T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (33 page)

“Surely not when you were ten.”

“We worked into it.” He sat up. “C’s a good musician, but he’s not me. Statement of fact. He didn’t have the drive. So he avoided all of Grandmother’s suggestions for a legitimate use of our talent and steered clear of the band—”

She interrupted him. “You were in a high school band?”
“You find that amusing?”

She let the giggles go. “Did you carry the piano?”

“Missy, I play six instruments. I am multi-talented.”

“Well, I knew that.” She straightened her expression. “Please, go on. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“You should be.” He leaned into her and took a kiss. She was startled. “Needed it for courage to continue.”

“Whatever are you going to want when you get to the climax of the story?”

“See what I mean about country girls?” He wagged a finger at her. “You can be very bad.” She rearranged herself into a prim silhouette. He continued. “I joined the band, managed to curry favor from Grandmother for both of us.”

“How old were you?”

“Freshmen in high school. But experienced way beyond our years. There was just no way she could keep up with both of us. No way the band could. What a joke! We’d already introduced ourselves to the joint and drug culture, knew about beer and booze and lots about girls. C had already decided that females were more fun, but he never passed up a free drag. I took the other road—music and drugs. Between us, we had the bases covered. She tried to straighten us out, but after we were bigger than she was, there just wasn’t any hope for getting us to church or to sit down for family meals. Her house was a revolving door, and I’m ashamed to say, we never asked her forgiveness.”

“She’s dead?”

“About five years after we left. Before we were what we are now. We never went back. Now we go because we inherited the property and we’ve discussed building a recording studio there. I’m going to talk to C about setting up some sort of drug rehab program for the county. If he won’t do it with me, I’ll do it by myself. I have lots of regrets, Lyla, but that’s the big one. I never told her I was sorry. Our star was already rising, and we were in a literal rush to see it high. Thanks to sheer talent. Thanks to the rest of the band that we laboriously gathered around us. And Fletch. I’ll admit it, thanks to him, too. He really did find us in a bar. He really did rescue us.”

“But even he couldn’t straighten you out.”

“I don’t think he really wanted to, at least not past the ability to compose and perform.”

“What about your parents? Didn’t you ever hear from them again?”

He snorted. “Didn’t from her. Probably ashamed to face us. But him—oh, yeah, the bastard showed up about seven years ago. I figure he’d have been there sooner, but he was probably locked up somewhere.”

“You know that?”

“No, sheer speculation and wishful thinking.”

“What happened with him?”

“Threw him out. O. U. T. Out. Let the door hit him in the rear.”

“No forgiveness for him?”

“No revenge, either. Far as we were concerned, the score was even.”

They were silent a minute.

“I read about what got you into Betty Ford. How true was that?”

T winced. “I was high-sailing like I always did at a concert.” He stretched out his hand toward the lake, as if opening a curtain on the memory. “And she’s lovely, young, gets past the security and next thing I know, she’s at my feet. The music, the drugs, her perfume—I handed off the song to C and I prepared to enjoy myself.” He looked at her squarely. “I did not assault her. I did not rape her. On the other hand, security got there just as I was preparing to undo my zipper.”

He spared himself nothing in telling her this. He spared her nothing.

“I would have if I could have, but the security tapes told the truth. Unfortunately, her father didn’t believe it. Seems the jewel was already discolored.” He looked at his hands, clasped them. “So we settled for five million and my trip to Betty Ford. It has not been pleasant. Fletch gets my walking papers and drags me here to recuperate, to reintroduce me slowly into polite society. I don’t know how I can be reintroduced, when I was never there. He concocts this absolutely absurd story about his being a recovering alcoholic big shot writer and I’m his chauffeur—oh, pardon me—companion. Because no one will be looking for two gays! Hell, no one’s looking for anything up here but bass and gossip!”

He turned at her laughter. “I didn’t laugh during your story.”

“My story wasn’t funny.”

“This is funny only because you’re not living it. Fletch can be one mean son of a bitch!”

She patted his knee. “I’m sorry.” He cast a sideways glance at her. “I really am. Don’t you find yourself to be better off now that you’re clean?”

“I had my doubts until I met you.”

“That’s a good line.”

“Not a line. It’s the truth.” He took her face in his hands. “Lyla Lee, I love you. I don’t know how we’re going to make this work, but we have to. You are my salvation. I can see the reason to stay sober and clean now. I see a future not measured in number of concerts and amount of money. I’ve been on stage enough. I have more money than my grandchildren will need.” He paused. “More than ours will need.”

The import of his words was not slow in coming. “Ours?”

“Is something wrong?” He backpedaled. “If you can’t have children, that’s okay. I think Harrison’s a great kid. He’ll more than satisfy any paternal feelings I’ll ever have.”

A smile spread slowly across her face. “I can have more children. The equipment is still in working condition.”

“Good.” He continued to stare at her face, focusing first on her lips, then eyes, then back again. “What else do you need to know?”

“When BCA comes—”

“Just remember you said you love me.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

L
yla was putting the finishing touches on the new soft-drink can display when Tib strode through the door. He had papers in his hand and his stance and manner telegraphed trouble.

“Morning, Tib. Late breakfast? Early lunch?”

“Neither.” He stood at the counter, waiting for her to join him. He flounced the papers down by the condiment tray. She looked at them suspiciously, then at him. “Go on, pick them up. Read them. Then tell me with a straight face you knew nothing about this.”

Her heart was racing as she touched the paper, held it so she could read. She scanned the cover sheet, noted the California return. Her facial features didn’t change as she continued through the second one. When she finished, she raised her eyes to his. “I knew it.”

“When? From the beginning?”

“No. I thought Fletch had already passed inspection from your first license check. Why search more?”

“He lied to you, Lyla. Doesn’t this give you just the slightest hint what this man is really like?”

“I know what this man is really like.” She paused and set her jaw. “And I really like it.”

Tib’s face reddened. “You like it?” He took the papers from her, shook them, turned behind himself and picked up the closest tabloid. “This? This trash? You like this?”

“He’s not like that.”

“Listen to yourself, Lyla. The man escapes a rape charge because he pays off the family and goes into rehab. Who is delusional now?”

“Listen to yourself, Tib. This rage is not a pretty sight. I suggest you leave.”

“Not until you listen to reason.”

“Your reason?” She moved behind the cash register, got on the stool, was closer to being eye to eye with him now, needed the physical barrier the counter afforded.

“Dub’s, Red’s, I’m not picky. Anybody with reason. I’d say Bertie, but something tells me she’s crossed over into his camp.”

“There are no camps, Tib.”

He tried a different tack. “I saw his brother, this Eddie C character, on the news last night. Had his hair back in a ponytail. Image of your Sam. You think you’re going to keep this a secret when the entire group is headed here? Did you know that?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s not going to change anything?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“The world will be here. Maybe you think it’ll be great for business. Sell a few more drinks, a little more gas! Never mind the circus that comes with them.”

“It’s under control, Tib. No one will even know they’re here if you keep your big mouth shut!”

“I don’t believe you. Where’d you get the blinders, Lyla? Your world is about to erupt!”

“My world has erupted, Tib.” She took a deep breath and pointed her finger at him. “Listen real good, because I’m only going to say this once. I love him. I don’t know quite what I’m going to do about it, but I love him. And, get this, he loves me.” She continued despite his open-mouthed stare. “We are trying to be adult about this and will probably be able to work it out. That, of course, precludes any interference on your part. Or Fletch’s. Or BCA’s.” She caught movement at the gas pumps out of the corner of her eye. Stan was filling up. “Why don’t you go before we give our good neighbors anything else to talk about?”

“Fine, Lyla. I’m gone.” He made it as far as the door before he turned back. “Permanently gone.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head as the door slammed in his wake.
Fine, Tib, just fine. I’m gone, too.

*  *  *

“Hell, you’re a brave man.”

“What do you mean?” T spread his arms wide, walked toward her. “Lunch crowd’s gone, no cars outside. We’re alone, aren’t we? I hadn’t heard from you all day, decided to take a little spin, pick up a few groceries…” He let his voice trail off, but something in her body language made him stop about two feet from her.

“You have been discovered.”

His face fell. He didn’t have to ask what she meant. “By whom?”

“You’re going to love this. Tib.”

“Tib is a rock fan?”

“Didn’t say that. Tib ran a background check on Fletch from his fishing license application.”

“He can do that?”

“Game wardens are no more to be fooled with than the police. Yes, he can do that. And he saw your brother on the news talking about coming to see you. He had his hair pulled back in a ponytail. Guess who looks just like his twin?”

T muttered an epithet. “Tib in the process of telling the world?”

“He figures he doesn’t have to. The world will find your brother, find you.”

T nodded. He tapped his foot while he thought through the situation. “Told Fletch this wouldn’t work.”

“Then call it off.”

“It may have rolled too far to stop it. They’re to be here by midnight.”

“Paparazzi in tow?”

“God, I hope not.”

“You’d better inform Fletch.”

“How he gets these crazy ideas, I’ll never know.”

“Been around you too much.”

“Could be.” He started to turn to go, looked back, blew her a kiss. She caught it with a smile.

*  *  *

“So where do we plan to house everybody?” T looked around the living room. Sheets were stacked on the loveseat that made into a bed. There was a sleeping bag they’d found at the back of Fletch’s closet on the other one.

“Two here, two on the Osprey.”

“And what’s this costing?”

“Some people might call it extortion.”

“Took you to the cleaners, huh? Acted like she was the only game in town?”

Fletch whistled low under his breath. “I did wangle a meal out of her Friday night. Catfish and the trimmings. I tell you that ol’ girl missed her calling. She’s a negotiator.”

“Good. Maybe I’ll just hire her when you no longer prove adequate.”

“T, let’s make up before BCA comes.”

“Kisses and hugs, too, Fletch?” He looked around the living room. It was spotless. Fletch had spent the day in preparation. T hadn’t helped, unless you could call proper accompaniment help. Seemed the faster he played, the faster Fletch worked.

“You know what I mean. Let’s work this out about Lyla and you.”

“Nothing for you to work out. We’re in love and we’re going to stay that way.”

“I mean about next week.”

“Two things about next week, Fletch. One, it’ll just be the second week Lyla and I are in love. This is the first. Two, there won’t be a next week for us here.” He’d been savoring the information about Tib. Now was a good time to spring it. “Warden Wilson knows who we are. The media has started tracking C. Just buzz through the rock-metal websites if you don’t believe me. Or try those satellite pseudo-entertainment shows. One of them probably slipped a GPS device under C’s hood. If you think the law around here is going to have a media circus just to protect us, you’d better think again. We will be bounced out on our instruments.”

Fletch stood with his mouth open. “I’ve been too busy to watch TV.”

“Get ol’ C on the phone. See if he’s alone.”

“I tell you, T, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll get security to fly down. I had hoped to get along without those guys. Make this just the—” he stopped, looked at T, “Make this just us.” He sat down desultorily on the arm of a loveseat.

“Dad rounding up the children for one last Christmas?”

“You forget, I never celebrated Christmas.”

“You know what I mean.”

Fletch nodded. “You did not part on good terms with the rest of them, T.” T held himself steady under Fletch's stare. “Things were said between you and C that may take a while to smooth over. Trouble is, you don’t remember them, but the rest of us do. He sure as hell does.”

“So you think we’ll have a knock-down-drag-out fight first.”

“I think the air has got to be cleared one way or the other. I’d prefer this be a private showing.” He cocked his head to the ding of his email. “I’ll get hold of Steele and the rest of security, have them fly down ASAP.”

T continued tinkering with the piano. Fletch’s returning footsteps made him look up.

“That was C. He’s having trouble shaking some sweet young thing. He’s taking evasive action, be here tomorrow. Everyone else is on schedule.” He rested a palm on the piano. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? At my age, I can still be naive.”

“It’s the country air. I’ve no doubt you’ll return to form soon as you get back where you belong.”