To Catch a Falling Star (25 page)

“Sure, you gotta trust me Portia. You know I’m determined to do this.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

After Will straps the kids in the car, he stands by the door, waiting for Portia.

“Are you coming over?” she asks.

“Nah, probably not. I started a real good song and I want to finish while it’s fresh in my mind. If is not too late when I’m done, I’ll come over.” I flash an overly-charming and carefree smile.

“Okay.” She smiles broadly. I can almost weep with relief. She’s convinced. The last thing I want is to fuck with her well-being. Dealing with a pregnant woman is much like walking on quicksand. Unpredictable. It looks fine when undisturbed, but one small step and it can quickly submerge you.

I light my cigarette. From the corner of my eye, I see Mel, Lucas, and the fucker getting out of the house.

“Love you,” Portia says over her shoulders.

“Love you back, peaches.” I draw a healthy long drag of smoke and wave to Will.

“Last chance to come with us,” Lucas offers as he opens the door of his Charger.

“Next time, bro.” I turn to the Jeep without looking at Mel. If I look at her again, I’m going to lose it.

I enter the car and wait while Will and then Lucas leave. Then I drive off. I search my iPhone for “Sweet Death Agony.” After connecting the phone to the new radio I had installed in Will’s car, I hit repeat mode. I open the windows. The old Jeep vibrates under the blaring music.

Aimlessly, I drive into the twilight. The violet-blue sky sprinkled with scarce silver dots slowly yields to its black mantle of night. A moon, partially obstructed by clouds, climbs from behind trees. It casts a murky light on the darkening roads of the fucking suburban town in which I’m a prisoner.

I’m clueless of where to drive to, but I know I don’t want to go home. It’s too quiet there. Silence, I’ve found recently, speaks too loud. Also, silence can be brutally honest and reveal secrets hidden in our souls that I’m too afraid to discover. Suddenly, I’m stricken with one realization: I feel sad. Very sad. I reach for the phone and scroll my contact list. My finger hovers on Dan’s number. I shove the device away. I don’t want to have Dan telling me how wonderful I’m doing and how much fucking faith he has in my recovery. I’m a worthless piece of shit, but I’m not a hypocrite. I don’t deserve his words or help. Especially after fucking his daughter.

A patch of skin on my thigh begins to itch simultaneously with my chest. Tiny ants crawl under my skin, damn them. I search the dashboard for any bugs, but there aren’t any. But I know they’re here, I can feel they making their way in between my hair, rupturing my skin, sucking my sober, tasteless blood. I need to get rid of them. I can’t stand it. It’s fucking gross.

Who am I trying to fool? I deserve the affection of these crawling creatures. Mel will never forgive me. Fuck, I screwed myself this time. I really did.

THROUGHOUT THE EVENING, I have the turmoil of emotions wrestling inside my chest. When Lucas invited Tarry to come with us, I almost begged him with my eyes. I know this is silly, but I secretly hoped he would want to spend time with me. But, with a cold glance my way, he clearly sneered “No.” Remembering his discomfort during dinner makes me cringe. It was palpable. Fucking me was that bad. It hurts.

But what bothers me the most is the hollow stare in Tarry’s eyes. For a moment, I wonder if he was upset. When he looked at me, I saw a sea of resentment in the depth of his gray eyes. Maybe I’m mistaking the look for regret. He might fear I’ll tell others about us.

Now we are at a pool bar. I’m a fierce player. Tim had an old pool table in his basement. He taught me to play when we were fourteen. He was a good teacher, and soon I exceled and surpassed his skill. Tim always teased me, admitting that he allowed me to win because he was a gentleman. He was an excellent player and, at times, I wonder whether it was true.

Tonight, my mind keeps returning to a steamy bathroom and to smoky-gray eyes. I’ve lost every single game.

“Mel, your turn,” says Lucas.

“Oh, sorry.” I try to focus on the game.

“This is the first time I’ve ever won a pool game against you. What’s wrong, you lost your mojo?”

I look over my shoulder. Steve is at the bar ordering a new pitcher of Guinness and, since I’m the designated driver, a refill for my soda.

“Just tired. Too much overtime.”

“What’s between Tarry and you?”

Jeez, I just hate this family trait of asking blunt questions. We’re all to the point.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but nothing.”

“Yeah, right. The tension between you is too noticeable. But tonight, anyone could cut it with a butter knife.”

“Nine, left corner,” I call. I miss it.

“And now here we are. You can’t even concentrate on the game,” he calls and shoots. Damn.

“Damn, Lucas. I just feel so confused with anything related to Tarry.” I call a ball and miss it again.

“Tarry is a real nice guy. He’s working damn hard to recover. But, you should really think hard before getting involved with him. He is a womanizer, Mel.”

Before I answer, I feel the familiar vibration of my cell phone on my front packet. I fish for the phone and an unknown number flashes on my screen.

“Hello,” I answer.

A deep voice speaks on the other side, but is inaudible due to the loud music in the background.

“Hello, sorry but I can’t hear you.” My eyes squint with the hope of understanding whoever is in the other line. Where the hell… Is it Tarry? I immediately go into alert mode.

“Can you hear me now? I need to speak with Melody Miller?” A voice shouts.

“Speaking.” My hand starts to shake. Who is this man?

“I’m Ben Harrison, a bartender at Cave Tavern.” The noise becomes distant and I can hear him better. He must be in a different room. “I have a costumer passed out here, and all he had on him is your card. Unfortunately, I don’t know his name. But maybe you know him.” He adds a brief description and it confirms my fear. For sure, it’s Tarry. Oh, God, no. He’s in a bar. Passed out.

“Yes, I know who he is. He’s a friend. You said Cave Tavern, right? I know where it is. Keep him there no matter what. I’m about two minutes away.”

“Don’t worry about him leaving. I tried to wake him, but he is bombed out.”

“I’m on my way.” I hang up the phone, gather my purse and jacket from a chair, and turn to leave.

Steve is placing a pitcher of Guinness and a refill for my Coke on a table.

“We have to go. Someone from Cavern called. Tarry is drunk.”

Before they have time to register what’s happening, I storm out of the room without even looking back to see if they’re following me.

As soon as I settle in the driver’s seat, I see Lucas and Steve slide inside the car. I take off before Steve shuts the door. My mind is in replay mode of Tarry’s sad eyes earlier today. How didn’t I see this coming? Guilt swamps me. I hope this is just a setback. My stomach feels raw, as if there is a flow of continuous drops of acid dropping in it.

My soul is freezing cold. I try to shake off the feeling. I have only felt this way once. It was when I heard of Tim’s death.

I speed my way to the bar, ignoring red lights and stop signs. I cut off other drivers. Jeez, this car is dangerous. Owning such a potent machine should be prohibited. I park near the door and soar to my feet. The back of my neck is sweaty, though the temperature has dropped considerably tonight.

I’m not conceited, but I take pride on being a good officer. The academy taught me well, and I put all of me into following all protocols, and always being in control. I always have a rein on my emotions. Tonight, I feel jittery, like a satellite that has lost earth’s orbit and away it goes, spinning off into outer space.

The bar is stuffy. I squint, scanning the room for Tarry. My breath comes in shallow gulps of air. I see him and my heart comes to a halt. He sits on the dirty floor, leaned against a stone post. A red light tints the cloud of smoke that hovers in the air. Tears blur my vision. I push away the urge to cry and stroll his way.

I kneel beside him. His legs are spread out, his long arms slack along his torso. His head tilts to the side and his long blond hair clings to his face. The front of his shirt and pants are wet. He reeks of liquor, urine, and vomit. I wonder if he has used any drugs as well.

“Hey, Tarry,” I call him. He is passed out. I brush the hair away from his face. He mumbles and pushes my hand away.

I see Lucas and Steve talking to the bartender. I shake Tarry’s shoulder, he doesn’t respond. I glace around and a few patrons ignore us. They must be used to this kind of show.

Lucas approaches. “Hey, Mel, we need to get him in the car. I took care of everything with the bartender.”

Lucas and Steve manage to straighten up Tarry. I hear the thud of something hitting the floor and I look down but don’t see anything. I follow Steve and Lucas as they drag-walk him to the car. Once he is settled in the passenger seat, I buckle his belt and wait for Lucas and Steve to get in.

During the drive home, a heavy silence bounces against the walls of the car. After a few minutes, Lucas asks, “You’re heading to your place? We are not taking him to his house?”

“And risk Portia seeing him inebriated like this? Are you out of your mind?” Portia worries too much about Tarry. She needs peace during the pregnancy. I don’t want her to see Tarry like this.

“Yeah, you have a point,” he says.

“Lucas, don’t say a word of this to anyone. I don’t want Portia to hear about it. I’ll talk to Dad later. We’ll find a way to handle this.”

“Sure, Mel. I wasn’t gonna anyway.”

When we get home I park as close to the door as possible. Thank the Lord Steve is with us because Lucas and I alone could never get Tarry to my bed. I don’t want to call Will and put him in the position of lying to Portia. He despises lies.

It takes a great deal of effort to get Tarry upstairs.

“Take him to my room.”

“Your room?” Lucas and Steve repeat at once.

“Yeah, I don’t have a guest room!”

“He smells, Mel,” Steve snaps. He’s upset.

I just roll my eyes at him. They look at each other, shrug, but follow me into my room. I tear the covers away and they literally dump him in my bed. I remove his combat boots. After I confirm that Tarry is tucked in the covers, which I’ll probably have to dispose of, I turn to Lucas.

“I need to get Ella from Will’s. Would you stay and make sure Tarry is okay?”

“Mel, he is out, he doesn’t need a babysitter,” Steve says.

“I won’t be long.” I ignore Steve.

“Take your time,” Lucas says.

I park in front of Will’s garage and gather courage to go inside. Like Will, I hate lies. Dad instilled a fear of God in me that allows no room for lies. Not even white lies. I compose my crumbling self, and head to the front door.

Before I knock, a smiling Portia opens the door. “Hi, you’re back already, come on in.”

“Yeah, I need to be up early tomorrow, so does Ella. So I cut it short.” I smile sweetly at her.

Ella appears at the door, her tinted cheeks tell me she was running around the house.

“Hi, Mom, can I sleep over?” She clamps her hands together and pleads.

“Sorry, honey, you’ve got school tomorrow. Get your jacket, we need to go.”

“Oh.” She pouts, but obeys.

“Thank you for keeping her,” I say.

“Dominick and she had a good time.” Portia flashes me her famous smile.

Ella comes out and we turn to leave.

“Portia, before I forget, Tarry ended up going with us. He asked me to tell you he was going straight to bed, but will call you tomorrow,” I say casually.

“Oh, that’s great news. Honestly, I was worried about him tonight, he was off.” She pats her enlarged tummy and looks relieved.

I shrug nonchalantly, smile genuinely, and stroll to the car.

“Mommy, you’re hurting my hand,” Ella complains as we approach the car.

“Sorry, baby.”

I hastily open the door and buckle Ella in.

I drive home in silence. I’m grateful that Ella is a chatterbox, and all that is required of me is to nod and smile at whatever she is telling me.