Текст книги "The Secrets of Lake Road"

Автор книги: Karen Katchur

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Gram slammed the photo album shut, startling Caroline.

“That’s enough reminiscing for one afternoon,” Gram said, and stood. “Is anyone hungry? I’ll make sandwiches.” She rushed to the kitchen, taking the photo album with her.

Caroline looked to her mother for an answer to her question, an explanation. Was the boy in the picture the same boy who drowned? Was it Billy, her mother’s old boyfriend and her father’s friend? But Caroline could tell from her mother’s expression that she had already lost her. Her mother had retreated deep inside herself to those dark places Caroline recognized and wished she didn’t. It was anyone’s guess when her mother would surface. The only thing that surprised Caroline was that her mother hadn’t raced out the door.

“Forget it,” Caroline said. She’d find the answers to her questions on her own somehow, some way.

She returned to her bedroom where she found the new sneakers. She pulled on a pair of socks and then slipped the sneakers on. She’d get them a little dirty and no one would be the wiser. Gram had promised she’d keep her secret once she explained to Gram her reasons, the same reasons she used with Adam, although she didn’t mention his part, not wanting to implicate him. She was willing to take full responsibility for the two of them if it came down to that. It was her idea, her plan, her doing.

When she had told Gram she couldn’t stand the thought of what those snappers would do to Sara, Gram had more than understood—she had agreed and believed Caroline brave for taking a stand albeit an illegal one.

“Sometimes,” Gram had said, “doing the right thing means you have to break some rules.”

They agreed to keep it between themselves. It would be their secret and theirs alone. Gram wouldn’t tell Caroline’s mother what she had done, and this suited Caroline just fine. Her mother may suspect, but she would never know for sure, if Caroline could help it. Now Caroline and Gram had secrets too. Take that, Caroline whispered to herself about her mother.

Gram appeared in the doorway. “I’ve got everything out on the table.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said. “I think I’m going to find Megan instead.”

“Well.” Gram pressed her lips together in frustration at having set out food no one was going to eat. “Why don’t the two of you come back here? There’s more than enough sandwiches and you can play board games or cards, do something fun for awhile.”

“I don’t know, but I’ll ask her.” She didn’t want to hurt Gram’s feelings, but she didn’t want to play games. She wondered if she would ever feel like doing anything fun again.

She stepped outside. The air was thick with humidity from the earlier storm. The day was hot. She rubbed the sides of her sneakers into the dirt where the grass would never grow. She kicked a couple of rocks to give the white tops a broken-in look, and hopped on her bicycle.

The seat was still wet from her ride in the rain that morning. She had gotten up and went straight to the lake to discover her plan had worked. The men weren’t on the water searching for two reasons: the storm and the fact that their turtles were gone. They were standing on Stimpy’s porch. She could just make out their cross faces from where she sat on her bike in the parking lot.

When Sheriff Borg emerged from Stimpy’s place, she took off, pushing her bike through the woods, which was no easy task. She wound her way behind the lakefront cabins as quietly as she could. She didn’t stop until she reached Adam’s cabin. She hid her bike behind a tree and tapped on his window much in the same way she had done the night before.

He wasn’t happy to see her.

“I can’t come out,” he said. “My mom is mad. She wanted to know why the floor in my room was covered in mud.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her I got up early to fish, but the storm chased me inside.”

“Good thinking,” Caroline said, and then she added, “Our plan worked.”

“I know,” Adam said. “It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

“Okay”—she put her finger to her lips—“don’t say a word to anyone. No one. And they won’t catch us.”

Of course, this was before she had learned about the muddy footprints they had left behind on the dock. She hadn’t known then that Gram had replaced her sneakers with new ones, or she would’ve suggested Adam do the same. She wondered if she should risk another trip to his cabin to warn him and tell him to get rid of his old sneakers too. But then again, Adam had given his mother a solid explanation for the mud.

She pedaled across the yard, deciding to go to Megan’s like she had told Gram. She entered the dirt road and almost hit a car coming toward her. She braked hard and swerved to the side.

“Careful, now,” the sheriff said through the open window of the patrol car. He pulled up next to her. “Are your parents inside?” he asked.

She tried to swallow. “My grandmother’s home.”

“Good enough,” he said. “Why don’t you park that bike and walk me in?”

She did what she was told and got off her bike. She walked it into the yard on shaky legs. While she struggled with the kickstand, he stepped out of the car and put on his sheriff’s hat.

“Gram,” she called, and stepped through the side door that led to the kitchen. She was hoping to avoid her mother on the screened-in porch. With any luck, her mother had taken off.

The sheriff loomed behind her. He was twice her size and three times her weight. She thought she might cry.

Gram was standing at the kitchen sink washing a plate. When she saw the sheriff behind Caroline, she turned off the faucet and stuck her hand holding the wet towel onto her hip. It soaked the bottom of her shirt and the top of her favorite pants with the elastic waistband.

“What brings you by, Sheriff?” she asked. There was an edge to her voice Caroline heard her use only around people she didn’t care for.

He removed his hat and turned it around in his hands as he spoke. “There’s been some trouble down at the lake, and I was hoping you could tell me what you know about it.”

Caroline stood still.

“Did you find that little girl, yet?” Gram asked.

“No, I’m afraid we haven’t. Not yet,” he said. “But that’s sort of why I’m here. I got a complaint from some of the fishermen that a couple of kids messed with their traps.”

Before Gram could answer, Caroline’s mother walked into the kitchen. Her face drained of color, and the hollows in her cheeks looked deeper and darker than usual. If Caroline didn’t know any better, she would think her mother was the guilty one.

I did it, Caroline thought. Not you. She didn’t want to get into trouble, but why was everything always about her mother?

Her mother opened her mouth to say something to the sheriff at the same time Gram clutched her chest and leaned against the sink.

“Gram.” Caroline reached for her.

Her mother rushed to Gram’s side. “What is it?” she asked. “Your heart? Is it your heart?”

Gram kept her hand on her chest and slumped to the floor. Caroline’s mother sunk to the floor with her. “Just hold on,” her mother said, and looked at the sheriff. “Call an ambulance.”

The sheriff shot out the door to radio it in.

Caroline knelt on the floor at Gram’s side. “Gram, are you okay? Talk to me.” She touched her shoulder. “Please, tell me you’re okay.”

Gram didn’t speak. She pinched her eyes closed and kept her hand splayed over her heart.

“Don’t crowd her,” her mother said. “Give her air.”

Caroline did as she was told and sat back on her heels, thinking she did this to Gram. She gave her a heart attack. “Please be okay,” she begged.

Gram opened her mouth, trying to talk.

“Shhh,” her mother said. “It’s going to be okay.”

The sheriff returned and announced the ambulance was on its way.

“You did this,” her mother said to him, and glanced at Caroline as though she read her mind, letting her know she wasn’t to blame.

The sheriff stood perfectly still, his face void of emotion. And Caroline hated him for not showing his concern for Gram, the one person Caroline loved more than anyone.

“Why can’t you leave us alone?” her mother asked him, and turned back to Gram. “Hang on,” she said. “Help is on the way. Hang on.” Her eyes were teary.

Caroline’s own tears dripped from her chin. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her mother cry, and the sight of her tears and Gram on the kitchen floor terrified her.

*   *   *

Caroline heard the sirens long before the ambulance arrived. The sheriff had gone outside to greet them. Two men in uniforms entered the kitchen with a stretcher. The EMT examined Gram, listened to her heart, took her pulse, and asked her basic questions: her name, age, where she was born. He strapped a breathing device around her mouth and nose. “Oxygen,” he said.

Caroline had been standing to the side, watching, shaking, wiping her eyes. The two men put Gram on the stretcher and lifted her.

“I’ll be right back.” Her mother rushed to Gram’s bedroom to grab her purse and insurance card. While her mother was out of the room, Gram reached for Caroline’s hand.

Caroline leaned in close and kissed Gram’s cheek, her skin was thin and dry. “I love you,” she whispered. “Please don’t die.”

“Stand back,” one of the men instructed.

As she stepped away to let them carry Gram out, she saw a familiar twinkle in Gram’s eye. The next thing she knew, Gram winked at her. Caroline looked around to see if anyone had seen what she had seen, if anyone had been paying attention. But the sheriff had left to get the door, and the two men carrying the stretcher were busy watching where they were walking.

Her mother rushed back into the kitchen with Gram’s information.

“I’m ready. Let’s go,” her mother said.

As the shock wore off, Caroline realized Gram was faking it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

For the first time in Patricia’s life, she lied.

She had told Jo and anyone who asked about her husband, Kyle, that he was a workaholic, that it was the reason he had left her alone at the lake even though Sara hadn’t been found. It sounded cruel and it was, but the real reason wasn’t anywhere close to being kind. For Patricia the real reason was much, much worse.

“Where are you?” Kyle asked on Patricia’s first day there, hours before she had taken Sara to the beach, to the lake, hours before Sara had gone missing. Patricia had been unpacking the groceries in the Sparrow when the cabin’s old rotary phone rang.

“You leave me this number, but don’t tell me where you’re going. What am I supposed to think?” he said.

“You’re supposed to think I left you.” She had planned the trip to the lake months ago, packing small items at a time, things they would need there but not at home: extra towels, old linens, books, and art supplies. Nothing Kyle would miss.

“Did you call a lawyer?” There was a hint of panic in his voice.

“No,” she said, her own voice cool and even.

“Good,” he said. “Good. We can handle it ourselves. There’s no need to get a third party involved. I know all those bloodsucking lawyers anyway.”

You know them because you’re one of them, she thought but didn’t say.

He continued without pause. “They will try to drag this out and squeeze all the money they can out of us. They’ll bleed us dry, I tell you.”

“Of course.” He didn’t care she left him. No, this phone call was about making sure one of his colleagues didn’t get a dime of his money. If it wasn’t so pitiful, she might’ve laughed.

“Okay, then we’re in agreement? No lawyers?” He was in a rush. He must’ve had another call coming in or a meeting or a rendezvous.

“I guess.” She didn’t care one way or the other. For her it was never about the money. “Would you like to talk with your daughter?” Please say yes, please show her you care even if you no longer care for me. It was the only reason she had left him the phone number in the first place.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’m in a hurry.”

“It will only take a second. She misses you.”

“I have to go. No lawyers, Patricia. Do you hear me? I mean it.” He hung up.

Sara trotted into the kitchen. “Was that Daddy?”

“Yes,” she said, and kissed the top of Sara’s head. “He wanted me to tell you how much he misses you and how sorry he is he couldn’t talk to you. And”—she touched the tip of Sara’s nose with her finger—“he wants you to have a whole lot of fun while you’re here. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes,” Sara said. “Did you tell him I miss him, too?”

Patricia nodded and watched her daughter skip back into the family room. She could’ve forgiven Kyle for the affair. Maybe. Eventually. But she could never forgive him for being a lousy father.

It was hard to believe that had been five days ago, five days that her daughter was missing. She had thought by returning to the lake, the one place from her childhood she had loved, she could escape her troubles back home—six hours west across the state of Pennsylvania in a small rural town where the gossip about her marriage, her once private life, was sure to have spread. She had thought by returning to the lake, she could finally be happy.

*   *   *

Patricia was sitting on the hood of a car with her feet propped on the front bumper in the parking lot outside of the Pavilion. She couldn’t say whose car it was or what the make or model could be, but whoever owned it had parked it lakefront, close to the water’s edge. It was where she had to be. And what difference did it make whose car it was anyway? What could they do to her that hadn’t already been done?

Stars filled the night sky, the threat of another storm having evaporated hours ago. Music poured from the Pavilion’s jukebox, glasses clinked, people talked and laughed. The lake spread out before her like an endless, bottomless, black pit.

She pulled Sara’s cloth doll from the pocket of her jeans and hugged it close to her chest. Sara had slept with the doll, Dolly, since she was born. It was old and torn, and some of the stuffing had fallen out, but it was well loved. She could smell her daughter on the cotton fabric, the way she smelled from sleep, a mixture of sweetness and innocence.

Men’s voices echoed across the lake and drew her attention. She gazed at the lone watercraft and what she believed was a fisherman. She dried her wet eyes with the doll the way Sara used to when she cried.

Dolly had dried a lot of Sara’s tears that came with scraped knees and bumped elbows. She was always getting hurt. She was a fearless child. She had demanded riding her bike without training wheels at five years old. And just three weeks ago, in what felt like another lifetime, she had become fascinated with the neighbor’s skateboard. “Look at me, Mommy,” she had called, racing down the hill before Patricia could stop her. She had been going much too fast, barreling toward the neighbor’s garbage cans.

“Watch out!” Patricia had shouted, and ran down the hill after her. Sara had crashed into the cans before she could reach her. She had scooped her up, inspecting her birdlike arms and skinny legs.

“I’m okay, Mommy,” Sara had said, and swiped away her tears. “I want to try again.”

The memory brought a smile to Patricia’s lips. She imagined it was that same sense of adventure that had led Sara into the water. Maybe it was all the talk about the horse and the lake legend that had sparked Sara’s curiosity. Sara loved horses, especially ponies. But Patricia would never know what led her daughter into the lake alone, and she blamed herself.

*   *   *

A light was turned on in one of the lakefront cabins across the way. She hadn’t realized she had been staring, and started counting the cabins closest to the docks. Sure enough, the seventh cabin was Hawkes’, the one with the lighted rooms.

On their first day here, she had every intention of knocking on the Hawkes’ door, the peach pie she never got around to baking in hand, and introducing Sara to a real family, a loving family. She had never forgotten Billy, of course, but she also had never forgotten his older sister, Dee Dee, who had babysat Patricia every summer when she had been a child. Patricia’s parents had spent most of their nights at the Pavilion bar or the Lake House, dining, drinking, dancing. But to the Hawke family, the lake was home, not some place to whoop it up every night. And Patricia loved this about them. She had felt safest in their care.

She wished she had stayed in touch with them through the years. She was only ten years old when she last saw them. Her parents had come home fighting after a late night of drinking. Dee Dee had been babysitting. Her father had stormed into the Hawkes’ cabin just before dawn.

“We’re leaving,” he had said, and grabbed Patricia’s small overnight bag. Her mother had scooped her into her arms. She had stared over her mother’s shoulder at Dee Dee standing in the middle of the family room, the money Patricia’s father had tossed fluttering to the floor at Dee Dee’s feet.

They had driven home that morning never to return. Patricia had never gotten to say good-bye.

Things with her parents had gone from bad to worse when her father had lost his job. It had been the last family vacation for the Dugans.

*   *   *

Tonight, sitting on the hood of some stranger’s car staring at Hawkes’ cabin, her daughter still out there somewhere, she wondered how her plans could’ve gone so terribly wrong.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Jo pulled the old Chevy into one of the two spots in the far corner of the yard reserved for parking. She cut the engine. They had been at the hospital for the better part of the day. The sun had set hours earlier. The rush of adrenalin she had felt speeding behind the ambulance, the fear for Gram’s health, had all but faded. She was tired, but more than that, she was relieved.

Gram remained quiet the entire ride home. Caroline was silent in the backseat.

Kevin was sitting on the steps under the porch light waiting for their return. Jo had called from the hospital to tell him where they were, what had happened. He held a guitar in his lap, but he wasn’t playing. The sight of him sitting there with a guitar aggravated her. A part of her blamed that damned guitar for all her troubles no matter how crazy it sounded.

He rushed to the passenger side door to help Gram out of the car. He wrapped his arm around Gram’s waist. “You gave me quite a scare,” he said.

“I’m fine, really,” Gram assured him, and yet she let him help her. She was practically swooning with the attention.

He had always known how to suck up to her parents. Even Pop had thought Kevin was Jo’s savior, swooping in, marrying her when she had gotten pregnant, protecting her reputation, or rather, wasn’t it the family’s reputation Pop had been concerned about? She didn’t know nor did she care. Kevin had the same effect on Gram, making a huge deal about Gram’s cooking, jumping in to help with chores whenever he was around. He played the part of son-in-law so well, even Jo bought into it.

“So what did the doctor say?” he asked Gram once he had her seated at the kitchen table with a sandwich and glass of milk.

“They couldn’t find anything wrong,” Jo said, answering for Gram.

“You don’t sound too happy about that,” Gram said, but before Jo could respond, Gram continued. “The doctor thought it might’ve been a panic attack.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Kevin said.

“No, it doesn’t.” Jo crossed her arms. She suspected Gram had pulled one over on them, but most of all on Sheriff Borg. Maybe Gram had thought she was protecting Caroline by drawing attention to herself and away from her granddaughter. Jo had to admit, it seemed to have worked. Caroline remained suspiciously quiet. She looked over at her daughter. She was wearing a baseball cap, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The front of her baseball shirt was stained with dirt.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Caroline said, and kissed Gram’s cheek before rushing into her bedroom.

Kevin picked up the guitar he had brought inside with him.

“Where did you get that?” Jo asked.

“I found it in the back of the closet when I was cleaning,” Gram said. “It has to be his. No one else plays. Why don’t you play something for us?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a bit out of tune,” he said.

Jo bit her bottom lip. Kevin and his damned guitar had wooed her, charmed Gram, and enticed women in general every single time. Sure, he was handsome, strong, and lean, but put a guitar in his hands, and he became so much more. What was it about a music man? Whenever he played the thing, his passion, his voice, moved her in ways she didn’t want to think about. Hell, she wanted to throw her bra at him before he even plucked the first chord. Then again, she wasn’t wearing one.

“I’m going to shower,” she said.

*   *   *

Her mouth tasted funny, and the scent of antiseptic, a hospital smell, lingered on her skin. She tied her hair up and let the cool water wash away the muck of the day. In the kitchen Kevin played a couple of chords. She closed her eyes. He may have been able to bait her with his music, but she had to admit, she had been the one who seduced him.

She had lured him to the private beach on the other side of the lake and removed her bikini. She stood before him naked and exposed, only sixteen years old, wanting to explore this power she possessed but didn’t quite understand. She had wanted him to see her, all her soft spots and sharp edges as only he could see her, this sensitive boy who she suddenly desired.

He had seemed frightened at first, unable to move, but drinking her in at the same time, almost drowning in the sight of her. How she had toyed with him, using her body, her sex, moving in close, so close she could feel his breath on her lips.

When she touched his chest, he gasped, his skin quivering beneath her fingertips. His whole body trembled when she pressed up against him. It was as though he was afraid to touch her for fear she’d disappear. When he finally did reach for her, his hunger was like nothing she had ever experienced, his appetite for every inch of her, insatiable.

When it was over and he lay next to her in the sand, weak and out of breath, he had wept. She felt beautiful and powerful embracing her sexuality like never before, a woman desired like no other. In the days that followed, they had become addicted to the sex, to each other, and neither could stop if they had wanted.

She became the fool between two lovers like in the old song from the seventies the jukebox played. She should’ve known nothing good could come from a craving so strong.

*   *   *

She punched off the water in the shower. A woman’s voice came from the kitchen, asking about the ambulance and whether Gram was okay. It wasn’t surprising. Half the colony came out to gawk and gossip. It was typical, and Gram could more than handle herself with a few nosy neighbors.

Jo thought about Sara and Patricia, Pattie, and her own bit of news. She’d have to tell Kevin what she had learned, but she wanted to talk to Heil first, to get the men back on the lake and searching.

She slipped into clean clothes and sneaked out the back porch, making sure the door didn’t slam behind her.

*   *   *

Jo’s hands were clammy by the time she had reached the Pavilion. The place was lit up, the jukebox blared, the sound of laughter rang through the air. She marched up the steps, grateful they were empty. On any given night, Johnny and his gang might have been hanging out drinking beer and smoking cigarettes and doing whatever else she didn’t let herself think about.

Inside, the pool tables were crowded with kids. The Needlemeyer twins looked her way as she strode past. The snack stand was open. On the second-floor bar she heard the scraping of barstools and felt the vibrations of pounding, dancing feet.

She pushed Heil’s office door open without knocking. He was sitting behind a cheap-looking desk next to a metal filing cabinet. Several mounts hung on the wall—lake trout, pike, big-mouthed bass. A couple of fishing poles were tucked in the corner of the room. His face registered surprise. His greasy head glowed under the bright light. He leaned back in the chair, exposing the expanse of his stomach, and slipped his hand underneath the waistband of his shorts, tapping his thumb on his bloated belly.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. “Although, after the way you barged in here, doesn’t make me want to do much.”

“Patricia is Pattie Dugan. She’s one of us,” she said, ignoring his snide remark and his hand in his shorts.

“Pattie Dugan. Now why does that name sound familiar?”

“Bob and Jean Dugan. They were lake regulars for years. Patricia is their daughter. She’s Pattie Dugan.”

He shrugged. “And what of it?”

“She’s not some outsider. She’s not a one-season wonder. And we have to do everything we can to help her.”

He raised his hands as if to say, Why?

She stared at him, confused by his nonchalant attitude. It suddenly occurred to her that he knew all along who Patricia was. He knew and it hadn’t mattered. “You knew all this time.”

“Of course I knew. I make it my business to know everything about everybody who comes to my lake.”

“It’s not your lake.”

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong.”

She rubbed her brow. She didn’t want to get into the same tiresome argument about lake ownership. She didn’t see the point, not now. “You have to get the men back on the lake, searching. You have to find her daughter,” Jo said. “She’s one of us.”

“Do I?” Heil placed his hands square on the desk. He leaned forward. The chair creaked under his weight. He narrowed his eyes. “One of us? Is that who you think you are?” he asked. “Your family, your mother, especially, has given me nothing but trouble since she bought that cabin. So let’s get something straight. You’re not one of us. You never were.”

Jo was taken back. “My family has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, I think they do,” he said. “Have you talked with your daughter? If anyone is to blame for stopping the search, it’s the kids who messed with those traps.”

“She had nothing to do with that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said. “I can’t prove it. I can’t prove a lot of things that happen on my lake—not legally anyway—which brings me around to you.” His eyes roamed her body.

She crossed her arms, covering her breasts. “What about me?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. You may have fooled everyone else around here, but I know who you really are. I know what you’re capable of.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

He leaned across the desk. “I hear you like it rough.”

“You’re disgusting.” She took a step back.

“Am I?” He came up out of his seat and leaned farther across the desk, his large stomach resting on top, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. “You don’t think I didn’t know what you were doing with those boys under my Pavilion steps? On my beach? Why don’t you tell me what really happened to Billy Hawke?”

She stumbled backward. “This isn’t about me or—Or Billy. This is about a little girl,” she stuttered. “And her mother.”

His face burned red. “You’re damn right, it is. So why don’t you just stay out of it?” He reached across the desk as though he was going to choke her.

She backpedaled out the door and ran through the Pavilion. People turned to stare. She ignored them and hustled down the stairs and into the parking lot. Heil was nothing but a pervert trying to scare her. That was all. He didn’t know anything about her or Billy.

Heil was a dirty money-loving piece of shit.

*   *   *

Jo picked up a rock at the water’s edge and launched it into the lake. Plop. She picked up two more and threw them as hard as she could. Plop. Plop. She tried not to think about Heil and his accusations. She stared at the floating pier. On certain nights in the light of the moon, under a star-filled sky, the pier became a beacon in the center of the lake.

When she had been younger, there had been countless times where she’d swim out to the pier and lie under the stars on a night much like tonight. Sometimes Billy had been with her. Sometimes Kevin had been there too. Other times, her favorite times of all, were the times when she had been alone, her thoughts drifting, floating on the water, at one with the universe. She missed that girl, the one with dreams, confident and strong—the one with hope for a future.

She folded her arms. The water kissed her toes. She continued staring out at the lake, wondering what had happened to that girl she used to be, where she had gone wrong, remembering the very last time she had swum to the pier, the very last time she had seen Billy.

*   *   *

They had been drinking, all of them, under the steps of the Pavilion. Eddie had pulled a long shift at the bar, carrying cases of beer, rolling out empty kegs, exchanging the barrels for full ones, busing tables. But it had been a special night for Kevin. He had been asked by Tony, one of the guys in the band, to play a few songs and warm up the crowd. It had taken some coaxing, mostly from Billy to get Kevin to do it.

“Don’t be a wuss,” Billy said. “You’re really good. You should be playing to a crowd.”

Kevin had looked at Jo. She believed he was asking what she thought he should do. Of course she wanted him to play, but she also wanted to be sitting in the bar listening, not outside under the steps hearing his voice as though it were secondhand smoke. No, if he was going to play on a stage in front of a crowd, in front of other girls, she had to be there, front and center, listening firsthand, smoking the cigarette herself.

“Why do you keep looking at my girl?” Billy asked, and ruffled Kevin’s hair as though he was a child and Billy a man. Although Billy was messing around, the tension between the two was palpable. She felt sure Billy sensed there was something between her and Kevin the last few days, something much more than friendship.

“You should definitely play,” Jo said to Kevin. She moved to stand next to Billy, touching Billy’s arm and shoulder as she spoke. “It drives the girls wild when you do.” She was teasing Kevin, or maybe she was goading him to see what he would do, who he would choose, her or some other girl in the bar. Or maybe she was trying to hurt him because she really didn’t want him to play his guitar for anyone but her. She pressed her body against Billy, wanting to show her feelings for him, too. He was more than happy to wrap his arm around her and pull her close.