Love Bites: Rock Star Romance

by Amy Faye

  More likely is that he hasn’t eaten in twelve or eighteen hours, and he’s running on sheer manic energy.

  “Well I’m hungry. Can we just go stop at a McDonald’s or something?”

  He seems to be weighing his options, as if there’s some chance that it would be impossible for us to stop at a fast food place to eat. There’s no way.

  “You’re hungry?”

  “Yeah. I need something to eat, if that’s okay.”

  He weighs that for a moment before nodding his head. “I guess I could eat, too.”

  “Yeah,” I say. I try to sound happy. There are times to fight with him, and times to try to encourage him to make the right decisions as if he were doing me a big favor. He doesn’t listen to me when I try to tell him that he’s not thinking straight. But if I try to frame it some other way, then he can be talked down, sometimes.

  The car eases towards the right-hand side of the road. Ahead of us, a sign shows that at the next turn-off, there’s going to be a half-dozen different fast food establishments, any of which would be good enough to stop and eat for a little bit.

  Once he’s got some food in him, I might be able to talk him down from the episode. I might be able to convince him that he needs to calm down and talk to me about what he’s thinking, about what his plans are.

  With a little bit of luck, I can get him listening to me, maybe even trusting me. When that happens, I can finally start trying to figure out what in the hell is going on with him today. Because at this point, honestly, he’s kind of scaring me.

  “So how have you been lately?”

  He keeps his eyes on the road this time. Which I know means that he’s trying not to look at me.

  “Been fine, I guess.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” he growls. “I’m fine.”

  “You seem a little nervous.”

  “I’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”

  “I know. I’m sure that everything’s fine, I’m just trying to make conversation, you know?”

  He nods and seems to be considering that. I don’t know how much thought it needs, but apparently it needs more than I’d realized because he keeps nodding his head another minute or two after that.

  “I guess that makes sense. I’ve just… I’ve been so worried about you, you know?”

  “Well I’ve been fine, Dad. Is that why you came to get me? You were worried?”

  He nods solemnly. “I was worried.”

  I can’t afford to look saddened by that. Even if I am, I have to keep myself under control.

  “I know you were. But Dad?”

  “What?”

  “You can’t just go around doing whatever, you know?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You broke into Luke’s house.”

  “He should have given you back to me.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. Maybe he should have. It would have been the decent thing to do, I guess. But… something in my gut just doesn’t jive with it.

  “I know, Dad. But it’s fine, okay?”

  “Are you sure it’s fine?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He lets out a long breath. “I’m real sorry, you know.”

  “I know you are.” I relax in my seat as he pulls off the interstate and onto a ramp. I can already see two-dozen signs, high over everything else, telling us every place where we might want to go. There’s even a strip club. “But I’m alright. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Dad deflates visibly in front of me. “I just… I’m sorry, you know? I’m sorry I’m a terrible father.”

  I set my jaw. I’m watching a down-spiral, and I’m not really ready to deal with it. This isn’t a little thing, like when he finally decided to come down after he’d been dressing like every day was a renaissance fair when I was seven. He’d patently refused to explain anything about what he was thinking or what was going on for hours now, and all I knew about what was happening was that I was on the roller coaster.

  “Dad, it’s fine. Just get some food, okay? We’ll talk about this once we’ve both had time to eat some food and feel a little better, okay?”

  He sounds like a kicked puppy when he mutters the word “Okay” under his breath. But he keeps his grip on the steering wheel and the car keeps on moving either way. And to my very great pleasure, he doesn’t crash us right into the center divider.

  That said, I don’t know if this is going to be a quick stop like I’d asked for. Not that I mind, but by the time that we’re in a parking spot, Dad’s gone from bad to worse and now he’s moving like old sludge. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sinks so deep into this that we’re at this McDonald’s for the rest of the day.

  I let out a long breath and feel for my phone in my pocket. I try to let it look accidental.

  “Come on, Dad. We’re going to go eat, okay?”

  He looks at me, confused. “Huh? Yeah. Okay.”

  His hands move in slow motion across his body to the belt buckle, and he unsnaps it. Then, still in slow motion, he reaches across and opens his door.

  One foot after the other. If that’s all you can do, then it’s all you can do. My therapist’s words repeat in my head. It’s the closest that I’ve been to feeling normal in weeks. I just wish that I wasn’t sitting here in the middle of a hurricane, adrift on the seas of a bunch of trouble I never asked for.

  I know that I shouldn’t do it, because it can only make things worse, but I grip the phone in my pocket and tell myself that if things get any worse, I know who to call.

  Luke may not like my father, but I can’t afford to babysit him forever. Sometimes, I need someone who can solve a problem, and Luke is that man.

  Nineteen

  Luke

  I don’t like rental cars. They never feel like ‘yours.’ Part of that, perhaps a big part, perhaps all of it, is that it’s not yours.

  But a library book, it feels like for two weeks, it’s your book. You get to live with it, and it feels lived-in. It feels like you’ve got someone’s old book, and for a brief span of time, it’s yours.

  A rental car feels like you’re living out of a hotel room. Everything is sterile and every time you come back at the end of the day you find that it’s been re-sterilized to make sure that you’re never leaving your mark on it.

  But at least this once, it’s not a frustrating experience on its own. I’m just frustrated by the fact that I need one at all. Because this time, I bothered to drop the money to get something nice.

  The car roars out below me, and I look at the passenger seat. There’s a notebook there, spiral bound and thick. The paper is old and feels unpleasant to the touch; no doubt, whoever had this notebook cared for it a great deal because there’s no way that someone would keep a notebook long enough for it to be in this kind of condition if they didn’t.

  I’ve had a lot of notebooks in my time. Some were cherished. They were hard-bound and hand-stitched and had heavy paper that was a joy to write on. I’ve got an entire shelf of them back home; they’re still important to me, even the ones that are long-since put on the shelf permanently.

  This isn’t a case like that. This is a five-star ring-bound thing that you can get at any big box store for five dollars. Five subjects. And to my very great surprise, it’s very nearly full, in spite of all that.

  “Where did you go?” I don’t know who I’m talking to. Or at least, I don’t know who I expect to answer me. Somewhere quite a ways behind me, Jorge is probably listening to the same crappy samba that he listened to driving me to my house, waiting for a call on the phone I’ve got the number to. I hope I won’t have to call it except to tell him to have a nice day and drive safe on the way home.

  My phone is heavy in my pocket. I usually forget that it’s there, to the point that I have to tap my side to make sure that it’s still in my pocket at all. But right now, I’m almost painfully conscious of it, because it isn’t ringing.

  Som
eone should have called me. Bill could have called to gloat, or Kate could call to tell me that everything is fine. Or she could call to tell me that everything isn’t fine. But either way, at least then I would know.

  I pull it out again. You shouldn’t call anyone on the interstate. It’s not safe. But I do it anyways. The voice commands react easily and accurately, and a moment later I can hear the gentle ringing of the phone. My thumb reaches just a little way to tap the ‘speaker’ button and the ringing is louder this time.

  With the third ring, my foot unconsciously presses down on the gas pedal more firmly. With the fourth, it relaxes again. There’s no reason to lose my head, here. I’ve got to think about this as a long-term situation. If she doesn’t answer, then I just wait for her to call back, or I try a fourth time. It’s no reason to freak out.

  The voicemail box message is simple and uncustomized. A robotic voice says ‘We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed cannot come to the phone right now. Please leave your name, number, and a brief message after the beep.’ A moment later, a tone sounds out.

  “Kate, it’s Luke. Call me.”

  She’s got my number. Its the one that’s already called her three times. Even still, the first two times I left it, just in case she didn’t realize. At this point there’s no reason to think that she can’t reach me if she wants to.

  So instead I keep driving. The radio stays off, because last time I turned it on when I was making a long drive, it led to an unpleasant situation, and I’m not sure that I’m ready to take that kind of risk again.

  Kate should have told me. She needed to have told me. But I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do at this point. If she just told me that she wanted to leave, then I wouldn’t stop her. But the fact that she didn’t say anything, the fact that she never even tried to leave a message…

  It twists up my gut. The fact that Bill Ashley still has my Mustang hurts, too. The fact that I think of them both, and not just about Kate, makes me feel perhaps the worst of all, because unlike the other stuff I actually have to blame myself for it.

  There should be a little voice inside me that says that it’s all going to be alright. It probably will be alright. At least, I hope it will. But I’ve got a bad feelings about all of this, and I’m not ready to take the risk that my gut is wrong.

  So instead, I act as if it’s right, and pray that I’m acting wrongly. I don’t know what I’d do if anyone hurt Kate. But now that I’ve read her last note to me…

  My teeth click together and my eyes shut, only for a second. My jaw tightens more to make up for it when my eyes have to open up to keep them on the road. I can’t imagine what I would do if someone did something to her. But I know that I have to use that as fuel to keep going at this point, because otherwise I’m heading for a crash.

  The road whips by, but my eyes sting badly from tiredness. I need to stay awake, stay focused. If only I’d had more time. If only I’d said the right things, done the right things. If only I hadn’t trusted Bill, or I hadn’t pissed him off so much.

  If only, if only, if only. A thousand ways I could have fixed this situation before it ever arose whip through my head at a speed to match the lines on the street. My eyes are having trouble focusing, and I’m getting foggy, and I need to stop. At some point, I have to. Even if it’s just a coffee, I need something to keep myself going, or the crash I’m going to hit is going to be a lot more literal than I had intended.

  I pick up the phone and use the voice commands again to call Jorge behind me. A minute later his voice, thickly accented, answers.

  “You ready, boss?”

  “The opposite, man. I need to stop for a minute. Pull off at exit… uh… forty three, and we’ll get some lunch, yeah?”

  “It’s your dime, man,” Jorge says. I nod. It is my dime. And that’s fine. As long as I can get myself fueled back up for another few hours on the road. At least long enough to get my car and an explanation. If that’s all I get, I tell myself, it’ll have to be enough.

  There’s a blue sign on the side of the road, the first of several. It says “Attractions” across the top; the only one listed is an Ikea, which I guess is an attraction if you’ve got several hours to kill and wanted some cheap furniture. Otherwise I’d call it a store, but hey. Who am I to judge, right?

  The next one shows a list of hotels. There are three that are apparently worthy of going on a sign; I guess that there are probably others if you go further than a mile in either direction, but if you’re on a cross-country trip then there’s nobody who wants to do that.

  The last is a sign that has two lists on it, one on top of the other. The bottom lists the four gas stations that I can see signs for reaching up even at this distance. The top lists places where you can eat, and there are five of them. I’d rather that they had a donut shop where I can get a real good cup of coffee.

  McDonald’s will have to do, though, because apparently people around here don’t eat many donuts. I ease off the interstate, rub my eyes as I start to look for a lower-down sign that will mark the entrance.

  Instead of finding that, I find a shiny black ‘82 Mustang with a very familiar license plate number, and suddenly my plan to stop at the drive-through seems awfully redundant.

  Twenty

  Kate

  Dad’s mood hasn’t improved. If anything, it’s gotten worse. I don’t know if I’ve seen him move since we sat down. I got him his usual, but apparently that wasn’t good enough this time. It’s not getting cold on the tray; it’s been cold for some time at this point, and not going to be getting any colder any time soon.

  “Dad?”

  He doesn’t look up. The only sign he’s heard me is the slightest possible inclination of his head.

  “You’ve got to eat. Do you need me to go buy you some more food?”

  “Just leave me,” he says sullenly. “There’s nothing I can do for you at this point. You’d be better off without me.”

  “Don’t say something stupid.”

  He shrugs. “Whatever you say, kiddo.”

  “You need to eat. Come on, Dad.”

  “What’s the point?”

  I close my eyes. I don’t know how I’m supposed to help. If he’s going to mope forever, then I’m not sure how I can fix it. But I have to. It’s always been my job, whether I asked for it or not.

  “How can I help?”

  “You can’t,” he answers. I believe him, but it’s not as if I have that option available to me. I have to get him over this mood, or there’s going to be more trouble than its worth. Then again, no matter how much it is or isn’t worth, I’m going to have to deal with it.

  Behind me, the door opens for the dozenth time. And as usual, someone files in behind it. This time is different, though, because this is the first time that they start heading over towards us. I can hear him behind us.

  I turn and there’s someone standing there. Someone I never really expected to see again, and I certainly didn’t expect to walk in behind me.

  “Lucas?”

  It’s not me that speaks this time. Dad’s looked up and he looks, if possible, even more upset than he had before.

  “Bill.”

  Luke’s voice isn’t full of anger, so while I don’t know what happened between them, I guess it probably wasn’t as bad as I was imagining. That, or it was and something has changed. From the look on Dad’s face, I’m guessing it was the first one.

  “What happened? How did you…”

  He doesn’t finish the question. Luke waited for him to continue. When Dad didn’t, he shrugged. “I did what you should’ve done from the beginning, man.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I paid the guy and I left.”

  Dad’s head sinks again. “I can’t keep worrying like this, though.”

  “Then don’t worry. But one thing.”

  “Okay?”

  “Give me my car back, at least.”

  Dad’s shoulders seem to sink into themselves. “Ye
ah, I guess that’s not fair.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Luke settles into the seat beside me. I make no effort to stop him.

  “I guess you’re going to want your money, now.”

  “You don’t have it, though, do you?”

  “I guess not,” he agrees. “But that didn’t stop you before.”

  “I figured out an alternative way for you to settle up.”

  Dad looks up at me. His expression is sad and tired. “You can’t have her. She’s not property.”

  I agree with him silently. Then again, maybe that’s what he should have said six weeks ago.

  “I’m not asking you to give her to me. You’re right. She’s a woman, not a toy. Not some sort of pet that I can just take as I like. Isn’t that right, Kate?”

  I didn’t expect to be called on in this little conversation. I know for a fact that it shows on my face.

  “You what?”

  “I want you. I want to have you around. But it’s not my choice.”

  I blink. “Wait, what?”

  “Mr. Ashley?” Dad blinks as well.

  “What?”

  “I’d like to ask your permission to ask your daughter to marry me, if she’ll have me.”

  My heart’s thumping in my chest so hard that I can barely feel anything else. Dad looks so worn out that he might just fall asleep right there in the booth seat, but he looks scared, too. Scared, or uncertain, or… any number of things. I can’t identify it perfectly, and I doubt that he can, either.

  “Uh…” He frowns. “And that’s it? That’s what you want?”

  “Debt cleared. With one other thing.”

  “Name it,” he says. I can see the glint in his eyes now, as he starts to realize what’s going on. He’s starting to try to figure out how he can make this work to his favor. He’s making a big mistake if he thinks that is going to work.

  “You stop this shit. You want to see your daughter, just come by the house. Maybe call first. You need to settle down, man.”

  Dad nods. His eyes still seem to be searching for something, but he might actually be thinking logically this time. At least, I hope he is.