“Grief doesn’t have a timetable. To some, seven years is a lifetime. To others, it can seem like yesterday.”
“She died seven years ago?”
She nods.
“They were high school sweethearts?”
“Yes.”
“And you were close to her?”
“She was like a daughter to me.”
That makes me sad.
Shelly sees the tears pooling in my eyes. She puts her arm around me. “But that doesn’t mean there’s not room for more. In my heart and Chris’s.”
“My mom died.”
“I know. Chris told me.”
“He talks about me?”
“Yes. I’m very sorry about your mom. What a horrible day that must have been.”
“I was so young, I don’t even remember her.”
She touches the picture. “That’s why photos are important. They help us remember the faces of those we’ve loved. It doesn’t mean we can’t love others just because we keep them around.”
I think about the empty spots on Chris’s bookshelf, where he obviously keeps photos of her.
“Do you think he’s still suicidal?”
“He’s sad, stuck in an emotional rut. He’s also holding on to a lot of guilt, but he’s not suicidal. Music has helped him when nothing else could. I think you’re helping him, too.”
“Me? I think I’m making things worse.”
“You are forcing him to come to terms with the past and making him think about a future. You’re doing everything right. Don’t change a thing.”
I look at the young girl in the picture. “Can I ask you one more question? Did she call him Christopher?”
She nods, then she takes the picture from me, walks across the room, and hangs it. She stares at a blank spot on the wall. “There is an empty spot right here that needs another photo.” She glances at me. “I bet it won’t be too long before I’m hanging a picture of you.”
I drop my eyes.
She sits next to me. “You love my son, don’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
She laughs. “No, but you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. Give him time, Bria. I promise he’s worth waiting for. Why don’t you stay for lunch? I’ll make sandwiches. You need energy for tonight’s performance. Chris tells me it’s a big one.”
I stand, ready to accept her invitation, and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. “Thanks for the offer but I’ll have to take a raincheck.”
“My door’s always open,” she says. “I mean that. Sometimes a little motherly advice is just what the doctor ordered.”
I smile. “Motherly advice. I’d like that. Thank you.”
As soon as I’m out the door, I make a call. “Carlos, I have an emergency. Can you work me in right now?”
Chapter Thirty-two
Crew
Ronni wanted us all to meet at IRL before our big night. The guys and I arrived a little while ago. We’re waiting on Bria.
“Sit,” Ronni says after squirting something in her hands.
I eye her suspiciously.
“Just do it, Crew.”
I sit in front of her and she rubs goo through my hair. She plays with it for a few minutes, circling me until she gets it just right. Her boobs almost touch my face as she leans over.
“There,” she says.
I go to the mirror. My hair is spiky and haphazard. I try to touch it, but she bats away my hand. “Leave it. The girls will love it. It looks like you rolled out of bed, and they want to fantasize it was their bed. Some of the guys will like it too.”
I turn to Garrett. “What do you say? Does this make you want to fuck me?”
He throws a drumstick at my head. I duck and it flies by, narrowly missing Ronni. She jumps into my arms to avoid it. We fall back onto a chair and I catch her on my lap. She looks down at me, laughs, and shimmies. “Maybe I should thank him for that.”
The door opens, and Bria walks in. Her eyes open wide when she sees Ronni on top of me. I quickly stand and put her on her feet. I feel guilty even though I didn’t do anything. She keeps watching me, but instead of being mad, she smiles.
I can’t take my eyes off her, and it takes me a few seconds to figure out why.
“Brianna, what the hell have you done?” Ronni spits.
Garrett walks around Bria. “Wow.”
She’s gone back to her old hair color—I guess she didn’t like the new highlights after all—and she’s cut it, even though she was so against it. It falls just below her chin and is uneven, with longer layers in front and short in back.