September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series (21 page)

and what she was doing. I answer no to
everything, anxious to get through the ritual.

Before I have a chance to start an
orderly is buzzed into our small room. She’s wearing the typical
badge and navy blue scrubs. She’s got dark chocolate skin. Her hair
is unnaturally straight and pulled back into a twist, held in place
by a wide barrette.

I don’t have to look at the contents
of the half-size plastic tray in her hands; I know why she’s here.
This is a dance I do every day, though my partner varies from day
to day.

The tray holds three small paper cups.
No one has to say, “Open.” I just do it and tilt my head back so
she can dump the contents of the first two cups into my mouth. My
pills. Next, she holds out the third cup, waiting.

I keep my hands at my sides, though I
could reach up with one if I wanted to. I’m restrained by a lap
belt and one wrist harness. They’ve been letting me keep one hand
free. Still, I never reach for anyone or anything, because I see
how it makes the guards nervous. So, I wait for her to set the cup
on the table in front of me. When she has taken her step back, I
raise the cup to my mouth and swallow the tap water inside, washing
down my prescribed medications.

Once the door has shut behind her, and
we four are once again the only people in the room, I am asked to
begin where I left off yesterday. But I feel the need to remind
them of something:

“What happened chronologically is
insignificant. It’s how I saw it that matters.” It’s the one point
that seems to stick. “My choices have always been dictated by my
perception.”

And then, I pick up near where I left
off . . .

+++

I’d been bulldozed by
another migraine over the following weekend and had missed spending
time with Jake. The store where he worked was only a half-mile from
my trailer park, in one of Carlisles’ only strip-malls. There were
two at the time: one for family shopping, complete with Movie
Theater. The one I was heading for had a selection of small
shops—the busiest of which was
Carlisle’s
Largest Hardware Store.

It was also across the street from the
Plain Jane combination convenience store and gas station. They had
a Slurpee machine. My plan was to walk there first and pop-in on
Jake at the hardware store on my way home.

The tour would be starting soon and I
wanted to spend as much time as I could with him. I didn’t know how
if he’d want to stay a few weeks in California or come right back.
Either way, I was looking at a stretch of time without Jake and
that had me on edge.

The tall cup that held my Cherry Coke
flavored Slurpee was sweating as I crossed the blacktop. Wisps of
blurred heat looked like puddles of stagnant water at the edges of
the lot. I kept a steady pace across the blacktop, clinging to my
oversized cup, until the whoosh of controlled air swept over me at
the stores’ entrance. It was cooler inside, but not by
much.

There was a salt and pepper
haired woman in a green work vest manning the register. Her name
tag said
BECKY
.
She greeted me, offered to help me find whatever I needed, and I
waved her off. I stayed in the main aisle near the front, sweeping
down each row in search of Jake. I found him near the back of the
store, in the open area, surrounded by hanging plants and patio
furniture. His back was to me. I wanted to sneak up and throw my
arms around his waist, but when I got closer, I saw he wasn’t
alone. He was standing beside an older guy, maybe mid-forties with
shaggy blond hair, who was dressed in worn-looking jeans and faded
brown work boots. Jake was holding a large book, one of the
catalogues the store carried. He seemed to be in deep conversation
as he rested one of his big feet on a low pile of dry cement bags,
pointing at a page in the catalogue. The man leaned back against a
large flatbed cart that was stacked with black tubing, and
flagstones.

“Hey, you,” a voice whispered from
behind me.

I turned towards the sound of my name.
Troy Bleecher was standing a few feet up the aisle. I waved
robotically and turned back to wait for Jake. He hadn’t seen me yet
and I didn’t want to distract him, so I stayed planted where I was,
several yards up the long aisle.

Soon, Troy was standing beside me.
“That’s my dad.” He gestured, keeping his gaze fixed
ahead.

“That’s my boyfriend,” I muttered,
unintentionally mocking Troy’s tone.

“I know,” he said, and turned to look
at me. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

My brow furrowed. I never talked to
Troy Bleecher. Not since our one date last year, when I found out
that he told half our school that he slept with me.

“For Rosa; she’s kind of a bitch. And
for me, too, for the way I acted. What I said was messed
up.”

“Oh,” I murmured, remembering the way
he scared the crap out of me in the quad the week before. Maybe he
delivered apologies in bulk? “Okay.”

I turned back to Jake and found he was
watching me. What little cool air there was inside the open garden
area became heated with the stare Jake was giving.

Troy’s dad called him and he walked
off after him, the two heading for the register.

My grin was uncontainable as Jake
sauntered up the aisle towards me. I held out my sweaty cup of
Slurpee. Jake leaned in, locking eyes with me in that salacious way
that he had and took a long sip. I could tell by the lack of frosty
bubbles in the clear straw that my drink was nearly melted. Once
his lips released the straw, they took mine. His mouth was cold as
his warm hands affectionately grabbed my face, holding me in place.
His tongue burst between my lips, filling my mouth with the cool
cherry soda flavor and igniting my blood.

When I stepped into his grasp, wanting
to deepen the kiss, he pulled away. “Tastes good,” he grinned,
taking the drink from my hand. I watched him take another long
pull. “Good day?”

I nodded my head. “No more headache.
Want me to go get you one?”

Jake shook his head with the straw
piercing one side of his mouth. “I already got one.” I giggled at
the silly, mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

He looked around the store, in front
and behind us, then swooped down on me again, closing his lips
around mine and pouring cool melted Slurpee into my mouth. I threw
my arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Missed this.” He mumbled against my
lips. And then his fingers, wet with condensation from the cup,
were sweeping down my cheek. He pulled away. “Okay. No more or I’ll
get in trouble.” I wanted to fake a pout but just
grinned.

“You know Troy?”

“No,” I shrugged. “Well, not
really.”

“What were you talking
about?”

I shook my head, “Nothing. I think he
was trying to be nice.”

“Nice? Troy-Shithead-Bleecher? What’d
he say?” Jake’s eyebrows shot up with interest.

I didn’t want to get into it. I
couldn’t remember if I ever told him about my one date and there
was no way I was mentioning the thing with Rosa. Jake would get
upset and there was nothing he could do to keep it from happening
again. Besides, I was pretty sure Avery had taken care of
it.

“He told me you were talking to his
dad.”

Jakes bright hazel eyes darkened. “I
hate that guy.”

“Troy’s dad?”

“No. Troy. He talked some shit to my
little brother. Can you believe that? A fucking senior picking on a
handicapped freshman? The second he’s eighteen, I’m kicking his
ass. And I don’t want you talking to him, either.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.” He took my hand and pulled.
“Come on.”

I followed him towards the back patio
area that was teeming with young trees and hanging plants. He led
the way to the last section of patio furniture near a back corner
and stopped in front a covered bench swing. Taking a seat, Jake
patted the spot beside him.

The moment I sat down, he hooked his
hand behind my neck and yanked me in for another kiss. It was too
quick to enjoy anything beyond the initial spark of
contact.

“So what’s up?” he asked, eyes now
shining. “Did you miss me or something?”

I took the drink from him. “Nope. Not
one bit.”

He laughed and pressed his feet into
the cement floor. Starting the swing. “Angel, will you move to
California with me?”

I burst into a surprised
laugh.

Jake stopped the swing. “Don’t laugh.
I’m serious. Angel, I need you to come to California with
me.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “You’re
staying out there? For sure?” It was the fear and possibility that
lingered in my mind since I learned how far away the tour would
take them.

“I’m gotta try. You’ll be eighteen in
another couple months. Aged out of the system. No one will come
looking for you. We can stay there, together.”

“But school—”

“Is out in a few weeks.”

“I’ll miss my graduation.” Not that I
gave crap about it. If Jake wasn’t going to be there clapping for
me, it didn’t matter if I walked. But I’d have to leave Avery. The
Foster. And as much as that scared me, I was considering it.
Seriously leaning towards an emphatic ‘yes!’ because if Jake was
going, I needed to be where he was.

“You don’t have to come right away. If
you want, you can wait until schools’ out. But I won’t be able to
be at your ceremony. I have to go. It’s now or never for
me.”

“Why? I mean, why so
sudden?”

He grinned. “Not so sudden. My world
keeps spinning even when you’re stuck at home. I’ve been talking to
a guy named Pierce. He works at a label out in L.A. It’s an
independent, but they’ve got distribution. He was visiting his
cousin who lives down the street from me. He heard us practicing,
Angel. He’s gonna come to our shows in Tempe and Glendale, to watch
the auditions. If he likes what he sees, he wants us out in L.A.,
working the scene. He’ll sign us, babe.”

A shiver of fear rippled through me.
First the big tour with Anemic Psychos and now this. It was
starting. This was happening: everything Jake ever wanted might
suddenly be within his reach. Yeah, it was only an indie label, but
that was just a beginning.

I knew there was no way that Pierce
guy was going to walk away. Talent was talent and label reps never
showed their hand. They always acted like they were doing you a
favor. But the band had also never been so ready. Pierce was
probably worried they’d get snatched up by someone else, which if
true, meant there might be more than one shark in the
water.

It was easy for the guys in Analog
Controller to pick up and go. They were all out of school. The
lease on their place would expire in another month. None of the
guys were seriously involved in anything other than music and
replaceable jobs. Except Jake. He’d tethered himself to
me.

And he wanted me to go. He was
asking.

“Okay.” I breathed, feeling how easy
it was to give him what he wanted. I wanted it too, more than
anything.

“Fuck, yeah, baby! We’re moving!” He
clapped his hands and whooped before leaning in to really let me
have it; a long, open-mouth, send-the-fire-through-to-my-toes kiss.
I melted into his expert touch.

He mumbled against my lips. “Deanna
working tonight?”

“Yes,” I mumbled back.

“Good. We’ll celebrate.”