I’ve learned that his mother’s last name is Quaker. Amanda Quaker. I didn’t ask him questions or learn anything through normal methods. That would require us to sit down and talk and get to know each other, and it’s becoming clearer and clearer that whatever this evolution is between Jesse Berringer and me, it’s strange and unquantifiable.
I found out by breaking into her mail.
I know. It’s a shitty thing to do. But mailboxes here come in clusters, and they’re always being broken into. Someone left the front contraption that covers all of our boxes open the other day, so I went nosing around. Sam told me to look for Christmas cards with money inside, but I’m not a thief. I’m just a spy.
Correction…stalker.
My best guess is that Jesse’s brother and sister, who I now know are named Collin, six, and AmberLynn, not a prima donna, are from a failed marriage sometime after Jesse came into the picture. I guess they could be two separate marriages, but they look a lot alike, so my gut says one. They look nothing like Jesse.
Jesse looks a lot like Alton.
Alton Berringer, who showed up in Jesse’s driveway about twenty minutes ago, right before I left my house for what will be my third official rehearsal with the band since they booted Chris to make room for me. Our first gig is in a week—a Christmas party at a burger joint one suburb closer to LA. I don’t even feel remotely prepared, but Jesse told me two days ago that I’m already a thousand times better than Chris. I just feel like I’m winging it all the time. Maybe that’s how this band works. This band that still needs a name.
Rag stopped me on my way, rolling down the window of his Camaro that was parked a house down from mine. I got inside, and we’ve been sitting in here, with the lights knocked out but the motor humming to keep the radio on, ever since.
“He’s been dreading this.” It’s the first words Rag has said, other than “Alton’s here…get in.”
“He knew he was coming?” I only have bits and pieces of the story, things I found on Google and assumptions I drew from Jesse’s lyrics. But I was pretty sure that Jesse and his dad never talked. There was also that little bit about him trying to kill his father. I Googled that the second I got home the night he said it. Even though I couldn’t find an article about it, I still have a strange feeling Jesse wasn’t bluffing.
“He called last week. Said he wanted to see him—repenting and shit…you know, in the spirit of the holidays.”
Last week…probably in the morning. The morning I was hiding so poorly behind his fence and overheard him cry.
I nod slowly, wishing I knew more about their relationship.
It starts to rain, and Rag and I both roll up our windows, sad that we can’t hear what’s going on in the house now, not that there was anything to hear.
“Where are his brother and sister?” I ask.
“Probably upstairs pretending to be asleep. They don’t really know who Alton is or why a man is visiting. He and his mom keep it very separate from them. They’ve got enough to deal with now that their dad is remarried.”
“His sister has to know a little.” I twist my lips with doubt and look at Rag.
He shrugs.
“Probably, but she goes on pretending she doesn’t,” he says.
I look back at the quiet house, such a quaint portrait it makes with the rain pattering around it and the porchlight welcoming guests. It looks like any other home, maybe even more homey than most of the others around here now that the grass and weeds have been cut down. Christmas lights blink in sections along the roof, a few of the strands dead and needing to be replaced. Jesse just wanted them up. I don’t know that he’s really come out to look at them once. His brother and sister do, though—every night for the last week.
“I wonder what they’re saying in there?” I sigh, but I’m unable to lose the tension gripping at my neck and shoulders.
“I don’t know, but I guarantee you that Jesse’s not going to feel like playing much tonight. And I bet he’s also going to get high the second that fancy king-cab truck with new temporary plates pulls out of the driveway.”
Rag pulls a pack of gum from his center console and offers me a piece. I take one, figuring chewing is better than gnashing. He takes one, too, and starts to pop and snap the gum nervously against the roof of his mouth.
“Jesse…gets high a lot?” I push the gum against the back of my teeth, nervous about the answer. I don’t want him to be high all the time, but I also oddly don’t care if he is. I’m still so very interested in him.
“It goes in waves. It’s a stress thing, really. Self-medicating, ya know.” He winks at me, and I give him a fake smile in return. Self-medicating isn’t something I do or have ever done. Real medication, however, is well practiced in the Wakefield house.
“He said something weird to me the other night,” I spill out. I’ve been dying to ask, and it feels like just as good of a time as any.
“Yeah?” Rag’s tone is curious.
“He said he tried to kill Alton once. He was probably just being figurative, or whatever, but…”
“Oh no, he had him dead to rights,” Rag cuts in.
I swallow, not expecting the truth to come so easily.
“How?”
Rag blows out a heavy breath and wraps his right hand around the steering wheel, stretching his arm until it’s straight and stiff as he pushes into his seat. He sucks in his top lip for a few seconds and pulls in his brow.
“He was young…the age I’m not so sure on, but young,” he begins. I hug myself, checking my nerves. They’re on high alert. “It was a surprise visit, kinda like this one, on Christmas of all days. Alton was on a major bender. He only came around when he wanted money, which is so jacked because at one point, he was literally drowning in dough, ya know?”
He looks at me with a lifted brow. I nod. I’d heard he lost everything, but the new truck in the driveway looks like he’s maybe gotten back on his feet.
“Alton showed up, and Jesse’s mom was married to her ex. That guy’s a douchebag too, but that’s another story. Anyhow, she was pregnant with AmberLynn, and Alton wasn’t expecting to look her up and come rolling in to find some starter family decorating a damn tree, so he tried to take Jesse back.”
“Take him back? Back where?” My stomach instantly gets sour imagining him as a small boy being forcefully stolen from his home.
“I don’t know where, I meant take him back like property. He was taking back this kid he refused to admit was his because he didn’t want to give up any of his precious money. It got to the point that they almost went to court to test for paternity until Amanda decided her son was better off not knowing his real dad. Now here he was violently taking what he saw as rightfully his.”
“How violent?” I swallow at the thought.
“The bruises on his arm were pretty deep, and he took a swing or two at Jesse’s mom, her head got cut open and shit. And then there Jesse was with a Colt Special he knew his stepdad kept under the bed. He released the safety and cupped it steady in his hands, the barrel only a few feet away from Alton’s guts, and he screamed for his dad to get the fuck out of his house. He was pretty manic for a few days after that, and Amanda had to admit him to the psych ward because she was afraid he was going to hurt himself.”
I’m dizzy taking everything in.
“That had to be a lot on him. I can’t imagine anyone comes out of something like that okay.”
Unless you’re good at pretending, and smiling in the mornings. Carrying on. I shake my head of the thoughts as Rag shrugs then pulls the wrapper he saved from his pocket and spits out his gum. I swallow mine, which my mom hates when I do, but clearly there are worse things in the world. I know that for certain.
After nearly forty minutes of calm, an explosion of noise happens at the house we’ve been staring at. The front door flies open, and while the rain has picked up enough that we can’t hear the words, we can tell Jesse is shouting. Alton’s arms are flailing wildly, and I can’t tell if he’s acting angry or defensive. With every step Jesse takes forward, Alton takes one back.
Rag flicks on his headlights and shifts his car, pulling forward on instinct. I don’t know what kind of backup I could offer other than bearing witness, but my blood is pumping so hard and hot with adrenaline that I’m not even scared.
We pull in the other side of the driveway just as Alton is climbing into his truck, and the rain is pelting Jesse, heavy drops coming down in a near pour now. Rag pushes the gear into park and flings his door open, slamming it behind him and giving me a few seconds of sound from outside.
“You’re a motherfucker, and that’s all you are!” Jesse shouts more before and after my glimpse, but I think it’s probably all the same words, or really close synonyms.
Alton’s face looks ghost white, thinning hair plastered to his head from the downpour and gaunt cheeks caving in with his frown. This isn’t a man who can threaten anyone anymore, but he said or did something to stir the hornet’s nest.
My eyes catch his, and they practically beg for help as they pass my gaze and continue on to look over his shoulder as he backs out of the driveway. Before his front tires clear the curb, Jesse picks up a fist-sized rock and heaves it at the driver’s side headlight, cracking it good. He picks up a second one, but Rag manages to halt his arm mid throw.
It’s like I’m watching a silent movie. Jesse pivots back and forth, his face red with heat and his eyes wild with anger. His hands are woven together atop his head, and Rag keeps reaching for him, trying to get him to break free from the rage. Jesse swats away his hands a few times before stalking through the glow of Rag’s headlights to my door. He pulls it open just as Rag opens his side.
“Get out,” he says to me, curling his fingers urgently.
“Fuck you, it’s pouring outside!” I don’t know how I muster so much audacity, but there it is. I’m not wrong. It’s torrential.
Jesse huffs and rolls his eyes, bending down and grabbing my elbow to pull me from my seat. I fight back, but quit struggling when his hands wrap around my waist. We shift positions in some sort of scrappy, sloppy dance, and as Jesse falls into the passenger seat, I come down with him, landing on his lap.
“Get your feet inside,” he orders.
I do, but my body is a mix of fire and needles as I struggle to understand what just occurred.
Jesse reaches to the side and grabs the handle, pulling the door closed, then wraps his arms around my stomach, holding me like a child would his favorite bear. I swallow at the intimate…everything. I’d feel excited, maybe flattered, if this seemed like anything other than making do of a situation to Jesse.
“Where you wanna go, man?” Rag’s voice sounds frustrated, and maybe a little defeated.
“I don’t know. Somewhere. The Yards, maybe.”
“Yards it is,” Rag says, shifting into reverse and peeling out of the driveway in a rush.
“Aren’t your brother and sister inside?” I turn my head to ask, and our chins touch when I do. I feel his breath against my face, and it sends a second breath down my spine. He smells like rain and sugar, and something else that I think is just distinctly him.
“They’ll be fine. AmberLynn’s old enough to know what to do if the house catches on fire.”
He’s irritable, and I can feel his heart pounding against my back. I bet if I held my fingertips to his neck, I’d find his pulse. He’s roaring like the train…like his songs.
“You didn’t even lock the door?” I swallow when I feel his hands squeeze me just a little.
“Jesus Christ, Arizona. They’re fine.” His chest deflates with his heavy exhale, and my face falls with worry. He’s right; they are fine. But I’m not so sure we are.
“We’re not going that far,” Rag says in a half whisper. I don’t know why, because Jesse can still hear him. We’re sitting the same distance away. It’s like he knows the rules, though, of how this goes—this blowing off steam mission I think we’re on.
My lips close tight, and I turn my attention out the window, the rain hitting the glass and creating the illusion of traveling at lightspeed—stars rushing by us while we propel away from here.
Rag’s promise was accurate, because he pulls off of the main road after just a couple miles, fishtailing onto a muddy side road that leads to an abandoned frame that was probably going to be an office building at one point. He pulls up next to the structure of metal and heavy brick, and shoves the car into park. I catch the fading sign as Jesse opens our door.
THE YARDS
I’m sure it was supposed to sound elegant. Now, it feels like a dystopia.
We’re all soaked in a matter of seconds after leaving the car, but Rag follows Jesse into the multi-story building frame that’s only lit by his Camaro. I follow them in after a few more seconds, but stop just under the wide umbrella of a large metal beam. It isn’t perfect, but it protects me from the direct rain enough that I can stand and wipe the water from my face with my soaked sweatshirt.
Jesse starts to climb a ladder that doesn’t seem to really go anywhere at all, and before he can get too far up, his cousin grabs his leg at the knee and shakes his head.
“Don’t pull this shit. We’re here to vent.” They have a stare-off that lasts a few long seconds until Jesse picks up a piece of metal rebar and thrusts it across the open space, clanking against the broken foundation ground.
I start to shiver, but I don’t dare mention that I’m cold. A second later, Jesse screams. His voice bellows, broken up by the rush of rain.
“He wants my music. That’s it, man. He wants to steal the only thing I have left!” His teeth grit as he speaks the words, his eyes moving from his cousin to me, and a realization colors his skin that I’m in the dark for most of this. I know more than he realizes; I don’t know enough.
“What do you mean? That doesn’t even make sense. Just…back up, and start at the beginning. He came over and then…what?”
I can tell Rag has had to do this conversation before. I wonder how many times Alton Berringer has been a disappointment.
“Get this…he’s an agent now. Or he has a record label. Or…fuck, I didn’t even really listen when I started to smell the bullshit. He’s just doing what he always does, weaseling his way in by finding what makes me weak. He was like, ‘Merry fucking Christmas, kid. Let me fix everything in your life and sponsor your dream. You know…because I have such a great track record at being good at business.’ He did it to my mom so many times—lied? That’s why I can see it!” He bites down on his bottom lip and shakes his head.
My body is starting to convulse now, and Jesse notices. I wince with guilt.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“No, you’re not. Dude, forget it. Just take us home. Get her inside.” Jesse starts to walk back toward the car, and Rag stares at me for a second or two before nodding for me to follow along.
“I’m sorry. He swings his emotions when it comes to Alton. A lot of things, really. But being pissed is better than being depressed, so if he wants to come break shit, I break shit with him.”
Rag’s insight stops when we reach the car, and I get that it’s not meant for Jesse’s ears. I also get that Jesse’s manic.
I curl back into his lap, and his hands slide around my waist again, his palms flat along my stomach and sides. His touch is a little more personal this time, though. He’s trying to keep me warm.
When we pull onto the main road, I feel his head come to a rest against my back, between my shoulder blades, and his breathing—the once rapid rise and fall of his body under and against mine—slows to a long and steady motion.
“I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice. I don’t know if that’s meant for Rag, me, or both of us. I answer regardless.
“It’s okay,” I say, my hands moving to the place where his rest along my body. At the first feel of my touch, he grasps a hold on me, an almost desperate hold that comes with the release of one small breath.
It’s exasperation.
It’s exhaustion.
It’s disappointment—in Alton, and in himself.
The rain has let up, but it’s still a steady mist, tiny drops that sting more than pelt. We stop in front of my house, and Jesse helps me climb free, getting out with me and leaning into the car to talk to Rag.
“I’m good. I’ll walk her up then jog home. Let’s rehearse again tomorrow, yeah? Logan can come then, so it’s better anyway.” He reaches in with a fist, pounding it against Rag’s. I bend forward and wave to my side with an open palm, still holding myself to stay warm.
“You sure you’re good?” Rag asks, glancing to Jesse for a beat. I know what he means—can I handle him like this? I nod. I can handle so much more.
Jesse and I start to walk up the driveway as Rag circles around and leaves our street. I lead him along the side of the house, to the back gate. My parents leave the patio door unlocked so I can get in at night. They started doing that last year when Sam and I started staying out well past midnight.
“I’m okay here,” I say.
Jesse nods, his eyes lifting to mine, heavy with pathetic apologies. The mist and thin rain has become white. Snow flurries. That’s the one thing you get up here near these ugly, bare hillsides. There’s always a chance of snow. Not the real, magical kind you see on greeting cards—the kind that teases you and disappoints when it melts along the ground. Still, I like the way it dusts Jesse’s hair right now.
“Rag tell you what that was all about?” He closes one eye as he asks.
“He told me enough.”
His gaze meets mine again as he nods. His attention quickly goes back to his feet, though. The flurries are practically singing to us against the metal gutter, a melody of faint tings and splashes from leftover rain growing lighter and lighter until it barely feels wet at all outside.
“I had a sister,” I begin. Jesse’s brow dents, but his eyes remain on the wet ground between us, a burst of fog parting his lips. “We were a year apart. She dove into a lake up north from our uncle’s boat in the middle of the night. We were out there fishing, and out of nowhere, she tossed her rod to the side and dove in.”
Jesse’s gaze creeps up, and when our eyes meet, I know he knows the end of this story. I say it anyway.
“She never came up. I was six. She was seven.”
My breath quivers, and it’s not because I’m cold. I haven’t talked about Ella in years. More than a decade, really. Not since I quit having to talk about her to therapists willing to give me pills.
“Ella was bipolar manic, and she was in a serious low. We were kids, and I had no idea what any of her problems meant. I just knew my mom cried a lot, and my parents both worried. They watched us like hawks, and my uncle promised he’d watch us too. It was just one second.”
I laugh at the sadness of it all. I think I have to. I’m not sure because I’ve never really talked to someone like this…about this.
“For whatever reason, after mourning her for a year, my parents just decided to hit reset. They quit jobs they hated and bought a shipping business that makes barely enough to get by. They started giving me more freedom. They put me in music classes. I fell in love with the drums.”
Jesse breathes in, his lips parted in thought before his front teeth come together as he exhales, holding back whatever it is he’s trying to say. I get that, too. I didn’t talk about Ella for an entire decade. My parents still haven’t. Ten years later, we’ve just moved on, as if she never was.
But she was.
Sometimes, when I’m in my peaceful place—when I’m playing—she still is. I feel her often.
I get why Jesse doesn’t like the holidays. It’s the same reason I adore them. This time…it was Ella’s favorite, too.
“I’m really glad I met you, Jesse Barringer,” I say, my voice cracking from my nerves and the cold.
I’m not sure what to expect from him, but I know more than anything that those are the words I had to say right now. Those are the words he needs to hear, from someone who doesn’t have a damn thing to do with his dad.
His eyes dip and his mouth curls on one side, and I think maybe he’s a little embarrassed by my compliment…my appreciation of him. His eyes flicker with thought for a few seconds, but then rise to meet mine in a blink. In a sudden step, his lips brush against mine as his hands come up to gently hold either side of my face. I stand completely still, my arms still tethered around my own body—paralyzed. His kiss lasts for the smallest moment, long enough for his lips to hold onto my top lip with the force of a feather then fall away.
“Goodnight, Arizona Wakefield. I’m really glad I met you, too.”
I remain in the dark, in the mist and under the clearing sky while he walks with his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans back to the house where his siblings are probably tired of pretending they aren’t afraid.
The storm came and left.
And so did Jesse.
This story will continue. The entire Drummer Girl book will release in the middle of 2019. I hope you enjoyed this early sneak peek!
You can add Drummer Girl to your TBR here: