Chapter Fifteen
Watching my best friend wallow in the pit of hell? Not my favorite way to spend a Wednesday morning. The truth about hitting rock bottom? Sometimes you have to bang your head against the ground before you finally realize the way isn’t down but up. —Wes M.
Saylor
“You’ll have to sign in when you arrive and sign out when you leave.” I glanced at her nametag — Martha Hall. I’d been told a Mrs. Hall would be the liaison between me and the school during my time served at the Pacific Northwest Group Home. She pointed to the two security guards at the door, “Every evening your bag will be checked for cameras, and you’ll have to leave your phone at the front desk.”
“My phone?” I asked. “Why?”
“Rules.” Mrs. Hall’s smile didn’t quite reach her blue eyes. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back so severely I wondered if she’d be more happy if she loosened it up a bit and let her face have a break. I shivered a bit, she reminded me of my first grade teacher — the one who wouldn’t let me go out to recess. Great. “And our guests deserve their privacy, besides, you’re here to work not text your boyfriend.”
Uh. Okay. “Totally fine.”
She sniffed. “Obviously this isn’t a paid internship, so just do the best you can to make your hours each week. If you stay on track you’ll be finished by the end of the semester.” Mrs. Hall beamed. She had black owl-like glasses and a tight wide smile — though upon closer inspection a bit of lipstick had found it’s way onto her abnormally white teeth. So maybe she wouldn’t be too bad if she just smiled more.
“Great.” I swallowed and glanced around. The home reminded me a lot of the place where Eric had lived when he was small. It even smelled the same, like warm food, coffee, and people. At the time, I’d hated that Eric had to be there, but soon it had felt like our home too. People had been so friendly and he was happy. Maybe this place was the same.
“Now.” Mrs. Hall cleared her throat and handed me a checklist. “If you’d just go through every name on the list here. These are the ones we signed up for your music class. Follow the hall all the way to the end, the two double doors will lead to the rec room where a piano is waiting. Enjoy yourself, honey.”
With shaking hands I took the clipboard and quickly counted the names. Twenty people. Twenty had signed up for my class. It was supposed to be fun, you know, teach everyone a song, give them an instrument like a cow bell and then be on my way.
But twenty?
It was going to be a lot harder than I thought.
I followed the hall all the way to the end, opened the doors and took a soothing breath before walking into the room.
The smell of chocolate chip cookies filled the air, making me feel less afraid. Food always did that — there was a certain comfort that came along with it. Cookies made me think of home — homemade me think of my mom and Eric, and thinking of them made me feel safe, protected, and strong. I could be strong now, just like Mom had been strong for us.
Several of the patients were already sitting in chairs. A few were in wheelchairs. My heart broke.
“Um, hi,” I said in a quiet voice. “I’m going to be your teacher for the music workshop.”
“Speak up!” an elderly man called out. “Can’t hear you back here!”
He was in the front row.
Clearing my throat, I spoke again. “My name’s Saylor and — ”
“Do you sail?” A girl in the front clapped her hands and then jumped to her feet and turned around to face the patients. “I love sailing! Who else loves sailing?”
Nobody said anything.
With a happy sigh, she sat back down and started talking to herself. “Sail, sail, sail. How I wish I could still sail. Nice to meet you, Saylor!”
She said my name so loudly that if the elderly man hadn’t caught it that time, there really wasn’t any hope for him — ever.
“As I said…” I offered a weak smile. “I’m Saylor and—”
I was losing them.
Already the eyes were glazing over. I knew some of the patients had memory issues, others struggled with mental handicaps, and I was boring them to tears.
Screw it. I raised my hand, “Who wants to make noise?”
“Me! Me! Me!” The girl from the front jumped into the air and started dancing while cheers erupted around her.
“Awesome.” I smiled and started handing out the different instruments. I had recorders — you know, like the plastic looking flutes you get in fifth grade music class — a cow bell, a miniature piano, a harmonica, and three drums.
Yeah, we weren’t going to be winning any Grammy’s, but I had tried to pick out instruments I knew Eric would like, and although he hated loud noises, he was totally okay with being the one making them.
Last year Mom had bought him a drum set.
My ears had been recovering ever since.
“I want drums!” The old man got up from his seat, hobbled toward me, jerked the sticks right out of my hands, and brought the small drum back to his seat, smiling the whole time like I’d just given him a new hearing aid.
The girl who liked sailing picked out the recorder.
It took me fifteen minutes to get all the instruments out, mainly because every time I offered one, someone else piped up that they wanted it. I broke the groups up. The recorders sat in one section, the drums in another, and so forth.
“What about Princess?” a voice asked.
I turned around and scanned the room, squinting as I tried to identify the person who had spoken.
“Over here,” she said smoothly, her voice was high-pitched but really pretty and clear, almost childlike.
I turned to my right and noticed a girl in a wheelchair sitting in the corner. She had really long blonde hair pulled back into a scrunchie and was wearing an Oregon Ducks sweatshirt.
Her smile reminded me of Eric, innocent and hopeful. Her hands were laid out in front of her, lifeless, and there was a bumper on either side of her head, keeping her facing forward.
“What would you like to play?” I took a few steps toward her. “I have drums left, but if you have any ideas I can get you something else.”
“Guitar.” Her mouth fell open a bit, as if she couldn’t control it, and then her smile returned. “I want to play guitar like my Parker.”
“Parker?” I repeated, my smile widening. “And who is this Parker?”
“Oh.” Her eyes were bright, but there were dark circles underneath them like she hadn’t gotten much rest in the past decade. “He’s my best friend.”
“Best friends are nice,” I said softly, the words clogging my throat as I watched her mouth fall open again and then close. Her eyes struggled to focus on me and then she blinked a few times, like she was clearing cobwebs.
“Guitar.” She coughed softly. “I want to play Parker’s guitar.”
“Guitar it is.” I looked down at her hands. They weren’t moving; she had to be paralyzed. How the heck was I going to get her to play guitar if she couldn’t move her hands?
“Ask Miss Janice, she’ll bring it out.”
“Miss Janice…” I stood to my full height, put my hands on my hips, and searched around the room, reading each nametag as I went.
“Red hat.” The girl said. “It’s a big red hat.”
“Huh?”
My eyes fell on a red hat, then the nametag. Janice. “Be right back.”
I jogged over. “Hey, I’m Saylor, a freshman at UW. I’m teaching the music workshop, and that girl over there said something about a guitar.”
The woman’s smile fell as her lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, well, she can’t play it. It’s not hers.”
“But she said something about a Parker. Would he mind, you think?”
Janice’s eyes softened. “Honey, that girl is very special to Parker. It doesn’t take much to set her off, and when she remembers she can’t play guitar or even move her hands — she’s going to lose it. It’s near impossible to calm her down.”
“But maybe if I just brought the guitar over—”
“I’m sorry. No.” The woman offered a sad smile before walking away.
Well, crap.
Empty-handed I returned to the girl. “What’s your name anyways?”
“Princess.” She giggled and then coughed a bit, her face struggling to get the cough out. Like her body wasn’t strong enough to actually use the muscles needed for such a strenuous action.
“Okay, Princess.” I leaned down so we were face to face. “Martha’s grouchy today.”
She giggled more.
“So we have to do something illegal.”
Her eyes grew wide as saucers. “What are we going to do?”
“We…” My voice fell to a whisper. “…Are going to steal a guitar.”
“Oh yes!” Her neck strained as her head moved back and forth. “Yes! Can we, please? Parker would laugh so hard. He would laugh. I miss his laugh.” Her smile fell, her face clouded.
“Hey.” I touched her arm even though I knew she couldn’t feel it. “Why don’t I put you on look out? If anyone sees me steal the guitar, or if they’re watching. I want you to yell, ‘Ahoy Matey!’”
That did it.
Fits of laughter poured out of her. “You’re really funny.”
“Glad someone thinks so.” I winked. Gosh, she reminded me so much of Eric it made my heart clench. I missed that kid.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I yell Ahoy Matey if anyone looks, but you have to be fast.”
“Deal.” I tapped her arm again. “Now where do they keep the guitar?”
“Shh.” Her lips squeezed together, her eyes darted back and forth and then with a small smile she said. “They keep it by the toys. It’s in a box labeled Parker.”
Yeah, I was so going to get into trouble. But the poor girl deserved to be able to play something!
I gave her a salute and snuck over to the toy section. The guitar wasn’t really hidden. It was in a really nice case labeled Parker. Easy.
I reached down and unlocked the case, letting out a gasp as my fingers fell on one of the most expensive guitars I’d ever seen in real life.
The Fender Stratt had beautiful carvings for an acoustic, almost like it had been made specifically for this Parker guy.
“Ahoy! Ahoy!” A loud voice jolted me out of my trance.
“Busted.” Another voice followed. I knew that voice. With a muffled curse I turned around and slowly looked up.
Gabe.
Princess was right next to him in her chair giggling. “I did it! I warned you!”
“Forgot the Matey part.” I winked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Oh, sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Ahoy Matey!”
Gabe’s eyes narrowed.
“It’s uh…” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Because I’m a Saylor.”
“Caught that.”
“So…” I stood, my knees cracking as I rose to my full height which still only met Gabe at his chest.
“Stealing?” He crossed his arms, muscles bulged beneath his long sleeve gray shirt.
“Sharing.” I shrugged. “She wanted to play, and I didn’t think it was fair that she’d be left out. Isn’t that right, Princess?”
Princess ignored me completely. Instead, her eyes were for Gabe, and only Gabe.
“Besides,” I said with fake confidence. “I don’t see your name anywhere on that bad boy.”
He smirked and pushed back his hair. It looked lighter than normal. Did he dye it? Why would he dye it darker? Was he into Goth or what?
“Princess,” Gabe said, turning. “Did you want to play the guitar?”
“Oh yes, please. Just like you.”
Crap. He played guitar, sang, and played piano. Great, so he was basically like sex on a platter for a girl like me. If he were ugly, I’d still be panting after him like a lost puppy.
Music people were weird.
Gabe’s eyes didn’t leave mine. “Not right now, Princess. I think your teacher’s right, though I frown upon her methods.” I rolled my eyes. “You should learn to play.”
“Yay!” Her head moved back and forth a bit, and then some saliva fell from her lips.
Gabe gently leaned over and used part of her sweatshirt to wipe the wetness away. “Wearing my favorite sweatshirt, beautiful?”
“You noticed!” She beamed.
“I always notice what you wear,” he whispered, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. She coughed, earning a concerned look from Gabe. “How about I grab the guitar and bring it over and you can join the rest of the group. You hum the song and I’ll play it, sound good?”
“Like a team.” Her mouth gaped as she stared at his eyes.
“We’re always going to be a team, Princess.” Gabe gently helped close her mouth and then wheeled her over to the rest of the group taking the guitar with him.
I was cemented to the ground. Was he stalking me now? Why was he here? And how did he know the girl?
“You coming, teach?” Gabe taunted, his eyes challenging. He turned around and said over his shoulder, a little quieter. “Or do we have to teach ourselves?”
“Right.” I stumbled after them, losing a bit of confidence as I realized that if anyone should be teaching, it should be Gabe, not me.
Each group was already playing with their instruments. Thumping mixed with a few people blowing into their recorders like they were going to war would give a normal person a headache. But it was music to my ears, even the misplaced cow bells. Because every single person was smiling.
Even Gabe.
Curse him for having such a captivating smile.
I hated that I was jealous. Because I had absolutely no right to be! I didn’t even like him, but still… I wondered what it would be like to be that girl. The one who had held his smiles. Who deserved them.
Because he wasn’t smiling at me — he was smiling at her. As if she was the only girl in the world.