Leaving Amarillo(31)
Papa played bass guitar with a group called the Harmless Gangsters. They had a tagline; something about the only thing they stole was hearts. I saw a picture of them in his old things out in the shed once, a discolored black-and-white shot of four guys leaning leisurely against a classic car.
I’d let out a low whistle and handed it to him. Papa had smiled and set the photo aside. Later I’d wished I’d taken it. It was probably packed away or half moth-eaten by now.
My chest aches with missing him. “I miss you. Dallas has a few things lined up after this festival, but then we’re coming home for a bit, okay? I’ll make you that meat loaf you like so much. Like Nana’s.”
He’s quiet for a moment and I wonder if I’ve lost his attention to his talk radio broadcast blaring in the background. It’s been over two years since she passed away, but Papa holds on to his pain the same way that I do.
“I’d like that, Dixie Leigh. Nobody could make it like she did, but yours is pretty close I ’spose.”
“Thanks, Papa. I try.” My throat constricts and I begin to wonder if I’m going to pay for my lie to Dallas by actually starting my period soon. My emotions are running away with me and I can hardly keep up. “I’ll, um, play that piece you like on the Wurlitzer, too. That one by Glass that she used to play.”
He grunts out a sound of approval then lingers a moment, as if he just wants to stay on the line a little longer, but I note the time on the alarm clock on the nightstand and tell him that I need to go.
We say our goodbyes and I sit on my bed and stare at myself in the mirror across from it.
It’s odd, the things we remember and the things we forget. My memories of my parents are like a whimsical montage that plays at the press of an unseen button in my mind. The images of them holding hands in the car, swinging me by the arms, my mom putting on earrings and glancing at me in the mirror with a smile and a promise about getting my ears pierced one day, her musical chiming laughter when my father made a joke, her smiling up at his handsome face before they would kiss. It’s always behind a thick, gauzy haze that feels more like I watched a movie about them than actually lived that life. But memories of Nana and Papa are sharp and well defined—all of them.
Even though I’m staring at the reflection of a woman who looks a great deal like my mother, I can’t help but think of Nana and how when she was alive, our house was full of music. It was what helped me to moved past the devastation of losing my parents.
She taught us everything she knew about playing the piano—about timing and feeling. She showed me how to pour my pain into the keys.
Music might not have fixed what was broken inside me when my parents died, but it was the balm that soothed the wounds.
When I meet the guys in the lobby to head to the meeting with Ms. Lantram, neither of them hides his reaction to me very well.
It’s not like I usually perform in sweatpants or anything, but I’m dressed a little more provocatively than usual. My dress is short, my heels are high, and I worked for half an hour on getting this smoky eye done right. The black dress with tiny white skulls looks more like a shirt with a belt than an actual dress and the McQueen ankle boots with skull zippers I bought at a yard sale are much racier than my usual flats or boots.
Dallas is on his phone and frowns his disapproval but says nothing to me, causing me to once again be grateful that he thinks I’m in a highly hormonal state.
Gavin’s reaction is more what I was going for. Because I don’t want him to just agree to our one night, I want him to look forward to it. To be counting the time, measuring the moments and heartbeats until we’re alone, just as I am.
The frustration rolls off him in waves as I step between him and my brother. His hands are fisted at his sides and I watch him swallow three times more than is necessary.
Finally. He finally sees me. He glances down, his eyes meeting mine and reflecting the painful need I’ve shouldered alone for so long.
“You didn’t bring Oz?” Dallas finally says after he’s ended his call.
I force my eyes reluctantly away from Gavin’s. “Are we not going to have time to come back here after the meeting?”
Dallas sighs as if I have asked the world’s dumbest question. “I don’t know, Dix. But I’d prefer to be prepared just in case.”
So much for having it together for a change.
“I’ll grab him,” Gavin volunteers, reaching his hand out for my key. “I left my extra set of sticks, too.”
I’m not sure if he’s just trying to make me feel better or what, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to my room right now. Though I do appreciate that he called Oz a him and not an it.
“Um, actually I need to grab a few things if we’re not coming back here. I’ll hurry.”
The lyrics I’ve been working on are out in plain sight and they’re about him. My bras and underwear are strewn around the room— though that last one shouldn’t matter so much if I’m going to let him see everything Friday night anyways. Anticipation rolls over my stomach at the thought and threatens to pull me under.
“Grab what you need and let’s get moving. I don’t want to be late.”
Gavin and I nod at my brother’s command. The two of us head to the elevator and I avoid looking at him because, once again, Dallas has reduced me to the kid sister who forgets and needs reprimanding.