The Perfect Love Song (14 page)

Kara and Jack were two rows over, and both appeared to be asleep. Isabelle and Hank were five rows ahead, and she couldn’t see them. Porter and Rosie were in first class, and then there was the empty seat next to Charlotte—a visual reminder of an unseen reality that Jimmy was gone from her. She had decided on that morning of the newspaper to focus only on Kara’s wedding, on her best friend’s joy. She would not think about or talk to Jimmy Sullivan, and she had mostly kept this vow until now, when the missing of him crowded in on her as if a large, obese man sat in the seat next to her, shoving her into the window.

Jimmy had left numerous messages. First he tried explaining, then apologizing, and then the last one was angry. Charlotte had never heard him use that tone of voice before that message, and she’d erased both the message and the memory of the exact words. He’d spoken of her not understanding, of his need to help the band, of his own career.

She now reached into her purse and pulled out the shell that Kara had thrown at her that afternoon Jimmy had announced this tour. She’d believed then—believed in love surviving a music tour, in a fairy tale obviously. Her finger ran across the concave surface worn smooth by the sea, her sadness settling like smoke into the curve of nature’s pure white shell.

Outside the plane’s window, the sunset spread like ribbons across the line between cloud and universe. Her eyes closed and her thoughts quieted, which is exactly what a sunset can do to a mind—quiet it. She felt a presence next to her body, and she imagined, for that moment between sleep and awake, that moment between knowing and believing, that Jimmy was with her. She opened her eyes to see Kara.

“Did I wake you?” Kara asked.

“No, I think I just was sort of half asleep. For a millisecond I thought you were Jimmy. That he was really here.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara said. “I looked over at the empty seat, and my heart hurt.”

“No. None of that from you,” Charlotte said. “This is your wedding. Your time. I am fine.”

“You’re always fine. I know that, but you’re allowed to be sad and fine, doncha think?”

Charlotte ran her finger across the glass window. “Look at that sunset. It lasts longer up here, doesn’t it?”

“Huh?” Kara leaned closer to the window.

“The sunset lasts longer up above the clouds. I wonder why. I mean, at home if you turn around or get distracted, you miss the entire beauty, as if it never happened, as if the sun is there and then gone. But not up here. Wow, the sunset
has been settling into the clouds for over an hour, lingering there like it’s a party it doesn’t want to leave.”

“You,” Kara said, “are adorable.”

“I thought it was so beautiful. You know, this sweet attraction that would change everything.”

“Are we still talking about the sunset?” Kara asked.

Charlotte turned to her friend. “No.” She smiled sadly. “I mean, isn’t that what love is supposed to do? Change everything?”

“I guess in a way it did. In a way his love for you did change everything. He wouldn’t have written the song . . . if he hadn’t loved. He’s just lost sight of it. That’s all, Charlotte. He’s lost sight.”

“No, you don’t lose sight of love. Love isn’t a stickie you just carry around and put on the most convenient place. It
is
or it
isn’t
.”

“Of course you can lose sight. Look at Jack and me. I was blind to it until I wasn’t.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t choose to leave.” Charlotte shrugged. “Jimmy made his choice. He did. There isn’t really a way to change that choice.”

“As Maeve would have said, ‘You must not demand proof to believe.’”

Charlotte turned back to the window, the sun now set, only night dominating the sky obliterating east from west, up from down. “It’s gone now.”

They both stared into the darkness; the sun on the other side of the earth where unseen forces were at work, forces Charlotte and Kara could
not
and did
not
see. As it should be. The calendar moved from December 22 to December 23 as they slept, and the plane moved across the sky to another land, another day, the minutes ticking backward, as Ireland was six hours ahead. Each minute more than a minute as time and day overlapped.

J
immy glanced at his watch. It was ten at night on December 22 in Memphis, Tennessee; the band was hanging out for the last night together before everyone went their separate ways. He counted forward—it would be four in the morning for his brother, for Charlotte, in that plane. He should be on that plane, but he would not allow the regret to bounce against his fatigue; he dismissed it, as one would a bothersome child needing attention. He could not be apologetic about making a good choice for himself, and ultimately for his brother and their band.

Ellie sidled up next to him. “Okay, we’re gonna go hit Memphis. Blue suede shoes. Elvis. You in?”

Jimmy smiled at Ellie. “No, not tonight. Sleep tonight.”

She shrugged and turned to the crew. “He’s too good for us now,” she said, and her words held no mirth or laughter.

“No,” Jimmy said, “that’s not it. You know that’s not it. You guys are amazing. I just have got to finally lie down.”

“You can sleep when you’re dead,” a crew member called out, throwing a football toward Jimmy.

Jimmy dove for the ball, caught it, and laughed. “Good point. Let’s go.”

There was something about belonging that always captured Jimmy’s heart—belonging to a family or a group or a person at all, really. When someone grows up trying to find their place in a world where there is no place, a soul can sometimes be fooled into believing that it’s found a home when really it’s merely found a soft area to land that isn’t theirs at all. At all.

He grabbed his jacket and followed the group. The tour cities had blurred together, all of them with auditoriums and girls and Christmas carols and Santa hats and lights. He wanted to call Charlotte. It was driving him crazy that she wouldn’t speak to him. Why wouldn’t she just let him explain? He’d told Jack to please pass on the reasons, to please tell Charlotte that of course he still loved her and this decision
had nothing to do with how much he did or didn’t love her. But even Jack didn’t sound convinced.

The group emerged into the dark, cold night, and Jimmy glanced up at the sky where somewhere far away Charlotte slept in a plane flying toward Ireland. He slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the box that held the ring he’d planned on giving her on Christmas Day. He’d offer it to her the minute he saw her; Christmas was just a day on the calendar, not one more or less than any other day.

This is what he told himself.

T
rays up, seats in an upright position, the plane began its descent into Shannon, Ireland, and the earth drew closer, as if a camera lens were pulled in tighter and tighter, slowly revealing the greenest land Charlotte had ever seen. Stone walls spread like creeks and rivers, like snakes through the land, dividing it into puzzle pieces of brilliant green so lush Charlotte thought the color must have a different name, a name larger and more expansive than simply “green.” She touched her fingers to the window as if she could draw the lushness into her soul. If there were a land that could heal a heart, it must and could be this piece of earth below the plane.

The runway rose up, or so it seemed, and the plane skidded to a halt. Passengers stretched and gathered their belongings. Charlotte glanced at her watch: 6:10 a.m. Midnight at home.

No, she thought. She would no longer compare there to here. Here, it was a new day. The eve of Christmas Eve.

Kara and Jack waved from their seats, and Charlotte waved back, smiled. Her best friend’s wedding. This, she reminded herself, was what to focus on and about. Kara’s wedding.

J
immy sat back in the bar booth, surrounded by the crew, and glanced at his watch. The plane would be landing; they’d all be in Ireland now. He vaguely wondered if anyone had taken his seat, if Charlotte sat with a stranger or alone. It was his last night with the Christmas tour. Tomorrow everyone would go their separate ways, and he alone would fly to New York City for the big event.

Jimmy leaned back and tilted his head. The flashing multicolored Christmas lights were giving him a headache. An itchy, threadbare wreath behind his head scratched his neck. He grabbed at the irritating wreath, threw it onto the bench behind him.

Ellie looked over at the discarded fake greenery and then back at him. “So have your parents ever seen you play or sing?” She shrugged. “I’m just asking. Mine never have. They think it’s a waste of time.”

Jimmy looked at this wounded young girl. “My mom has a million times. But I don’t think my father even knows I sing. Or play. Or am alive.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Jimmy shook his head. “No big deal. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve thought about it.”

“Nothing like that is ever a long time ago.” She touched his arm. “Don’t you want? . . .”

Jimmy held up his hand. “Listen, I don’t want anything that in any way has something to do with or about my dad. He’s long gone, and good riddance.”

Ellie picked up the discarded wreath and hung it back on the hook behind Jimmy’s head. “That’s why I’m out here on the road during the holidays. So much easier than being home, wherever home is.”

Jimmy lifted his glass of whiskey. “Exactly. Wherever home is.”

Damn all of it. Jimmy’s irritation turned to anger as quickly as a storm turns into a hurricane, building strength, gathering cloud upon cloud, rain upon rain, fury upon fury. Damn his dad and concerts and family expectations. Damn
Charlotte and love and weddings. And seriously, damn Christmas. What a crock, believing that a single day or a single love or a single person could change anything.

When the bar closed, the band and crew walked through the streets of Memphis, bundled up and talking about going home in the morning.

Milton turned to Jimmy. “You, my friend, have a 6:00 a.m. flight to New York.”

“I know, I know, I know.” Jimmy exhaled. “I’m already packed.”

They filed onto the bus, and Jimmy walked back to his bunk, lay down on the hard mattress, and thought of his dad. Jimmy shoved the thought from his mind, yet it returned like thunder in a storm that seemed far off, but was in the backyard. Why, Jimmy wondered, was he thinking about his dad now? He truly didn’t care about the old drunk man.

So, if he didn’t care about the old man, why was he thinking about him, wondering if he knew about the Unknown Souls or their mother or Jack or anything at all? Through the years he’d often imagined his dad reading about the band or their success, yet Jimmy didn’t even know if his dad was alive, much less paying any attention to the whereabouts of his long-gone sons.

He’d imagined his dad reading an article and then calling, saying, “Wow, I’m so proud.” Or that Wagner was out in
the audience, hiding yet weeping with pride at his boys’ talent. But these dreams and imaginings had stopped long ago. Now, if Jimmy did think of it, he hoped his dad experienced regret and sadness. The need, Jimmy thought, for his dad’s approval was long gone. Jimmy didn’t believe he needed a man he didn’t know to be proud of him.