Pucker Up (2 page)

“Wait,
wait, wait.  I may have been a bit hasty.”  Dustin couldn’t hold back the smile
anymore when she grabbed his arm.  She threw her arms around his neck and
kissed him on the cheek.  “Thank you, Uncle Dust!”

“Well,
I figured I should probably tackle it before you follow Mel to college,” he
yelled after her, already running back into the house in excitement.

“You
know, if you build me bookshelves with hidden passageways, I won’t ever leave,”
she shouted back over her shoulder, the smack of the screen door punctuating
her words.

“If
only that were true,” he murmured.  He’d just put his hat back on when the
screen rattled again.

“Early
start?” his brother Peter asked with a raised brow as he crossed the yard. 

“Got
lots on the agenda today.”  They shared a look, and Peter smirked, knowing
exactly why Dustin was up with the sun.

 “You
know, I could have a much later start if my car was working,” Harmony said as
she slung her bag into the trunk of Peter’s sedan.

“This
week a new bookshelf and an old jalopy will just have to do,” Dustin said.

“What,
you’re embarrassed of riding to school with good ‘ole Dad?”  Peter’s eyes
twinkled as he feigned hurt.

“Yes. 
Every day,” she deadpanned as she got into the car.

“Hmm,
guess I’ll have to increase my declarations of affection then.  Haven’t put a
baby picture as my screensaver in a while,” Peter mused as he ducked down into
the car, Harmony’s squeal of protest unmistakable. 

The
horn honked and Dustin looked over, bending down to look through the passenger
side window as it was rolling down.  “Tell her hi,” Peter said with a laughing
smile as he pulled out onto the road.

Faith
showed her houseguests to their rooms in the east wing, giving them time to grab
their luggage and bodyguard, and settle in before they left for lunch.  She had
some things to clean up, including any remnants of the songwriter in her
study.  Her phone buzzed against her hip, and she sighed but pulled it out
anyway.

Jackson
had sent her another text.  She didn’t know what else she had to do for him to
understand that she didn’t want to talk.  She had the vaguest recollection of,
what she’d been babbling about when he drove her home from her birthday party,
so she had absolutely no interest in talking to him now.  Not this week.

Leave
me alone.  I am avoiding you and you’re smart enough to know what that looks
like.  Let it go
,
she typed out with quick fingers.  The songwriting sessions had erased most,
but not all, of the traces of the bourbon and angst from that night.  She
rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the tightness she still felt.  Every
phone call just tied her up into a few more knots.  The phone in her hand
started ringing, but the frown disappeared when she saw that it wasn’t Jackson
who was calling.

“Hey
lady – it’s ten days too early for our monthly phone call,” Faith said, her
voice alight with welcome.

“Well,
I’ve been the old lady that I am and keep falling asleep before getting to wish
you a happy birthday,” Bea said, the humor in her voice making her sound
anything but old.

“You
are very organized, but you always seem to call me late.”

“This
way, if I’m late, you notice.”  That wasn’t why Bea called her late and they both
knew it.  Her voice would always do more good a few days later, when the dust
settled and she would need a friend.  “Don’t want to go unnoticed, kind of like
you are lately.”

“What
is
that
supposed to mean?”  Bea always had lessons, and she was never very
subtle with them.

“I’ve
been watching all your interviews, of course – ”

“Of
course,” Faith chimed in.

“And
I’ve noticed that all anyone can ask you about is Andy Peters.  Andy Peters
this, Andy Peters that.  Andy Peters is so elusive – have you met?  What are
they like?  Send us a photo.  Really, it’s rather rude, you know.”

Faith’s
lips twitched at Bea’s annoyance on her behalf.  It was true, all anyone ever
wanted to talk about nowadays was either Andy Peters or the genius of Jackson
Shaw.  With the surprise success of her recent comeback album and the on-point
songwriting skills of Andy Peters, Magpie Entertainment was a company being
heralded for “a meteoric rise.”  Profiles of Jackson Shaw and his ability to
spot talent were cropping up everywhere.  It was a good thing he was her best
friend, or she’d probably want to punch him. 

“I’m
a big girl.  I can handle it just as long as
you
don’t ask me about Andy
Peters.”  She was tired of being evasive on the Andy Peters subject, but people
were getting more curious, not less.

“Me,
no,” Bea said.  “Way too angsty for me.  You know I like your catchy Attitunes
songs.  I still play
Pucker Up
when we have pie-eating contests.” 

Faith’s
smile disappeared at that comment.  That’s what she thought, what she always
thought – too angsty, too sad.  She’d thought she’d hidden pretty well from the
Andy Peters commentary in the beginning, but it was getting harder and harder
to manage now that the songs had gotten so successful.  What was the point of
hiding behind a nom de plume if people kept asking your opinion on it?

“Don’t
worry.  My feelings aren’t hurt,” she said with cheerfulness she didn’t
actually feel, recognizing they were actually talking about two entirely
different things.

“I
know,” Bea said. “You’re made of stock entirely too strong for that.”  Faith
rolled her eyes at that, knowing the old woman tended to forget that she hadn’t
started out a salt-of-the-earth rancher like the rest of the people she knew.

“Did
you forget you’re talking to a city slicker?”

“A
city slicker that rides a mean horse.”  Faith didn’t want to talk about that
either.  She hadn’t been on a horse in over a decade and wasn’t planning on
rectifying the situation any time soon.

“Do
you really still play our CD?” Faith asked, trying to change the subject.  “Do
any of the campers even know those songs?”

Bea’s
voice took on a chiding tone.  “You still have a lot of fans out there,
darlin’.”

Not
fans of the real me, she thought.  What would they say if they knew Faith West,
the Girl Next Door, the one full of smiles and sunshine, had parts of her so
very dark?  Nothing good, she was very sure. 

“I
know,” she said. “They’re the ones buying my albums.”  Bea laughed at her
tone.  “Thank you for calling me, honey.”

There
was a pause for a moment, and they both knew what was coming, playing out
familiar routines.  “You know I’m going to ask,” Bea said.

“You
always do.”

“And
you always refuse.”

“Then
why do you keep asking?” Faith asked, her tone exasperated but entertained.

“Because
I’m stubborn!” she said.  “And because, one day, I’m hoping you say yes.”

“I
know you do,” Faith whispered.  “You have more faith in me than I have in
myself.”

“One
day,” Bea murmured. 

“Anywhere
else,” Faith said.  “Ask me to sing anywhere else and I’m there.”

“One
day I’ll get you to come back to the ranch and play that benefit concert.  One
day.”

“One
day,” Faith said, saddened that she didn’t believe too.

Dustin
turned the music in his truck up, hoping the noise would help distract him.  His
legs were getting restless – he wasn’t made to sit behind the steering wheel
for hours – and he wanted to be outside where he could feel the sun on the back
of his neck and ground beneath his feet.  He watched the open road and let his
mind wander, replaying the conversation he’d had with his brother the night
before.

“Should
have known this is where you’d be.”  They always knew where to find each other
– twin low jack.  Peter had just been announcing his arrival.

He’d
gone to hide again.  As the day drew closer, he found it easier to just retreat
into himself.  He loved his nieces with a fierceness that often surprised him,
but he needed his solitude, to shut the rest of the world out and tend old
wounds.  “Of course this is where I am.  This is where the work gets done,
isn’t it?”

Peter
had lounged in the doorway, looking unconcerned.  “Wouldn’t know.  My work
requires chalkboards and children.” 

“Do
you need something?” he’d asked, exasperation clouding his voice.

“Do
you?”  They stared at each other in silence, eyes never wavering, before Peter
called the truce and walked in, dropping down across from the desk.  “Melody
called.  She can’t come home for dinner this weekend.  Says she has to study,
huge midterm the next day.”

“You
don’t believe her?”

“Of
course I believe her,” Peter replied, a look of mirth on his face.  “She
doesn’t lie to me.  And why lie about this.  Even if she didn’t have a test,
not sure I want her driving four hours just for your crappy cooking and then
turning around to drive right back.”

“What’s
Harmony say?”

“Oh,
she thinks that frees up a seat for you to invite someone to dinner.”

He’d
growled.  “Punk teenager.” 

Peter
had laughed at that, almost falling out of the chair he’d propped up on two
legs.  “They turn from precocious to punk oh so quickly these days.”

“Just
like their dad.”  They’d shared identical looks of humor.  It made Peter’s day
when someone compared him to his daughters, even though they shared no blood,
only signatures on a piece of paper.  Peter liked to think he was fighting the
good fight, on the side of nurture over nature.

“Why’d
you really come in here?”

“Enjoying
your sparking personality isn’t reason enough?”  Peter had smiled, the smile
that usually meant trouble, and pulled a magazine from his pocket, throwing it at
him.  “Page seventy-two.”

Dustin
hadn’t even needed to look.  He knew all too well why Peter handed him
magazines.  “Haven’t grown out of this yet?”  He knew Peter’s opinion.  He’d
known Peter’s opinion for the last decade.  Didn’t change anything.

Peter
had gotten up to leave at that, aware of exactly when to make his retreat. 
“Just be happy the girls don’t know their favorite bedtime story is real.  They’d
be even worse than I am.”  His brother had seemed to consider that for a moment
before continuing.  “Though you have always found it hard to ignore them.  They
might come in handy.”

“What
have I said about this, Peter?”  He had looked at his brother sternly, inwardly
hiding a smile, still unable to be appropriately furious at his twin for the
unsuccessful attempts at meddling.

“Gee
bro, you say so many things.  You expect me to keep them all straight?”

“Get
out of here!” he’d barked, throwing a wad of paper across the room.  Peter’s
hands went up in surrender and he left.  Without his distracting commentary, Dustin
had turned his attention to the magazine on his desk.

It
had been a decade since he’d seen her, but he’d recognize Faith anywhere – same
red hair, same bright sapphire eyes, same perfect legs that went on forever. 
But that’s where the similarities stopped – wearing a dress that looked like a
fabric store exploded, corkscrew curls nowhere to be found, that fiery
determination missing from her eyes.

“Biggest
change in the last five years:  Going vegan,” he had read.  He remembered when
she still ate eggs for breakfast.  But that was ages ago, back when he was the
only one that knew how she took them.

He
hadn’t thought about that girl for a long time.  Well, he hadn’t thought about
her for a long time while awake.  Sleeping was another matter altogether.  She
was a headliner now, opening at stadium arenas with sold out shows, but she
played more intimate venues in his dreams.

He
skimmed the rest of the questions – favorite color, childhood experience,
fondest memory – until he reached the end.  “Marriage: Not for the faint of
heart.”  His breath caught – ten years later he still couldn’t decide what part
of it all was the biggest mistake.  Which should he dread, the beginning or the
end?  The picking her up or the letting her go?  He shook his head in
frustration; he was not going there again.

The
magazine was halfway to the trash before he had noticed the picture in the
corner and stopped.  There she was, the girl he knew.  The girl he’d loved. 
The girl he’d lost.  He slipped the magazine into the bottom of a desk drawer. 
This one, this magazine, he’d keep.  He didn’t want to think about why.

The
brake lights of the cars ahead brought Dustin back to the moment, away from the
desk drawer and the girl he wished he could evict from his head.  He looked
around for something else to distract him and spotted the box sitting in the
passenger seat.  He couldn’t resist laughing at himself.  This was not the most
well-thought out idea he’d ever had.  But it had been one well-timed excuse. 
He latched on, just like he always did this time of year.  His sorrow pushed
him to productivity, leaving no time to think.  This was the week he’d built a
treehouse, remodeled the girl’s bathroom, landscaped the backyard, gutted the
kitchen.  His nieces enjoyed it – this week of the year was never, ever boring.

Dustin
sighed in relief when he finally saw the exit up ahead.  His country radio
station had stopped coming in hours ago.  He couldn’t find another good one and
letting his thoughts wander was getting him exactly nowhere.  The music over
the airwaves was aggravating but it was better than turning it off – the
silence would have driven him insane.  He joined the group of cars slowly
circling the parking lot.  He hadn’t timed this right at all, but he couldn’t
be angry; he’d arrived.

He
slid into a spot right in front of the building and smiled – maybe things were
looking up.  But as he reached for the keys to turn off the engine, he heard
it.  He didn’t know the song, but he knew the voice.  It had been at least two
years since he’d heard one of her songs, ten since he’d heard one in person,
but her voice still captivated him.  He wanted to leave, didn’t want to be
listening to this; this was why he’d been up at the crack of dawn driving a
handful of hours south to deliver dinner, but he couldn’t move.  He closed his
eyes and let the music burrow inside him, her words of hope doing funny things
to his heart.  Her voice was soft but strong, and he was shaken to the core
when it stopped.

He
heaved himself from his truck, box held on his shoulder one-handed, and slammed
the door with more force than necessary.  He fixed the brim of his ball cap in
the side mirror, making sure he didn’t look as wrecked as he felt, and strode
towards the front door.  Stomping up three flights of stairs gave his muscles a
chance to stretch, but he didn’t do it quietly; eyes followed him as he moved. 
He was relieved when he reached her door – the only time their small age
difference ever occurred to him was when he visited her at school.