August and Everything After Read online

  “Heeey!” she says too loudly and cheerily. “Is Malcolm here?”

  Malcolm appears in the kitchen doorway in a flash. Either he heard the garage door open or Miss Lycra’s peppy voice. My heart yammers as he approaches, and the nervous look he shoots me when she throws her arms around him in a too-tight embrace does nothing to calm me down.

  “Tamara, hey,” Malcolm says as he peels her off him. “This is Quinn. She’s my—”

  He hesitates, and I bail him out.

  “His drummer. I’m his drummer. We were wrapping up a rehearsal.” I jut out my hand in a clumsy, and perhaps slightly aggressive, way that startles her.

  When she recovers, she takes my hand.

  “Nice to meet you.” she says.

  “Same,” I say. I look back and forth between Malcolm and Tamara, trying to guess their story. But since I already know the part where she has the code to his garage, do I really need to know more? No. I don’t. I sling my bag over my shoulder and grab my untouched snacks.

  “I should go. I don’t want to be late for work.” Then I walk away as quickly as I can without running down the driveway and don’t stop until I get to my car.

  “Quinn, wait!” I hear Malcolm call as I slam the door shut. I watch him in the rearview mirror, jogging toward me.

  I lock the doors and turn the key, but of course my car chooses this exact moment to stall. Malcolm is beside my car now, banging on my window. I twist the key a second time and the engine turns over, but I can’t drive away. Not with all these thoughts percolating like Pop Rocks in my brain. I can’t let this moment become any more awkward than it already is.

  As soon as I roll down the window, Malcolm takes a step back, runs a hand through his hair, and begins talking in a rush.

  “Back there, it isn’t what you think. I can explain.”

  I force a smile. “There’s nothing to explain, really. It’s… I gotta get to work. Thanks for the cheesesteaks. See you at practice on Sunday.”

  Before Malcolm can say another word, I drive away slowly, carefully, acutely aware that there are kids around here who play ball in the streets and cruise around on bikes and may not always pay attention to oncoming traffic.

  NINETEEN

  “What’s up with you tonight, Q? You’re acting weirder than usual, and that’s saying a lot.”

  Liam’s right. I’m flustered but still trying to pay attention. We stand behind the sound board as the first band sound checks and Liam explains how to mic the instruments and get all the levels right. He thought it would be a good idea for me to learn in case there’s ever an emergency and I have to fill in. I’m honored that he trusts me enough to let me encroach on his turf. Maybe that’s why I open up unexpectedly.

  “I had a strange practice over at Malcolm’s place today.”

  He looks at me, concerned.

  “Strange how?” I open my mouth to answer as the guitarist cranks out a loud rift. Liam puts up one finger. “Hold that thought.” He moves some levers on the board. “I’m adjusting the levels. Turning down the guitar and boosting the bass,” he explains. Then he turns toward the band. “Try that again, guitar and bass together.”

  The band complies. The guitarist doesn’t look happy.

  “I need a little more of me and less of him,” he says, nodding to the bassist.

  “Oh, of course he does,” Liam mumbles. “He’s wrong, but I’ll give him what he wants for now.” Then he tells the band to run through a song. He turns to me when they start to play. “Back to the strangeness at Malcolm’s. You didn’t have sex, did you?”

  My cheeks turn instantly red. “God, Liam, no. What would make you say something like that?”

  “Oh, I dunno, maybe the palpable sexual tension every time you two are together. I mean, he gave you the code to his garage. I didn’t get the code.”

  “It’s for convenience. So I can play drums there whenever I want.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it these days? Playing drums. I thought it was Netflix and chill. Who knew?” Liam shrugs and gives me that wry smile of his.

  “Quit teasing,” I say.

  “Look, if you like him, go for it. Avoid all the angsty buildup.” He’s being serious.

  “First, who says I even like him?”

  Liam shoots me his give me a break face. I keep talking.

  “Okay, so I like him, but that leads to my second point. Wouldn’t that screw up the band? And third, I’m not the only girl with the code to Malcolm’s garage.”

  Liam’s riveted. “Really? No shit. Tell me everything.”

  We’re interrupted by the guitarist. “Hey, can you double-check my vocal mic? I can’t hear myself.”

  “Diva,” Liam mumbles and moves a lever. “Sure! Try it now.”

  I lower my voice while the guitarist sings a few lines a cappella.

  “She arrived in all her pink Lycra glory while I was there.”

  “What did Malcolm do?”

  “Chased me to my car. He wanted to explain.”

  “Then you should let him. Look, I’m far from being an expert about this stuff, but I can tell you that last year I caused a misunderstanding between my sister and Connor. This was before he was her boyfriend, when she was still dating Andrew. I thought I was protecting her, but the situation snowballed, and in the end, I almost got her killed. As it is, she got in a bad car accident. I’m not proud of what I did, I feel guilty every day, but I learned that a lot of mistakes can be avoided by talking about stuff before things get away from you.”

  “Wow. What happened?”

  “Connor and I got in a screaming match. Lucy got so pissed off at us both that she took off driving in a bad rainstorm. She was hit broadside in an intersection.” Liam can’t look at me. “It could have been so much worse. Thank God it wasn’t. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  Maybe Malcolm was right about the three of us having some kind of special chemistry. We should call our trio “Albatross” with all the proverbial guilt we have hanging around our necks.

  My silence makes Liam nervous.

  “What? You think I’m a jerk now. I shouldn’t have told you,” he says.

  “Nope. I think you made me forget why I ever thought you were a douchebag.”

  “Wait, what? You thought I was a douchebag?”

  “Don’t worry. It didn’t last long.” I put my arm around him and give him a side squeeze. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. Hey, if things don’t pan out with Malcolm, I’ll introduce you to Andrew. I think you two would really hit it off.” Again with Andrew. Liam puts his arm around my waist and returns my side hug as the band finishes their song.

  “Uh, I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” the guitarist says into the mic.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” says a voice behind me. Malcolm.

  When I turn around, he’s standing there looking equal parts angry and sad.

  “Can we talk? Outside?”

  When we push through the exit, Malcolm walks toward the back of the building, away from the streetlights and into the shadows of the alley behind the bar. When he stops to face me, I don’t give him a chance to talk.

  I take two steps forward to close the space between us. I put one hand on his shoulder and with the other, I reach up to caress his neck and jawline. His pupils widen and a question flashes in his eyes right before my lips touch his. It takes him a few seconds to return my kiss—I’m pretty sure I startled him—but when he does, he grabs my hips, pulls me close, and slips his hands into my back pockets. As our bodies collide, something better than goose bumps, or electricity, or butterflies passes between us. It’s more like a click. The sound of puzzle pieces falling into place.

  “I thought I wasn’t allowed to kiss you?” he asks when we finally separate.

  “I kissed you.
You were kissing me back.”

  He puts his hands on my shoulders and touches my forehead with his.

  “I have to say, when I walked in here tonight and saw you with Liam, well…this was the last thing I expected.”

  “Liam’s totally in love with his girlfriend. He was giving me advice about you.”

  “Me?”

  I nod. “I was kind of upset when I got here tonight.”

  “I figured. I know Tamara showing up like that looked bad, but it’s not what you think. She was someone I knew before rehab. Someone I hadn’t treated very nicely. I was trying to make amends.”

  “By giving her the code to your garage?”

  “I did that before I met you. I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

  “Okay, I get it. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “Look, I’m not going to say she and I never hung out. She used to get me scrips for pills. Her mother’s a dentist and I don’t know how she pulled it off… Anyway, I was more interested in the pills than her. That was when I was more interested in pills than anything or anyone around me. I did a lot of stuff I wasn’t proud of, including stealing cash from my parents and crashing real estate open houses and searching peoples’ medicine cabinets to get high.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” I try to turn away from him, but he puts his hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes.

  “I’m telling you this because it’s been a long time since I cared about what anyone else thought of me. What you think of me matters, Cat’s Eye, and I want to be honest with you,” he says. “The reason Tamara stopped by tonight was to give me these.”

  Malcolm reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a Ziploc bag with four oval white pills. The bag is snack size, the kind that should be holding Goldfish crackers or pretzels, not painkillers.

  “Why would she give you this? She knows you’re recovering, right? Why didn’t you give them back?” The hairs on my neck prickle. Maybe I shouldn’t have rushed into that kiss.

  Malcolm closes his hand around the bag.

  “I asked her for them a while ago. Before I met you, before I started writing songs again. I…I wanted a few around for an emergency. I would never take them, but somehow knowing that I could if I wanted to, made me feel better. On the way over here, I realized I’m not strong enough to keep these around. It would be like being on a diet and having a refrigerator stocked with all of my favorite junk foods. I know it’s asking a lot, but would you hold them for me?”

  I kind of knew what he was talking about. I carry a Xanax with me at all times, just in case. A lot of people with anxiety do the same thing. Knowing it’s there calms me down, but taking them makes me feel weak. I explain this to Malcolm.

  “So you get it?” he says. “Sort of?”

  I nod. “But it’s different for me. I take Xanax to stop panic attacks, not to get high. They give me such a killer headache when they wear off that I hate taking them. I’ve never been addicted to them or anything else.”

  He laces his fingers with mine and pulls me close. Until now, maybe.

  “Well then, you’re lucky.”

  Am I? I’m not so sure about that or anything else for that matter. But Malcolm’s lips touch mine again, and all thoughts, good or bad, dissipate like rain on the sidewalk on a hot summer day.

  “So,” he says. “You’ll hold these for me?”

  I open my hand, and he gives me the Ziploc bag. It’s just four pills, I think as I shove them into my front pocket. So why do they feel so heavy?

  TWENTY

  Back inside, I seesaw between anticipation at seeing Malcolm again and worry that he’s on the verge of doing something stupid. Malcolm’s on his way to meet with his sponsor at an all-night diner, but I can’t help thinking he shouldn’t be alone tonight, or any night. How’s he going to go on the road by himself this fall? Are there other Tamaras out there who can hook him up with painkillers? The inherent danger is right there in the name, isn’t it? And yet, one good toothache can score you a prescription that could lead to an addiction.

  Even with all these thoughts swirling in my brain, the rush from kissing Malcolm has yet to wear off, and I guess it shows.

  “Hey, baby girl,” Arnie says when I bring him his drink.

  Being called baby girl by anybody else would be creepy, but somehow, coming from Arnie, it’s benign. Elmo really is an apropos nickname.

  “What’s going on, Arnie?”

  “Other than breathing? Not much. Not much. But look at you. Your light is on tonight. You got a secret you’re not telling us?”

  “No secrets, Arnie. I’m an open book.”

  Arnie chuckles, but he’s right. I do have secrets—about Lynn, about why I wear my bracelet, about what happened with my band teacher—and Malcolm is one of the few people who knows about more than one of those. Now Malcolm’s secrets are becoming mine too. Maybe it’s time to come clean with my aunt about his stint in rehab since it’s clear his struggles aren’t over and he’s becoming more involved in my life.

  I wait until my break, then step outside to call Auntsie.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks by way of greeting. This is what happens when you mostly communicate by text.

  “Everything’s fine. Malcolm’s having a bad night, and I was thinking I should check on him after work.”

  “Bad night how?”

  I planned to tell her about Malcolm being a recovering addict and the pills in my pocket. After all, that’s why I called her. I almost tell her, but it’s late, and it’s complicated, and in the end, I chicken out. I’ll tell her eventually, I promise myself. Because I know keeping something this huge from my aunt is wrong.

  “He says he’s been thinking about the accident a lot more lately. He seems kind of sad and lonely. I think he could use some company tonight.”

  “And let me guess, that company is you?”

  “I was thinking I should stop by after work.”

  “At one in the morning?” There’s a long pause. “Quinn, baby. I worry about you driving around at all hours. I worry, period.”

  “I’ll text when I get there and again on my way home.”

  Auntsie lets out a long breath. “Go. Text me.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “Spare me the flattery and use a condom.”

  “Auntsie!”

  “Kidding. No, I’m not. Be careful. If anything ever happened to you—”

  “Auntsie, nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  “Love you,” she says.

  “Love you too.”

  I text Malcolm before I go back inside Keegan’s.

  Can I stop by after work?

  I’ll leave the kitchen door open.

  Our exchange gives me the peace of mind I need to get through the rest of my shift. On my way out the door, I tell Liam to have a good time at the wedding. He replies with a groan. “See you Sunday. Hope you get some drum practice in before then.”

  I throw a stray piece of Chex Mix at him, stick out my tongue, and head toward the door.

  Malcolm’s neighborhood is eerie quiet when I step out of my car. I look up and down the street, afraid I might hear the tinkling of girlish laugher or the sound of a bike bell. Was that only this morning?

  I hustle up the driveway before my thoughts and imagination get away from me. I botch the garage door code on the first attempt and have to reenter it. Once inside, I walk/run to the kitchen door, which is wide open. The house, like the neighborhood, is too still, and the only light comes from the giant flat screen. I spot Malcolm, headphones on, sprawled on the oversized sofa in front of the television. He smiles and opens his arms when I step between him and the screen. I lay down beside him, and he puts his arm around me and kisses the top of my head.

  “Whatcha watching?” I ask.


  He pulls off the headphones and turns up the sound.

  “Pulp Fiction. It’s genius. Want me to start it from the beginning?”

  “It’s okay. I’ll catch on.”

  I lay my head against his chest and listen to the soft chuh, chuh, chuh of his heart. He doesn’t ask why I stopped by, or if I still have the pills he asked me to hold. I don’t ask about his meeting with his sponsor or whether or not he can handle being on the road by himself this fall. We just stare in comfortable silence at the images on the screen until I start to doze off and he strokes the side of my face with his knuckles.

  Dazed, I sit up and try to chase the sleep away. My heart thrums with fear. I was starting to fall into my familiar Lynn nightmare.

  “Why don’t you stay?” he asks.

  “I told my aunt I’d be home. I have to be up early tomorrow for work.”

  “Call her. I’ll make sure you’re up.”

  I reach for my phone and suddenly remember that I was supposed to text when I got here.

  “Shit.” I whisper.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” I fire off a quick text to Auntsie.

  Sorry!!! I forgot to text when I got here. Don’t be mad. Is it okay if I stay over?

  I wince when I send it. She texts back in seconds. Only because I don’t want you driving. We’ll talk tomorrow.

  Then I lie back against Malcolm, my body relaxing as it was before.

  I wake up when I hear the sliding glass door opening and squint to see Malcolm stepping onto the deck. I reach for my bedazzled vintage glasses on the coffee table, gather up the plush Mets blanket I’m wrapped in, and follow him. The bay, the treetops, and Malcolm all are shadowed against the pale orange light inching up the horizon. The deck is wet with dew and for a second, I think about retreating to get my shoes, but Malcolm looks over his shoulder and sees me.