One Last Song Part 5

"What are you doing? To the roof, I mean?" I watched her head, the blue-black of her hair reflecting the recessed lights in the ceiling.

"Glazing the s.h.i.+ngles." Her tiny brush paused and she took a deep breath before looking up at me. "Don't you have something else to occupy your time, Saylor? You're making me nervous, staring at me while I work."

Childish rage bubbled in my chest, white hot. "Well, gee, I wish I could, Mum, but it seems you thought it absolutely necessary that I be pulled out of college to come home. So if I seem a bit cabin feverish, I guess you only have yourself to blame. Jesus Christ."

"Watch your language." She sighed, her shoulders rounding out as if she was so tired, she didn't have the strength to even hold them up.

I looked away, not wanting to see just how tiresome she thought I was. My gaze swept across the enormous Christmas treeshaped cardholder on the wall that my mother diligently got out every year. Dozens of fancy, glittering Christmas cards still adorned it; Mum hadn't gotten around to putting it away yet, probably thanks to the rigmarole of having to tend to a wayward daughter. My parents got about a hundred cards each holiday, most of them from my dad's clients or golfing buddies. There wasn't a single one from people we actually cared about, real friends or family.

A memory came to me then, unbidden. I was around ten years old, ecstatic to be out of school for winter vacation. It was the middle of the night, and I'd come downstairs for a drink of water. When I walked into the living room to cross into the kitchen, I caught sight of Mum sitting in front of the lit fireplace, tears rolling down her cheeks as she struggled to rip up a greeting card. Her hands were shaking as she tried to get her fingers to tear the thick cardstock. Still, besides the silent tears, her expression was absolutely stoic.

I'd stood by the entryway, hardly daring to breathe. Even then, I could tell this was a private moment, one Mum would not appreciate being observed. But in the shadows that night, I felt like I'd gleaned a rare look into Mum's hidden life, one that she kept completely separate from the one she let me see.

The next morning, when she'd been preoccupied with something else, I'd poked around in the fireplace and seen a snippet of an address label. The card had come from London. I only knew of one person who lived there.

"How come I've never met my grandmother?" I hadn't realized the question had even been forming when I spat it out. When she looked up at me, her eyes wide, I felt like my face must've reflected the same surprise.

"What?"

"Where is she? Is she even still alive? She used to send us Christmas cards and then they just stopped. What did you say to her?" I didn't really care about not seeing my grandmother. But my mother's mother was a sore subject and I couldn't help but wonder if what I'd seen so long ago had something to do with Mum's caginess on the matter. Now seemed as good a time as any to bait my mother with the subject.

When Mum set her brush down, I noticed with a small measure of spiteful satisfaction that her hand trembled a touch. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

"I just think it's weird that I don't get to have a relations.h.i.+p with any extended family. And you refuse to talk about her at all. What kind of person doesn't even want her child to know her own mother?"

My mother took another sip of tea, and I could see she was trying to maintain her composure. Apparently anger won out, though, because she set her teacup down with a crash, spilling some of the liquid onto the table, where it beaded and reflected the light like a pretty piece of gla.s.s.

"You don't know the first thing about my mother. You think you deserve so much, but do you ever think about what you do to deserve it? What have you ever done for me? What do you do for anyone besides yourself?"

Her words cut at me, slas.h.i.+ng and ripping, until I was sure my skin was in ribbons. We stared at each other, breathless. A beat pounded in my head.

Selfish.

Unlovable.

Selfish.

Unlovable.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out.

Just making sure you haven't changed your mind about Thursday! Zee Turning away from my mother, I keyed in, I haven't.

Chapter Twelve.

Tuesday evening, I was sprawled horizontally across my bed, reading more in the PDR about drugs used to treat multiple sclerosis, when my phone beeped with an incoming text. I glanced at the screen, expecting another reminder from Zee. But it wasn't her. It was him. My heart began pounding a steady beat, just a bit faster than normal.

I'm craving deep-fried Chinese doughnuts. Do you like those?

I bit down on my lip to keep the smile from spreading as I typed.

I like them.

Okay. What time should I meet you?

Fingers trembling slightly for reasons I didn't care to explore, I typed back, Meet me where?

China Garden downtown. They have THE best Chinese doughnuts. They're deep-fried. But I may have mentioned that already.

I stared at the screen. A date. Was he asking me out on a date? My phone beeped again. A picture of Chinese doughnuts, deep-fried to a golden brown. I almost snorted with laughter. One hour?

I'm there.

Right before I walked in, when my palm touched the cold metal of the door handle at China Garden, I had a momentary freak-out. What the h.e.l.l was I doing here? I'd already put myself in so much s.h.i.+t by partic.i.p.ating in the TIDD group. And then I'd gone to coffee with Drew and Zee. But now... now I was here, by myself, taking the farce one step further. Sure, I'd told Zee I'd go with them to Sphinx. But that was Thursday, still forty-eight hours-a lifetime-away. This was here. This was now.

Then I caught sight of him through the gla.s.s. He sat in the corner, head bent over something-a napkin?-big fingers clasping a pen that looked kid-sized in his hands. His cane rested against the side of the table, graceful, silent, waiting.

I pushed the door open and walked in.

When my shadow fell on him, he looked up, blue eyes distracted for a moment before they cleared, like cloudy ice turning to warm, sparkling water. Just for that smile alone, I thought. It was worth coming here just for that smile.

"Hey." I took off my coat and sat, stuffing it into the corner of my side of the booth, unable to look into those eyes again just yet.

"Grayson." I felt his gaze on me, heavy, weighty. His smile seeped through his words. "Tell the truth. Are you here for the deep-fried Chinese doughnuts or the excellent company?"

I laughed and looked back into his eyes, promising myself I wouldn't get swallowed up. I wouldn't. This was just one... get-together. One meeting. My chest throbbed, but I balled my fists on the table, refused to check on the abscesses. Kept smiling as I carefully unfurled one finger to point at the napkin he'd been writing on. "So, what's that? An ode to the deep-fried doughnuts?"

He set his pen down and folded the napkin neatly. "This? Ah, nothing. Just a song I'm working on."

"A song? You're writing a song?"

He nodded, looking amused at my surprise.

"And that's 'nothing' in which world? Can I see?" I held my hand out, curious. I'd always been fascinated by people who could create something from nothing. Maybe a parallel could be drawn-me and my illnesses, an artist and his masterpiece. But maybe that was sacrilegious.

Drew handed the napkin over after a beat, a faint crimson tinting his cheeks. Was he feeling... shy? I found the idea strangely endearing. Opening the napkin, I read what he'd scrawled in his ridiculously messy hand, words tossed across the paper like a handful of birdseed.

It's a mask I wear, painted on thick My skin miles underneath I can't see, can't see the surface from here But maybe it wasn't meant for me.

A creeping sort of p.r.i.c.kling crawled across my scalp, turning my guarded thoughts molten. I refused to acknowledge them, trickling into my brain, whispering: Look at us. Hear us.

Without looking at him, I slid the napkin back across the table. "This is... great." The inadequate compliment sat between us, false and ugly. What I really meant was: You've performed magic with a fistful of words. How could your song be my song when we've only just met?

He shrugged and laughed a little, seemingly not offended by my apathy. "I'm still working on it. Writing the words down as soon as they come to me works best. I've tried holding on to them in here before"-he tapped one temple-"and... yeah. Not making that mistake again."

"Do you sing, too?" I could imagine his voice, slightly rough around the edges when he talked, buffed to a rich baritone as he sang.

But the waiter interrupted us before Drew could answer, his arms full of a platter of steaming Chinese doughnuts. He smiled. "Enjoy."

"Oh, we will, believe me," Drew replied, shaking out his napkin.

I grabbed one of the steaming doughnuts with two fingers. Setting it down on my plate, I said, "This doughnut has a lot to live up to. I mean, you've built it up so much now. I'm expecting, like, a doughnut miracle."

He laughed easily as he popped a whole doughnut into his mouth. He chewed as if in ecstasy, his eyes closed, face upturned. I watched him in awe, my gaze drawn to his mouth, his strong jaw. And then he opened his eyes and saw me staring at him. I looked away quickly, my cheeks heating.

"Aren't you going to try one?" Though I wasn't looking at him-couldn't look at him-I heard the amused smile in his voice. It made me want to melt into a small puddle on the floor.

"Um, yeah." I kept my eyes on the table as I bit into the warm, sweet dough. Wow. This was good. Unfortunately, the fact that Drew had just caught me staring at him made it impossible for me to actually show him I was enjoying it. I sat there, chewing robotically as I stared at the powder left behind on my plate. When I was done, I swallowed, took a sip of water, and reluctantly met his eye. "It's good. Great."

He was still smiling. I felt humiliation rise up again. I wanted to run out of the restaurant and forget about this whole thing. "You know, there's no shame in admitting that you like something. That you're enjoying it."

I didn't know if he was talking about the doughnut or him, so I just nodded vaguely. "Yeah. I know." But I didn't know, not really. My entire life I'd been playing it safe. Never letting friends.h.i.+ps form, never letting on just how much I needed my mum. The only thing I'd ever reveled in without holding back was illness.

Thankfully, he let it drop after that.

We talked for the next few hours over more food, inconsequential nattering about New Hamps.h.i.+re and restaurants and the winter. Inoffensive. Casual. We talked like two people getting to know each other. Two people saving the best for later. I basked in the charade, unwilling to peel the curtain aside and peek at the truth. This was it for me. It'd never go further with Drew.

We stood outside as darkness gathered, saying good-bye. I tasted snow in the air as I talked, crystal cold. "I had a great time. But I... I want to clarify. This wasn't a date." It took an immense amount of effort for me to say the words, to confront the situation head-on. I'd see Drew again on Thursday, and it'd be more than awkward if we met up at Sphinx with two different impressions of what was going on.

His face didn't fall; he didn't get angry or tongue-tied. Instead, he held my gaze. "What are you so afraid of?"

My hand automatically flew toward my chest again, and I had to divert it at the last minute, as if I'd meant to play with the b.u.t.ton at my throat all along. "Afraid? I'm not afraid. Of anything."

In answer, he gently tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, setting my pulse skyrocketing. Leaning in, he said softly, "It's okay, Grayson. We're all scared." Then he straightened up and smiled. "I'll see you Thursday?"

By the time I nodded and scrounged up a "sure," he was already walking away, tall body hunched over his cane.

Chapter Thirteen.

I took a cab to Sphinx Thursday night. It felt too much like charity, asking Zee to pick me up. The bar was across town, halfway between where the both of us lived. And besides that, I wasn't completely sure how to address the new dynamic between Drew and me. Would there even be a new dynamic? I was fairly sure there would be, but I wasn't exactly a relations.h.i.+p guru. I felt more comfortable making an entrance on my own.

Sphinx was hopping. The lights had been turned down low and music played loudly, vibrating in my head before I was even inside. At the door, a chick about my age asked for my ID. I handed it over and she scanned for my age.

"Okay, so I can't stamp you, since you're not twenty-one yet," she said, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her little pierced nose as if this was a personal regret.

I nodded, and then I was allowed to roam around the world of legal-aged adults. Drew and Zee were already there, which I'd guessed from seeing her car outside. They sat at a little circular table, sipping beers.

"There she is!" Zee said, holding up her beer bottle to me. "Yay!"

I smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I was very focused on not focusing on Drew. "Thanks for inviting me. This is nice in the evening."

Drew laughed easily. His cane was hooked over his knee. The barstools were high, and the end of it didn't quite reach the floor. "Don't lie. It's trashy and they play some awful Top 40 songs to get people to dance, but we like it." I met his eye briefly, and something there caught, both of us remembering what had pa.s.sed between us two days ago.

Then Zee leaned in toward me, like she was filling me in on an important secret, and the moment was gone. "Drew's a celebrity with the night crowd."

My first thought was, Because of his FA? But I pushed it aside for a more appropriate response. "Really?"

"Zee exaggerates just a tad." He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. His black jacket sleeves slipped up, exposing the pale flesh of the underside of his arm. I had to tear my eyes away from this sudden expression of vulnerability, a flash of skin hidden from the rest of the world, but bared to me in this fleeting moment.

"Not really."

I turned at the voice. Pierce was right behind me, pulling up another stool. I helped him, and he smiled gratefully. He was still wearing his mask. "Drew really is a celebrity with this crowd. He has an angel's voice."

I raised my eyebrows and turned back to Drew, remembering the song lyrics he'd let me read. "So you sing?" I almost said, So you sing, too? but caught myself at the last moment. Somehow I knew he hadn't told either of them about our time together.

He raised one hand. "Guilty. I also play a little guitar."

"That's impressive," I said. "Are you going to play tonight?"

"Nope, I'm just here to drink," Drew replied.

"Are you allowed to drink?" The question flew from my mouth before I had a chance to stop it. My face felt like it was on fire. "I'm sorry. I... just ignore that."

"It's a valid question," Drew said easily. "My doc told me I shouldn't binge drink because it can really mess up my already less-than-stellar balance."

I smiled a little, grateful for his ability to be tactful when I clearly wasn't.

"I'm going to get a drink." I hopped up from the stool. "Does anyone want anything?"

"I'll take a house wine, Saylor. If that's okay with you, I mean," Pierce said, his eyes locking seriously on mine.

Aghast, I fell silent. I couldn't think of a single thing to say.

But then he burst out laughing. "Oh man, look at your face! I'm kidding, dude. Relax."

Zee laughed and Drew hit him lightly with the head of his cane. "Come on, bro, don't scare her away."

"Sorry, sorry." Pierce raised both hands. "But you'll get used to me, I swear."

I laughed to show I didn't mind his ribbing, that I belonged there with them and their jokes and levity. I was completely out of my element, but adamant that they wouldn't catch on.