Abby Road (43 page)

I woke up bathed in refreshing tears, happier than I’d ever been.

The last weekend in November, Lindsey came into town again. At my request.

When she’d visited me a few weeks before, while Steve and the boys were at Disney World, there wasn’t much for her to do; we still weren’t really speaking.

This visit was different. We talked about everything. Her secondary undertaking was to help me pick out a new couch. It wasn’t the most popular color of the season, but I insisted on brown. “I want to feel like I’m in Dad’s cave,” I described. “You know, comforting, with big fluffy pillows.” I turned the page of the Pottery Barn catalog we were flipping through as the two of us laid belly down in the middle of my naked living room. Other decorating magazines and catalogs were strewn around us.

“I want some cool chairs, too. One has to be red. And a coffee table.” I rolled onto my knees, animated, using my hands to explain. “And one of those groovy leather cocktail ottomans.”

Lindsey lifted her chin and looked up at me. She had tears in her eyes.

Max was in meetings the next afternoon, so the band had time off. Hal volunteered to tag along with my sister and me on our shopping spree. He was absolutely adamant about handpicking my new TV, which was fine by me. I couldn’t tell a back-projection thingamabob from a digital-resolution-whatever.

“Now’s not the time to be frugal, duchess,” Hal said after he playfully jabbed an elbow into my ribs. We were standing before a never-ending wall of screens. “If you’re gonna do it, do it right.” He pointed at one screen. It was enormous. I was overwhelmed. “Seventy-inch plasma, ten-eighty-P, anti-glare, surround-sound compatible.”

“I have no idea what language you just spoke, Hal.”

“It’s a totally sweet system.” His eyes lowered as he pushed buttons on the long, black remote.

I snatched it from him. “Which channel is Lifetime?”

“You’re
such
a
chick
.” He gagged, grabbing the remote back from me and flipping through channels. “This is full HD.” He stopped on a channel showing a football game. “It’s like actually being there.” He sighed, eyes glazing over.

“If I buy this thing, will you promise to come over and have a movie slumber party with me?” I asked, taking my own jab at his ribs. “We can watch
Star Wars
.”

He turned to me. “Which one?”

I thought for a moment. “The first one?”

“The first one made or
Episode One
?”

“Hal.” I patted his shoulder. “We really need to get you a girl.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. He was probably about to unleash a very fitting comeback, when his cell rang. He pulled it out, examining the Caller ID.

“Yeah,” he said to me, holding out one finger. “Gotta take this, dear.” He backed up and took a few steps away. “Talk to me,” I heard him say as he rounded a corner.

I turned back to the wall of screens, staring up, still quite overwhelmed.

Hal returned only moments later. He was grinning.

“What?”

“Ohhh . . .” He was trying hard
not
to smile now. “Nothing.” He lifted his hand, waving two fingers to the sales clerk who stood off to the side. The startled young man approached. “The lady has made her decision,” Hal said and nodded at me.

I rolled my eyes at the ceremony.

“Uhh, Abby?” Lindsey came up behind us. “I think maybe we need to call security.”

I followed her pointed finger to see out the front windows of the electronics store. My stomach dropped, as did my smile. I felt Hal step right behind me.

A huge crowd of people gathered outside to watch me picking out a freaking TV.

“Ridiculous,” I muttered. My gaze moved to my sister. “I’m so sorry.” I turned to Hal. “Should we call Shugger?”

“Hell, no,” he answered, attempting to draw himself up to his full five feet nine inches of height. He puffed out his chest. “It’s high time us little people learn how to take care of ourselves, right?”

I nodded uncertainly.

He took ahold of my hand and reached forward and took Lindsey’s. “Allow me to show you ladies a little trick I learned from the drummer of Hybrid Theory.” The three of us were walking now. “We slip out the back.”

Lindsey returned to Florida the next day. With her help, we’d bought enough furniture and things to fill the living room. But she left it up to me to do the actual arranging and decorating. A few weeks later, I found myself gazing around at the finished product.

I’m glad I went with the contrasting browns and blues
,
I thought as I stood just outside the room, flipping on and off the switch of my new table lamp. It instantly brightened the space, while also painting a sort of rainbow halo around the colorful glass shade.

I stepped into the room. The couch in the center was a rich café, fat and cushy, with extra deep down-filled cushions. It was just plain luxurious. It matched the rectangular ottoman that doubled as a footrest and coffee table. Three tall cinnamon candles sat in the middle on a funky little pottery tray. Flanking the sofa was an arm chair with azure and cognac stripes, and on the other side was a glossy mahogany end table, where the glowing Tiffany lamp sat. Lindsey had insisted that I get colored throw pillows to offset the dark furniture. I fought it at first, but then went with antique blue and bright turquoise. I sighed contently. The room was pretty, soothing yet energetic.

Off to the left side of the sofa, I reclined on the red chaise longue. It was the one piece of furniture that didn’t match the others, but it was quickly becoming my favorite. I allowed my eyes to flutter closed while I stretched out comfortably.

Maybe it’s my favorite chair because it has the best view of my favorite wall.

This thought made me open my eyes. They fixed on the ceiling first then slowly moved down to the wall in question. I sat up . . . and smiled.

The charcoal drawing of the horse catches the eye first
, I considered,
but then I immediately go right to the oil abstract with the yellow and red squares
. I snickered
. My comically pitiful attempt at Picasso
. I linked my fingers behind my head, admiring the homemade art gallery.

Furniture was one thing, but until a few days ago, what my home hadn’t had was a personal touch. Inspired, I’d sifted through my twenty or so finished products, chose my favorite few—the ones that didn’t scream out “first grader finger painting—and had them framed.

I looked down at my fingers. There was blue paint under my nails. I smiled again, hunkering down as my eyes moved from frame to frame.

And then they stopped.

I always saved this particular painting for last. I’d debated hanging it up at all, but it was so beautiful, my masterpiece. It was a watercolor landscape, and my first attempt to paint from memory and not model: white sand, blue water, swirling gray sky, and the back of a dark-haired man sitting on the beach.

{chapter 32}

“CARRY THAT WEIGHT”

“I
dunno, Abby. You’re quite certain, then?”

I swiveled around on the bar stool to give Molly a playful glare. She was eyeing my reflection in the bathroom mirror, looking petrified. But I wasn’t. I knew what I was doing.

Before I swiveled back around, I slapped the handle end of the scissors into her open palm.

“Cut it.”

I was fully prepared for Max to throw a hissy fit. But I was not expecting the string of expletives that flew out of his mouth when he saw me the next day.

“
What
in the—” was the first semi-complete sentence I could make out once his serious swearing concluded.

“It was time for a change,” I explained, dropping my purse into the empty chair beside Max in the control room.

Nathan’s eyes bugged out as he stared at me through the thick glass of the sound booth.

“It looks more natural this way,” I said.

“Natural?” Max repeated the word like it was in a foreign language.

“Brunette is the new blond,” I further reported, “and short is in.” I ran my fingers up the back of my new chocolatey cut, flipping and twirling the short, pixie-like ends, sweeping wispy bangs to one side of my forehead.

Max’s face was growing progressively redder. “Who . . . who did this to you?”

Discreetly I flicked my gaze toward Molly. Her tall, willowy figure was frozen like a statue in the far corner of the room. One hand was at her face, nervously pulling her lip.

“
I
did,” I said to Max, indignant. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Molly’s posture relax.

Max stood up. “You had
no right
!” His voice was much stronger than I thought was necessary. “No right to do a stupid thing like that.”

“No right?” I repeated slowly, as if I were the one translating a foreign language now.

Max exhaled loudly. “We’re not arguing about this, babe.”

“Exactly,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “This is a ridiculous conversation. It’s
my
hair.”

His eyes narrowed and held on me for a second, as if he were trying to figure out what game I was playing. Then his gaze ran across my face, brazenly scrutinizing me, forcing upon me that need-to-shower feeling.