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CHAPTER SIX
Monday, June 7
My suitcases are packed.I even put them in the car. But it’s 6:15 and I still haven’t decided if I’m doing the right thing. I pick up my cell phone and start to dial Connor’s number to tell him I’m not coming. I chicken out before I enter the last number.
I check my email once more, praying there will be a hoard of messages with invitations for interviews, but there’s nothing. Well, Eddie Bauer sent me an email to tell me about a sale on swimwear, but that’s about the only person who’s filling my inbox today, it seems.
I dial my sister. Willow was still a baby herself when I was born — only eighteen months old when I made my grand entrance onto planet earth. And it never occurred to either one of us for even a single second that we were not born to be one another’s best friend, playmate, confidant, secret keeper and loyal partner in crime. She’s my everything and always will be. I tell her absolutely every detail of my life and trust her to give me the right advice. She answers on the second ring.
“Hey Ray,” she says in her husky voice. I love that my sister has this incredibly cool voice. Most people have to smoke like three packs a day for twenty years before they can sound as cool and edgy as Willow. She’s never smoked a single cigarette. Hers is all-natural. And it’s beautiful. When we sing, our voices melt together so perfectly. But we never sang much growing up. Music can’t be a career, after all. So why waste time on it — or so our mother was so fond of reminding us.
“Hey,” I say. I’m trying very hard to keep the anxiety out of my voice, but I know she’ll hear it.
“What’s wrong?” Of course, she detects it immediately. I don’t even know why I bother to try to hide it from her.
“I might be leaving to go on vacation for a few weeks,” I say evasively.
“Stephen,” she calls to her husband. “I’m going to Atlanta. Ray has fallen and hit her head. She’s gone crazy or something. Ray, I’m coming. Just stay where you are.” I know she’s totally teasing. That’s what big sisters do, after all.
“Stop it. I didn’t hit my head. I’m serious. I’m all packed and everything.”
“OK. Where are you going?” The tone in her voice suggests she’s playing along on some joke with me.
“I don’t know. He hasn’t told me yet.” My tone makes it clear, this isn’t a joke.
“He? There’s a he? Since when is there a he?” I can hear her haul in a deep breath. “OK, Ray, I’m going to need you to go back to the beginning of all of this, and start at the top.”
And I do. I leave nothing out. Not one detail. I tell her everything about the interview at Pinnacle and meeting Connor at the bar, passing out, then waking up in his bed. I tell her about Ox and Tori, the pizza, the ride on the motorcycle and end with the party last night. I even tell her about the sleepover and Connor’s obvious desire to one day get rid of the “no sex” promise he made me last night.
“Wow, Ray. That’s a lot. And you’re supposed to meet him when?”
“Like forty-five minutes ago,” I say, glancing at my watch.
“Shit, girl. Why are you talking to me? Hang up and call me from the road!”
“You think I should go?”
I hear my sister sigh on the other end of the phone and there’s a long pause before she finally speaks. She’s using her big-sister-loves-me voice, so I know she’s being serious now.
“Raven, honey, you’ve got to let go. Of all of it. Mom and Jemmy and those evil people at Juilliard. They all tried to make you who they wanted you to be. You’ve never had the chance to just find out who you are. This could be that chance.”
“You think?” Tears mist my eyes. Not because it sounds pathetic or because it’s true. But because she knows me. And she knows. She knows I’m running, too, and I can’t run away from my situation anymore. It’s time I find something to run toward.
“I do. And more than that, I think you do, too. This Connor, he’s safe? You’ll be safe with him?”
“Yes, I will be.” I know that’s the truth.
“Then you have to do this, Ray. I know it’s scary, and you’re afraid. But you need to do this.”
Tears start to slip down my cheeks. Willow knows me better than anyone, even our own mother. She knows that vacations scare me. I’ve had the time off, and the money to go on them over the years, but I just never have. I was too anxious. Too much unknown. Too much loneliness.
“I sound pathetic when you put it like that.”
“You’re not pathetic, sweetie. You’re just a little … lost. It’s time to go out and find yourself.”
“Thanks. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Send me proof of life every day, or I’m calling the FBI on this guy,” she says only half teasing me this time.
