Pucker Up

by Seimas, Valerie

  Her eyes lit up at the challenge, and she continued circling the pile, her brow drawn in thought. “You know I think your office is outdated, but you’ll never willingly remodel that.” Dustin watched her and the affection he had for her swelled, a feeling he wasn’t always prepared for, even after eight years. “Are you building a porch swing?”

  “Really?” His tone was incredulous, light, but he felt hollow, just like he always did when she asked about a porch swing. It was the one thing he never made them, the image of them swinging on the porch in laughter too close to the reality shattered on the floor. No porch swings.

  Harmony laughed at his dry tone. “I don’t know. This place is practically perfect. You remodel it way too often for me to keep up.” He did – every year this week, in fact, for the last decade. It was the best distraction he could find.

  Dustin nodded his head, considering. “You think so? Maybe I should just take all this stuff back then.” He reached down to grab a board and put it back in his truck. “I mean, you don’t really need more bookcases and a window seat in your old playroom, right? Yeah, useless stuff.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. I may have been a bit hasty.” Dustin couldn’t hold back the smile anymore when she grabbed his arm. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Uncle Dust!”

  “Well, I figured I should probably tackle it before you follow Mel to college,” he yelled after her, already running back into the house in excitement.

  “You know, if you build me bookshelves with hidden passageways, I won’t ever leave,” she shouted back over her shoulder, the smack of the screen door punctuating her words.

  “If only that were true,” he murmured. He’d just put his hat back on when the screen rattled again.

  “Early start?” his brother Peter asked with a raised brow as he crossed the yard.

  “Got lots on the agenda today.” They shared a look, and Peter smirked, knowing exactly why Dustin was up with the sun.

  “You know, I could have a much later start if my car was working,” Harmony said as she slung her bag into the trunk of Peter’s sedan.

  “This week a new bookshelf and an old jalopy will just have to do,” Dustin said.

  “What, you’re embarrassed of riding to school with good ‘ole Dad?” Peter’s eyes twinkled as he feigned hurt.

  “Yes. Every day,” she deadpanned as she got into the car.

  “Hmm, guess I’ll have to increase my declarations of affection then. Haven’t put a baby picture as my screensaver in a while,” Peter mused as he ducked down into the car, Harmony’s squeal of protest unmistakable.

  The horn honked and Dustin looked over, bending down to look through the passenger side window as it was rolling down. “Tell her hi,” Peter said with a laughing smile as he pulled out onto the road.

  Chapter 2

  Faith showed her houseguests to their rooms in the east wing, giving them time to grab their luggage and bodyguard, and settle in before they left for lunch. She had some things to clean up, including any remnants of the songwriter in her study. Her phone buzzed against her hip, and she sighed but pulled it out anyway.

  Jackson had sent her another text. She didn’t know what else she had to do for him to understand that she didn’t want to talk. She had the vaguest recollection of, what she’d been babbling about when he drove her home from her birthday party, so she had absolutely no interest in talking to him now. Not this week.

  Leave me alone. I am avoiding you and you’re smart enough to know what that looks like. Let it go, she typed out with quick fingers. The songwriting sessions had erased most, but not all, of the traces of the bourbon and angst from that night. She rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the tightness she still felt. Every phone call just tied her up into a few more knots. The phone in her hand started ringing, but the frown disappeared when she saw that it wasn’t Jackson who was calling.

  “Hey lady – it’s ten days too early for our monthly phone call,” Faith said, her voice alight with welcome.

  “Well, I’ve been the old lady that I am and keep falling asleep before getting to wish you a happy birthday,” Bea said, the humor in her voice making her sound anything but old.

  “You are very organized, but you always seem to call me late.”

  “This way, if I’m late, you notice.” That wasn’t why Bea called her late and they both knew it. Her voice would always do more good a few days later, when the dust settled and she would need a friend. “Don’t want to go unnoticed, kind of like you are lately.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Bea always had lessons, and she was never very subtle with them.

  “I’ve been watching all your interviews, of course – ”

  “Of course,” Faith chimed in.

  “And I’ve noticed that all anyone can ask you about is Andy Peters. Andy Peters this, Andy Peters that. Andy Peters is so elusive – have you met? What are they like? Send us a photo. Really, it’s rather rude, you know.”

  Faith’s lips twitched at Bea’s annoyance on her behalf. It was true, all anyone ever wanted to talk about nowadays was either Andy Peters or the genius of Jackson Shaw. With the surprise success of her recent comeback album and the on-point songwriting skills of Andy Peters, Magpie Entertainment was a company being heralded for “a meteoric rise.” Profiles of Jackson Shaw and his ability to spot talent were cropping up everywhere. It was a good thing he was her best friend, or she’d probably want to punch him.

  “I’m a big girl. I can handle it just as long as you don’t ask me about Andy Peters.” She was tired of being evasive on the Andy Peters subject, but people were getting more curious, not less.

  “Me, no,” Bea said. “Way too angsty for me. You know I like your catchy Attitunes songs. I still play Pucker Up when we have pie-eating contests.”

  Faith’s smile disappeared at that comment. That’s what she thought, what she always thought – too angsty, too sad. She’d thought she’d hidden pretty well from the Andy Peters commentary in the beginning, but it was getting harder and harder to manage now that the songs had gotten so successful. What was the point of hiding behind a nom de plume if people kept asking your opinion on it?

  “Don’t worry. My feelings aren’t hurt,” she said with cheerfulness she didn’t actually feel, recognizing they were actually talking about two entirely different things.

  “I know,” Bea said. “You’re made of stock entirely too strong for that.” Faith rolled her eyes at that, knowing the old woman tended to forget that she hadn’t started out a salt-of-the-earth rancher like the rest of the people she knew.

  “Did you forget you’re talking to a city slicker?”

  “A city slicker that rides a mean horse.” Faith didn’t want to talk about that either. She hadn’t been on a horse in over a decade and wasn’t planning on rectifying the situation any time soon.

  “Do you really still play our CD?” Faith asked, trying to change the subject. “Do any of the campers even know those songs?”

  Bea’s voice took on a chiding tone. “You still have a lot of fans out there, darlin’.”

  Not fans of the real me, she thought. What would they say if they knew Faith West, the Girl Next Door, the one full of smiles and sunshine, had parts of her so very dark? Nothing good, she was very sure.

  “I know,” she said. “They’re the ones buying my albums.” Bea laughed at her tone. “Thank you for calling me, honey.”

  There was a pause for a moment, and they both knew what was coming, playing out familiar routines. “You know I’m going to ask,” Bea said.

  “You always do.”

  “And you always refuse.”

  “Then why do you keep asking?” Faith asked, her tone exasperated but entertained.

  “Because I’m stubborn!” she said. “And because, one day, I’m hoping you say yes.”

  “I know you do,” Faith whispered. “You have more faith in me than I have in myself.”

  “One day,
” Bea murmured.

  “Anywhere else,” Faith said. “Ask me to sing anywhere else and I’m there.”

  “One day I’ll get you to come back to the ranch and play that benefit concert. One day.”

  “One day,” Faith said, saddened that she didn’t believe too.

  Dustin turned the music in his truck up, hoping the noise would help distract him. His legs were getting restless – he wasn’t made to sit behind the steering wheel for hours – and he wanted to be outside where he could feel the sun on the back of his neck and ground beneath his feet. He watched the open road and let his mind wander, replaying the conversation he’d had with his brother the night before.

  “Should have known this is where you’d be.” They always knew where to find each other – twin low jack. Peter had just been announcing his arrival.

  He’d gone to hide again. As the day drew closer, he found it easier to just retreat into himself. He loved his nieces with a fierceness that often surprised him, but he needed his solitude, to shut the rest of the world out and tend old wounds. “Of course this is where I am. This is where the work gets done, isn’t it?”

  Peter had lounged in the doorway, looking unconcerned. “Wouldn’t know. My work requires chalkboards and children.”

  “Do you need something?” he’d asked, exasperation clouding his voice.

  “Do you?” They stared at each other in silence, eyes never wavering, before Peter called the truce and walked in, dropping down across from the desk. “Melody called. She can’t come home for dinner this weekend. Says she has to study, huge midterm the next day.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  “Of course I believe her,” Peter replied, a look of mirth on his face. “She doesn’t lie to me. And why lie about this. Even if she didn’t have a test, not sure I want her driving four hours just for your crappy cooking and then turning around to drive right back.”

  “What’s Harmony say?”

  “Oh, she thinks that frees up a seat for you to invite someone to dinner.”

  He’d growled. “Punk teenager.”

  Peter had laughed at that, almost falling out of the chair he’d propped up on two legs. “They turn from precocious to punk oh so quickly these days.”

  “Just like their dad.” They’d shared identical looks of humor. It made Peter’s day when someone compared him to his daughters, even though they shared no blood, only signatures on a piece of paper. Peter liked to think he was fighting the good fight, on the side of nurture over nature.

  “Why’d you really come in here?”

  “Enjoying your sparking personality isn’t reason enough?” Peter had smiled, the smile that usually meant trouble, and pulled a magazine from his pocket, throwing it at him. “Page seventy-two.”

  Dustin hadn’t even needed to look. He knew all too well why Peter handed him magazines. “Haven’t grown out of this yet?” He knew Peter’s opinion. He’d known Peter’s opinion for the last decade. Didn’t change anything.

  Peter had gotten up to leave at that, aware of exactly when to make his retreat. “Just be happy the girls don’t know their favorite bedtime story is real. They’d be even worse than I am.” His brother had seemed to consider that for a moment before continuing. “Though you have always found it hard to ignore them. They might come in handy.”

  “What have I said about this, Peter?” He had looked at his brother sternly, inwardly hiding a smile, still unable to be appropriately furious at his twin for the unsuccessful attempts at meddling.

  “Gee bro, you say so many things. You expect me to keep them all straight?”

  “Get out of here!” he’d barked, throwing a wad of paper across the room. Peter’s hands went up in surrender and he left. Without his distracting commentary, Dustin had turned his attention to the magazine on his desk.

  It had been a decade since he’d seen her, but he’d recognize Faith anywhere – same red hair, same bright sapphire eyes, same perfect legs that went on forever. But that’s where the similarities stopped – wearing a dress that looked like a fabric store exploded, corkscrew curls nowhere to be found, that fiery determination missing from her eyes.

  “Biggest change in the last five years: Going vegan,” he had read. He remembered when she still ate eggs for breakfast. But that was ages ago, back when he was the only one that knew how she took them.

  He hadn’t thought about that girl for a long time. Well, he hadn’t thought about her for a long time while awake. Sleeping was another matter altogether. She was a headliner now, opening at stadium arenas with sold out shows, but she played more intimate venues in his dreams.

  He skimmed the rest of the questions – favorite color, childhood experience, fondest memory – until he reached the end. “Marriage: Not for the faint of heart.” His breath caught – ten years later he still couldn’t decide what part of it all was the biggest mistake. Which should he dread, the beginning or the end? The picking her up or the letting her go? He shook his head in frustration; he was not going there again.

  The magazine was halfway to the trash before he had noticed the picture in the corner and stopped. There she was, the girl he knew. The girl he’d loved. The girl he’d lost. He slipped the magazine into the bottom of a desk drawer. This one, this magazine, he’d keep. He didn’t want to think about why.

  The brake lights of the cars ahead brought Dustin back to the moment, away from the desk drawer and the girl he wished he could evict from his head. He looked around for something else to distract him and spotted the box sitting in the passenger seat. He couldn’t resist laughing at himself. This was not the most well-thought out idea he’d ever had. But it had been one well-timed excuse. He latched on, just like he always did this time of year. His sorrow pushed him to productivity, leaving no time to think. This was the week he’d built a treehouse, remodeled the girl’s bathroom, landscaped the backyard, gutted the kitchen. His nieces enjoyed it – this week of the year was never, ever boring.

  Dustin sighed in relief when he finally saw the exit up ahead. His country radio station had stopped coming in hours ago. He couldn’t find another good one and letting his thoughts wander was getting him exactly nowhere. The music over the airwaves was aggravating but it was better than turning it off – the silence would have driven him insane. He joined the group of cars slowly circling the parking lot. He hadn’t timed this right at all, but he couldn’t be angry; he’d arrived.

  He slid into a spot right in front of the building and smiled – maybe things were looking up. But as he reached for the keys to turn off the engine, he heard it. He didn’t know the song, but he knew the voice. It had been at least two years since he’d heard one of her songs, ten since he’d heard one in person, but her voice still captivated him. He wanted to leave, didn’t want to be listening to this; this was why he’d been up at the crack of dawn driving a handful of hours south to deliver dinner, but he couldn’t move. He closed his eyes and let the music burrow inside him, her words of hope doing funny things to his heart. Her voice was soft but strong, and he was shaken to the core when it stopped.

  He heaved himself from his truck, box held on his shoulder one-handed, and slammed the door with more force than necessary. He fixed the brim of his ball cap in the side mirror, making sure he didn’t look as wrecked as he felt, and strode towards the front door. Stomping up three flights of stairs gave his muscles a chance to stretch, but he didn’t do it quietly; eyes followed him as he moved. He was relieved when he reached her door – the only time their small age difference ever occurred to him was when he visited her at school.

  “Uncle Dust!” Melody opened the door with a wide smile, delight clear in her voice. “What are you doing here?” He hugged her with his free arm, blonde hair barely tickling his chin, and stepped into her dorm room.

  “I need a reason to visit?”

  She gave him a placating look before focusing on the box he held. “Never. But you don’t drive around without a reason. You hate to drive.” He did
. But he hated feeling stuck more.

  “I brought you something.”

  “I can see that,” she said, amusement dancing in her voice. “Are you going to put it down or go stalk around the courtyard like that – a lot of girls around here would pay to watch, and I could use some extra cash.”

  Melody laughed at the stormy look that blew across Dustin’s face. “Not you too. I don’t need a girlfriend, thanks.” He put the box down on her desk and reached for his wallet. “How much money do you need?”

  Melody’s eyes got quizzical, and she hopped onto her bed, legs crossed underneath her, managing not to upend any of the books strewn across it. “I was just kidding.” She watched him, and Dustin had the urge to throw a blanket over his head and hide. He felt too exposed as it was; he didn’t need that clinically accessing stare she’d gotten from her mother. The one that promised to look into your soul. “Since when do you hand out cash like it’s chewing gum?”

  “I miss you,” he said, getting as emotional as he dared. Her face softened, and he knew she wouldn’t push any harder. He couldn’t continue without clearing his throat though. “So, you want to see what I’ve brought you?”

  “Of course.”

  “You can have it on one condition.”

  She rolled her eyes at that, too familiar with Dustin and his demands. “Which is?”

  “Let me take you out to lunch.”

  “Oh, I suppose I can handle that.” Her grin calmed his mind – this was why he had come.

  Chapter 3

  Faith looked at Madison skeptically as they walked down the street. “You really wanted to come all the way out here? It’s not a short distance.” They’d passed at least three promising restaurants since they’d parked the car. Wasn’t this the woman that had been complaining about swollen feet?

  “I told you, I know the perfect place to eat. And I need the fresh air. Trevor, God love him, is driving me insane. He keeps waiting on me hand and foot.”