Sour Notes, page 18
Just the day before, I had promised both Sarah and Russ that I wouldn’t hurt Harrison. He would expect me to join him for our day’s jam session. I should have called and told him what had happened.
“Don’t worry. As soon as we heard the news, we figured you wouldn’t be there. Harrison totally understands,” Russ assured me. “He’s at the house watching his brother and sister so Sarah and I can be here.”
We rocked in silence for several moments before Russ said, “I’m sorry Skeeter never got to hear it, but Harrison is okay with telling your mom. When you think she’s ready, of course.”
I nodded. Not yet. Not today. But before the funeral. I wasn’t running from it.
But one thing must get handled today. I wrapped my fingers around the ring in my pocket.
In small towns, news traveled fast, so maybe Xander already knew of Dad’s death. Maybe he was so disconnected from people he hadn’t heard. Either way, he would have seen the jimmied desk drawer as soon as he got to the store. Would have known the envelope was empty when he opened the drawer. Would know what had been found. Would have suspected it was me who had taken it.
I explained to Russ that I had an errand I needed to handle without giving him a reason.
He didn’t pry. Without even knowing what I was doing, he asked, “Want me to go with you?”
The thought of having Russ back me up gave me strength, just like Dean had always done, even if I’d been too blind to notice. But this one, I needed to handle on my own, so I declined.
“Whatever you need, Little Mac.”
The nickname no longer bothered me at all.
35
When I arrived at Stewart’s Consignments, everything looked normal from the outside. The lights glowed. The front doors stood open. Xander sat on the stool at the cash register, the newspaper on the counter in front of him. But as the electronic chime announced my entrance, he didn’t stir and never looked up. The newspaper was still folded closed.
I marched across the room and placed the ring on the counter. He stared at it for a moment before reaching out and touching it with his finger. He raised his head so that I could see his eyes were red and swollen from crying.
“I should’ve guessed my mom gave you a key.” His voice cracked.
“She trusted me. Like I did you.”
His eyes dropped back to the counter. His finger traced the outline of the ring, caressing it. His voice was barely audible, even in the silence of the store. “We used to make fun of people buying class rings. How meaningless they were. How high school sucked. Who would want to remember? Unless, of course, those years were as good as it was going to get.”
I remembered. I had wallowed in my outcast status. “What changed?”
He wiped his sleeve across his face. “The most horrid realization hit me. Those were my best years. Playing drums in this store. Watching you play your guitar. Listening to Sarah sing. But you were both leaving, and I was stuck here. Things were never going to be better for me.”
I snorted in frustration. “You could have gone to college.”
“Please. My grades sucked. I didn’t play sports. Didn’t have money. They don’t take people like me.”
“You had to have some money. Your mom had this store.”
Xander waved his arms around him. “What did we have? The inventory is consignment. The building is a rental. We barely sold enough to keep the doors open and the lights on. If we had any left over at the end of the month, it went to the mortgage on the house or food. Mom even had taken a second mortgage I didn’t know about. We were always behind on bills.”
“You think I had money?”
“Some you’d squirreled away from playing down in Asheville.” He looked up at me. “But mostly, you had talent. Mediocre drummers like me are a dime a dozen. There was no future for me in music.”
I slammed my hand down on the counter, making the ring jump. “Do you think it’s been easy for me? I struggle to earn enough money to survive. Played until my fingers bled. And I have squat to show for it.”
“But you left. You still got a chance. You gonna honestly tell me that your life hasn’t been better since high school?”
I couldn’t say that. Although things hadn’t worked out the way I’d planned, I’d still had some pretty cool days. Playing music. Hearing crowds. Seeing the country.
When I didn’t answer, he looked back down at the ring and continued. “And I thought Sarah was leaving too.”
“But she didn’t. She stayed here.”
“Because…” He looked down at his hands. “I always thought it was Dean’s.”
“He. Not it. His name is Harrison. And he’s a good kid.”
“And he’s yours.” Contempt dripped off his tongue as he said it. A tear dripped off his cheek. “I never even suspected.”
I clenched my fists and groaned. “But you didn’t even know she was pregnant that day. No one knew. Not even her. So that doesn’t explain why you have this ring, does it?”
He shook his head and whispered, “No.”
“So, what? You took the ring because you wanted to remember high school?”
“No.” He swallowed hard. He tried to look at me, but he couldn’t. His eyes kept falling to the counter. “I didn’t even know I took it.”
“You’re not making sense.” I leaned against the counter so he couldn’t avoid my glare. “What were you even doing out there? Where Dean wrecked?”
He whispered, “I followed him.”
I had expected his admission, known it was coming, but the words still shocked me. “But why? What did Dean have to do with anything?”
He choked back a sob. “Everything. He was the freaking king of everything.”
“You hated him enough to kill him?”
“I didn’t…” He swallowed and hesitated, searching for the right words. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
I hadn’t wanted to hit someone in a long time. Not since that night with Dean. In that moment, though, I could see my fist slamming into Xander’s face. Instead, I clenched my teeth. “But you did cause it.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
I clenched my jaw. “Talk.”
After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke. His voice was low and monotone. “Mom was sleeping late because it was a Sunday. It was the only day of the week she didn’t open the store, so she could sleep as late as she wanted.”
“I was still jazzed from the concert the night before. It had been epic. Like, probably the best night of my life. But I was also fired up because I’d seen the fight between you and Dean. And I knew it was about Sarah. I’d seen him talking to her.”
I could picture him bounding down the steps. Making coffee. Maybe whistling because he was so happy about the concert. While waiting for the coffee to brew, he would have crossed the room to the window with the blinds, peeled them open, and peeked over at Sarah’s house.
“She sat rocking in the chair, a book cradled in her hand. She was beautiful. The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. And she spoke to me, you know? But my time was running out. She wasn’t from Millerton. She had only spent the year here because her mother died. In just a couple of months, she was leaving. Headed off for college. She’d meet some handsome frat guy, fall in love, get married, raise a family. Probably, he’d be a doctor or lawyer or schoolteacher, or even maybe a singer. And she’d forget all about me.”
He stared blankly out the front plate-glass window of the store. “But that night before—up on that stage. The loud music. The lights. We were gods for a night, you know? And maybe, I thought, I needed to stop being a coward. Tell her how I felt. Take a chance, or I’d be stuck in this god-awful town all alone.”
As he made himself a bowl of cereal that morning, he vowed to make the best of the summer. To have as much fun as he could before I left to make music and Sarah left for college. With his breakfast eaten, he poured a second cup of coffee and planned to return to his room. On his way, he paused to gaze once again at Sarah on her porch.
But she was no longer alone. Dean was leaning against the porch support, chatting with her.
“He was grinning like he always did. King of the world. And then…” He choked. “She stood up. He pushed off that post. They hugged.”
I knew now what Xander never did. That hug wasn’t about her and Dean. It was about her and me. Dean had apologized for the night before because he didn’t know we were dating. He’d congratulated her. And hugged her.
Then he’d turned, bounded down the steps to his truck. With a goodbye wave and that smile beaming, he started his truck and drove off. She smiled back, waved at him, then disappeared into the house.
“My heart broke. I thought they had made a date. The chance I had that summer with her was gone. Because of him.”
“So you went after him?”
“I didn’t…” He looked down. “I grabbed my mother’s car keys from her purse. She would sleep for another couple of hours. I’d be back before she woke up. I didn’t have a plan. I was just going to talk to him. To tell him I saw her first. Had always been there for her.”
It was like he was a little kid calling dibs. “You didn’t own her.”
“I know. The more we drove, the more I realized how stupid I was being. But I couldn’t stop myself. I knew he was going home. I knew that road as well as both of you did. I knew once you got past those curves, those roads straightened up. My mom’s Camaro was old, but it could take his Silverado in that stretch. I could get in front of him. Block his path. Make him stop. Tell him how I felt.”
I could picture it in my mind. The sports car hugging the curves far enough behind Dean that he would never have noticed it. Dean fiddling with the radio dial. Looking up only when he heard the roar of the overtaking car.
“What happened?”
Xander shook his head. The tears were still flowing, his mouth opening and closing.
I asked again. “What went wrong?”
He stammered. “I cut too close. Hit the brakes. I…”
Dean wouldn’t have expected that. He would have assumed the passing car would keep going, disappearing out of sight around the next bend. In his hesitation, the truck would have closed the gap between it and the car in front of it. He would have slammed on the brakes hard to avoid hitting it. The weight of the truck. The wet road.
“I could see him in my mirror. Fighting the steering wheel for control. The pickup fishtailed. The right wheels dropped off the pavement. The truck yanked right and disappeared from view. It careened into the trees. I heard this thunderous crash of metal and glass. By the time I got stopped and looked back, all I saw was the crumpled truck wrapped in a haze of smoke.”
I shuddered in horror at the image. That tassel swinging from the rearview mirror. Blood dripping on the seat.
After several minutes of silence, Xander spoke softly. “I turned around. Pulled beside the wreckage and jumped out. Ripped open his door. Tried to get him out. Tried to save him. I swear to God I wanted to help, but he was so mangled.”
“Was he breathing?”
“Yes. But he couldn’t talk. I don’t think he knew anything, if that makes any difference.”
It didn’t.
Xander lowered his head. “I ran around to the other side. I don’t know why. It made no sense when I thought about it later, but I was panicking. Leaned in. Tried to figure out what to do. And then…”
“Then?”
“He just stopped. No noise. Just the ticking of the engine. Some cows mooing out in the distance. And that awful smell of hot radiator fluid on the ground.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ve had nightmares about it ever since.”
Good. I hoped he had nightmares for the rest of his miserable life. “Why didn’t you call for help?”
“I didn’t have a cell phone back then. Not even sure if you could get reception out there.”
“You could have gone to the barn. They were in there milking cows. They would have had a phone or been able to get you to one.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“It might have. We’ll never know.” I took a deep breath and steadied myself for the rest. “Go on.”
He couldn’t meet my eyes. “I drove back toward town, looking for a pay phone. The first one I saw was in the parking lot of Abe’s Market. I pulled up beside it and reached for the door handle. That’s when I realized I had it.” He shuddered and touched the ring on the counter. “The class ring was in my hand.”
“Why did you take it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even remember taking it. I was going to turn around and go put it back.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“The volunteer fire department alarm went off. I sat there, debating what to do, until a highway patrol car passed with its blue lights and siren blaring, a fire truck right behind it. No need to call. I knew where they were going. And I couldn’t go back then.”
“Yeah, you could have.” I clenched my fist. “So, what did you do?”
“Went home. Took a shower. Bagged up my clothes and threw them in the dumpster behind my mom’s store.”
“You covered up the crime.”
“No, I swear. I just… panicked. I was so scared.”
I picked up the ring and held it in my hand. “If you weren’t trying to hide it, why didn’t you tell me? I deserved to know what happened.”
“I couldn’t bring myself to go out to your house. I figured I would wait until after the funeral. Or maybe I was just making excuses. Probably. But it didn’t matter, because you left before I got the chance.”
Tears streamed down his face, but I couldn’t muster even the slightest sympathy for him. The flimsy excuse of blaming his secret on my leaving was familiar enough to me. It wasn’t much different from the way I blamed everyone but myself for things that happened to me.
Keeping the secret bottled up may have tormented him, but that didn’t outweigh the loss of my brother. I turned my back on him and headed toward the open front doors.
His voice cracked behind me. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“My mother deserves to know the truth. So did my father, but too late for that.”
“But the police…”
I spun on my heel and glared at him. “You can go to them yourself. Or wait for them to come. I don’t care.”
His sobs echoed in my ears as I left the store.
36
I stood beside my father’s coffin in front of the packed church. My hand trembled as I stroked the polished wood.
“You ready?” Russ stood at the front corner, his hand resting on the rail.
“Don’t worry. We’ve got this.” Blake gripped my shoulder. “Beautiful eulogy. You did Skeeter proud.”
I nodded my thanks to them as they and the other four pallbearers lifted their heavy load. They followed the preacher down the church’s aisle. I fell in behind them and offered my arm to my mother for support. Harrison, looking uncomfortable in a suit and tie, took her other arm. She had helped him tie it before coming to the church, a skill she thought her grandson should know.
The congregation fell in behind us. We marched out of the church, down the front steps, and across the cemetery to the waiting bier.
The smell of freshly turned dirt came to me as we settled into the chairs beside the open grave. I couldn’t help but smile through my tears. The scent reminded me of my father, all the times he’d come into the house after a long day in the field, tired but proud of his work.
The preacher spread his arms and intoned, “Let us pray.”
I draped my arm over my mother’s shoulder and bowed my head. My car was waiting for me, but it wasn’t packed yet. Plenty of time to get ready for the next day’s flight. Right now, though, my place was here. I wasn’t slinking away again.
Besides, we had an impressive spread of food waiting back at the house for the mourners. I planned to eat my fill and listen to Dad’s many friends tell their stories about him. I had already heard dozens over the last few days. Helping to round up someone’s loose cattle. Joining a crew barn-raising after a fellow farmer suffered a fire. Delivering food to a church, feeding people who had been flooded out of their homes one rainy spring. Always a man of few words, but always there when people needed him.
I wished I had taken the time before to hear the stories. I would like to have known them while he was still alive. But the past couldn’t be changed. Only the future.
And so I was thinking of the future. Those closest to me knew my plans. By the end of the day, everyone would.
Except Xander. I hadn’t seen him since leaving his store and walking the block and a half to the sheriff’s department. I sat down in the sheriff’s office, laid Dean’s class ring on his desk, and told him what I knew. I couldn’t prove a word of it, but the story was out there.
The sheriff stopped by the house that evening. He let us know they’d gone down to the store and found Xander sitting at his drum set. Not playing, just sitting there. He’d given a full confession.
They’d turned everything over to the district attorney to decide his fate. He probably wouldn’t face a long incarceration, if he even went to jail. He didn’t have a record. The accident itself wasn’t intentional, even if his pursuit of Dean was. And in all the intervening years, he hadn’t been in any other trouble.
But in small towns, punishment came in other ways. The store hadn’t reopened and probably never would. People had already rushed to reclaim their consigned goods.
The soft whir of the motors brought my thoughts back to the cemetery. The coffin lowered gently into the ground until it disappeared into the shadows. The congregation broke, some stopping by my mother and me to offer their condolences. Others drifted to their cars, knowing they would see us later at the house.
As the crowd thinned, I noticed Blake kneeling on the ground. He gently touched Dean’s marker only a few feet away from my father’s. Blake’s finger outlined the epitaph as single tear slipped down his cheek.
A beloved friend who had protected his buddy simply by being there for him.
