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“She’s going to call Aunt Kelley,” Knox reports. I shift my weight to my other leg and look at J.R., awaiting some sort of comment about Kelley.
“Of course, she is,” J.R. replies a little stiffly. It’s all he says, though, and I’m proud of him. He even knows how to censor himself in front of children.
I ignore the tone of his voice and kiss Knox’s cheek. “Your daddy plays piano, too. You’ll have lots to talk about.”
“Rach, come with us,” J.R. says, only this time he sounds sincere. Maybe he does want me to come along, but I still think this should be an adventure meant for them.
“Maybe next time. Have fun.” I force a smile on my face.
I stay on the dock long enough to watch J.R. load Knox into the boat. He makes sure that she’s buckled in and comfortable; and then he pulls up the anchor, unties the boat from the dock, and begins to sail out. Knox waves at me, a look of anxiety slightly highlighting her brow; J.R. lifts his hand, too, and they’re off and out of sight.
The house is quiet. It has its own special quiet, and I remember it so well from the days when J.R. was on the road. It’s the sound of the ceiling fans spinning, the almost inaudible rush of the ocean in the distance, the way the sea breeze sounds as it breaks through the iron rails on the back patio.
I take the hallway to what used to be the bedroom that J.R. and I shared. I’m hesitant to open the door, but I push it open, anyway. It looks the same. White shiplap walls, black iron bed, roman shades on the windows, bedside tables made from antique dressers. I even think it smells the same. I kept an air freshener plugged in behind the door. It was a lavender-scented air freshener that I kept installed to help induce sleep. I peek behind the door, and there it is. Still plugged in. Still stocked with lavender oil.
I walk through the rest of the house, finding that nothing has changed. It’s like I’ve walked back in time. J.R. still has his music room. It hasn’t changed either. The piano sits by the window with an oak tree view. His collection of guitars hangs on the wall to the left. A jar of guitar pics, a stool, a piano top full of sheet music. There are other musical necessities in the room, too, but I never understood what they were for.
There’s a chair in the corner of the room. My chair. For all of the times J.R. wrote a new song and needed me to listen. I would sit in that comfy chair, watch him play the piano, and listen to him sing. Sometimes, his lyrics bothered me. There were songs about unhappy relationships or drugs.
“Only stories,” J.R. assured me. They weren’t lyrics based on our reality. I believed him.
I wonder what he’s written now. I run my eyes over the sheet music, scanning the lyrics. Nothing jumps out at me, and I feel a little guilty for snooping around. This is his private place. Where his magic happens. This is where the music comes together. I never snooped in here when we were together, and I’m not sure why I’m doing it now.
I talk myself out of the room, and I find my way back to the living room. I sit on the couch and remain there quietly. Breathing. Thinking. Crying.
Suddenly, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I startle as I dig for it, and when I find it, Kelley’s name flashes across the screen. I’m relieved. I could use someone to talk to right now, and she beat me to the call.
“Hey,” I answer, but I sound just as bad as I feel.
“I told you this was a mistake,” she says. “Are you okay? Do I need to drive down there and kick his ass?”
“You should have kickedmyass when I left him, Kelley.” I sigh.
“Well, yeah.”
“He was going to ask me to marry him. He had a ring and everything.”
I think I hear her laugh at me, the way J.R. had in the kitchen earlier. Then she composes herself. “Oh, Rach,” she says with a sigh.
“I’m the asshole in this equation. I mean, there’s no coming back from this.” I push my fingers through my hair and sigh.
“You’ve beaten yourself up enough, Rach. You’re there now. Just see where it goes.”
We sit quietly for a moment, and then I say, “Thank you for standing by me, even when you knew I was being insane.”
“At least, I told you that you were being crazy. You just wouldn’t listen. Where’s Lil’ Bit? I want to talk to her.”
Lil’ Bit is a nickname that Kelley gave Knox as a baby, and she hasn’t been able to shake it since. Oddly enough, Knox likes Lil’ Bit better than the nickname I’ve given her. Lil’ Bit feels more degrading. Like, when she’s twenty-five years old, she’s not going to want Kelley to call her Lil’ Bit anymore.
“Out with J.R. He wanted to take her out on the boat and to dinner. He has a whole event planned for her.”
“You didn’t want to go?”
“No. It’s better if I’m here. They’ll be fine.”
“When are you coming home?”
“I’m not sure. I guess we’re here through the weekend. Maybe I’ll go visit my mother.” I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me through the phone.
