And I believe him.
Chapter Six
Chris
Forever Curious
Normally, Tristan accompanies me to all my tattoo sessions. This time, I decide to take Claire. Tristan would have to ask his grandma to drop him off here first. My tattoo artist, Shayla, lives just half a mile away from our house. It’s 1:30 p.m. Today was an early day at school and they let us out at 12:45. Claire and I can walk the mile to her house and be back in time before my mom gets home from work tonight. I hope we’ll be back by then.
“Your mom won’t be mad about you getting a tattoo?” Claire asks as we set off away from the house toward the main road.
“She won’t be mad if she doesn’t find out.”
The fourth Wednesday of May is warm and sunny with the occasional breeze that blows Claire’s blonde ponytail into her eyes every so often. I find myself stealing glances at the spot on her neck where her hairline melts into her nape. It looks so soft. And the way the sun radiates off of every inch of her makes me wish I could touch her glowing skin.
“How many tattoos do you have?”
“I only have four tattoos, so far, but each one is special to me.” I push up the sleeve on my left arm to show her the electric guitar that’s wrapped in a bar of music from one of my favorite songs, “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix. Then I hold out my left forearm for her to see the antique stopwatch tattoo with the hands stopped at 3:15 p.m., the time it was when my father left. “You’ve already seen this one. Then there’s this one on the back of my neck.” I show her the Chinese characters on the back of my neck that spell out, What we think, we become. “I have one more on my chest.”
I don’t ask her if she wants to see it, but I watch her face for her reaction. She glances at the cars passing by on Avent Ferry Road, then she looks back at me. I can see she’s contemplating whether or not she wants to see it.
“What kind of tattoo is it?”
“It’s stupid.”
She smiles. “What do you mean? All those other tattoos were really cool. I’m sure it’s not stupid.”
“No, really. It’s probably the stupidest tattoo I’ve ever seen on anyone. This is the tattoo that got me in trouble. I got it while Tristan and I were super drunk a couple of months ago and my mom flipped when she saw it. Then she made fun of me for weeks.”
“Okay, now I have to see it.”
I smile and shake my head. “Nope. I’m getting it covered up soon and you’ll never know what it was.”
“Aw, come on. That’s not fair.”
“Why?”
She shrugs and turns her gaze back to the sidewalk ahead of us. “I don’t know. Tristan got to see it.”
My heart races at this reply, which implies she wants to be as worthy as my best friend. “All right. I’ll let you see it when we get to Shayla’s.”
“Shayla? Your tattoo artist is a girl?”
“Is that a problem?”
She shakes her head, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. “Nope. Just assumed it was a guy.” She clears her throat and digs her hands into the pockets of her skinny jeans. “So why are you getting a tattoo today?”
“It’s my birthday today.”
She whips her head toward me. “It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you say anything at lunch?”
“I didn’t expect anybody to remember. Tristan and Jake are the only ones who know my birthday, but it’s not like I made them set reminders on their calendars or anything. It’s just a birthday. It’s not a big deal.”
She looks disappointed with this response. “So, you’re sixteen now?”
“Yep. Sweet sixteen.” I wink at her and she blushes as she turns her attention back to the street. “Can I ask you a question?”
She sighs as if she already knows what I’m going to ask. “You can ask whatever you want. I can’t guarantee I’ll answer.”
“Fair enough.” I pause for a moment as I work up the courage, then I spit it out quickly. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
“One. When I was twelve.”
“Twelve?”
“We were only together for, like, four days.”
“What was his name?”
“Why do you want to know?” She’s still looking straight ahead, but she’s wearing a whisper of a smile.
“Because I want to know everything about you.”
Chapter Seven
Claire
Forever Envious
We arrive at 424 Helms at that moment and I gladly accept the momentary distraction to catch my breath as Chris bounds up the porch steps to ring the doorbell. Oh, God. Even the way he rings the doorbell looks cute. How he glances at me over his shoulder, his face beaming with excitement over some new ink. Like a kid on Halloween waiting for someone to answer the door and dump candy into his bucket.
I turn away quickly before he can catch me swooning. Looking out at the two-story houses on Helms Avenue, I’m reminded of a house I lived in last year, just a few streets away from here. I was there for four months during the summer and the end of my eighth grade year. My birthday came and went that year without anyone noticing, even after I’d lived with the Grohl family for a few months. It wasn’t as if this was the first time my birthday was forgotten. It was that I had promised myself that I would have the courage to say something this time. And I didn’t.
I really hope it doesn’t happen again this year. I don’t think I could handle another forgotten birthday. Not in the Knight house.
“Claire!”
I turn around at the sound of Chris’s voice. My stomach clenches as he nods toward the open door where a beautiful girl who can’t be more than twenty years old stands. She raises her eyebrows as she waits for me to join them.
Chris moves aside so I can enter before him. “Claire, this is Shayla. Shayla, this is Claire.”
“This your girlfriend?” Shayla asks in a bored voice.
Her pink hair is short and spiky, but her skin and makeup are flawless. Her tank top shows off her smooth tattooed arms. And her skinny black jeans are riding so low, I can see the waistband of her lacy panties.
I take a seat on the sofa as Chris and Shayla make their way a bit further into the room so Chris can sit on a chair. The mint-green vinyl chair sits in the middle of a wood floor in what should be a dining area, and looks like it was stolen out of a dentist’s office. The far wall behind the chair is mirrored from floor to ceiling and the wall on the right is lined with shelves holding disinfectant, inks, and various supplies.
Without any warning or prompting, Chris peels off his T-shirt. His chest and ab muscles flex as he sits on the chair. He glances at me as he lies back and smiles when he catches me staring at him. But, mercifully, he doesn’t call me out on it.
I watch silently as Shayla grabs stuff off the shelves and begins setting up the machine. But I can feel Chris watching me. Finally, I look at him and he smiles as he beckons me with his finger.
My stomach flips and I take deep breaths as I stand from the sofa and walk to him. Trying not to focus too much on whether or not I have an awkward walk or if my hair looks windblown. Or how much prettier Shayla looks when she walks.
“I told you I’d show you my sorry ass tattoo before I get it covered up,” he says when I’m almost next to him.
I stop a few feet away, trying to look anywhere but his chest, but he beckons me closer.
“Come here.”
I step forward until I’m right next to the chair. He points at the right side of his chest as Shayla sits down and rolls her chair over the wood floor until she’s next to me. When I see the tattoo, I laugh out loud. Uproarious, gut-busting laughter. Right over his left pectoral muscle, spelled out in a drunken scrawl, is his name, Chris.
“You don’t have to laugh that hard,” he says, though he can’t hide his grin.
“I’m sorry.” I cover my mouth and try to catch my breath. “Were you afraid you’d forget your name?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny. I was drunk. And I did forget my name for a moment. So Tristan said, ‘I bet you wouldn’t forget it if it was tattooed on you like every other fucking thing you want to remember.’” I shake my head as he looks up at me with the most adorable look of embarrassment. “And I was drunk,” he adds again, in case I forgot.
“Maybe you should have just tattooed ‘I was drunk’ on there,” I reply and his eyes light up.
“Shit! Why didn’t I think of that?”
I scoot out of the way so Shayla can roll her stool closer to Chris. My heart pounds with roaring jealousy as she wipes the left side of his chest with antiseptic. Finally, I tear my gaze away and head back to the sofa.
When it’s over, Chris shows me the tattoo of a monkey sitting down with its eyes closed and legs crossed and wearing a red cape. Chris explains that he has a thing for Japanese culture and the monkey was revered in depictions of Shinto Buddhist mythology.
“Why the red cape?” I ask, as we walk back home.
“Why not?”
I smile and we’re silent for quite a while before I clear my throat to speak. “His name was Wade.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My boyfriend. The one you asked me about earlier.”
“Wade?” He looks incredulous. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a terrible name.”
“It is not.”
“Yes, it is. Claire and Wade? That’s just wrong.” He smiles and I quickly face forward so he can’t see the effect it has on me. “Chris and Claire… Now that’s the sound of destiny.”
“Wade was very cute.” I glance at him sideways to see his reaction and he’s looking straight at me, smiling as if he knows I’m trying to make him jealous.
“You want me to help you write a song for Wade?”
“Shut up.”
“Wade would never write you a song, but I’ve already written you three.”
I can hardly breathe as my heart pounds crazy fast inside my chest. I glance at him again and his smile has softened.
“If you don’t tell my mom about this tattoo, I’ll play one of your songs for you.”
“I’m not going to tell your mom,” I reply quickly.
I want to hear those songs. Now.
He chuckles as we approach the house. “She can be very convincing.”
I smile as I think, Just like you.
Chapter Eight
Claire
Forever Blue
I wake the morning of June 7th feeling heavy. It’s a familiar feeling. It happens once in a while without warning, but it always happens on June 7th. Like a trusty friend who always visits on a special anniversary. My heart is always heaviest on the anniversary of my mother’s death.
That’s why I always try to do something that makes me happy on June 7th. Wallowing in my room only makes the heaviness worse. I need something light to pick me up.
Last year, I walked to the local movie theater by myself and watched a comedy. Then I stopped and got myself some frozen yogurt on the way back. Mrs. Grohl slipped me a twenty-dollar bill and a look of immense pity when I told her why I wanted to go to the movies.
I wonder if Chris is busy today.
I head downstairs to the kitchen after I’ve showered and dressed. I’ve been applying a bit of makeup the past couple of weeks since our trip to Shayla’s house. Not that I think Chris prefers Shayla’s thick black eyeliner and perfectly pink pout to my natural look. My reason for putting on makeup is even more pathetic than that.
I’ve convinced myself that by wearing makeup when I’m around Chris, he’ll know that I care about what I look like around him. And that, one day, he’ll tell me how beautiful I am without makeup. Pathetic. I know.
It’s almost three in the afternoon now. I woke up late today and decided to read in bed for a while before I took a shower. A while turned into three hours. So this is the first time I’ve been downstairs all day. I’m starving.
I immediately head for the fridge to make myself sandwich, when I notice Chris in the backyard, playing with Mr. Miyagi. That poor dog is ten years old and Chris refuses to believe that he doesn’t have the same amount of energy as he did when he was a puppy. But watching them through the window, Chris lying on the grass with Mr. Miyagi jumping and barking at him, it makes my stomach swirl with happiness.
Maybe I don’t have to go anywhere today.
I grab all the stuff for my a sandwich, then I peek my head out the sliding glass door into the back yard. “Do you want a sandwich?”
Chris tackles Mr. Miyagi and proceeds to rub his belly. He looks up at me with a huge smile, tongue practically wagging, then he nods.
I fix us both a sandwich and head outside with our plates. It’s a beautiful summer day. So different than it was eight years ago.
I set the plates down on the wrought iron patio table, then I pull out a chair and sit down to eat. Chris heads over to join me and I get a strange feeling in the pit of my belly as I imagine him leaning over to kiss me to thank me for the sandwich. But he doesn’t do that. He just sits down and smiles at the sandwich, then he looks up at me.
“Thanks. Did you just wake up?”
I wait for him to take a bite of his sandwich first. “No. I’ve been reading.”
“What are you reading?” he asks through a mouthful of food.
“Just a book. How’s the sandwich?”
“Delicious.”
I take a bite and realize I forgot the mustard. We eat in silence for a few minutes before I work up the courage to ask him what I wanted to ask.
“Are you going to Tristan’s today?”
“Nah, they’re coming over here. Why? You want to go to Tristan’s?”
I chuckle weakly. He knows I don’t get along with Tristan very well.
“I’m kidding,” he says, putting his sandwich down. “Do you want to hang out?”
I wait a moment so I don’t seem too eager, then I nod. “Yeah. Sure. I mean, today’s… the anniversary of the day my mom died, so I usually do something.”
He seems torn between being excited about doing something and pitying me the way Mrs. Grohl did.
“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” I continue. “I just thought maybe you’d want to hang out or something. If not, that’s totally cool.”
“I’d love to hang out. Can I take you somewhere on my bike?”
“No,” I reply quickly and he laughs. “Sorry, but that thing scares me.”
“All right. We’ll stay in.” He stares at me across the table. Finally, he smiles. “I know what we’re going to do. And we’ll do it right here.”
Something about the way he says that sounds a little naughty, but I try not to blush. Instead, I take our plates inside and wash the dishes while he gives Mr. Miyagi a bath in the upstairs bathroom. We watch TV for a while as the dog naps on the sofa between us. As requested, Chris doesn’t say anything to his mom about today being the anniversary of my mom’s death. Just before nine, Jackie goes upstairs to take a bath and go to bed so she can get up at four a.m. for work the next morning.
“Don’t stay up too late,” she says as she heads up the stairs.
Chris and I don’t usually stay up too late. It makes me nervous being alone with him when I’m sleepy. Like I’m going to say something stupid.
“Let’s go,” Chris says, nodding toward the backyard.
Mr. Miyagi leaps off the sofa at Chris’s command and I follow after him. “What’s outside?”
He opens the sliding glass door and waits for me to exit before him. “Just wait right here and I’ll be right back.”
He heads back inside the house, then he returns a few minu
tes later carrying a patchwork blanket and a couple of pillows. And a guitar. He lays the blanket and pillows down on the grass and motions with his hand for me to sit down.
I take a seat on the edge of the blanket and hug my knees to my chest. He sits next to me and smiles as he pulls the guitar into his lap. He plucks the strings a bit as he tunes the guitar, then he looks up with a soft gleam in his eyes.
“I’m going to sing one of the songs I wrote for you. It’s called ‘Blue Fields’.”
I hug my knees tighter as I lay my cheek on my knee and watch him play. The song is actually pretty upbeat and I wouldn’t know it was about me if he hadn’t told me. The lyrics are metaphorical. And his voice, that soft rasp, is like the ribbon that ties it all together.
But even though the lyrics aren’t literal, I’m pretty sure the song is about loving someone as much as you love the sky.
When the song is over, he looks a little embarrassed, so he quickly lies down. “Come on,” he says, patting the blanket behind me. “You have to lie down to look at the stars.”
I take a deep breath and lay back until my head lands softly on the pillow. Chris’s arm is pressed against mine and I find myself wishing there were more parts of him touching me. Then I find myself wishing that I could do this every June 7th for the rest of my life.
“Thank you,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.
His arm moves a little, then he grabs my hand and squeezes. “Any time.”
When we wake up on the grass at six a.m. the following morning, all I can think is that we’re lucky Mr. Miyagi is lying between to us instead of begging to be let out into the backyard. And Jackie isn’t the type to check on us in the morning before she leaves to work. So we’re safe.
Rockers After Dark: 6 Book Bundle of Sexy Musicians Page 84
