Paradise (13 page)

“Yep.”

“You should’ve stopped with your own admission that you’re not the sharpest mind around.”

“Maybe so, Paisley.” He turned his head and stared through the truck windshield. He whispered, “But at least I’m not a liar.”

“I can’t tell my mother the truth. Not yet. But I will soon. I plan on telling everyone, after Texapalooza.” Whether Levi was right or not didn’t matter. I had my reasons. He knew that. “Don’t judge me because…”

Levi held up his hand. He didn’t care about my reasons. “It’ll be a lot worse if she finds out before you get a chance to tell her.”

Levi cranked his truck and slammed the door. The window was down. “I told Coach Till I was a grown-ass man, and I wasn’t hidin’ my feelings for Lacey anymore. I told him I wanted to ask Lacey out. He said I could and that he’d talk to Diane.” Levi put the truck in gear and started down the drive. “You should try the truth sometime.”

15

MOTHER CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH

It was taco night, and Mother had decorated the table in Fiestaware—a dizzying display of blue and yellow and red and green.

I wasn’t sure which was sweating more—my glass of tea or me. I had made up my mind to tell Mother about the band. I’d weighed it and decided that maybe Levi was right and I should give her a chance. And deep down, I felt my daddy would stand behind me.

“Paisley, you look sick.” Mother set a bowl of black beans beside me. “Have you been breathing in bleach? You know you’ve got to raise the windows for ventilation when you’re cleaning.”

Lacey chimed in, “Paisley, tell us if you’re huffing mildew remover. We’re here to help.” She faked a concerned sniffle, and her gypsy bracelets jingled when she put her hand over her heart. “Cowboy Church offers a Wednesday night class on addiction, you know. The first step in getting help is admitting you have a problem.”

I knew she was joking, but I considered catapulting a spoonful of beans at her. “You’re in an awfully good humor.” I decided to get her back. “How are those tryouts for the Singing Eagles coming along?”

Lacey took that on the chin. She even smiled this evil little grin, like she had everything under control.

Mother answered for her. “Tryouts begin next week. Lacey is locked in.” Mother opened the tortilla warmer and steam plumed in the air. “She has so much more,
much more
performance experience than some of those wannabes. I’m sure.”

Lacey rolled a tortilla full of meat and cheese. She cut her eyes at Dad. Mother wasn’t the only one who had something cooking for dinner.

Dad took a big swig of tea; he softly set the glass down, rubbing the side with his thumb. “I talked to that youngest Tucker boy today.”

I spun my fork between my fingers. This was it. Dad was about to spring the whole Levi and Lacey situation on Mother. Lacey knew it too.

Mother cackled. “Was he sober and standing upright?”

“Diane.” Dad leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head like he didn’t have a thing to hide. “Levi’s all right. He’s not planning on staying around and working the vineyard.”

Mother interrupted, “Growing a few grapes does not turn a generational bootleg operation into a winery.”

“He’s got scholarship offers coming in from all over—even the university.”

Dad let that soak in.

“Stop that annoying thumping, Paisley.” Mother stared at my fork. I had gone from spinning it to rocking it back and forth against my plate in a
ping-pong, ping-pong
rhythm.

“Well, goody goody for Mr. Levi Tucker,” Mother continued. “However, I’d bet the farm that he forgets all about college when that first major-league team offers him a nickel.”

Dad scooted his plate back and took another drink of tea. Mother’s remark stung him. She measured everyone, everything against her own experiences. And she’d convinced herself that being rural was an obstacle and that a promise of money trumped academic goals any day of the week.

“Times are different now than they were back when I was—when we were making choices, Diane. Levi’s made up his mind that he’s going to school. He wants an education.”

Mother rolled her eyes and scooped herself some black beans.

Dad added, “And he’s made up his mind that he wants to take Lacey on a date.”

Sonic. Boom.

Her spoon dropped into the beans and sank to the soupy black bottom. Mother’s eyes widened, and I thought her false eyelashes would stick to her eyebrows.

Dad finished, “He had the manners to come and ask me. I told him we’d approve.”

“You had no right to tell him that. Lacey doesn’t want to go out with the likes of him.” Mother pinned her eyes on her.

Lacey’s back bowed like a cornered cat.

“No, ma’am.” Mother shot to her feet. “No. No. No.” She marched to the stove and started clearing pots and clanging pans. “No. No, sir. No, ma’am. Not having it.” Mother pounded a wooden spoon against the side of a pot, then threw it in the sink. “I bet he would like to take her out, probably try and get her drunk, knock her up.” She threw a wet dishrag at Dad. “You’d approve of that too, wouldn’t you?”

Lacey jumped straight up from her chair. The place mat slipped, and Mother’s Mexican-themed place setting crashed to the floor in colorful ceramic chunks. So much for taco-night fiesta. The pictures lining the hall wall rattled when Lacey slammed her bedroom door.

I started to leave, follow Lacey. But I was still ripe to tell Mother about the band, get it over with. Maybe it was better if we all just rained down the truth on her at once.

Dad walked to the stove and hugged Mother from the back, around her waist. He took a skillet from her hands and kissed her cheek. He simply held her as if the strength in his arms had the power to bend her will.

Mother’s voice cracked. “This is not what we’ve worked for with the girls. I can’t turn Lacey loose with Levi Tucker. I won’t do it. She’s got to stay focused on her own dreams and plans. I won’t have her toss it to the side and lose it all because of some boy.”

That comment set my teeth on edge. I could’ve bit through a saddle strap. Mother threw the “some boy” remark out more than I cared to hear. No one in the house was confused that who she was really talking about was Dad. I wanted to tell her that it took both of them to make their choices, that she should back off Dad.

Dad squeezed her tighter. Her remark had to torture him, but he always managed to push past the pain. He’d lose a battle but win a war.

“You’re going to have to trust me on this one,” he whispered to her. Dad had an impressive amount of patience and conviction. Watching him love my mother—day in and day out—almost made me believe there was really something to the whole one-life-one-love thing. They hadn’t settled for each other just to do the right thing. He loved her.

“Why the Tucker bunch, Jack?” Mother whimpered. “For crying out loud, that boy’s mother holds the county distance record for watermelon seed spitting.”

“Lacey wants to go out with Levi, not his mother.” His lips brushed her cheek as he spoke. “She’s a senior. It’s time to cut her some slack.”

I think they forgot I was even there. I slipped out. Mother had all the truth she could handle. Dad had all the bitterness he could hold.

16

RUB AND STROKE

I made it through the woods and up to L. V.’s just in time to see him lift off, over the tops of the pines. In the bright afternoon sun,
Miss Molly
’s heavy aluminum sides flashed like mirrors in the clear blue sky. They were off. Watching
Miss Molly
defy gravity, get off the ground and soar, made me believe I could do anything. Nothing could hold me down.

“Looks like you’ve got the place to yourself.”

I almost jumped straight out of my boots.

Paradise laughed and took a step back. “Whoa. Easy.”

I pressed my hand against my heart. “Stop sneaking up on me.”

Paradise kept his hands behind his back. “Last time I checked, driving up and slamming a car door, calling out your name isn’t sneaking. Maybe you should blame that sky-rattling buzz coming from that tin can your uncle’s flying off in.”

I grinned and walked into the hangar. Paradise didn’t like to fly. I could hear it in his voice whenever he mentioned L. V. and the planes. “You’re early.”

“Maybe I planned it that way.”

He was hiding something. I zipped my hoodie. I wasn’t sure what he wanted.

Or maybe I was.

The hangar was silent except for the tweeting of the sparrows nesting along the roof.

“I brought you a present.” Paradise pulled a small drum not much bigger than a large coffee can from behind his back.

I reached for it, taking it from him. “It’s a
caja
.” I rubbed my fingertips across the drumhead.

“That’s calf skin. It’s traditional. This is real rope too. Not nylon.” Paradise drew his finger along one of the ropes running down the side of the wooden drum. “My grandfather said if the little drummer girl is going to play
vallenato
, she needs the real deal.”

“This is mine?” I patted the center as if it were a baby’s bottom.
Poom-poom-poom.
I couldn’t believe it. I used L. V.’s drum kit. I used the school’s snare. I had never had a drum of my own. “I’m just borrowing this, right?”

“Paisley.” Paradise took a deep breath. “It’s a gift. Are you afraid you can’t play it?”

The crazy tweeting of the birds reached a crescendo.

Paradise smiled, raising his eyebrows. Waiting.

“Thank you.” I paused, listening for Waylon’s or Levi’s truck. Still early. I checked the open doorway to the hangar. Not a soul in sight.

I stepped toward Paradise—breathing in, breathing out, inching closer, holding the little drum between us. “Thank you.” I leaned toward him.

He tucked his arm around my waist, drawing me into his chest. The beating of his heart pulsed strong against my cheek. Paradise slipped one hand along the base of my neck, just inside my shirt collar. He kissed the top of my head. “I like that there’s no purity-ring promise against hugging.”

“I’m not afraid to hug you.” I kicked my stool out from under the tarp. “And I’m not afraid to play this drum.” I sat down on the stool. “It’s like a conga drum?” I held it under my arm.

Paradise laughed. His green eyes lit up like the high gloss emerald on a mallard’s head. “You’re tucking it like a football.” He took the drum and knelt down beside me. “Hold it between your knees.” He placed his hand on my knee and gently pushed my legs open, placing the drum between my thighs.

My throat tightened. The air thinned. I wished the hangar had fans. “I’ve got it.” I pushed his hand away. “I’ve got it.” I squeezed the drum, holding it tight between my legs.

“You do play it bare-handed,” he said as he stood up. “Rub and stroke like the conga. But
meringue
, more Latin than Caribbean. You have to find the passion, feel it.”

I started softly enough. Keeping it simple in two-four time, drawing the sound out instead of beating it in. There was a physical connection. Immediate. I could feel the beat all over.

Paradise opened his murse. “Not fancy, but good.” He smiled as he opened his accordion.

“I’m not supposed to fancy it up,” I told him. “I set the pace. I’m just the timekeeper.”

“That’s like saying a heart just pumps blood.” Paradise opened his accordion. “You’re the life of the band, Paisley.” He glanced at the hangar door. The muffled rumble of Waylon’s old truck drifted in.

“You’re the heartbeat.”

17

LACEY GOES UP IN SMOKE

The blue-and-white paisley-patterned pillow on which Mother had monogrammed a large needlepoint
P
made the best imitation drum. I might have to hide the
caja
in the hangar with the rest of the drums, but Mother wouldn’t suspect a thing with pillow practicing. Sitting on the edge of my bed with the pillow between my knees, I was hard at work perfecting my slap stroke when Lacey flung the door wide.

She shut it behind her, falling against it as if someone had chased her down the hall. “That was close.” She huffed and coughed.

Whatever Lacey was up to, I wanted no part of this close to Texapalooza. “You can’t hide in here. I’m practicing.”

Lacey’s eyes darted around my bedroom. She fished her hand into her shirt and pulled a small box from her cleavage. Before I could stand, Lacey dived to the floor and slipped a pack of cigarettes under my bed. With the cigarettes safely hidden, she crawled to her hands and knees, panting and griping. “Mother never goes to the barn. She would have to pick this afternoon of all days to start planting her herb garden down there.”

I reached under the bed, grabbed the pack, and hit Lacey in the chest with it. “You get those out of my room.” Lacey and I hadn’t had a hair-pulling throw down in years, but I was up for one. If Mother found me with cigarettes, she’d lose her mind. “Get ’em out of here, Lacey.” Then it struck me. Lacey was smoking. “Wait a minute. When did you start smoking?”