Some Kind of Normal Page 13

  I shook my head and groaned. What was this? We’d had the birds and the bees talk years ago, and it consisted of Dad buying me a box of condoms and telling me to “use them, goddammit. Your mother and I are too young to be grandparents.”

  “No, Dad, we’re not having sex.” Not yet, anyway. “And can we talk about something else? Gee, way to kill the mood.”

  Dad steered the car with the palm of his hand—something he would have given me shit over—and turned off of Everly’s street before heading toward Main.

  “Where we going?” Obviously in the wrong direction.

  It was early yet, just after eight, and we had at least another hour and a half of sunlight.

  “Thought we’d hit some balls.”

  Surprised, but in a good way, I shrugged. “Sounds good, but we don’t have our clubs.”

  “Threw them in the trunk when you were showing Everly how the dog plays dead.”

  “Okay,” I replied, wondering what this was all about. He was a pretty crappy golfer. My mom was the superstar in our family, and I don’t think I’d ever gone to hit balls with him before.

  “I’m probably going to suck,” I said.

  Dad snorted. “It’s like riding a bike, Trev. You’re way too natural of an athlete to forget how to line up a ball and hit it.”

  Yeah, but the last time I’d been on a golf course, my knee hadn’t been screwed up. I didn’t think I was going to be all that stellar, but the thought of spending an hour or so hitting balls with my dad was a good one.

  The driving range was still fairly busy, but we managed to find two spots side by side. I changed my shoes (Dad had thought of everything), grabbed my clubs, and set up shop by a couple of older ladies who gave us the stink eye as we walked by. Didn’t blame them. Dad looked like he could ride with the Hells Angels with his sleeved tattoos and shaved head. And me? I guess they weren’t exactly used to dudes with blue streaks in their hair.

  I gave them a wave, smiled that smile my grandmother liked to boast about, and asked them how they were doing.

  That was that. Ice was broken. They smiled in return, said it was a perfect night to hit balls, and then complimented me on my clubs.

  I saw the way my dad rolled his eyes when he brought over a couple of buckets of balls, and I tried not to laugh. As much as the whole charm thing seemed to have landed on me in spades, apparently it skipped a generation, and he’d never been hit with that particular stick.

  I grabbed my seven iron and took a few practice swings. Felt good. Got into the groove. Sent the ball flying. Once I was warmed up, I took out my driver and lined up my shot. My knee was starting to throb a bit, so I adjusted my footing. I took a moment and then, with gentle wrists (the secret, according to my mom), sent the ball straight down, well over 250 feet. Heck, practically 300.

  The ladies beside me gushed about my form and asked if I belonged to the local country club. I’d had a junior membership years ago, but music had kind of taken over, and other than football, I’d pretty much given up on sports.

  I laughed, shook my head, and said no. They were shocked when I told them I hadn’t picked up a club in nearly two years. The tall, thinner lady gave me a second look, her eyes softening a bit as she placed her club back into her bag.

  “Are you that boy who was in the bad car accident last summer?”

  I nodded, not knowing what to say really. It had been a long time since anyone had brought up the accident with me.

  She glanced behind me. “I recognize your daddy from pictures in the paper.” She winked. “How wonderful to see you out here. You’re looking good as new.”

  I shoved a tee into my pocket. Looks could be deceiving.

  “Thanks,” I said, giving them a wave as they headed back to their car. We were losing the light and maybe had twenty minutes left.

  Dad moved over just then. “I’m outta balls.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, half of them are in the trees.”

  “True,” he said. “But golf’s never been my strong suit. It’s more your mama’s game.”

  I glanced in my bucket. “You want some of mine?”

  “Nah. You’re doing good. I’ll watch.”

  I shrugged. “Your call.”

  I grabbed some more balls from the bucket. After sending them straight ahead, all within ten to fifteen feet of each other, I paused, aware that my dad was watching me in that way that told me there was something on his mind.

  I set up another ball.

  “I heard you playing your guitar this morning.”

  And just like that, any ease that I’d had slipped away like water down the drain. My muscles cramped, my knee throbbed like hell, and, well, the gentle wrists went the way of the dinosaur.

  I swung my club, angry he would bring something like that up out here. Golf was sacred—what part of that didn’t he get? I chopped at it and the ball hopped to the left, jumping a few feet before coming to a standstill.

  Glaring, I turned around because I wanted my dad to know I wasn’t impressed with his choice of conversation. But his eyes were dark and I saw the concern. It was a look I’d seen way too many times, and even though the anger was still there, rumbling beneath my skin like his Harley, I couldn’t act on it.

  “I sounded like crap.”

  I would be lying if I didn’t say that I was waiting for him to tell me the opposite. You know, butter me up a bit. Inflate the ego when it was sagging. But that wasn’t my dad. The guy had no tact, but you had to give him points for always being honest and direct. He’d told me once that anything other than the truth was a waste of time. That time wasn’t always on our side, so why waste it?

  “Can I do anything to help?” he asked gruffly.

  I placed another ball on the tee. “Nope.” And sent it sailing up the green.

  “Are you worried?”

  “Jesus, Dad. Are we really going to have this conversation here? Now?”

  “Is there a better time?”

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “When?”

  “Never,” I whispered to myself.

  I stared down into my bucket and fought the urge to send the stupid thing flying. I was in the mood to hit something, but it sure as hell wasn’t balls.

  “Trevor.”

  I cut him off. “Of course I’m worried and pissed off and a whole lot of other stuff that I can’t even name.”

  Something let loose inside me, something nasty, and I tossed my club. It hit my bag and sent it flying, and I watched my dad bend over to straighten it.

  “I haven’t told Nate that I suck. He has no idea that the thought of performing in front of a bunch of kids scares the crap out of me because I’m not so sure that I can remember half the notes to a simple AC/DC song. They’re, like, three chords. And even when I do, sometimes my fingers won’t do what I’m telling them to do anyway, so why even try?”

  The driving range was now empty, so there was no one out here to hear my tirade. No one except my dad, who stood a few feet away, his eyes intense as they studied me.

  “You’re getting better, Trevor. But it’s going to take time, and your mother and I, well, we…” He cleared his throat, and I knew this was just as hard for him. Must suck to look at your kid and know he’s defective.

  “What?” I asked, but I knew where this was going.

  My dad ran his hands over his head, big beefy hands that had no hair to smooth. It was a nervous gesture. I hated seeing him like this.

  “I know we had a deal. Pass your government test, collect your diploma, and you could leave for New York with our blessing, but Trevor, the seizure changes things.”

  Something ticked behind my right eye as I clenched and unclenched my hands. I hated that word almost as much as I hated those three little letters, the ones I saw when I closed my eyes: TBI. “It was one seizure,” I finally
got out.

  “There could be more.”

  “You think I don’t know that? It’s all I think about. The only time it goes away is when I’m with Everly.” My right eye was throbbing as much as my knee, and I dragged in a big gulp of air. “Music is my life, Dad. New York and Nathan was my plan. It still is my plan. How do you expect me to get to where I’m supposed to be if you take New York away from me?”

  He took those few steps until he was inches from me, and my throat tightened when I saw his eyes. They were glassy and shiny. Geez, I wasn’t sure if I could deal with this right now. How could I keep it together when he was about to lose it?

  “I’m not taking anything away from you. Trevor, I would give my right arm if it meant that you could have your dreams. Hell, I would cut both of them off if that’s what it takes to give you everything you want. Everything that you deserve. But we gotta be realistic here. It might be time…” He scrubbed at his face. “Ah, hell.”

  “Time for what?” I could barely get the words out.

  “It might be time for a plan B, Trevor. Time to maybe find another dream.”

  I couldn’t believe he was saying this to me. I squeezed my eyes shut and struggled to keep my shit together.

  “I don’t have another dream, Dad. Music, that’s it. That’s all I got.”

  I felt empty saying it and kind of sick to my stomach too. Because the raw truth of it was exactly that. Music was everything to me. Always had been. What was I going to do if I couldn’t get it back? Who would I be?

  Nobody.

  Pain stretched across my chest, and before I could help myself, I bent over and vomited into the grass. I heaved until there was nothing left inside me, and when I finally wiped my hand across my mouth and slowly straightened, my dad was there.

  His massive arms wrapped around my shoulders, bands of steel that were hard and safe. I let him hold me and felt his body shudder as he tried to keep his grief inside, but it was impossible. As much as my dad was tough on the outside, he could cry at the drop of a hat. It’s where he got his nickname, Teddy Bear. But that’s who my dad was…he was that guy. The one who cared so much, his feelings had a hard time staying inside.

  I let him hold me just like he used to do when I was a kid and was hurt or upset. He probably needed it just as much as I did, because I knew that if he could, he’d chop his arm off and offer it up to whatever god he thought would make things right.

  But out here under a blanket of stars that lit up a hot Louisiana night, I think we both realized that there was no easy answer. No easy way. That’s the thing about action and consequence. You have to learn to deal with it or you’ll go crazy.

  My deal? I knew the odds were against me. Most people never made a complete recovery after a TBI, and now with the seizure sitting pretty on my résumé, things were worse than they were a week ago.

  A year ago, I’d felt extraordinary, on the verge of something big. Nothing could touch me. Nate, Link, Brent, and I were kings.

  And then we weren’t.

  Now, I was less than ordinary, and for the first time since I’d come out of the coma, it hit me. Really hit me. Less than ordinary. Three words that carried some heavy weight.

  They weren’t words that floated around in my head like clouds moving across a lazy summer sky. Words with no tangible meaning. They were words that hit hard. They burrowed beneath my skin and penetrated the screwed-up brain inside my head.

  I might be stuck at less than ordinary for the rest of my life, and less than ordinary was now some kind of normal for me.

  At seventeen. How the hell do you deal with that?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Everly

  The crap thing about floating on a cloud is that eventually the cloud dissipates and there’s nothing left to keep you up there, suspended above a life you no longer recognize. There’s only the fall and the hope that nothing gets hurt on the way down.

  I’d been falling since Wednesday night, and so far the ride down had been gentle enough, but this is my life we’re talking about, so I should have known things would get rough.

  Friday started off okay. I managed to score the last of the strawberry freezer jam for my toast. Win!

  The sun was shining. Double win!

  And the kiss that rocked my world was still percolating in my brain, summoning sighs and smiles when it wasn’t exactly appropriate. Case in point. The night before at dinner, while my parents went about their charade, Mom making small talk and Dad looking like he actually cared, my mind drifted to the old mill. I closed my eyes and could practically feel the heat of the sun, Trevor’s sweat-slicked skin, and the ache his kiss left me with.

  “Why is your face all screwed up?” That was from my little brother, who was in the process of making an epic smiley face out of his mashed potatoes.

  “It’s not.”

  “It kind of is,” Dad said.

  “No,” I said, digging into my food. “It’s not.” My tone said “don’t bother me,” and I tuned out the rest of their conversation. The good thing about all the tension at home was that it was a lot easier for me to get away with being a bitch. Mom was afraid to say anything because she was guarding her secret and didn’t want me to spill, and Dad was just confused. I guess he thought if he left me alone, I’d eventually morph back into the girl he knew.

  Funny how lies do that to people.

  But now it was the Friday of the long weekend, and there was a world of possibilities before me.

  Trevor hadn’t asked me to go to the Fourth of July celebrations with him. Or the cookout down at the park. Or the overnight trip to Link’s parents’ cottage near Baton Rouge. There was still time…right?

  Dad had already left for his part-time gig at the used car dealership in town. I know. But he was surprisingly good at it, mostly because everyone trusted the pastor. If only they knew.

  Mom came down for breakfast already dressed, which surprised me. She’d taken some time off work since her episode, and as far as I knew, she wasn’t due back to her office job until after the long weekend.

  She didn’t say a word about the crumbs left on the table or the fact that I’d put the empty jar of jam back in the fridge. She even overlooked the coffee grounds smeared across the garbage container.

  Something was up. I wasn’t sure it was a good up or a bad up, but when she took a sip of coffee and cleared her throat, I knew right then that I wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

  “I hear they’re calling for rain this weekend.”

  Okay, opening with the weather wasn’t a good sign at all.

  “What’s going on, Mom?” I so didn’t want to play games with her. Not now. Not when I knew that she played by a whole set of rules I knew nothing about.

  She opened her mouth to say something but sighed instead and took another sip of coffee, her eyes settled on me over the rim of her cup. She looked tired. Sad and maybe a little scared. She finished her coffee and set her mug on the counter, pushing at it with her forefinger until it was a safe distance away from the edge.

  She was starting to freak me out a little bit.

  “Mom?”

  “The weather looks good in New England,” she said softly.

  Wait. What?

  “For the long weekend, I mean.”

  I stared at her for so long that she shifted, her eyes sliding away from mine.

  “Maybe longer.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Everly…I can’t…I need some time away to think things through.”

  “I’m not going with you.”

  “I thought I could stay here and things would just go back to the way they were before but—”

  “I’m not going with you.” My heart was beating nearly out of my chest, and I took a step backward, legs crashing into a chair and sending it skittering across th
e linoleum floor until it rested against the pantry door. New England? With her brother and his five kids? No. Way.

  “I just can’t. I need to be away from your father, because I can’t breathe when I’m around him. I can’t function. I can’t think.”

  “You seemed to do a good job of it last night.” My voice rose as anger clogged my throat. “Both of you. Acting as if everything is great and wonderful and, you know, normal.”

  “Yes, well, pretending is hard.”

  “No kidding. I’ve been doing it for over four hundred days. Do you know how long that is? Four. Hundred. Days. It’s like an eternity. My entire senior year was a big fat lie.”

  She smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt and tightened her ponytail. Was that gray I saw threaded through her dark hair?

  “I understand this has been hard on you, and I can’t apologize enough for my lapse in judgment, for what I put you through, but…” She frowned. “You never did…the other day… you didn’t tell me how you knew.” She sniffled. “About your father, I mean.”

  “I didn’t tell you because you didn’t ask. You didn’t ask because you’d just overdosed on sleeping pills.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Jesus, Mom. Cut the crap. You can lie to yourself all you want, but don’t lie to me.” I shook my head. “Not anymore. I mean, what else is there for me to know?”

  Something in her face changed, and my stomach dipped at the look in her eyes. I was cold, which was ridiculous because it was hot in here. So. Freaking. Hot.

  “What else is there?” I asked angrily.

  But she was all closed up tighter than a locked box. She cleared her throat again and grabbed the rag from the sink. Guess my crumbs were finally getting to her.

  “You will not take the Lord’s name in vain again. Do you understand me?”

  Unbelievable. That’s what she was going to focus on?

  “I need you to pack your things,” she said briskly.

  “I’m not going with you,” I said again, the tears in my eyes sitting heavy in my throat as well. “Trevor…he needs me.”