CHAPTER 25
Cory
You know that bully in the school yard who steals your lunch and threatens to strip you naked and parade you in front of everyone during recess if you say a word? So you don’t because then everyone will know you’re hairless and underdeveloped and besides that, a growling stomach is way better than a shrinking ego. Every fifth grade boy remembers this; no grown man forgets the feeling.
The undersized kid is me, and the schoolyard bully is my brother, Kyle.
It’s been this way since my eighteenth birthday.
With that gun holstered around his waist and the hostile look in his eye, nothing at all has changed. I swallow the knot of fear rising in my throat.
I thought success might even the score…possibly put me at a greater advantage with more money and more fame and more women and generally more everything. And now I’m six-two and completely developed and richer than the whole freaking city of Springfield, so at the very least I thought that might make a difference.
I was wrong.
Right now I want to hide.
Eat my lunch in a janitor’s closet next to a bucket of dirty mop water.
Run for the closest exit.
Pick one. Suddenly it seems better to flee like a coward than to have Sam find out that my earlier I’ve always been big statement might be proven otherwise—even if it would be just a matter of opinion.
Namely hers.
Which matters a whole lot more than it should.
She’s on the floor in front of me, and my fingers latch on to the bottom of her hair. I caress the strands, rubbing them in circles between my thumb and forefinger. I’ve been doing this for the better part of ten minutes, but they feel like silk, and I can’t let go. I keep telling myself that I’m being too forward, that I’m taking advantage, that if I don’t stop she’ll get the wrong idea. But then what is the wrong idea? I’m not coming up with a clear answer, so my fingers are staying put.
Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s scooted backwards a few minutes ago, so that means she likes it. A good thing, because her hair reminds me of the security blanket I carried around until I was twelve. Soft. Smooth. Smells great. Plenty of twelve year old boys hang on to childhood habits, doesn’t make us lesser men. I caress a group of strands and clear my throat, ready for whatever battle I’m up against. Thank God for white flags.
A toddler in pigtails walks in and changes the mood. I’ve never been one to care much for kids. Not so this time. My heart simultaneously melts and shatters into a thousand pieces just looking at her.
Millie. My niece.
My limbs grow numb.
My heart aches with a tug I’ve never felt before.
“Hello, baby girl.” My mother crouches on both knees and opens her arms.
Millie pulls a thumb from her mouth and runs toward her, then buries her head in my mother’s shoulder with a soft, “Memaw.” A cute name for my mother. A name she’s been called for over two years now, and I had no idea.
The loss I feel could be sealed in a moving box and contained for decades.
I made a succession of stupid decisions years ago, and because of it I’ve missed everything. And this is one of those times. One of those times in your life when you’re standing at the intersection of a dozen different crossroads. Take one of eleven and keep traveling in the wrong direction—the easiest roads to take, but you only move further from where you’re supposed to be. Or you can take the right road and see what happens. Maybe you’ll face a road block, maybe you’ll launch yourself right over a cliff. But at least you’ll know. At least you can stop moving.
Sam takes the right road no matter how narrow or rocky it gets. She’s said goodbye to her mother and sister on that road, and soon quite possibly her father. Still, she keeps moving forward. I’ve taken the wrong road far too long. It’s been wide and open and safe, but I’ve traveled it all alone. I’m tired of being by myself.
I drop her hair, stand up, and offer my hand to my brother.
“It’s been long time.”
He looks at it for a second, then up at me. But then he clasps my hand. I’m surprised.
“Understatement of the decade.” Kyle regards me with narrowed eyes, the obvious question hanging between us like an illness no one wants to bring up. So we don’t. “What have you been up to?”
Small talk. I guess that’s what we’re left with. “The usual. Touring, recording, traveling to—”
“Is that all you do now?” Kyle crosses his arms and looks up at the ceiling. Boredom, intolerance, and a chip on his shoulder so big you could pour a bowl of salsa and feed the entire neighborhood. Nothing has changed. He’s here out of obligation to my parents. I’m here because I promised Sam. At least we have one thing in common. “There must be more to your life than that. Or maybe there isn’t where you come from.”
Where I come from. Two swipes at my career in ten seconds, a record probably not recorded in Guinness books because why would they know about it? Someone should send them a text. Give Kyle a solid minute and I’ll be flat under his foot while he holds up a certificate.
Kyle has always hated my job. As long as we never talked details, Kyle could pretend my career didn’t bother him. The travel, the freedom, the money—my brother has dismissed it all with a shrug I’ve felt all the way to California. His indifference changed when Millie was born. From that point on, Kyle began demanding my return, punctuating his outrage with hateful remarks about my career being the only thing that mattered to me. Kyle is a single father who loves his kid but wishes life were different. Happens to the best of us, even the ones who manage to drown out the regret with drumbeats and screams and star struck fans.
Besides, Kyle knows why I haven’t come back.
He’s always known.
I’m on the verge of reminding him of this fact when Sam’s arm snakes around my waist, knocking me off balance and sending any intelligible words I might have uttered straight out of my mind. She crosses her ankles and offers a hand to Kyle. She looks so at ease in this firestorm, I want to kiss her. The thought intensifies when Kyle takes her hand.
“Oh, Cory’s just being modest.” She looks up at me, eyes shining with something I can’t name. Adoration? Protectiveness? Maybe a little of both, but I have no idea what it means. “You wouldn’t believe all the selfless things he’s managed to do in the last six months alone. There’s the fundraiser for the children’s hospital. Then the free concert for Oklahoma tornado relief.” She holds up her fingers as though she’s actually counting the lies off out loud. She would have made a terrible boy scout—all that crap about honor and all. “I know I’m missing something…” She snaps her fingers. “Oh right, the Habitat for Humanity houses that he personally funded. And then there’s the—”
I reach for her hand and force it down to her side. “That’s enough about me, babe.” She’s stubborn; her hand finds the small of my back and traces tiny circles over my skin. I can feel each finger as they work. Coherent thought leaves; thank God Sam’s the one doing the talking.
“Not nearly enough actually,” she says, smiling up at me. “You should be proud of the year you’ve had. Too bad they don’t give awards for humanitarian work, or you’d have them stacked up like all those platinum albums in your apartment.”
Kyle breathes a bitter laugh and nails me with a look. “Humanitarian awards. Oh, the irony.”
I glare at him, seeing red and yellow and black all at once. He needs to shut up.
Except he’s right; I wouldn’t deserve one.
“Who’s she?”
Kyle is looking between me and Sam, eyebrows scrunched together in open disapproval. It annoys me. He doesn’t know anything about Sam. He hasn’t been part of my life for ten years. He has no right to judge my taste in girlfriends.
Girlfriend.
I feel my face pale at the thought, but my mother rescues me.
“This is Cory’s friend Sam. And Sam,” my mother takes my niece by the hand. “This is Millie. Sweetheart, can you say hi?”
Millie tucks her head into my mother’s shoulder and mumbles a timid hi before burying her head completely.
Sam reaches out to pat my niece’s back. “Hi, Millie. It’s nice to meet you, and your daddy too.” She smiles over at Kyle, and it seems to knock him off balance. It’s quite a smile, especially when it’s aimed at you. She leans closer to Millie’s ear. “You have pretty curls. Something tells me you get those from your uncle.”
Millie’s head pops up, and her thumb comes out. “And my daddy. That’s what Memaw said.”
Sam twirls a curl around her thumb. “And your daddy. The best things come from our daddy’s.”
I don’t miss her wistful expression or the sadness behind that statement.
“So what are you doing back in town?” Kyle says, walking to the sofa to sit next to our father. “Since we didn’t hear from you after your concert, I figured you were finally done with all of us.”
My mother clears her throat and moves with Millie back to the sofa, but even though she isn’t looking at me, I can feel her hurt, as well as my father’s. He is the first to speak.
“We couldn’t believe you were in town and didn’t stop by. It wasn’t the greatest feeling to read about your son’s travel schedule on the cover of a checkout tabloid.”
“I don’t think it was his schedule that made headlines,” Kyle pipes up. “I seem to recall some horrible story about Cory’s tour bus running over a couple of teenage girls. One died, if I remember right.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Not sure how you live with yourself for that, brother, considering they both paid good money to see you in concert right before. It was all over the news. Kind of an odd thing not to call about, don’t you think? Did you at least offer to reimburse the family the ticket price?” Kyle’s stare hardens, but all I can think about his Sam. She’s gone completely still. Even her breath seems to have vanished.
She came here to support me. Not to have her heart smashed into a thousand pieces all over my parent’s living room floor. Leave it to Kyle to be so crass about it.
“That’s enough, Son,” my father says in a warning to my brother. For once in his life, Kyle shuts his mouth. Unfortunately, my mother doesn’t.
“I really wish you had called us,” she says. “It hurts to know that your son is going through something terrible and never once considers reaching out to his family. It’s been a long time since you’ve even tried.” I squirm in my seat, suddenly feeling like the terrible son that I am. “Those poor girls,” she continues. “I wonder how their families are coping with the tragedy.”
From the sight of Sam’s pale face, they’re coping worse than they were ten minutes ago.
“I’m not sure, Mom. Hopefully a little better than before, but this can’t be easy for them.” My voice cracks like an eggshell and misery crawls up my spine. I take a deep breath. “Hopefully one day soon it will get a little better.”
I wish for it. I pray for it.
I sit back down in my chair and guide Sam onto the floor in front of me, desperately wanting a hole to open up in the carpet and swallow us both. Of all the conversations I wanted to have today—technically I didn’t want any—this wasn’t on the list. I’m scrambling for something to say—anything to say—when I feel Sam’s hand slide up my calf. I’m wearing jeans, but her touch burns through the fabric like fire. When she gives a light squeeze, I know we’re okay. People don’t just forgive the things I’ve done to them. Not like her, not like this. I’m certain I’ve found a friend for life.
“If it were me,” Kyle says, breathing a humorless laugh, “I would sue your butt for everything you have. Money can’t bring people back, but it can make things a little easier to handle.” He has the audacity to look amused by his own joke.
I want to kill him. Sure, he has no idea who he’s talking to, but sick humor is sick humor. I tap my finger on the armrest and grind my jaw.
“So if something like that happened to Millie one day—”
“Cory, please don’t finish that thought,” Sam whispers.
I shut up. My hand is back in her hair.
I focus on it, lightly holding onto the strands while mentally trying to grab a little piece of her self-control for myself. If I were her, I’d want to punch something. Heck, I’m me and I’d relish seeing Kyle’s nose bleeding and leaning sideways on his face. Sam has no idea just how good she is. Too good. For anyone. But especially for someone like me. Trouble is, she doesn’t seem to notice.
“You’re right,” I say after I calm down. “They should have sued me, but they didn’t.”
“Day’s not over yet, brother. I’m sure they’re still considering it. I would be.”
“You’ve made that clear.”
You could light a match with the sparks shooting between our death stares. The tension in the room is human—crouching low, waiting to takes sides when someone delivers another accusation.
No one says a word. Not even Sam. I know she won’t in the same way I can physically feel her building a dam around her tears. Every reference to her sister requires another stone, but the only outward move she makes is to tighten her grip on my leg.
As for my parents, they sit still like marble statues. Mute. Tense. Nothing moving but their eyes, back and forth between Kyle and me. To my knowledge they still don’t know why I left. I haven’t told them, and I’m sure that Kyle hasn’t said anything. To implicate me is to implicate himself and that won’t go over well. Not with my parents and not with his boss. A rock and a hard place; he’s tucked safely in the middle of both.
“How’s work?” The question sounds innocent, but we both know it’s cocked and loaded. “You being a good little police officer nowadays, Kyle?”
His jaw hardens, his eyes turn black. This was supposed to be a reunion—not necessarily a happy one, but not one laced in bitter resentment. Proving once and for all you don’t always get what you wish for.
He shifts in place. Scratches his chin. Levels a death stare at me. Funny thing, I no longer feel like hiding in the janitor’s closet.
“Haven’t shot anyone yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”
When his hand brushes across his holster, we both know what’s he’s thinking.
Emphasis on the yet.
Then again, the day is still young.
Kyle’s hand stays put.
My phone lights up then.
I can’t answer it fast enough.
* * *
“Well, that was fun.” Sam shoots me a look. We’re backing out of my parent’s driveway, but Sam is still glaring at the house as if she would like my brother to come out and lie underneath the back tires. Bump. Bump. Clean. Easy. I grip the steering wheel and try not to think of ways to make it happen. “Was he planning to shoot you today, or is he saving that for later?”
“He’s not going to shoot me.” I say this with conviction. I don’t believe a word of it. Give him a dark alley and no witnesses and he’d use me for target practice. Lucky shot straight between the eyebrows.
“If you say so,” she says on a sigh. Sam props an arm on the console and looks at me through long lashes. “I keep reminding myself that it was my idea to come here. I stand by it despite Walker Texas Ranger sitting in the living room glaring at me the whole time.”
I can’t help the laugh that shudders out. She just described my brother perfectly, though I doubt he’d be a fan of the moniker.
“He was glaring at me, not you. So can we agree that next time you ask me to come here, we don’t?”
She drops her arm. “No, we don’t agree to that. Like I said, I stand by it being a good idea. Don’t you feel better now that you’ve seen your family? At least the ice is broken now.”
“Baby, there’s still more ice inside that house than knocked into the Titanic. That was a nightmare from start to finish.” I don’t add that if I never come back here, it will be too soon.
“Not entirely. Your parents were nice, especially when you left to talk to Sal.” She crosses. “And don’t bother pretending it wasn’t a work call. I saw his name light up the screen.”
On the drive here, I promised Sam that I wouldn’t leave for any reason, not even for work. But when I saw Sal’s name, I couldn’t escape the room fast enough. I felt kinda bad for ditching her, but then she’s right. This whole trip was her stupid idea. Still, I didn’t miss the tone in her voice when she mentioned that first part.
“What happened when I left?” It’s one of those questions you don’t want to ask because you’re pretty sure the answer will make you feel worse than before.
Well…” she draws out the word. “First your parents asked me about my job, which wasn’t a bad topic because I like my job. Turns out your mom has been into the store a few times. Apparently I once sold her a lamp.” There’s a beat of silence, but when she continues it’s with worry and not annoyance. “But then they moved on to my family. And since you were no longer there to back me up, I told them.”
“Told them?”
“Everything.,” she mumbles.
Now I’m worried. “What do you mean by everything?”
Sadness softens her voice. “They know all about my father. I guess your mother’s dad had Alzheimer’s.”
“He did.”
“And then your mom asked about my mother. I filled them in, but at that point I could tell they felt sorry for me. So when they asked about brothers and sisters, I didn’t know what to say.”
The revelation sends a fresh bolt of self-loathing through me. I never should have left her alone to deal with that on her own.
“What did you tell them?”
“Since you weren’t back yet, I didn’t tell them anything. I just pulled out my Cory Minor voodoo doll and starting jabbing it with pins. I knew that thing would come in handy eventually.”
She’s trying to make me smile, but it doesn’t work. “Sam, what did you say?”
“Don’t be so sure I’m lying.” She shrugs. “I told them the truth.”
My heart skips a beat. Or twelve. “All of it?” It’s fine that Sam knows. It’s fine that the media knows. But somehow my parents have managed to remain in the dark about Sam’s identity. I’d like to keep them there a little longer.
“No, just that my sister had been killed in an accident. By then I think they were ready to adopt me, just so I would have a home.”
I close my eyes for a second and breathe a prayer of thanks. “Thank you, Sam.”
“You’re welcome. But it isn’t my story to tell.”
I look at her. “Sure it is.”
She shakes her head. “Not to your parents. Never to them.”
This woman. Every time I feel like I can breathe, she says something profound that has my lungs squeezing shut again. “Thank you for that.” A war wages inside my head, a battle between what needs to be said and what needs to remain hidden. But then it hits me, and I stop fighting. I’ve been hiding for so long now, and I’ve hated every second. It’s time to stop, at least with her.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach across the gear shift and lace my fingers through hers, no longer caring if the gesture betrays my messed up feelings. I shouldn’t care so much, but I do. I shouldn’t trust so much, but I do. Anyone who spent five minutes with Sam would care about her, would trust her, would be head over heels for her before the seconds on the timer ran out.
When her fingers lock around mine though…head over heels becomes an understatement. It’s more like head over heels over brain over heart over body. Everything is scrambled, yet everything settles in place. I count down from ten and watch the highway. Less than five miles to her exit, and I don’t know what to do. Dropping her off and driving away isn’t an option. Neither is inviting myself inside; not right now. The way I’m feeling I would want one thing, and that one thing isn’t something I’ll allow myself. Not now, maybe not ever. The exit sign declares one mile, and I start talking.
“Sam, you didn’t have to come today, but you did. You didn’t have to welcome me into your apartment last week, but you did. You didn’t have to go to dinner or put up with the paparazzi or speak to me at the funeral, but you did.” I take a breath to steady my emotions. She’s done all of those things and has never asked for anything. No one does that. Since the name Cory Minor became more of a name brand than an actual person, no one has ever done that. “So that makes me think there’s nothing but goodness inside you. It’s all I’ve ever seen.” My thumb traces the space between her thumb and forefinger in a figure eight. In the silence I try to read her, alone with my thoughts I analyze whether or not I’ve said too much. But then I remember that Sam takes me for what I am—honest, guarded, a bit wordy, and sometimes in need of rescuing.
“I’m not always good. I wanted to slap you at the park on that first day.”
I laugh, the seriousness of the moment forgotten. “You should have. Pretty sure I deserved it.”
“I may still, you never know.” Of course the idea of Sam slapping me anywhere sends my brain crash landing into the ditch and it doesn’t emerge. But I’m a guy. I read somewhere that guys think about sex nearly ninety percent of the time, so really it’s not my fault. It’s Sam’s fault for being a girl. She turns to face me. “Do you have anywhere to go now?”
I like where this is leading, but I’m not about to show it. I try real hard to focus on the ten percent and sigh. “Only my hotel.”
“Do you have to go right now?”
She mistakes my pause for disinterest and keeps talking.
“I mean, do you have music stuff to do or songs to write? Or people to call or…something?”
I grin at her description of my job. Music stuff. Words to wound the ego if they were said by anyone else.
“I have no music stuff to do right now. Why? What do you have in mind?” Maybe she wants to head to her apartment after all, deliver on that earlier offer to make out. I shift in my seat just thinking about it. Anticipation makes me fidgety.
“Let’s go back to the park.”
I freeze.
Let’s not.
Dread makes me numb.
“Why the park? Let’s go somewhere else.”
Anywhere else. The pound or the hospital or the morgue or the DMV. Anywhere but the park.
“Oh come on, Cory. We didn’t get off to the best start there. I think it deserves a redo before you leave. Don’t you?”
No. We can redo everything from here. Safely inside this car. Or we can make out at your apartment. Take your pick.
But I can’t say that. I don’t say anything.
“Cory? What’s wrong?”
That snaps me out of it. Everything is wrong, but I’m an expert at hiding it. “Okay we can go, but only for a few minutes.”
She smiles and sits back in her seat. “We’ll have fun. I grew up in that park, and I can show you my favorite spots.”
I stay silent and concentrate on the road, on staying between the lines and ignoring a very real desire to drop her off at home and keep driving until no one can find me.
I can’t tell her that she can show me all her favorite spots…that she can describe them in detail and reminisce all evening and laugh through the memories and tell me stories of every perfect experience she’s had at the park.
But it won’t matter.
Because all of her favorite memories will be directly tied to my worst ones.