The Big Picture (9 page)

Buford T. Hollis greets us from behind the snack counter. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite kids.” Buford says that to everyone. But it always makes me smile.

“I love tonight’s movie choice.” Frances grabs some napkins in anticipation of her popcorn, heavy on the butter.

“Yeah, you come back next week, and it’s
Karate Kid.
” His big chubby hands do a perfect wax on, wax off.

“Don’t you ever show anything more modern?” Brian asks, and everyone freezes. Even the popcorn maker slows.

“We love Bubba’s Big Picture just like it is. Old movies are what make it so cool,” Frances sputters. “Bubba’s captures the essence of yesteryear and family values, when people would slow down and spend
time together. When life was simple and the world was innocent. When America — ”

“We can all get in for five dollars a car.” I grab my popcorn. “It’s the best deal in town, especially for those times when you’ve been grounded without allowance. Not that that happens to me often.” Unless you call once a month often. “Plus,” I pop a kernel in my mouth, “it’s the best popcorn in town. Buford is not stingy with the butter.” Though I now probably have the arteries of an eighty-year-old.

“Well, enjoy it while you can, kids.” Buford sighs. “The Big Picture will only have a few weekends left if the mayor gets his way.”

Frances slams her hand on the counter. “But he won’t! We won’t let him. He can’t take the drive-in.”

“I’m afraid he can. He has a mile-long list of things to fix or else he’ll condemn it.” Buford wipes his hands on his white T-shirt. “I can’t possibly do everything he’s requested. The old place just isn’t worth it.”

“It’s worth it to me!” Frances cries. “Whatever it takes, Buford, we will help you. I promise you.”

The owner shakes his head. “Sometimes you just have to let it go, kid. I’ve fought this fight for the last decade. The mayor wants this land for a strip mall, and he’s going to see he gets it.”

“But it’s ours!”

I put an arm around my friend. “You’ve got that petition going, right? We’ll just have to get more names.”

Beside me Brian snickers. I would glare at him, but it’s getting a little repetitious at this point.

“I appreciate what you’re doing, girls. But the mayor doesn’t want signatures. He wants money — from me. And I ain’t got it.”

“I’m going to pray about this, Buford. I will not rest until I feel a peace in my heart that it’s time to let Bubba’s go.”

Buford wipes down the counter. “You do that, Frances. I’ll take all the thoughts and prayers I can get. ’Cause I think a stinkin’ miracle is all that can save this place now.”

Frances leans in. “Then a stinkin’ miracle is what I’ll pray for.”

We grab more drinks and popcorn for Nash, hand it all to Brian to carry, and find our way back to our spots.

Even though my date bemoaned the antiquated movie, he totally enjoyed it. At least I think he did, based on the sheer volume and quantity of snorting I had to endure.

“I think that’s my cue.” Nash gets to his feet as the credits roll. “Time to set up.”

He climbs into the van to get his guitar then takes off toward the screen.

Beneath the movie screen is a small stage area. Sometimes they use it for outdoor concerts or speaking events. Like last year, when the mayor was reelected and made his big speech. To a crowd of five.

“Let’s move closer to the stage so we can hear the God Wads.” Frances picks up her blanket then goes still. “Here comes Charlie.”

“Did you guys enjoy the movie?”

“I love me some Michael J. Fox,” I say, like lusting after someone in a twenty-five-year-old movie is going to make him jealous.

“Buford says he’s made a fresh batch of popcorn if you guys want to grab some before the band plays their first set.” Charlie smiles at each one of us, and I scrutinize his every blink to see if his eyes linger on me a little longer than the others.

“Thanks, but I’m all popcorned out. I think Joey ran his little legs off refilling my bucket,” I coo. “Er, not that you have
little
legs, Joey. I just meant . . . well, it was a figure of speech. Because you don’t. Have little legs, that is. Well, I mean they’re smaller than mine.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up!
“But I’m unusually tall for a girl. You wouldn’t want to be me. Oh! Not that you’ve given me any reason to think you’d want to be a girl. ’Cause you haven’t. You’re totally masculine.” I grab his arm and squeeze his nonexistent bicep. “Feel the power.”

I hang my head. I’m a disaster. A rambling, deceitful disaster. Not only am I
not
making Charlie jealous, but I’m probably reminding him how smart he was to set me free.

Charlie stares at me for a moment longer then turns to Brian.
“So . . . Joey, Frances mentioned you are quite the instrumentalist.”

Brian chortles. “My good man, I must say, I rock.”

“Well, you are welcome to join the God Wads up there.” Charlie’s lips lift in a partial smile. “My dad brought his guitar and is probably going to play in at some point. Feel free to join.”

Brian holds up his fingers in a rock on sign and shakes it in the air. “Righteous!”

I turn around and face the snack bar as if something has caught my attention. But honestly if I don’t get this one big eye roll out of my system, I think my head is going to explode. Charlie walks away, mingling with other guests, and I murmur a good-bye.

“Brian, don’t worry about playing with the band. Just hang out with us and enjoy the show.”
As in no way are you getting up there
.

“I hate to pass up the opportunity to jam.”

Frances intervenes. “They’ll have one too many guitarists tonight anyway. Maybe another time.”

“Guitar?” Brian shakes his orange head. “Oh, I didn’t bring my guitar.”

Well, then why are we all stressing? I breathe a sigh of relief, confident now there is zero chance of seeing my date trying to shred it onstage.

The God Wads play some Tomlin and Crowder before switching it up to some classic Aerosmith and bringing everyone to their feet.

I point to Nash. “That bass player’s kinda dreamy, Frances. You should totally get his autograph.”

“He is kinda cute. I might let him have my phone number.”

I waggle my eyebrows. “Just don’t get any ideas about tossing your bra onstage.”

The band continues to play, and I scan the crowd for Charlie. He’s nowhere to be found. Neither is Chelsea. Where are they?

Brian taps me on the shoulder, jarring me from my focus. I turn around with a start, and the drink in my hand tumbles down my shirt.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I — ” He makes a lunge, like he’s going to pat me down.

“No!” I jerk back out of arm’s length. “I’m fine.” I clench my teeth. Why don’t these things ever happen to Chelsea Blake?

“I’m so sorry, Katie.” He wrings his hands, his head drooping.

“Um . . . it’s okay.” My millionth lie for the night. “I’ll just go to the bathroom and try to get this out. I’ll be back.”

Great. Diet Dr Pepper all over my new Abercrombie T-shirt. I picked it especially for tonight. I thought it clearly said, “Check me out, Charlie, ’cause this is what you’re missing.” Now it just says, “Large drink makes extra large stains.” Could this night get any worse?

I stomp into the bathroom and daub at my shirt with a wet paper towel.

Two minutes and one hopeless shirt later, Frances bursts through the door. “Katie! Come quick!”

I drop my towel in the trash. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Joey . . . er, Brian. He’s onstage. Playing.” She drags me outside.

“What? He said he didn’t bring his guitar.”

I clutch my ears as an offensive sound blasts through the air.

“He didn’t.”

My mouth drops, and Frances gives words to the nightmare before me.

“He brought his bagpipes.”

Chapter ten

WE RIDE BACK TO THE house in a heavy, awkward silence.

Brian, obviously having had enough of the quiet game, pipes up. “I wasn’t sure I could hit that high note in ‘Jesus Take the Wheel,’ but I totally nailed it.” He has the audacity to touch my arm. “Did you catch that?”

“Yep.” Every wheezing second of it. As he played, I saw my social life flash before my eyes, knowing that was the bitter end.

“Hey, Nash, maybe I could hook up with you guys again. When’s your next gig?”

I twist in my seat and pin Nash with the stare of death, hoping he can see it in the darkened van.

“Uh . . . I don’t know.”

“Well, let me know, ’cause tonight was just killer.”

Dude, you have
no
idea.

Brian pulls into my driveway, puts the vehicle in park, and Frances and Nash spill out.

“I’ll just walk you to the door.”

I gulp. “
No
, not necessary, but thanks. I had a gr — er, I had a . . . um . . . that Michael J. Fox sure is funny, eh? Okay, g’night.” I
fling open my door and all but run to the safety of the porch.

I breathe a deep sigh of relief, put my hand on the knob, and —

“Katie — ”

I jump.

Brian.

Like Lindsey Lohan in the tabloids, he’s everywhere.

He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I know tonight wasn’t the best evening of your life.”

No, I’m just having an off night. Because normally I really like my dates to haul out an instrument that sounds like a pack of screaming kitties. “Ice Ice Baby” never sounded so good.

“But it was amazing for me.” His eyes flutter just slightly.

If he moves in for a good-night kiss, I will take him out like Jackie Chan. “I . . . I’m glad you had a good time.” Me? I think I’d rather have some molars pulled.

“I know I’m not exactly your type, but it was still fun hanging out with you and your friends. The people I met tonight were really nice.”

I smile despite it all. “Yeah, I do have some cool friends.”
And there’s the one named Chelsea. Why don’t you take her as a parting gift?

“I know you’re going to find this hard to believe, but I don’t get asked out much.” He shrugs. “And when I was up there playing, it was like I was somebody, you know?”

I think of standing on the Valiant stage. “Yeah, I do know.”

“Tonight I got to meet some new friends. And I got to forget about my troubles, forget about Felicity for a while. It was good to just have fun and not be reminded of my heartbreak.”

Guilt is a vice-grip on my heart. I fight it with all my might, but the words tumble out anyway. “You’ll have to hang out with us again sometime soon.”

Brian’s bands stretch as he grins. “You mean it?”

No.

Yes.

No. “Yeah.”

He pulls me into a brief, brotherly hug. “Thanks.”

I smile as he pulls away. “No problem. Oh, and Brian?”

“Yes?”

“I really am sorry about your girlfriend.”

“My girlfriend?”

“Yeah — Felicity?”

“Felicity wasn’t my girlfriend.” He snorts and slaps his leg. “She was my gerbil.”

“HAVE A GOOD TIME?”

I shut the door behind me and follow James’s voice into the living room where he’s watching a replay of
SportsCenter
.

Collapsing into a chair, I lean back and close my eyes. “It was . . . interesting.”

“Did Brian have a good time?”

“Time of his life.” Can’t say I’ll ever forget it either. “Where’s Millie?” I check the mantel clock: 11:03. “Did she already go to bed?”

James grabs the remote and turns the volume down. “Yes, this week’s chemo treatments caught up with her. I think she did too much today.”

Thoughts of leaving assault my mind yet again. I want to be here for Millie’s bad days. And for her good days. And when she starts radiation in a few months. But I’m going to miss all of that.

James takes off his glasses and folds them into his hand. “So are you doing okay?”

My head bobs in a nod. “Wonderful.” As terrific as a bagpipe solo of a Clay Aiken song.

“Your mom called tonight.”

My eyes pop open. “What did she say?” Dread punches my chest. And then the guilt.

“She wanted us to know she had some evaluations from child services today, including a drug test.” James turns his attention to the TV. “She passed.”

She passed. One step closer to regaining custody.

“I guess that’s good,” I say lamely. Of course it’s good, right? My mom drug free. Why wouldn’t I want that for her? Why wouldn’t I want to live with my bio-parent like most kids? Isn’t it the dream of every kid in foster care?

James flicks the TV off and gives me his full attention. “I know this isn’t easy for you. But Katie, the state isn’t going to let you live with Bobbie Ann until they’re confident she’s rehabilitated. And neither are we.”

Rehabilitated. They’re checking for drug abuse, but who’s going to rehabilitate her for her poor mothering skills? Hello, I’m sixteen and I’m just
now
learning Pop-Tarts are not a major food group. And it’s not normal for mothers to be out past midnight every night. And rings around the toilet are not halos angels left behind.

I sniff and run my hand over my nose. “I’m home here, you know? But at the same time, I need to be with my mom. I don’t know . . . I just don’t know. I think part of me doesn’t understand why God would bring me to In Between, get me settled, and then rip me back out again.” I smile, desperate not to give in to the tears pressing at my eyes. “Besides it’s not fair to you guys. You fall head over heels in love with me, dedicate your lives to catering to my every whim, then I just leave? I know it’s going to be devastating.”

James doesn’t smile in return. “I can’t say it’s not going to be devastating, but no matter what happens, we will be here for you. We’ll call; we’ll visit. Millie and I will work out something where we get to see you and spend time with you.”

One tear drops.

Then another.

I bow my head and avert my eyes. I simply nod and sniff. “Okay. Thanks.” I needed to hear that.

“But we’re going to cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now we’ll just enjoy each day and let God take care of the future.”

I can’t help but taste a little bitterness over this.