One Last Song Part 12

"If she said she had nothing to do with it, I'm inclined to believe her."

My mother let out a snort.

"Do you always have to be so f.u.c.king cynical?"

I hurried into the kitchen, making sure my slippers made all the noise in the world on the wood floors. My parents stopped talking. When I walked in, my dad was watching the doorway expectantly, a smile plastered on his face. "Hey, hon! How's my beautiful girl?"

"Hi, Daddy." I walked to the fridge, opened it, and got out a bowl of premade salad. "When did you get home?"

"Just walked in the door," he said without skipping a beat. Mum didn't look up from her dollhouse. "What are you up to tonight?"

"I'm going to listen to a friend play at a bar." I dished out some salad into a bowl and waited for him to ask me more. But there was only silence. He didn't want to know; asking was just a formality. I should've definitely known this by now.

I'd learned as I'd gotten older that Dad didn't really care. He was only gentle with me because it was easier than having me cry about him being mean, like I did with my mum when she disciplined me. He bought me things because the "ooh, shiny" effect kept me busy and away from prying into his life.

Once, in first or second grade, we'd all made cards for our fathers at school. It was right before summer break, so I guess it must've been in lieu of Father's Day. I chose black construction paper because I knew my dad liked non-girly colors like that. I'd folded my card carefully along the middle, and applied a lot of glitter glue to my drawing because glitter glue was the ultimate way to say "I love you" back then.

The teacher had set our cards on a wire rack to dry, when this little a.s.shole named Johnny who ate his boogers and thought I was too weird to have a right to exist went and ripped up my card. The teacher had promptly sent him to the princ.i.p.al's office, and had promised me she'd send a note home with me explaining what had happened so my dad wouldn't feel left out. I told her I didn't want the note. What I wanted, instead, was to make my dad another card. Since there wasn't enough time for me to make another one during cla.s.s period, I had to stay in during recess. I didn't care; it was totally worth it.

I waited all afternoon and half the evening out on the front porch for my dad to come home. When he did, I produced my card with a flourish. He'd spent about half a second looking at it, thanked me with a big grin, and then we went inside to eat dinner. When I came out the next morning to go to school, I saw that he'd left the card on the rocker on the front porch. It had rained during the night, and the card was soaked through. The glitter glue had washed completely away. When I tried to pick it up to take it inside and dry it, it ripped.

"A musician," Mum said, setting her paintbrush down. She stood up too quickly, and her barstool fell over with a thunderous crash. She didn't even notice. "Not a very reliable career, is it?" She went over to the sink and began to wash her hands, oblivious to how much her dismissive tone cut at me.

My dad stared at her, a murderous look on his face. Christ, Sarita. Don't rock the boat, for f.u.c.k's sake. But when he turned to me, he was smiling again. "Have fun, sweetheart. I'll be in my study if you need me."

I lifted my hand in a good-bye as he walked past me and out the kitchen. "Music isn't unreliable. And it's not a waste of time, because I know that's what you're thinking," I said to Mum. "Not as much a waste of time, anyway, as painting dollhouses for no reason."

She turned to me, a smirk on her face. "Is that so? You're utterly knowledgeable, aren't you, on all the ways of the world?"

We stared at each other until, finally, she sighed and stuck her paintbrush into a little pot of water, which turned a cloudy white. Brushing past me, Mum grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. "I'm going out."

After dinner, I sat in front of the TV in the den, watching whatever was on. I didn't bother to turn on the lights since I'd be leaving soon anyway. I was aware of a laugh track, dramatic music, and then a car commercial, but not much else. I played absently with the bandages on my chest. Dr. Daniels had told me to change them often to encourage healing, but I wasn't in any hurry for that.

At seven thirty, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Zee.

Will be a bit early. Is that okay?

Yes, I texted back, my fingers flying over the keys. Completely okay.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Fifteen minutes later I was in Zee's car, and we were headed toward Sphinx. The streets glittered with ice, but Zee drove confidently, leaving other slower-crawling cars behind. I glanced sideways at her again, wondering when Drew would break the news to her about him and me. Her hair was in a volume-infused purple bob, with silver strands of what looked like tinsel sparkling throughout.

She laughed. "You can just ask, you know."

I returned my eyes to the front, my heart thudding. "Ask? Ask what?"

"Yes, it's a wig. Yes, I'm bald. I lost it all during my last chemo treatment. The red pigtails you saw last time? Also a wig." She patted her head. "You like this one?"

I looked at her openly then. "It's bold," I said. "And I like the silver."

She shrugged. "I figure, if I have to wear a wig, I'm going to go flashy. Why do anything if you're gonna be half-a.s.sed about it, you know? I'd always wanted to be a redhead, so now I have that wish fulfilled, too."

"Are they..." I stopped and cleared my throat. "Will you do another round of chemo?"

She took a deep breath, kept her eyes on the road. "Nah. All they can do now is palliative stuff. I decided I didn't want it."

The next question burned at the back of my throat.

"You can ask it." She looked at me and smiled a little. "You want to know how much longer I have."

I nodded.

"It's anyone's guess," she said. "But they think no more than a year."

A year at most. That meant she wouldn't see another winter through. This summer would be her last. I wondered if she'd collect snow and keep it in her freezer, if she'd grab gra.s.s cuttings and store them. But then again, why should she? It wasn't like she could take those with her. Memories were for the living.

Zee pulled into an empty parking s.p.a.ce across from Sphinx. "Ready to hear the man sing?"

"Yes." I opened the door and began to get out, when Zee grabbed my wrist.

"He likes you, you know," she said, searching my eyes. "He hasn't said anything to me, but I can tell."

I thought about lying, about acting like I didn't know what she was talking about. But in the end, the truth came out. "I know. I like him, too."

She nodded, let my wrist go. "Good."

Inside, Drew and Pierce were already at a table, nursing beers. They smiled when we got in their line of vision. A little, ridiculous surge of a thrill ran through me when Drew's blue eyes lingered on mine, the shared secret of what was blossoming between us like a sinuous rope between him and me.

After we'd sat down, he reached forward across the table, his fingers brushing mine. My breath caught in my throat. "Are you okay?" he asked softly. "Carson said he saw you at the doctor's Monday." He gestured to his cell phone. "He texted me to say he couldn't come tonight."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a routine thing." My stomach churned a little at the less-than-fun memory of being in Dr. Daniels's office. I pushed it away and refocused on the way he kept his fingers near mine. "How are you feeling?" I hoped the question was laden enough with meaning that Drew would understand I was talking about his emotional state, after what he'd told me about his hand coordination slipping. I hadn't seen him face-to-face since then.

"I'm better now," he said, smiling at me. Did he mean now as in after time had pa.s.sed, or now as in now that you're here? More importantly, when had I become one of those girls who agonized over everything her crush said?

I noticed he had his guitar strapped to his back, and wondered how he managed to walk with the awkward extra baggage. His cane hung on his knee, suspended in the air. I remembered Carson's warning: that Drew would be losing his voice soon. How much longer before he had to trade his cane in for a wheelchair-or "the chair," as he called it? How much longer before his guitar had to be stowed or sold to pay for a brace for his arm? I tried to imagine his tall, strong body curled up in a chair, his legs useless, hands bent into claws, muscles that he'd worked so hard to build wasting away. I couldn't picture that any more than I could picture myself glowing with good health.

Across from me, Pierce's conversation with Zee devolved into a volley of barking coughs. I turned toward him, concerned that he might throw up. Finally, wheezing and trying to catch his breath, he stopped coughing long enough to take a slug of beer.

"You all right, man?" Drew asked. "Do you need to go home?"

But Pierce shook his head. "Just..." He took a deep breath so he could finish. "... A complication."

"A complication from what?" Zee's voice was oddly quiet, and when I looked at her, she looked paler than usual. She'd obviously got more from that statement than I had.

Pierce stared down at the gla.s.s neck of his beer bottle for a long time. Then he looked right into her eyes and said, "Kaposi's sarcoma."

Zee's lips twitched and she looked away, watching the other patrons in the bar with a sudden vivid interest. Pierce swallowed compulsively and turned to me and Drew, who looked just as clueless as I was. "When your CD4 counts drop below a certain level, you're at risk for a lot of different diseases."

"Right. Because your immune system's so weakened." I knew that much about AIDS from all my medical reading.

Pierce nodded and showed us a quarter-sized purplish b.u.mp on his upper hand. "This is a kind of tumor. It's spreading fast." He flipped his hand over and showed us the underside of his forearm, which was covered in the spots.

Drew looked at him, his face grim. "So what's the prognosis?"

Pierce cleared his throat. "Well, it depends on the person's level of infection, their viral load and things like that."

Drew nodded. "Okay. So what's your prognosis?"

Pierce looked us both in the eye and then simply shook his head. I glanced at Zee, but she was still looking away, refusing to be a part of this conversation.

There was a squeal of feedback from the microphone on the small wooden stage before anyone could say anything else. I turned to see a guy, face and arms covered in tattoos, fiddling with it. When it got quiet, the bar filled with his scratchy voice. "h.e.l.looo, Sphinx customers!" he said. There was a smattering of applause in response. "Put your hands together and welcome one of our own, the very talented Drew Dean!"

"That's me," Drew muttered, pulling the guitar off his back. After a quick smile in my direction, he limped to the stage, cane in one hand and guitar in the other. Tattoo Guy clasped his shoulder and got off stage, and Drew sat down in the chair set out for him.

People began to clap and cheer, and across the bar, some female voice said, "Hey, s.e.xy!" I tried to see who it was, but the crowd over there just seemed to be one seething ma.s.s.

Drew strummed a few notes, the music shimmering out into the room and dissolving, and the crowd got quiet. Cradling his guitar to him like a longtime lover, he began to play.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

It was a song I hadn't heard before, but with each line he sang, it felt like he was talking to me.

I stood there, alone in the street While people rushed past on aching feet, And then you beckoned, said, "Come with me"

I followed without a word...

'Cause your eyes, they're secret, so hidden, so dark And your lips, they tremble with the words of your heart The words of your heart...

I opened my eyes without even realizing I'd closed them, and when I looked at Drew, I felt like he'd been watching me the whole time. It was probably impossible for him to see me sitting in the dark when the spotlights were trained on him, but I could've sworn we were gazing right at each other.

When he was done, the place erupted in applause and cheers again, and Drew waved a little bit. Someone said, "Encore!" but he smiled and shook his head.

"Sorry," he said into the microphone. "This fellow's got to rest his voice."

There was a chorus of "boo" and "aww," but Drew ignored them and made his way slowly over to us. He casually moved his stool over closer to me and sat down. Pierce pa.s.sed him a fresh, cold beer that he'd snagged from the bartender.

"Nice work, bro," he said, grinning. His earlier somberness was gone. I wondered if Drew's music had infused his blood with the same magic as it had mine, if only temporarily. I hoped so.

"Thanks," Drew replied. His eyes met mine. I felt my cheeks flash hot, but I couldn't find the words to tell him what I was thinking, mainly because he'd probably think I was a weirdo. What I really wanted to ask was: Was that song about you and me?

Were you really looking at me while you played, or was that my imagination? and What's happening between us?

"Nice," Zee said, flipping a purple strand of hair out of her eyes. She looked more relaxed than before, too, and I was thankful. "Haven't heard that one before."

"It's brand new," Drew said, his eyes still on me. Under the table, his knee came to rest against mine. I felt a jolt, an actual physical jolt, not altogether unpleasant. I wondered what would happen right now if we were alone. The thought made my mind race in directions I wasn't sure I was ready for.

Zee looked between us, an expression somewhere between annoyance and amus.e.m.e.nt flitting across her face. I guess Drew wouldn't have to make any declarative statements after all. It was pretty clear what was happening here. Clearing her throat dramatically, Zee said, "Oh-kay. Hey, listen, we need to talk about Jack's birthday party. It's next week, and we still haven't decided where to have it."

"Where does Jack want to have it?" Drew asked.

"When we talked about it a while ago, he'd mentioned someplace outdoors." She quirked one corner of her mouth. "But it's so freaking cold, I don't know about that."

"I vote for his house." As Pierce spoke, he rubbed absently at the tumor on his hand. "I mean, it's probably the safest place for him. He doesn't have a lot of energy anymore, you might've noticed."

It struck me as odd, that Pierce would say that. Did he feel like he was in much better shape than Jack? Was it a defense mechanism, especially in light of his newest health development? I took a sip of my Dr Pepper. "I think we should do it at Prescott Park."

Three heads swiveled toward me.

"Um, as I said, it's not really park weather, Saylor," Zee said. "March. New Hampshire." She paused. "You see where I'm going with this?"

"I think he might enjoy getting out, even if only for a few minutes. It's what he wants, isn't it?" I said. "Besides, they have that community building there. We could host it inside."

"That's actually not a bad idea." Drew smiled. "You have my vote."

I was happier than I should've been at that.

"I'll run it by his mom and see what she thinks," Zee said. "It's next Tuesday, just so you guys remember. Get presents and cards."

"Cool hair."

Our gazes swung collectively to the owner of the voice, who turned out to be a muscular guy in a tight t-shirt with purple streaks in his blond hair. He stood grinning next to Zee's barstool.

She smiled at him and patted her head. "Thank you. Obviously you're a fan of purple yourself. Good taste."

He gestured to the empty seat next to her with his beer. "Mind if I...?"

"Go ahead," she said, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink.

I glanced at Drew and he winked at me conspiratorially. Pierce looked vaguely annoyed.