Someone to Watch Over Me (29 page)

Jake grabbed the bag and ripped into the box
of snowballs on his way up the stairs of the body bag. A few
seconds later, I heard Carter and Shane demand a share of the
goods.

“Have everything?” Tate inquired. The
butterflies in my stomach roused. This was it, the moment of truth,
sort of. I was leaving, though it was temporary. In time, I would
return.

When I gave my notice at work, Molly
wouldn’t accept it. She passed me a laptop with mobile access, told
me I could do my job on the road. With the time difference, all
communication with my vendors I handled via email. Any office
meetings I could join using Skype. The company agreed with her
proposal to keep me on. So, I had a job to come back to if things
didn’t work out. It was all more than I could ever have
expected.

“I think so.” Dropping my house keys in Mr.
Craig’s palm, I forced a smile. “Everything’s clean. I scrubbed the
bathroom and the fridge this morning.”

“I’m sure it’s spotless. I’ll have the rest
of your things moved into the garage. It’ll be here when you come
back for it.”

“Thanks M—Garrison,” I said, quickly
correcting myself. “Take care of that arm.” He had injured it a
couple weeks ago, the day of my attack, actually. He was replacing
an old stretch of barbwire fence at the back of the property and
had cut himself up pretty bad.

“It’s nothing. I wouldn’t even have waited
in the ER if I hadn’t needed a tetanus shot.”

“Men,” Em carped. “You could lose a limb and
you’d say it was nothing.”

Embarrassed over the attention, Mr. Craig
shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest. “It
was
nothing.”

“That’s why you hid in the house for three
days.”

“I didn’t want anyone making a fuss over
it.”

Catching my growing smile, Em rolled her
eyes. “Don’t say it, Coop.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking.” Em pulled
me into an embrace. Squeezed the living life out of me. “God I’m
going to miss you, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“You’re running off with the rock star.
You’re a kid.” Letting me go, she eyed Tate with circumspection. “I
don’t have to threaten you. I know you’ll treat her well.”

“Like gold.” Grasping Em’s hand, he gave her
a firm shake. Garrison followed. He held Tate’s hand a moment
longer. The two shared a brief exchange then ended with a pithy
nod.

“Let’s gggoooooooo!” Carter yelled from the
bus. “Time’s a wasting!”

“Come here kiddo,” said Em, lifting Levy and
hugging him tight. “I’m gonna miss you. You gonna miss me too?”

“No.”

“Well darn.”

“I gonna ride da bus.”

“I see. You go on then. Go ride the bus.”
Dropping Levy back to his feet, she gave him a swat on the rump and
watched him scale the stairs of the bus. “Ungrateful little
shit.”

Fighting tears, I hugged Em one more time,
and Mr. Craig. Then I strode to the bus and helped Levy up the last
step. I wasn’t one for long goodbyes. They made me weepy.

Inside, Carter had stuffed his cheeks with
Snowballs, his mouth and shirt speckled with pink coconut. “What’s
up, Coop. You all ready?”

“What’re you eating, Carter?”

“Me?” Carter looked left and right.
“Nuffing.”

“So you’re not eating my Snowballs.”

“No.”

“I guess that’s not coconut all over your
shirt either.”

“Hmm?” Glancing at his shirt, he grimaced
and plucked at the fabric, sending shredded coconut all over the
floor. “Damn, darn, I mean darn. I had to eat something, Coop. My
blood sugar was low.”

“Sure.”

“It’s true. Really. And your kid ate my
jerky.”

“Actually, Tate ate your jerky.”

Carter goggled at me. “You let
Tate
eat jerky? Are you insane?”

“What?”

“You’re married to the guy, and you don’t
even know not to give him jerky? It gives him gas, Coop. Bad gas.
Every time.”

Tate, who had come on the bus behind me,
squeezed past and dropped his duffle just inside the bedroom. “Does
not.”

“Does too.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I’d only seen him eat
it once before, the day we went to the picnic at Jess’s house. I
must’ve checked Levy’s diaper a dozen times that night. “You blamed
it on my son.”

Sticking to his story, Tate quickly denied
it. “Come on, Coop. It was Levy.”

“Don’t believe him,” Carter advised, tearing
open another Snowball. “He used to blame it on the dog too.”

“It
was
the dog!”

Grabbing the second Snowball from Carter’s
hand, I made my way to the back of the bus.

“Come on,” Carter whined, “that was the last
one!”

“I know.” I’d have to remember to stash a
box of them when we stopped at the grocery store. As the bus
started up the drive of Mr. Craig’s farm, I braced myself on the
wall and watched out the back window as my car tagged along behind
us.

“It’s not going to fall off, Coop,” Carter
called after me.

“I’m not looking at my car,” I lied. “I need
my laptop. I have work to do.” Satisfied with the safety of my car,
I fished through the pile of bags for my computer. I’d only gotten
the Mini back the day before and I was anxious to keep it
unscathed. Tate even bought this skirt thing that stretched between
the bus and my car so that it wouldn’t kick rocks onto it.

Stealing one last glance out the window, I
ambled back into the living room, as it were. I stuffed the last of
the Snowball in my mouth and licked the marshmallow from my
fingers. Carter was digging through the bag of Levy’s snacks. Tate
was on the sofa with his tablet and his guitar. Levy was watching
with rapt attention as he plucked at the strings. Jake and Shane
were playing a game of cards at the built in, so I sat beside Levy
and opened my laptop.

“I thought you were quitting,” Carter
inquired, still ruffling through the bag.

“I thought I was too, but they asked me to
stay.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“My vendors love me.”

“Why is that?”

“They come in once a year. The company takes
them out to dinner. It’s boring, stuffy, corporate, you know. This
year I had to make the arrangements since I’m the low man on the
totem. I took them to Din Tai Fung.”

“They’re from Asia and you took them to a
Chinese restaurant.” Carter said this as if I were daft. I
understood what he was implying, because everyone at work had
thought the same thing. All of our fashion designers and product
managers, at one time or another, had been to China to visit our
vendors and tour the factories. They all had told me the food
wasn’t the same.

It was like asking for a Philly cheese steak
in Iowa. There was no equality. Just as our food varied from state
to state, Asian food varied from country to country. It was
regional.

But I wasn’t daft. I knew exactly what I was
doing. “I didn’t just take them to any old restaurant; I took them
to a Karaoke bar. They L.O.V.E. karaoke. They think I’m the
shit.”

Lounging back on the sofa, Tate strummed
idly at his guitar, periodically jotting notes in his tablet. At my
claim—or so I thought—his mouth curled into an impish grin.

“What’s so funn—” My nose wrinkled, picking
up something that could only be compared to the water treatment
plant. “Oh my God! You just farted, didn’t you?”

“Ew stinky!” Levy cried, covering his nose.
“Das a stinky smell!” Crawling into my lap, he was under the
impression that I could somehow spare him from Tate’s
gastrointestinal issues.

Carter retreated to the front of the bus and
opened one of the windows. Jake and Shane battened down their cards
and followed suit by opening the windows beside the dinette.

“Oh come on!” Tate scoffed. “It’s not that
bad!”

“Come up here kid,” Carter said, snapping
his fingers as if Levy were a dog. “That stink will rot your brain
out.”

Taking Carter up on his offer, Levy
abandoned my lap for a space beside Carter in the captain’s chair.
Carter indulged him by spinning the seat in circles until he was
dizzy.

“So, how long will this go on for?”

Tate raised his brows at me, as if to say,
“Do you really want to discuss this?” No, I really didn’t. Instead,
I fixed him a glass of water with a little baking soda, and hoped
for the best. First, though, I had to persuade him to drink it,
which he didn’t look inclined to do.

“That’s medieval.”

“It’s Alka-Seltzer, which I would’ve given
you if you had any.”

“People use it to deodorize their
fridge.”

“Then it should work on your bowels.”
Passing him the glass, I stood in front of him until he drank it.
“You’re not supposed to sip it like wine, or allow it to spread
across your tongue. Just chug it.”

“Are you sure you can’t live with the
gas?”

“Did your mother never make you drink this
stuff?” I asked before I could seriously think about my question.
Tate had never talked about his mother before. I naturally assumed
that if he wanted to talk about his parents’ divorce, he would’ve
told me already.

“No, my dad always said to drink milk.”

“Milk’s hard to digest. It causes more
gas.”

“That explains why it never worked.” Lifting
the glass, he manned up and tossed down the contents in a few large
gulps. “Wow, that’s nasty. I’m kind of glad she wasn’t around
now.”

Taking the glass from Tate, I gave it a
quick wash. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure where they kept the
dishtowels.

“On the right,” Tate told me. “Bottom
drawer.”

“They’re not in there,” I said, stumped when
I found the drawer empty. When I stood, I found Tate perusing my
body, my backside in particular. “You’re such a pervert. You just
wanted me to bend over.”

Tate smiled wickedly with not an ounce of
remorse. Setting his guitar down, he grasped my wrist and pulled me
into his lap. “She’s a doctor.”

“Who?” I asked, as he rested his guitar on
my lap. Reaching around me, he placed the pick in my hand and
positioned my fingers over the strings.

“My mother. She’s an ENT.”

“Convenient.” With all the injuries a
vocalist could incur, her profession was ironic. At his command, I
strummed the guitar. Lord, was it awful. I’d heard cats in heat
that sounded more harmonious. Tate obviously agreed, because I
could feel him laughing beneath me.

“Not really. We don’t talk.” Lifting my arm,
he shook it until my hand flopped around on my wrist. “Loosen up,
like you’re shaking water from your hand. You’re too stiff in the
wrist.”

“At all?” Again, I strummed the guitar, but
with much more success. The sound was somewhat musical.
Somewhat.

“That was terrible.”

“Wow. Thanks.” I could feel my face flush
with embarrassment. I tried several instruments throughout
elementary school, and failed miserably at all of them, but I’d
never admit that to Tate, not now. Pouting, I passed him back his
pick. He softened my failure with a light kiss. I settled my head
on his shoulder while he picked through a soft melody.

“Not since she left,” he said, answering my
question.

“That must’ve been hard. What were you,
fifteen?”

“They divorced when I was fifteen. She had
left long before that. The hospital was always her priority.”

Suddenly, Tate’s earlier words came back to
me. ‘
You’re not the only one taking a chance here, Cooper, or
the only one with a past
.’ I had assumed that he was speaking
about a girl, but now I wondered if it wasn’t his mother. It made
sense. She had walked out on him.

“That sucks.”

“It’s all water under the bridge now.” He
lifted one shoulder with disregard. “I only brought it up because
you look like you swallowed a frog.”

“I didn’t know if it was something you’d
rather not talk about.”

“We’re married, Coop. It’s only natural that
you want to know about my family.”

Again, the butterflies in my stomach roused.
I wondered how long it would take before I got used to hearing
that. It was as if I were living in a dream. Everything happened so
fast between us, and the conversation reminded me of just how
little I knew about Tate.

“Do you ever think about contacting
her?”

“She tried to rekindle things between us a
few years back, after I graduated, but I had just signed with
Angeles Records. I didn’t have the time. Honestly, I just didn’t
care enough to spend the effort. By then, it was too late. I’d
found my way. I didn’t need her anymore.”

“That’s sad.”

A smirk crossed his face, fleeting and
sardonic. “That’s life.”

“I know all about life, Tate. I just meant
that the whole situation is saddening.” The two had nothing
stopping them from having a relationship, and both chose to turn
their backs on one another. “I’m sorry for you.”

“Hey.” Glancing up, I met Tate’s eyes. He
pressed a brief kiss to my lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For caring about my hardships when you so
many of your own.”

“What can I say; I’m not actually the center
of the universe.”

“You’re the center of mine.”

“You really do say the sweetest things.”

“I still want to fuck your mouth.” A puckish
smile spread across his face. He went back to finger picking his
guitar.

“Tell me about your dad.”

Surprising half of the occupants on the bus,
Tate flubbed his down stroke. The E string buzzed discordantly. “My
dad?” he repeated. “He’s, um…he’s an artist.”

“What’s his medium?”

“Whatever suits him at the moment.”

“Anything notable?”

“Strawberry Island.”

“Your first album cover?”

“The same.”

Placing my hand over Tate’s, I stilled his
playing. “You need to slow down. I can’t keep up with these
long-winded answers of yours.”

Glancing around the bus, Tate eyed his band
mates. Carter was still playing idly with Levy, who was sitting on
Carter’s feet. Carter was like a human seesaw, lifting Levy in the
air and lowering him down again. Shane and Jake were still involved
in their game of cards.