“It’s just too much of a time eater. And this is still working,” she had said, repeating my phrasing from when I first started driving her.
It was more convenient as she, Cath, and I had to drive up to Devlin’s house a few times a week. She’d gotten in the habit of staying there to work on various tasks as Cath and I sat in the drum room to rehearse for two hours. There was a comfort in looking up and seeing her lost in thought.
We had made it clear that we wouldn’t be crossing any physical lines, but we could still enjoy each other’s company. And enjoy it, I did. I liked her peppy morning energy and our daily stops at Daisy’s. I still hated mornings, but it wasn’t as bad getting up in the mornings when you had somebody to get up for. I loved hearing about her and Cath’s days as we drove up to Bandit Lake.
After Halloween, Mari was busier than ever, preparing for the end of the year and all the associated holiday performances.
Every morning, I picked her up to take her to work; she smelled sweetly of whatever shampoo she used, and she chatted happily. Every afternoon, we either went up to Devlin’s for Cath’s practice, or I picked her up later in the evening, and she would come over for dinner.
She protested at first, but soon, the offers of free, consistent food were too much to resist. It became a routine. Some nights, Janice was there; others, she had plans. I secretly enjoyed those nights the most. I doted on Mari and cooked for her. Most weeks the only night I didn’t see Mari was bunco night. Try as I might, the women wouldn’t budge about letting her in.
“You were the only exception,” Maxine said. “I told y’all this would happen. It’s a slippery slope. You let in one, and they bring in all their friends.”
“Who arethey?” Janice asked.
“Your son and all his youthful ilk. Can’t we have anything just for us?”
I let it go, and Mari insisted that she always had plenty of things to do anyway.
After bunco night, I would call her and fill her in on what I learned. She’d insist she didn’t care to hear the local gossip, but we would stay up on the phone talking for hours. She laughed at my terrible jokes and filled me in on what else I had missed around town in the past decade or the antics of her students.
My absolute favorite part of the new routine was learning about Mari and sharing music with her. I didn’t have much, but I did have a massive music knowledge base. I’d share new-to-her artists from all different decades and genres. Occasionally, she’d share music with me, and we’d discuss how andifour favorite songs would translate to marching band sets.
I thought about her all day when she was in school. I thought about how luscious she felt pressed against me in the kitchen that night. I cursed myself for having the appropriate restraint. But having her in these glimpses was better than not having her at all. And if she gave too much too soon, my gut told me she wouldn’t have agreed to be driven around.
The lessons with Cath were becoming something I looked forward to. Slowly but surely, she was opening up to me and even unleashed a sarcastic barb from time to time. I took that as a compliment, since sarcasm was a teenager’s love language. I’d not seen any sign of Vander and the band and stopped looking over my shoulder every lesson. I suspected Devlin had something to do with that.
The vibe was off today. Cath was quieter than normal, and Mari keptshooting her worried glances. When Mari tried to get her to talk in the car, she only received one-word replies. The harder she pushed, the more Cath retreated into herself. Eventually, I lightly put a hand on Mari’s knee and shook my head subtly. She sucked in her lips and nodded.
Now in the drum room, with Mari on the other side of the glass, Cath was half-heartedly playing the same jazz selection she’d been playing for weeks. She was technically perfect, but her energy was not there. If I knew better terms and words for music, I’d be able to pinpoint what was wrong. I wasn’t making anything better.
“Okay. Stop,” I called midsong.
Cath froze before lowering her sticks. “Why?”
“What’s going on?” I asked her.
She glanced at Mari, who sat behind the glass. When I turned to look, Mari felt us watching her and lifted a hand. We waved, and Mari went back to typing on her laptop.
“Don’t worry, she can’t hear us,” I said.
“Nothing. Just tired,” Cath said, gaze focused on her snare.
“We don’t have to do this today.”
“We’re already here.”
“Okay.” I paced in a circle. “Okay. Let’s just quit with the audition stuff. It’s boring as shit.”
Cath snorted. “It’s not so bad.”
“Okay, you’re right. It’s not bad, but you aren’t feeling it and that’s coming across. It’s clear that you could play these songs in your sleep. I’m pretty sure that’s what you’re doing right now. If I can feel that, the committee will too.”
Cath frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been to concerts, right?”
“Obviously.”
