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"Okay. In a minute." A glint of metal beneath some leaves caught my eye. Carefully, I dusted off the antique silver necklace my grandmother had given me for my twenty-first.
I hung the pendant around my neck, fingers fiddling with the clasp for a moment before it locked into place. Forget Chris and his family. I'd find my feet. They were nothing to me now, less than nothing. They were so subpar-nothing I didn't even know how to describe just how zilch they were. Moving on.
"Babe, why's your stuff all over the yard?" asked Vaughan.
"Pardon?" I blinked, returning to earth.
"Your stuff, it's everywhere." He downed the last of his coffee in one long gulp, his gaze fixed on my face.
Gah. Like he didn't have enough to deal with without more of my drama. "Yeah, sorry," I said. "I'll get it cleaned up."
"Lydia, stop," he ordered in a stern voice. Then his gaze softened. "What happened here?"
"Samantha delivered my belongings." I said, carefully retrieving my best black mascara from the bush of death. The thing basically consisted of a big evil ball of thorns beneath a couple of leaves. It was Satan's shrubbery. Any more scratches from it and I'd look like I'd been in a cat fight. Close enough to the truth.
"You're fucking kidding." He wandered down the steps toward me.
"Wish I was."
"Hey." He gripped the back of my neck with his free hand, rubbing it far more softly than he'd done his own. The calluses on his fingers were rough, making for such a different sensation than Chris's soft hands. "This petty bullshit is the worst she can do. Ignore it. You're better than this."
"I don't know. Given half a chance, I'd really like to shoot her out of a cannon and forget to put up the safety net."
"That seriously the best you could come up with?"
"No. Give me more time. It's early."
Sweet baby Jesus, his laugh. It was so low-down and dirty. I hadn't even said anything worthy of such a sound. Disturbingly, I couldn't remember what Chris's laugh sounded like. Had I ever even heard it? No memory leaped to mind. What a sad and sorry statement about his life and the part I'd played in it. And while Chris's problems were most definitely his own, I and mine needed a damn good looking over.
I needed change. Now.
I also needed to stop making comparisons to Chris. He was out of my life. Gone. The end.
Vaughan tipped his chin toward the house, still laughing. "Go grab your coffee and cake. Then you can tell me more revenge fantasies. I want blood and gore, Lydia. Covered in honey and eaten alive by bull ants, that sort of thing. Go wild."
I smiled and headed for the house, my mood about ten tons lighter for having seen Vaughan's smile.
"Not cake, palmiers," corrected Nell.
"Whatever they are, they taste like magic," he said.
His sister snorted.
"It is good to see you, sis."
Sure enough, a second coffee and large brown paper bag sat on the kitchen counter. "The Bird Building" was stamped in black ink on the front. It was a place in midtown, not an area I'd had a lot to do with. In the real estate business, Ray and I had mostly focused on residential dwellings, with him covering the big-money mansions. Chris had dealt with the commercial properties.
My coffee was delicious, I didn't bother heating it up. Years in offices had taught me to ignore temperature. The palmiers turned out to be elephant ear cookies covered in cinnamon sugar. Pastry so perfect and light it basically melted on contact with my tongue. Absolute bliss.
I took my breakfast outside and sat on the steps.
"What'd you need to talk to me about?" he asked his sister.
Nell gave me a brief glance. Awkward.
"I'll eat inside, get out of the sun for a while," I said around a mouthful of deliciousness, hardly spitting out any pastry flakes at all. Screw common courtesy. These palmiers were amazing.
"It's okay. Anything you need to say to me, Lydia can hear." He gave me a wry smile. "We've got no secrets, have we?"
"I guess not after yesterday, but--"
"It's fine." Nell brushed off her hands on the sides of her black jeans. "Really."
I tentatively sat back down. Maybe I'd just excuse myself to go use the bathroom ASAP.
"So?" asked Vaughan. "Shoot."
"I need you to either lend me fifty-six thousand dollars or buy Pat out for the same amount."
Eyes wide, he huffed out a breath. "Shit. That all, huh?"
"I'm serious."
"I get that."
"Will you do it?" Carefully, she tucked her hair behind her ears. Her hands, however, didn't stop there, fussing with the front of her white shirt. The woman was nervous. Terribly so. "Please, Vaughan. He wants out and I can't have him involved anymore. The divorce goes through in a few more days and things are so damn tense I can't stand it."
He let his head fall back, staring up at the sky. "Nell..."
"Pat hates me. He's completely impossible. Refuses to work in the bar anymore."
"What the hell happened? You two have been tight since you were fourteen. You can't even get on a little now?"
"You've been gone a long time," she said, face drawn. "He's changed, especially since we broke up. He and Eric can't even be in the same room without fighting."
"Shit."
Nell wrung her hands. "Pat's been making all sorts of threats about what he'll do if we can't buy his share of the business."
"Joe can't buy in?"
Nell shook her head. "He doesn't have the cash. Eric's still paying him back for bankrolling his thirty percent when we opened."
"Christ." He w
iped a hand over his face. "This is why you shouldn't go into business with friends or family. It just gets fucking complicated."
"You're right. I should have trusted total strangers with my life-long dream."
Vaughan's shoulders sagged. "Didn't know things were so bad with you."
"You were busy, touring and recording. I didn't want to worry you. I thought I could ride it out."
"Yeah." A long-winded sigh. "I'm sorry, Nell. I don't have the money. I'd do it for you in a heartbeat if I could, but I can't."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm tapped out. Things ... they weren't as good as I made them out to be." Hands on hips, he faced her. "In fact, they're pretty much fucked. I was hoping you could buy this place off me. I'm sorry."
Hell, poor Vaughan. If I could have been anywhere else, I'd have been there. Instead, I sat silent and still, hopefully forgotten.
"You want to sell the house? How bad is it?" she asked.
"I'll figure something out. It'll be okay." He licked his lips, studying the ground.
"How bad, Vaughan?"
Slowly, he shut his eyes, letting his head fall back. It took him a long time to answer. "I had to borrow to buy you out of this place."
Nell's mouth fell open. "What? You told me you had it!"
"What'd you think I'd say?" Blue eyes snapped open, laser-like in their intensity. "Like you said, it was your dream, opening the bar. Just like it was mine to play music. You backed me however you could. Did you really think I wouldn't do the same for you?"
Nell covered her face with her hands, swearing softly beneath her breath. This went on for quite some time.
"For a while, it was fine," Vaughan continued. "We were getting gigs, being paid. Then we had a lean time and I had to take out a mortgage."
"You mortgaged our childhood home?" Her voice rose to banshee levels. Guess it was true what they said about redheads, at least of the female variety. "Vaughan, how could you!"
"It's almost paid off. Touring with Stage Dive got most of it sorted, but things hit the wall when the band fell apart."
His sister just shook her head. "If Mom weren't dead, she'd kill you."
"I know."
"And if Dad weren't dead ... I don't even know what he would do. But they'd never find your body. Or what was left of it."
Nothing from Vaughan. His fallen face said it all.
In the distance a lawn mower roared to life, doing its thing. How bizarre to think our dramas didn't even touch upon the bulk of most people's everyday lives. They seemed so big and all-encompassing from within. Any happiness felt fake, phony. Or worse yet, as if it were about to be stolen away. Which was ridiculous, really: Vaughan would work his way out of his money troubles and I would date again. I'd find a job I liked, or least tolerated, and he'd start another band. Life would go on.
