Pretty Instinct (25 page)

I feel like Sybil, one version of myself relieved and truly happy to have such obvious reassurance that he enjoys being with our father, completely unafraid, one of the other Lizzies worried sick and still not trusting the sperm-donating asshole any farther than I could bury him in the ground, and yet another one of my personalities confused and kinda jealous…without a father to love.

I’ve been hiding in the bathroom long enough under the guise of “getting ready,” so I suck it up, squashing all Lizzies, and join everyone in the common area.

“This cannot possibly be the right place. I think I spotted Boo Radley on a porch back there,” Jarrett glances out the window, skeptic frown.

“Just because his name was Boo doesn’t mean he was scary,” Cannon comments with a chuckle. “Quite the opposite, in fact. And they lived in a nice neighborhood.”

I catch Cannon’s eye and give him a flirty smile; by now I’d be more surprised if he
hadn’t
read my all-time favorite book. I’ve also quit tracking “points.” He wins the whole Lizzie enchilada—if he wants it.

“Bubs, you don’t need your bag tonight. Dad won’t be here yet; it’s a long drive from Ohio. How about you put it back in your room?”

Even though I just finished analyzing myself and told all the voices in my head to shut the hell up, one observation and all the questions are back full-force. Cannon’s taught me so much about instinct and intuition, opened my eyes to optimism and daring to dream, that I simply can’t keep it turned off. So, as I look at Conner, clutching that bag like a life vest, giddy with anticipation at our father’s arrival…I wonder.

Admittedly, I consider Conner my ace “people reader,” my gauge of people’s auras that somehow Bubs always sees. He doesn’t hate our father, not even a little bit, and he’s far from afraid to be with him—that’s trying to tell me something, an option I’ve been resistant to for years, now an inkling that I need to follow. I have to put my finger on this lest it drive me insane.

“You said he was coming,” Conner pouts, puffing out his bottom lip.

“He is, just not tonight. We’ll do the show, go to bed, and maybe late tomorrow, he’ll be here.”

Bruce finally manipulates the huge bus into the back parking lot of the venue. After a quick glance out the window, I find myself agreeing with Jarrett—it gives off a serious heebie jeebie vibe. “This is it,” Bruce says and emerges from the cab, volleying his gaze between Conner, gloomy mood palpable, and the rest of us. “Con, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not getting off this bus ‘cause my Dad can find me here.” He crosses his arms on top of the duffle in his lap. “Sister told him too long cause she screamed at him. I heard her.”

“Conner, look at me.” I’m in front of him in a flash, on my own knees, my hands on his. “I swear to you, Bubs, I didn’t tell him wrong. I know you’re excited to go, and I want you to have fun. I promise, I didn’t tell him too long. Con?”

“Did she, Cannon?” he asks
him
, needing verification of my word. That’s
never
happened and it hurts worse than anything I can remember.

“Conner, has your sister ever lied to you before?” Cannon challenges him kindly.

“No,” he mumbles.

“So why would she lie to you now, bud?”

“Cause she hates my dad.”

“She loves you, very much. She wouldn’t lie to you.”

I wipe my tears, grateful for Cannon’s support but crushed all the same. The other three look on in silence, the tension in the air almost as thick as the lump in my throat. “Time to go,” I stand and mutter, pulling down my skirt that’d ridden up. “Bruce, can you stay on the bus with Conner?”

He answers only with an affirmative jerk of his head and I grab my stuff, heading to the door.

“See you after, Bubs, love you.”

His lack of reply twists the knife in my gut deeper.

“I’m sorry, Sister.” His apologetic, sweet little face pops into my bunk, waking me.

“No worries, Bubs.” I push the covers back—obviously time to get up. “Wanna do something just me and you today, before you leave?”

“Yes, I do. Can we eat Cannon’s pancakes before we go ice skating?”

I laugh; guess I’m going ice skating after some delicious pancakes I now smell. “Sure we can. Lemme get up and run to the bathroom. Meet ya there.”

“Everyone, we’re going ice skating!” he screams and I cringe—needing coffee urgently
and
I wanted it to be just him and me. He’s about to leave me for
two weeks
, eons longer than we’ve been apart for close to a decade. My heart aches just thinking about it. I miss him already.

“I got a cab for you guys in thirty minutes, so eat up.” Cannon winks at me as I sit down and pushes my plate in front of me. “So, a buddy of mine tracked me down. Wants to know if we can fit in a stop at his bar when we pass through? He just opened it, needs promo or whatever.” He pops his shoulders and pours me a coffee. “Told him I’d ask.”

I’m still stuck at “we pass through.” That didn’t sound like plans to jump ship to me. Swallowing down pancakes and anxious hope, I muster up aloofness. “He in Indiana? Whereabouts?”

“Yeah, in Brownsberg, right by my hometown. I figure we’ll be there by Monday night. We could do it then, or Tuesday, if we don’t have anything else booked. Might help him bring in business. He’s a good friend, it’d be cool to be able to help him out.”

“I’m a good friend,” Bubs interjects through a mouthful of pancakes.

“You sure are.” Cannon gives him a fist bump, which Conner “blows up” as animatedly as possible, pieces of breakfast now flying out his mouth.

“We’re open Monday or Tuesday!” Rhett yells from his bunk.

Cannon’s gaze drops down as he kneads the back of his neck with one hand, rubbing nervously at his bare chest—I have long-since 100% decided never to buy him a shirt—with the other. “Can we do both nights? Don’t you have to get home to Ohio?”

“For what?” I ask. “Conner’ll be gone.”

“I don’t know, your house, pets, whatever. Don’t wanna pit stop?” His brow creases more by the second, clearly perplexed.

“No home, no pets—”

“Hey! We got fish!” Conner reminds me.

“Oh yeah,” I chuckle, “the fish. Okay, so just no home.”

“You don’t have a ‘home base,’ an apartment, nothing?”

Why is this so bothersome to him? “I have a car. I keep it at my uncle’s house. But no, I don’t need a ‘pad.’ I’m on the road more than not. And if I
did
get a place, it would
not
be in Ohio.”

A horn beeps outside, the cab, so I down another huge swig of coffee and hustle to go grab my stuff. “Conner, shoes! And wait for me, please.”

“Will you be all right today? Sure you don’t want me to go?” Cannon asks quietly from behind me, pressed up against my back.

“That’s sweet, but we’ll be fine. I need a day alone with Bubs before he leaves. Tell Bruce where we’re at when he shows up, please.”

Rushing, eyeing Conner bouncing up and down at the door, I think I grab everything and head out right behind him, yelling bye to everyone.

“Ice skating place, please,” Conner tells the driver with sheer glee in his voice.

***

Bubs is a natural, whizzing around the rink like a pro. I, on the other hand, am watching from a booth in the concession stand, sitting discreetly on a bag of ice, which is no different than my many failed attempts at skating—my ass is magnetically attracted to the ice.

He waves frantically each time he goes by and when I drag out my phone to snap some pictures, I see missed texts from Cannon.

HH: Bruce confirmed we’re free, I booked Mon + Tues at Sark Pit.

HH: Get your laughs out now—his last name is Sark…he thinks it’s clever, like Shark Pit

HH: Where are we headed after that?

“Sister!” Conner bellows, sending me into action, tapping buttons like a madwoman to snap multiple pictures.

“I got your picture, Bubs, great job!” I yell back, watching him for a minute. It’s no surprise he’s doing great—like riding a bike—Conner always had athletic prowess. Seeing he’s fine, I return to my texts.

HH: No apt, huh? Do you sleep on bus during break? Where would you get a place if u were gonna? Indiana is beautiful country.

That was the last one. He could have asked Bruce, since he’s there with him, where we went next. I think he sent it to me to make it clear—he’s staying onboard,
with me
, thus the “we.”

Feeling spunky, I text him back. No, do over. I’m feeling downright Sirenesque, so I call him.

“If you’re being held hostage and can’t talk, beep once,” he answers.

I have got to start writing some of his quirky stuff down.

“No hostage situation,” I chuckle, “weirdo. What possibly made you say that?”

“You haven’t answered my texts in almost two hours. I was standing outside holding up tinfoil so the aliens would abduct me and take me to you.”

“Oh my God.” I laugh harder, and there may have been a snort thrown in as well. “You don’t believe in luck, but you believe in aliens?”

“Nah, not really. Besides, ten minutes of your sassy mouth and they’d drop you back off. So what are you guys doing? Having fun?”

“Conner’s having a blast. I’m the stoked spectator with the sore ass. Not much of an ice skater, it would seem. Oh Lord, hold on,” I cover the phone and pull it away from my mouth. “Bubs!” He looks at me and I shake my head no. “He’s too little, Conner, no spinning him!” I wait, making sure he listens, then get back to Cannon. “He’s got five little boys huddled around him, waiting for their turn to be spun around. Surely their mothers,” I glance around, looking for them, “know that’s a bad idea.”

“They wearing helmets and knee pads?”

“No.”

“Then yeah, stop him.” He laughs heartily. “When ya’ll coming back? Jarrett’s in the midst of a Vanessa telethon and Rhett’s still in bed. I’m bored as hell.”

“Feel free to clean,” I joke.

“Already did—spotless. I was thinking about using your laptop to look for an apartment if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind at all, you know that. Just don’t delete my porn. Wait, that’s no longer funny; don’t
add
any porn.”

“That was all Jarrett, I swear.”

“Uh huh, whatever, perv.” I snicker. I have no doubt whatsoever that Jarrett was indeed the mastermind of that little escapade. He always is.

“So, where should I apartment hunt?” His question is asked in a not quite seductive, but infinitely suggestive, tone.

“Why, oh, hang on.” I check the screen. “Cannon, it’s Conner’s dad. Lemme call you back.” I quickly switch over, now paranoid of messing up Bubs’ plans. “Hello?”

“Elizabeth, it’s your d—it’s uh, Richard,” he says.

“Yeah, I know. Where are you?”

“About two hours out.” He either drove all night or started very early, again shocking the shit outta me. “Where should I go exactly?”

I direct him accordingly, hanging up to go wrangle in Conner, which isn’t hard since he’s ecstatic when I tell him about the call.

A short cab ride later and we’re back at the bus, Conner flying up the steps and crashing through the door when Bruce opens it.

“Whoa, slow down, bud,” Bruce says. “Where’s the fire?”

“My dad is almost here! I gotta get my bag!” He sails past him toward his room.

“How long?” he asks me solemnly.

“Less than two hours,” I mutter, slumping down on the bench seat. “Where’re the boys?”

“Went to grab something to eat; hoping they hurry. I’m gonna disappear until your father does, for your and Conner’s sake. I know my limits and you kids don’t need an ugly scene.”

“Is he here?” Conner wails, running back in, bag banging into all in his path.

“Not yet, Bubs, little longer,” I giggle at him. “Give Uncle Bruce a hug bye, he’s gotta go do some stuff and it’ll be a while before you see him again.” I end on a slightly hoarse note, melancholy creeping in.

Conner swallows him up in a hug and I catch my uncle’s slight flinch. I hear ya; maybe he’ll pop your back and actually make it feel better instead of just squishing the life out of you.

Bruce takes off and the boys show back up about thirty minutes later, to find what must resemble a circus sideshow. Conner’s bouncing off the walls, quite literally, in uncontainable excitement and I’m a coiled up, ready to hiss, ball of anxiety.

“You probably won’t believe me, but I missed the hell out of you,” Cannon greets, hugging me to him.

“Yeah, right,” I scoff, fighting off his embrace. “And don’t try the ‘breathe in’ thing, it won’t work. Go,” I gasp as a tear falls and duck my head, “go say bye to Conner.”

“Precious girl,” he pities me, pissing me off further, “let’s go with them, fuck it! I don’t want you miserable. Let’s go to Hawaii, you can watch Conner and I’ll watch you.” He caresses my temple with his warm, soft lips, talking quietly to me. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’m in.”

“Liz, a little help here!” Rhett hollers from the back, giving me the excuse I need to walk away from this asinine, no-win conversation.

“Wha— Bubs, what are you doing?”

“Taking my fish,” he states, looking at me like I have two heads as he attempts a stealthy slide of the net behind his back. “Dad likes fish. He’s got a big tank!”

“I know, Con, but um…” Well shit, what do I say here? “I’ll miss ‘em if you take them. It’ll be my piece of you while you’re gone.” Not a lie, the last part anyway.

He’s gnawing on his lip, serious debate evident in his shuffling feet and flittering eyes. “Okay, Bethy, but do good taking care of them.”

My chuckle holds the hint of tears, which I force back. “I promise.”

The knock from the front and my back into the edge of the bedroom door—ou-motherfucking-ch—both happen simultaneously, Conner’s body slamming me harshly aside as he barrels to answer it.

“Shit,” Rhett rushes to me, “you all right?” He helps me get my footing and peeks around me, lifting up my shirt in the back. “No blood, but you’ll feel it tomorrow.”

“Lizzie, your—” Cannon stops, either panicked or confused why Rhett’s lifting my shirt—no clear call. “What’s…uh, can I help with something?”