go on back and try to salvage her birthday. Pretty sure I know what you had planned. Sorry if I cock-blocked you, man.”
Dave shakes his head. “You know, I joke about that stuff a lot, but it’s not the only thing on my mind. You know me better than that, or at least you should. Call me when you grow the fuck up.”
“Ouch.”
“Oh, that hurts, does it? Good. At least you’re capable of feeling. Get some help, ’cause you need it even more than Juli.”
Red anger mixes with disbelief as I watch my best friend turn his back and drive away to be with the girl we both love, though according to both of them, I’m not capable of that emotion.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I just want what I can’t have. First I denied myself of her because I was too caught up in my own shit from Boston. Then I told myself I couldn’t have her because she wasn’t old enough, that the biddies in Mobile would have a field day…and they did once I let my guard down and gave in to temptation. Was it worth it? Worth losing my career, my reputation, my friends, and even most of my family?
Regret won’t change anything, so yeah. Having Julianne was the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever experienced, and now that I can’t have her again, she’s all I think about. I need a new plan.
But first, I have a score to settle. I punch in the numbers and count the rings.
Heather picks up on the third one. “Hey, how are you? How did it go?”
“Can you meet me tonight for dinner?”
“Um, not on such short notice, but we could do drinks later. That okay?”
“Absolutely. There’s something I want to say to you.”
***
Entering Felix’s again after such a long time, and everything that went down since the last time I was here, is a bit disorienting. Its location and clientele, however, make it the perfect spot for what I have planned for Heather Swann.
Her long blond hair stands out in the dim, smoke-filled room. She furtively glances around the room, looking like a little white mouse about to be swooped up in the clutches of a hungry owl. Perhaps she is. I watch as she checks her phone, probably to see if I’m late, and adjusts the straps on her deep pink tank top. Her other hand clutches a sweating bottle of beer, though I know she detests the stuff. Probably afraid to drink out of a glass from this place.
Now that I know she’s good and uncomfortable, it’s time to move in.
“Hey,” she drawls as I slide into the seat across from her. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show. You doing okay?”
“Fantastic,” I tell her, and curve my mouth into a smile guaranteed to put her at ease. Sure enough, her shoulders relax and she grins back. “What are you drinking?”
“This? I have no idea. I can’t even pronounce it.”
“Why’d you order it then?”
Her nose wrinkles. Gotcha. “So, tell me how things went with Julianne. Did you apologize?”
“Sure did.”
“And?”
“And she wouldn’t answer my calls, so I had to leave voice mails.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Mails? As in plural?”
“Yeah.”
The waitress comes by and I order my usual. Well, it used to be my usual when I came here in high school and then with Juli.
Heather peels at the label on her bottle. “So, you left several messages? All saying the same thing?”
“Pretty much. Like I said, she wouldn’t pick up or return them.”
She grimaces. “Isaac, I hate to say it, but that’s kind of creepy. You eventually stopped, right?”
“When she called back.”
“And?”
“I asked her to meet me so I could apologize in person. Owed it to her.”
Heather slams her palms down on the table and leans forward. “You did what? Isaac, you had no right. Please tell me she said no.”
It takes monumental force to unclench my jaw before answering. “She said yes. We met at–” Start to tell her Uncle Robert’s house, but it’s probably best to leave the old man out of this. “We met at a neutral location.”
“Oh, God, Isaac. You did it again.”
“Did what?”
“Made it all about you. You didn’t apologize because you wanted to make things right. You did it so you could feel better about yourself. I take it you want to work things out with her? That you’re not making a clean break?”
I shrug, trying not to show her how much those now-familiar words make me angry. This was her idea, anyway. She’s trying to twist things around, surely a part of her plan. Time to put mine into practice.
“Did what you suggested. Told her I was sorry, hoped she was getting better, and I wished her well in Boston.”
Heather’s narrowed eyes give away her uncertainty. “How did Juli react?”
Bitch wants a play-by-play, no doubt so she can report it all to her mama. “She cried a little, but she was okay. Looks really good, healthy. Dave must be good for her.” There’s not enough beer in the world to wash down the bitter taste left in my mouth from that lie.
Skepticism and hope flit across Heather’s face, like she wants to believe me but isn’t sure she can. Gotta hand it to her, she’s an excellent actress. Her mama’s taught her well.
“Well, that’s great,” she says, leaning back in the booth. “Do you feel better?”
“Absolutely. You were right.” Another lie for me to choke on. We clink bottles. “I’ve learned my lesson. Had a lot of time to think about things the past few months, and that’s not the direction I want my life to go in. Must have just been a rebound thing after what happened in Boston with Marie.”
I take a draw on my bottle and wait for that name-drop to register.
“Marie was another girlfriend?”
I nod. “Almost a fiancée. Wanted to get married and start a family, but she wasn’t on the same page. Dumped me the day I put down the first payment on a ring.” If there’s anything all women have in common, it’s sympathy for a jilted guy. She’ll be eating out of my palm in no time.
“Oh my gosh, Isaac. I had no idea.” She lays her small hand on mine and squeezes. This is too easy. “It’s no wonder–”
I wave her off. “Ancient history. Anyway, I realized that just because it didn’t work out with her, there was no reason to think I wouldn’t find someone else who wanted the same things as me.”
The cute brunette waitress bumps my arm when she approaches the table. “Another round for you two?�
�
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, “but could you bring a watermelon mojito for the lady? And a straw.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
Heather arches an eyebrow.
“What? I know you like those, plus you make a face every time you take a sip of beer. Promise, I used to come here all the time and never caught any strange diseases from the glasses. The straw will be one more barrier. Besides, didn’t anyone ever tell you alcohol kills germs?”
She smiles and tilts her head just slightly, like she did in high school when I’d tease her. Have to admit, it tugs on what’s left of my heartstrings, but I need to remember the woman in front of me is not as innocent as the one I loved. This one has been poisoned by her mama’s vitriol and God knows what else.
When the waitress returns with our drinks, Heather takes a tentative sip. “Mmm, not bad. Pretty good, actually.”
“See? Shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,” I say, pointing my bottle at her. “They’re often deceiving.”
“Point taken,” she says. “So what’s next for Isaac Laroche?”
“Good question. Suppose I should work on getting my family to speak to me again.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yep. Uncle Robert’s the only one I talk to these days.”
“How is he? I always loved his charm.”
“Good. Had a stroke last year but you’d hardly know it.”
“Oh, dear, I hadn’t heard.”
“He’s fine. Strong as an ox.”
Heather fiddles with her straw, stirring the pink watermelon juice around in her drink like bloody bathwater. She peeks up through her eyelashes. “Will you stay here?”
“Will you?”
“I asked first.”
“No plans to leave. Kind of like to stick around and see what develops.” I make sure to keep eye contact when I say this. Even in the dark bar, it’s obvious she’s blushing. “So what about you? Heading back to Tuscaloosa soon?”
She shifts in her seat and stares somewhere over my shoulder. “No. I’m here for the foreseeable future. I, um, need some time to regroup after…you know.” She holds up her left hand and wiggles her bare ring finger.
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