Pucker Up (4 page)

“What’s
your name?” Madison asked, voice thick.

“Melody.”

Madison
grabbed a pen from her purse, signed her name across her linen napkin, and
handed it to Melody.  “What are you studying in school?”

“Majoring
in psychology.  Minoring in music.”  She darted her eyes to Faith.  Faith could
feel them on her but couldn’t meet them.  She took the napkin from the girl and
signed her name as well.  “I’m not nearly any good, but I just love to sing. 
And I met my boyfriend in class, so it hasn’t treated me too badly.”

A
mantra was running through Faith’s head – you’re always nice to your fans,
you’re always nice to your fans, you’re always nice to your fans – but it
wasn’t doing much good in helping raise her eyes.  She felt like her world was
crumbling, but why should she care?  She’d left Dustin ten years ago – if he
wanted to run around with college co-eds, what business was it of hers.  She
couldn’t imagine him setting foot in a music class, but it had been a long
time.  People changed; they both had.

Faith
squared her shoulders and met the girl’s misty eyes straight on.  “Here,” she
said, tamping down her jealousy and overcompensating with a wide smile.  “Here’s
my card.  You come by next week, and you can have a tour of the recording
studio.  I’ll be the judge of your voice.  Anyone with purple stripes in her
hair looks like she knows a thing or two about performing.”

I
was just being nice, Faith thought to herself as she watched the girl walk away
in shock.  It had nothing to do with the connection to Dustin, nothing to do
with the friendly eyes and soul-tugging story.  She was nice to her fans; she
was always nice to her fans.  Faith trembled as she closed her purse with a
snap.

“They
make a cute couple,” Madison murmured.  Faith couldn’t bring herself to look.

“Pregnancy
has made you sentimental.”

“It
really has.  I almost started weeping at her story.  Madison Duncan the Ice
Queen does not cry.”

Faith
couldn’t help but smirk.  “You haven’t been the Ice Queen for ages now. 
Kick-ass superhero on the big screen, alien freedom fighter on the small
screen.  Geek Queen is more like it.”

“Don’t
say that to my husband.”  They laughed, and Faith couldn’t help darting her
eyes to the window across the room, to the guy who’d have loved to hear the
same thing said about his wife.  Marriage was not for the faint of heart.

Dustin’s
frown was immoveable, etched deeper into his skin every mile he drove.  Only
the long worn routine of driving home had gotten him there in one piece.  His
mind had been other places than the road.

He
slunk through the screen door, ignoring the irrational urge to slam it as he
entered.  Peter sat at the oak kitchen table, his eyes lasering onto his
brother.  Their gazes clashed for a moment before Peter looked away, a small
smile directed at the mass of grading before him.

Dustin
scowled deeper and grabbed a beer from the fridge, not caring that it was almost
midnight.  It made a resounding hiss as he popped the top off and let the cap
roll along the floor.  He downed half the bottle in one gulp and leaned against
the counter, content to stay silent and pretend at being unconcerned.

“So
how’s my daughter today?” Peter finally asked.

“Fine,”
Dustin growled.  He could see the edges of Peter’s smile grow but refused to
let it rile him up.  “I met her boyfriend.  Not sure I like the look of him.”

Peter
glanced his way, eyes shining in amusement.  “You don’t like the look of
anyone.  Eric’s an improvement over the last one.”

Dustin
finished his beer and set the bottle on the table with a loud thwack.  His
nerves were stretched taut, and he needed something to growl at.  “You knew she
had a boyfriend.  And you didn’t tell me.”

Peter
shrugged.  “She asked me not to.  Said she didn’t want to hear the lectures. 
At least until she knew if he’d stick or not.”

“Oh,
he’ll stick.”  The way they looked at each other had been too familiar for
Dustin’s sanity.  “And I don’t lecture.  I offer hard-won advice.”

“In
a tone my most boorish professor would have been proud of.”

“Well,
maybe I wouldn’t lecture so much if people listened to me the first time.” He
huffed.  “Or didn’t keep things from me,” he added after a pause.

Peter
pushed back his chair, tossing down his red pen.  He rose and crossed to the
fridge to grab a beer.  “Secrets are what you want to rail about right now. 
Really?”

The
mild tone of his twin’s voice had Dustin looking up.  For the first time in twelve
hours he poked at the layer of shock covering his brain and kicked it into
gear.  “Mel’s already called you,” he murmured, realizing his vast stupidity at
thinking he could avoid this conversation.

“Of
course she did.  The three of us were video-chatting about the best afternoon
of her life twenty seconds after Harmony and I walked in the front door after
dinner.”

“Of
course she did.”  Dustin’s voice sounded resigned, even to him. “Ask,” he
finally barked.

“I
was going to ask how you are, but the frown kind of says it all.”  Peter paused
for a moment.  “How’d she look?”

“Not
anything like I remember.  And exactly the same.”

“That
clears it up.”  Peter passed his brother another beer and watched him finish it
in one swallow.  “Did she see you?”

Dustin
shook his head.  “No.  We were sitting outside, way across the restaurant and
the windows were tinted.  Good thing she didn’t.  I have no idea what I would
have said.”

“None?”
Peter asked, skepticism clear in his voice and raised brow.

Dustin
considered that question.  Before the girls he’d thought about running after
her a lot.  It always ended with a passionate kiss, the ones that ended girly
movies.  As time went on, as he retold the bedtime story over and over again,
he discarded the idea of a happily ever after; those belonged only in the
stories.  And then, what was the point even of seeing each other again?  She’d
made very clear her desire the night she’d run out on him.  He understood why
she’d left, but he didn’t need to know why she’d never come back.

“What
would be the point?  Her leaving was pretty final.”

“As
was your decision to let her.”

Dustin’s
bark of laughter was harsh.  “Please, Peter, explain to me how I had any
control over anything Faith West did.  Ever.”

“Silly
me, I forgot – love makes you powerless.”

Dustin’s
scowl turned into a smirk as he grabbed Peter’s beer, throwing back his head to
finish it off.  “How do your students put up with you?  Shouldn’t a history
teacher have a less romantic view of the world?”

Peter
grinned and clapped a hand on his twin’s shoulder.  “The plight of the ages can
be traced back to love of God, woman, or country.  Passion fuels our past. 
Something we can all learn from.”

“I
pity your students.”

“You
should.  I’m far too nice to them.”

“Are
you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Trevor asked as he held out a coat
for his wife.

“Or
go instead of us?” Madison added.

“Mady,
honey, come on, it’s not going to be that bad.”

“I
know.  It’s going to be worse.”  Madison grabbed Faith’s arm, looking like she
was about to be pulled away to war.

“It’s
only dinner,” Trevor protested.  “And you love dinner.”

“Dinner
with you, dinner with Faith here, sure.  Dinner with your mother, not so much.”

Trevor
looked at her skeptically.  “You love my mother.  Stop being overdramatic.”

“Yes,
your mother I love.  But her and all of her friends staring at me like a
beached whale, that I can live without.”

“What
do you want me to do?” Trevor asked. “Kidnap the pop singer?  They’ll still
only want to talk about you, love.”

Madison
sighed comically and let go of Faith.  “He’s right.  Save yourself.”  Trevor
wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her out of the house,
whispering teasing remarks into his wife’s ear.  She was laughing by the time
he helped her into the car.

Faith
was moving before the car had even skated out of view.  Her hands had been
itching since lunch, yearning for her guitar, staff paper, and quiet.

It
should have been easier to hide her desire – she’d had over eight years to
practice – but her house had always been her sanctuary, the place she didn’t
need to pretend.  Her houseguests weren’t intrusive, but she could feel their
presence acutely when all she wanted to be was alone.  They’d picked up on her
unease, she was sure of it, and obliged by putting on that comedy routine for
her.  How could she not smile, even wistfully, when they were around?  She’d
chosen her company so wisely.

 She
closed the double doors of her study before pulling paper, pens, and small
scraps of poetry from a drawer.  She stood in the middle of the room for a
moment before throwing the mess into the air and letting it fall around her, a
storm of chaos and creativity.

Faith
settled into her familiar spot on the floor, leaning just barely against the
edge of the leather sofa, and closed her eyes.  They popped back open a minute
later, unease stricken across her face.  The voices whispering in the back of
her head wanted her to work on the only song she’d never been able to finish,
the one whose chorus was imprinted on her soul.  It was his fault.  He had done
this to her; he was the song that wouldn’t let go.

She
strummed the guitar idly, dropping instead into the first song she’d ever written;
she needed to distract the clawing need inside of her.  It worked well as long
as she didn’t think of the lyrics; the melody was perfect background noise
since it had played in the back of her head for as long as she could remember. 
Some people dreamt in words, in pictures, in different languages.  Faith dreamt
in notes, in melodies and harmonies, and now lyrics.  Not that anyone knew that. 
She hid her songwriting, never sang a song she wrote, all hidden behind the
Andy Peters persona.

Dustin
would get a kick out of that, how she’d perverted his tone deaf twin’s name
into one synonymous with musical excellence.  That hadn’t been her original
intention, though she appreciated the irony of it now.  Then, her music had
still been so wrapped up in the life she’d almost had – even in her dreams
Peter was as close as she’d ever let her mind go.

Not
today though.  Today she’d gotten closer than she’d ever imagined being again. 
Part of her yearned to be closer – search his face for signs of age.  Did his
features crease into a pattern of worry or wonder, melancholy or mirth?  If he’d
seen her, would his eyes have sparkled with invitation or rejection?  Was he
happy?  Did she want him to be?

A
song was writing itself with those thoughts, but she resisted, not allowing
herself to sink into the haze where all lyrics made sense, all notes had a
purpose.  She needed to wonder – what kind of song would she be writing if he
had seen her?  Faith shuddered – she had no fucking clue.

She
put down the guitar and dropped her head into her hands, pulling on her hair in
distraction.  If he’d moved here, away from the country and his land, she could
run into him again.  She’d spent her life secure in the knowledge that she’d
never see him again, their worlds too different, their spheres never needing to
intersect.  That was obviously an ostrich view, hiding her head in the sand so
she could avoid what she didn’t want to deal with.  It was an assumption she
couldn’t keep any longer.

What
would she have said if he approached her?  If he had seen her across a crowded
room or a hotel bar or a busy street.  If he had seen her at her best, at her
worst, somewhere in between.  What would have happened if…  

A
sudden thought stole the breath from her lungs – he
had
seen her.  He
had to.  His girlfriend had come over to the table; it defied logic to think he
hadn’t known why.  He had seen her and done nothing, said nothing.  A decade
with things left unsaid and no desire to say them.

Part
of her soul cursed him, the other agreed with him.  What good would
acknowledging her presence have done?  Empty pleasantries would have been
difficult to get out.  Loud recriminations would have just made an
uncomfortable scene.  Maybe ignorance and apathy were the right way to go.  She
didn’t know what the rules were for running into the man you’d run away from.

An
apology almost seemed in order, but she wasn’t exactly sorry.  It would have
ended anyway; staying would have just prolonged the heartache.  She was sorry
it didn’t work out, would always be, but not that she’d left.  Leaving had been
an act of love.  Her final one.

Faith’s
head came up, determination in her eyes as she grabbed for her pen – now she
had her song.

“Morning,
Peaches.”

“Morning,
Dad,” Harmony said as she descended the staircase.  “Where’s Uncle Dust?”

Peter
raised his coffee to his lips before answering.  “He’s still sleeping.”

“Still? 
You know what time it is, right?  Is he okay?”

“He’s…
sleeping, that’s all.”

Harmony
paused at the bottom of the stairs, studied her father for a moment, and then
pivoted to climb back up.  “Harmony Joyce Andrews, get back down here.”

His
feistiest daughter turned but didn’t leave the step.  “You used my middle
name.  You never use my middle name.”

“Well,
you usually at least pretend to listen to me.  Let your uncle sleep; he needs
his rest.  He did spend all day driving yesterday.”

Harmony
made her way to the kitchen but continued looking upstairs, reluctance clear in
her movements.  “But you wouldn’t let me stay up to talk to him last night, and
I wanted to ask him about Madison Duncan and Faith West.”

“Let’s
not talk about that, okay?”

“Dad,
are you serious?  We’re going to be talking about that for years.”

“Talking
about what for years?” Dustin asked as he entered, a hand massaging his
temples. 

“Movie
stars and pop singers,” Harmony murmured, grabbing a piece of toast and a glass
of orange juice before turning.

“God,
why is it so bright in here?  Haven’t you guys ever heard of curtains?”

When
Harmony saw her uncle, a look of concern crossed her face.  “You look awful,
Uncle Dust.”

“Gee,
thanks Harm.  Exactly what I want to hear in the morning.”  Dustin closed the
blinds on the kitchen window and leaned back against the counter with a sigh.

“No,
seriously, are you okay?”  She placed her hand against his forehead.

Dustin
flinched.  “Thanks for the concern, but I don’t need any mothering, darlin’.”

“Are
you sure about that?”  He glared at her.  “Hmph,” she said, pivoting, the long brown
curtain of her hair hitting him in the shoulder as she left the room.

“I
feel like crap,” Dustin murmured.

“Yes,
well that hair is registered as a deadly weapon.” 

“You’re
a horrible brother.”

“I’m
the only one you got, so deal with it.”  Peter opened the fridge and grabbed a
tall glass.  “Here, drink this.”

“What
is it?”

Peter
rolled his eyes.  “If I tell you, then I’ll have to kill you.”

Dustin
glared at the glass and motioned for Peter to set it down as he cradled his
head in his hands.  “How much did I drink?”

“Let’s
put it this way.  I went to the store two days ago, and we’re already out of
beer.”  Peter’s response was met with a groan.

“Oh
my gosh, he’s drunk,” Harmony said, reentering the room carrying a trash can
full of glass bottles.  “I knew it – there’s your hangover cure.  What happened? 
What’s wrong?”

“None
of your business,” Dustin growled, never even looking up.

“You
don’t have to tell me now, but I’ll find out eventually, you know.  I’m very
persuasive.”

“Harmony,
out!” Peter ordered in his most stern teacher voice.  His daughter just
shrugged her shoulders and grinned, suggesting his resistance was futile.  It
was an expression Peter knew all too well.

“Is
discretion even a word you know?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah,
nice try.  You’re the one hungover.  If you didn’t want anyone to know that,
you should have stayed in bed until we left.  I’d already convinced her not to
come find you.”

“Boys. 
Why couldn’t they have been boys ...” 

Peter
clapped a hand on Dustin’s back, causing him to flinch.  “This time maybe
you’re right.  Boys would have drank all the beer before you even came home.” 
Peter leaned close to his brother’s ear and continued in a whisper.  “We’ll be
home early since it’s a minimum day.  I suggest you get clear-headed before
then, otherwise my daughter is going to eat you alive.  And I’m going to
watch.”

“Punk
child.”

“Drink
that!” Peter ordered as he grabbed his bag and left the room.  Dustin waited
until he heard their voices depart and the front door slam before he
straightened.  He glared at the concoction sitting next to him.  He remembered
all too well what awaited him at the bottom of that glass.  He picked it up and
moved to the kitchen table, collapsing into a chair.

Damn
he hated seeing that glass.  That glass meant he’d lost control just like his grandfather
used to.  That glass meant he’d let his emotions get the better of him.  That
glass meant he’d regressed back to that foolish teenager who didn’t have any
other way to cope.  That glass was a mirror, and the reflection was anything
but welcome.

He
could count on one hand the number of times it had appeared.  When his mother
died.  After his father’s funeral.  When he’d been fired because he wouldn’t lie
to the customer.  After Darcy died, he’d been the one who broke down because
Peter couldn’t.  But the first time, almost a decade ago, right after he got
out of the hospital and off all the painkillers that might react badly with
alcohol.  He’d gotten so drunk it didn’t wear off for days.  Peter never judged
him for that, just handed him that glass when he decided he’d had enough.

Dustin
sighed.  All he had to do was see her across a restaurant and he dove into a
vat of liquor.  How could she still have so much hold over him?  He hadn’t seen
her for almost ten years, and the thought of her eyes on him had him running. 
What was he afraid of? 

He
ran a hand across his chin, feeling the stubble.  That wasn’t hard to answer,
even if he tried as hard as he could to ignore it.  Faith West within arm’s
reach had his heart racing.  He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t deny it
either.  Try as he might, he could not forget her, wasn’t really even sure he
wanted to. 

But
she wasn’t attainable; she was a symbol.   To him she represented innocence. 
The purity of first love.  The foolhardiness of youth.  The fragility of
happily ever after.  Seeing her in the flesh shattered all of his carefully constructed
illusions.  She wasn’t an abstract ideal; she was the woman that broke his
heart.

“Pull
yourself together, man,” Dustin said aloud.  This was ridiculous.  So he saw
her, Faith West, in the flesh and not on the cover of Peter’s magazines.  He’d
been dreading that for years, even if he hadn’t realized it until right now. 

And
look, he’d survived.  He’d come out the other side relatively unscathed.  She
was his Everest, and he had conquered her.  The end.  He wouldn’t have to worry
about that girl again. The question of Faith West – asked and answered.  He
grabbed the glass, threw back his head, and downed the contents, feeling
considerably lighter. 

The
doorbell rang, jarring Faith from her thoughts.  She got up to answer the door,
waving away the housekeeper, Pearl, so she could stretch.  Annoyance descended
at the sight of the man there, and she couldn’t help but fidget.  Her fingers
itched for a guitar, this time to hide behind.

“I
thought you were going to leave me in peace?”

“No,”
Jackson said, shaking his head.  “I never agreed to that.”