by Maggi Myers
There he is again! I blame Brutal Strength.
“Maybe I just haven’t found one worth keeping around,” I shrug at Fred. He hates my three-date rule. Three dates is enough to have fun but not enough to get attached. By the third date, I give the “we make better friends than lovers” speech and move on. I have a lot of male friends.
”Besides, Fred, who can compare to you?” I blow him a kiss and head up the stairs to meet my friends and my date.
“Whassup, sexy?” Cyn practically tackles me when I come around the corner. She gives me a loud kiss on the cheek and takes a step back to regard my outfit. “That shirt does great things for your rack.” She reaches out to cop a feel, but I swat her hand away.
“Have you been in the sauce, already? What’s gotten into you?” I laugh. Cyn rolls her eyes at me and sticks out her tongue. We are nothing if not mature young professional women. Her short black curls bounce with the same energy she exudes as she skips over to the railing to watch the band. She is a dynamo, she’s got Fred-sized energy packed into her tiny frame. Standing barely over five feet, she reminds me of a pixie.
“She’s sober, she’s just wound up for Marcus.” Les laughs as she gives me a fierce hug. All three of us are fan girls when it comes to Brutal Strength. We know every song from every album and own every gossip mag detailing the relationship between the lead singer, Marcus Anthony, and the lead guitarist, Avery Jones. She nods her head toward Andrea and Steve who are elbow to elbow in deep conversation. “Those two have been arguing about what kind of guitars Avery prefers for the whole set,” Les throws her head back, sending her rich velvety laughter into the air. She is the kind of girl that most women love to hate and all men want in their bed. Long limbed and curvy in all the right places, her blond hair and bright smile convey a sense of innocence, but those of us who know her know better.
I look back and forth between my two friends and wonder what people see when they see the three of us together. There is Cyn with her raven hair, blue eyes and petite frame and Les with her light hair, hazel eyes and statuesque frame. I float somewhere in the middle of the two, I am of average height with brown hair and eyes. I have the type of body that went out of style with Rockabilly and Betty Page—all the curves that people say are great but pop out like a sore thumb against the stick thin trendsetters I’m around all day. Voluptuous. Curvaceous. Please, those are just nice ways of saying you’ve got big boobs and breeding hips. Whatever.
“Who am I to interrupt, then? I wouldn’t know a Gibson from a Fender if my life depended on it,” I joke.
It figures Andrea would charm the pants off my date before I even had a chance to say hello. I am not too bothered by it, he’s just another guy. Nobody special. As if he can hear me, Steve looks up and gives me a friendly smile. When he starts to stand, I motion for him to stay put.
Despite Fred’s ribbing, I am not the love them and leave them type, I just don’t like to waste my time. I can usually tell by the third date whether or not the relationship is going anywhere, and most times it’s headed straight to the friend zone. This is date one with Steve, and I already know that it’s going nowhere fast. It’s not like I’ve never had a boyfriend before, I’ve had one or two—just nothing that’s lasted longer than six months, except Charlie and that was a disaster. Otherwise, nothing memorable. So I am a serial dater, it works for me. What can I say? When I meet someone who is worth a fourth date, I’ll go on one.
“Why are you letting her bogart your date like that?” Cyn whispers.
“Because she clearly likes him more than I do,” I laugh, “besides he doesn’t seem put out in the least.”
“You’re never going to meet someone if you don’t give anyone a chance. Steve may end up being the love of your life,” Leslie lectures. My heart flutters, not because I think Steve is my soulmate, but because I’m painfully aware that I’ve already met him. I glance at Leslie, and for a moment, I wish I could talk about Ryan. She would think I’m nuts for still being hung up on a relationship that never happened when I was fifteen. Maybe I’m comparing everyone to Ryan because I know that nothing will measure up, self-fulfilling prophecy and all that crap. Someday I’ll fall in love and go through the whole sordid tale of my life but not before then.
“I know, Les.” I give her a tight smile, hoping we can drop it.
She lets out a heavy sigh and nods. I know she worries about me, and I love her for it, but it’s much more complicated than she knows. When I came out here for college with a clean slate, I decided that the past was best left far behind. I don’t talk about it with anyone except Tommy, and I only see him once or twice a year. My parents, wisely, avoid the issue. We do better if we focus on the future of our relationship and not dwell on the past. Gran and Pops have always been the strong and silent type. They’re my North Star—the ones that remind me that no matter where I am or how much time passes, they are home. They’ve never pressed me about Drew, but I know they watched me diligently for a long time to make sure I was dealing with what happened and to make sure that I saw a therapist twice a week until I left Miami.
Hindsight is a remorseful wench. I wish I’d worked out a way to blend my family into my life here. By the time I got a clue and realized my mistake, I was already so engrossed in who I was without them, it was easier to just continue pretending. My friends know my parents from their visits but they only know them to be the sweet, if not slightly misguided, folks who love their daughter and drive her crazy. They know that I have family in Iowa that I visit a couple times a year, but they don’t know who they are individually or how important they were to me when I was growing up. The stage crew is clearing the opener’s gear off the stage when I feel my pocket vibrate. I ignore my cell; there is no one I need to talk to that badly in the middle of a concert. I take my seat between Cyn and Les to watch as the stage is transformed to accommodate filming. My pocket starts vibrating again, so I take out my phone to turn it off. I have two missed calls from Uncle Rob. I fidget in my seat, wondering if something has happened with Pops. Making a quick excuse, I dart into the hallway to call him back. Pops has been having some issues with his blood pressure, so I hope that everything is okay. I tap my foot impatiently as the phone rings.
Pick up, pick up, pick up!
“Beth!” My name shoots out of Uncle Rob’s mouth as a panicked exclamation. His tone sends my stomach plummeting; I sit at the top of the staircase and brace myself for the bad news coming.
“What’s wrong?” My voice shakes against my question. I hold my breath waiting for him to tell me that Pops has had a stroke or heart attack.
“Beth, it’s Tommy.” Uncle Rob’s voice breaks on a sob, turning my blood to ice. ”He’s gone, baby girl, Tommy’s gone.”
My phone slips out of my hand and starts bouncing down the stairs. There is total silence as I block out everything around me to concentrate on what my uncle just said.
Tommy is dead.
Chapter 29
“Why the long face, baby girl?” Tommy asks as he joins me on the dock.
“I don’t want to go back to Miami,” I confess, dragging my toes across the surface of the lake. “I wish my mom and dad would move back here. I miss you so much during the year,” I sniffle. Tommy wraps a strong arm around me, pulling me into his chest. His mustache tickles my brow as he kisses my forehead.
“Don’t waste your time missing me, silly. I am always with you.” He smiles down at me when I lift my head. “There is a saying that goes— ‘Together forever, never apart. Maybe in distance but never in heart.’ You are with me, baby girl and I’m with you. Always.”
***
I watch Fred glance down at the floor where my phone lands against his foot. He looks over his shoulder and when his eyes meet mine, his face drops. Taking the steps three at a time, I watch his mouth form words I don’t hear. His hands grip my shoulders, shaking me gently.
“BETH,” Leslie’s voice floats over my shoulder, breaking through my fog. “What the fuck is
going on, Fred?”
Fred looks past me to answer her, “This landed at my feet.” Handing her my cracked phone, he continues, ”When I turned around to pick it up, I found her sitting here like this.”
Les sits down next to me and puts the cracked phone to her ear, “Hello? Who is this?” her tone is defensive if not rude. ”No, this is her friend, Leslie.” She is silent while Uncle Rob speaks on the other line. Her tone is notably kinder when she speaks again, “I will have her call you back or I will.” Her brow furrowed in confusion, she ends the call.
***
As I take my diploma from the principal and shake his hand, a shrill whistle overrides the polite golf claps that fill the high school gym. When I turn to face the crowd, I find Tommy waving a UNC pennant enthusiastically. While my parents clap and wave politely on one side of him, the people on the other side cheer him on. I wave my diploma at him and blow him an exaggerated kiss. When I am back in my seat, the girl next to me leans in and whispers, “Is that your Dad?”
“No,” I sigh. There have been countless times I have wished he was. ”He’s just a really good family friend.”
“Wow.” The girl is surprised by my answer. ”He must really love you a lot.”
I look over my shoulder toward the area I know he’s seated. I don’t see him, but I find the pennant still swaying proudly among the rest of the families.
***
In one swift motion, Fred wraps a beefy arm around me and shuffles me through the crowd, through the backstage door. No one hesitates when they see him coming, they just move out of the way. Once I am back in my office, Leslie and Cyn surround me. They are hovering over me, clucking like nervous hens.
“Where’s Steve?” my voice stops their chattering instantly.
“Andrea’s still with him.” Cyn answers and squeezes my shoulder.
“Beth,” Leslie speaks as she and Cyn squat before me. They look at one another and then Leslie addresses me again. “Who is Tommy?”
Hearing his name breaks something open inside me. The cry that pours out of me is feral. Tears burn my eyes as I weep for the man that mattered most. Cyn squeezes my hand and Les rubs my back; they have no idea. At the time, the evolution seemed natural. Once I moved to North Carolina, I stopped spending my summers in Iowa. When I have visited, the trips are short and Tommy never made it out east to see me. I think he understood that I needed the space to make my own life, and not wanting to impose, stayed away. So I used the space and built my life, leaving out the inconvenient parts. Guilt punches a whole in my gut at what I did, erasing my past essentially erased Tommy. I look at my friends and shake my head; I don’t know where to start or if I even should.
“I want to go home,” I sob.
I grab my wallet out of the top drawer of my desk and sit down at my computer. The longer I sit here under a microscope the worse I feel. My instinct to run has my knee jackhammering the floor.
Cyn lays her hand on top of the hand I have over the mouse. “Beth,” she whispers, “honey, who is Tommy?”
I stare at the computer screen trying to think of answer that won’t hurt her feelings.
”Someone important from back home,” I choke out.
Someone important I couldn’t share with you.
Cyn nudges me out of my seat, taking over at the computer.
”I will find you the first flight I can into Des Moines. Is there someone I can call to meet you at the airport?” Her forehead is creased with concern. I hurt her and her willingness to take care of me despite that only breaks my heart further.
“I need to call Uncle Rob back, I’ll ask him,” I mumble, staring at my phone’s fractured screen. Another missed call from Uncle Rob and three from Pops and Gran. I touch Uncle Rob’s name and hit send, and a moment later Aunt Melissa picks up the phone.
“Beth, honey, I’m so sorry. It’s so awful,” she sobs. She tells me how Tommy was on his way to his dad’s in Cumming when a drunk driver ran a four way stop, broadsiding him on the driver’s side. Killing him instantly. The words all make sense. It just feels like it’s happening to someone else. I can’t connect to what she is saying—my brain won’t accept it.
“When are you coming home? What time does your flight get in?” She keeps asking me, but I just sit there in stunned silence. Cyn takes the phone from me and relays the flight information to Aunt Melissa along with her phone number. Cyn looks at Les and then eyes me warily. I don’t blame them for not trusting me. We’re best friends who’re supposed to share everything, and I clearly have left out some critical pieces. A fresh wave of shame washes over me; I can’t look them in the eye while we gather our things and head home.
Chapter 30
Illusions can be very convincing. No one has any reason to suspect that I am anything less than what I appear. I don’t fit the typical victim profile. I may have some intimacy issues but those could be caused by a lot of things. There’s no telltale sign that would lead anyone to believe I was sexually abused for most of my childhood. With some smoke and mirrors, I’ve managed to evade the parts of myself that I wanted to hide. I convinced myself it wasn’t lying but a lie by omission is no less deceptive.
Where only a fool would build a house on shifting sand, the same goes for those who would build their lives on a lie—eventually, it is going to crumble. I spent so much energy on cutting and pasting together the person I wanted to be that I forgot who I was. I neglected the person who knew me the best and loved me the most. Now he’s gone, and I will never have the chance to tell him what he meant to me.
***
“Do You Love Me” by The Contours streams through the speakers in Gran and Pops’ basement and Tommy holds out his hand to me. He pulls me to the center of the makeshift dance floor and spins me around.
“Show me what you got, baby girl!” Tommy’s blue eyes twinkle with anticipation. As the music cues us, we grind our feet into the floor and do The Mashed Potato. I laugh at Tommy who’s lifted his foot in the air and is now dancing on one leg. When the lyrics change we swing our hips in unison and do The Twist. “Tell me baby! Do you like it like this?” Tommy sings.
We go through several records as we practice each of the dances he’s taught me—The Pony, The Monkey, The Jerk and my favorite, The Hand Jive. Fighting to catch our breath, we flop down on the couch to rest. I love these impromptu dance lessons with Tommy. I still can’t picture him being my age, dancing with my mom and Uncle Rob this way.
“Woo!” He cheers while wiping sweat from his brow. “Your mama ain’t got nothin’ on your moves, baby girl.” He winks and gives me a warm smile, sending me into fits of giggles.
***
Cyn and Leslie drive me to the airport the next morning. The ride is eerily silent, as they have given up talking to me. There isn’t much to say when I won’t answer them about Tommy. I know they just want to understand and help but I just can’t. The words “Tommy” and “gone” are still battering my skull, I can’t tell them why he has never been a part of conversation. They deserve an explanation. I know they can handle it—they’re my friends. They deserve better. Tommy deserves better.
When we pull up to the terminal, I grab my suitcase and face my friends who are waiting for me on the curb. Their pained expressions are battery acid on my already broken heart.
“I love you guys.” I whisper as I pull both of them into a hug. ”I am so sorry.” I give them a sad smile and head through the doors.
“Beth!” I look over my shoulder at Cyn’s call. “We are here when you’re ready to talk. We love you, too.” Les nods her agreement and blows me a kiss. I don’t deserve them, I really don’t.
***
Pops and Gran have a full house as they usually do on Saturday afternoons. In an unspoken rule, their home is where everyone flocks. One Saturday, as a joke, Gran said, “I don’t mind the company as long as they bring something with them.” So began Potluck Saturday. Friends and family descend on the house with covered dishes, cakes and cookies while we catch
up with each other.
I hold my breath and hope it keeps me from crying in front of Gran and her friend, Rose.
“You just don’t look anything like Casey when she was twelve, it’s uncanny.” Rose comments, “Does she favor John’s family, Ellen?” Gran gives Rose a stern look that goes unnoticed.
“She’s a combination of them both. I think she’s got all of their loveliest traits.” Gran smiles at me apologetically.
Rose shrugs at her answer like she isn’t quite buying it. I know I don’t have my mother’s stunning good looks, but having my face rubbed in it stings. I excuse myself and head out the front door before Rose can say something else about what a misfit I am. Once my feet hit the porch, the tears come. I cover my face and blindly turn toward the porch swing, hoping I can hide out here for a while.
“Hey there! Whose ass do I need to kick?” I jerk at the sound of Tommy’s voice. My hands fall to my sides and I swipe at my tears. Tommy is perched on the porch swing with his guitar in his lap.
“I didn’t know you were out here.” I sniffle.
“Clearly.” Tommy raises his eyebrow when I avoid his question. “So?” he draws out the word while he pats the seat.
I climb up next to him and rest my head on his shoulder. “Rose.” I giggle. It’s pretty funny picturing Tommy duking it out with a little, old blue haired old lady.
“What?” he laughs. “Rose? What did she say?” He rubs my back and hands me a hankie from his back pocket. He always has a handkerchief tucked in his back pocket. Not just any kind, he only carries the red ones that come in a 5-pack at Hy-Vee. The best thing about them is they are always baby soft and threadbare. I wipe my face and am comforted by Tommy’s familiar scent of the leather seats in his pickup truck and cinnamon. He’s addicted to Red Hots, so he always smells a little like cinnamon.
