“Cline and Pascha?” I join her and sink into the cushion just a little farther away from the spot she pat. “So, did they break up or?”
She nods. “After our last show.”
I lick my lips and turn to Stokes. “Is that why she left?”
Stokes runs his fingers through his short blonde hair. “We don’t really know. Her parents said she was planning to leave him and us and do her own thing in Nashville. Jamie knew, too. He was the one setting her up for it, but it wasn’t supposed to be until after these shows, I guess.”
“She never talked about that, though,” Lucie says. “But I guess she wouldn’t. I just don’t…” She rubs slowly at her brow and stares down into her lap.
I turn to Royal, staring into his own lap, and then back at Lucie. “So you had no idea?”
“That she was leaving us?” She purses her lips and shakes her head. “But Cline? I’m surprised it wasn’t over sooner with them.”
“I saw it coming,” Royal says and shrugs, hitting the drums a few times to a quick rhythm. “Saw it happening back when they got together. He’d get jealous of the attention she got. She played games. I knew it wasn’t going to work out well for us.”
“Their breakup didn’t shock me,” Stokes said. “But leaving us? After two albums?”
“What was she supposed to do?” Lucie asks. “Hang around and put up with his jealous ass pining over her? You know, she still hasn’t answered my texts. You guys haven’t heard anything…”
Royal shakes his head.
“No, but I’ve messaged her on Facebook.” Stokes puts his guitar away on a wall mount. “Nothing there either.”
“The note said she was done,” Lucie says. “Maybe she really meant with us, too, beyond the band. We should just respect that.”
“There was a note?” I ask.
“Yeah, they lived together, and she left it in their mailbox,” Stokes says. “It was pretty nasty.”
Take, take, ‘til I’m nothing left but a memory. Take, take, ‘til I’m gone.
“He’ll be back any second,” Lucie says, glancing at the door. “Listen, thanks for filling in. You’ve got a sweet voice, you sound good together, and you can nail the whole mood we were booked for with Halloween and all. Jamie is going to like it, too. You’re really doing us a solid.”
I stand from the couch, gathering my notebooks. “I’ll show you guys my songs later and you can have input on which one I sing. This means a lot.”
Stokes pulls something from a backpack as I turn for the door. He hands me a flash drive. “This is our set list for all three shows. Might change things up a bit, but that’s all you’ll need to know. I’ll be by your place tomorrow to practice, just text me the address. I’m sorry it’s so last-minute, but I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you could do this.”
I nod and close my bag, joining him at the door. “See you guys tomorrow.”
“I’ll wait with you until your ride comes,” Stokes says.
“I’m actually going to walk. It’s not that far.”
I need to clear my head and a walk with my dad always did the trick. Now I walk alone and imagine he’s with me, giving advice or just providing the company he used to. It’s a small way I keep our traditions going.
“You sure?” he asks, stepping outside into the foggy back yard with me.
“I’ll text you my address,” I say as I pass him. “See you tomorrow.”
Cline emerges from the house, cloaked in the still mist that must have settled in while I was in there. He slows down as he sees me. I wave to Stokes before walking farther from Cline toward the side of the house, ignoring him as we pass.
He’s bent out of shape about all of it, but the breakup has to be worse on him than anything to do with the band. I didn’t expect a warm welcome, but that—whatever he was in there—isn’t right. I won’t let him talk to me like that, so passive-aggressive, ignoring me, speaking as if I’m not there…
I march across the front lawn to the sidewalk, stopping beneath one of the streetlights illuminating a soft pool of light along the road as a chill sinks in. Shivering, I zip up my coat.
Maybe I should call a ride. It’s cold, but once I get going, I’ll be warm enough. Probably hot.
It all sinks in as I cross the street to the busy, familiar road I’ll walk along for most of the way home, with only several feet in front of me in clear focus.
I’m in a band, Dad. I’m going to sing one of my songs. I know you wouldn’t be happy about it, but I should be. Instead, I’m an intruder to Cline—maybe to all of them—and the terms of this deal are nothing like I imagined. Maybe just three shows are for the best. And I’ll get to sing one of my songs for a crowd. Maybe when we open for Midnight Voices.
My dad knew them a little, having opened for them a few times himself when I was much younger.
You’d have to be proud of that, Dad.
I try to convince myself of it, but I can’t.
Cars whizz by along the busy street as I walk by another neighbourhood similar to my own, lost in my thoughts until I can make out the next turn into my subdivision through the fog, more than halfway home.
The loud engines begin to melt away as I turn left, but something remains with me, just behind me, turning the corner, too.
Is someone behind me?
I don’t know it. It’s just a feeling.
But it’s enough to take precedence over any other thought or feeling as my heart begins to race and I walk faster, listening for footsteps behind me. I can’t hear just yet over the cars on the road.
I want to turn
