Losing Gabriel (28 page)

“Look at me, Lani! I flying.”

Lani turned her attention to him, saw he was swinging higher than she liked. Lani caught the swing as it neared the ground and stopped it. “Whoa there, Spidey. Don't want you flying into outer space.” She circled round the front, saw that his face was red with exertion, listened to his breathing, and thought it sounded labored. “Hey, it's time for a snack and a juice box.” She lifted him from the swing and took him to an empty bench, telling Sloan, “Bring the wagon.”

Sloan didn't hesitate, because even she heard the wheeze in Gabe's breath.

At the bench, Lani lifted the backpack, unzipped it, and brought out Gabe's rescue inhaler. “How about taking a puff for me, Spidey.” He did, and laid his head on her shoulder while the vapor seeped into his bronchi. She held him close, soothing him until his breathing normalized. Once he perked up, she took out a juice box and a pack of cheese crackers, sat him beside her, and helped him peel away the paper. Minutes later Gabe seemed fine.

“Go play.” Gabe pointed toward the slide, wanting to join the other children. Lani gave him permission.

Sloan had watched, fascinated. How quickly his breathing had deteriorated, how quickly Lani had picked up on it. “His asthma?”

“Yes. He can have an episode if he gets overheated. He has meds and does nebulizer treatments at home. He seems to understand that he's not like the other kids.”

“But he's okay now?” The episode had shaken Sloan.

“He is, but we won't stay much longer. Heat and humidity aren't his friends.” Again she felt Sloan's eyes on her. She turned her head, saw that Sloan's expression had shifted from concern for Gabe to disdain for Lani. “What is it?”

“After I went to bed last night, I had time to think about why you looked familiar to me when you answered the front door yesterday.”

“Same senior class.”

“True, but then something else came to me—Lani…Alana Kennedy, Kathy Madison, the cheerleaders, all of you. You were part of that clique of little bitches who hated me and called me trash, weren't you?”

L
ani recoiled from Sloan's verbal slap. Where had this come from? Lani's anger flashed, and she wanted to blast Sloan, yet she didn't because she knew the accusation wasn't exactly unwarranted. Plenty of girls had spread gossip about Sloan, all right, and Lani might not have joined the chorus, but she hadn't spoken up in the girl's defense either. The wounded look on Sloan's face hit Lani hard, and she saw not the now-grown woman, but the girl kids made fun of all through school. “I'm sorry, Sloan. Maybe that's too little, too late, but I still need to say it to you.” Lani hoped her face reflected the sincerity she felt.

“And especially your best friend, Kathy. She was Bitch One.” The rancor returned.

“Yeah. We were friends for a long time, but no more. She doesn't even live in Windemere now.” When Lani thought back, the friendship had begun to unravel on homecoming night and tumbled downhill from there, when Kathy had started running with some of the Queen Bee senior girls. Kathy had dismissed Lani, no texts, no calls, no time for her. Hurt at first, Lani finally gave up and jumped into being a hospital volunteer and her job at Bellmeade. Riding Oro had filled in many a lonely weekend. “Kathy was jealous of you, Sloan. She was fixated on Jarred. You had him. She didn't and never would.”

The mention of Jarred made Sloan stiffen.

“And,” Lani swiftly continued, “you have that voice. When you sing…” She ventured a smile. “The Anarchy band rocked, and you looked rocker-girl perfect onstage. Every guy who saw you perform wanted you.”
Dawson Berke included.
“And the bitch clique hated that because no matter what they said about you, nothing could stop the way an audience went nuts when you were onstage.”

Surprised, taken aback by Lani's unexpected evaluation, Sloan bit hard on her bottom lip. Moisture blurred her vision. “Jarred's dying stopped it.” She hadn't sung in weeks. Except in the shower. She blinked hard, not wanting Lani to see her tears.

“And I'm sorry about Jarred too, about what happened to him. And the band.” A bee buzzed around them, searching for a flower with nectar. Children's laughter floated up from the playground. Was Jarred Tester the first of their graduating class to die? If so…a terrible tragedy and a dark distinction.

“Did you know him? He knew so many of the girls.”

The tone of Sloan's voice gave Lani to understand his death wasn't all that ached within Sloan about Jarred. He must have caused her pain in other ways too.

“I knew him only from a distance, from watching him perform with his band.”

From another bench, a mother's voice called to her kids that it was time to go home. Time to think about lunch and naps and afternoon television cartoons. Lani called to Gabe, and he hustled over, caked with sand and grime and looking happy. “What do you want for lunch? Grilled cheese or hot dog?” She smoothed his forehead, brushing back the matted thatch of black hair, and settled him in the wagon.

“SpaghettiOs!” he counteroffered.

Sloan waited while Lani fussed over Gabe, dragged back into the reality of time and place, memories of Jarred and performances long over fading into the summer day. The memories had been sobering, upsetting, but necessary. It was time for her to start over.

They walked back toward the house in single file, Lani, Gabe in the wagon, Sloan. No chatter from Gabe this time, worn out from play. Lani concentrated on the clacking of the wagon's wheels hitting sidewalk cracks, thinking Mel would be proud of her because she'd figured out what Mel had tried to tell her the night before. Today she'd run toward a disaster, not away from one. She and Sloan had found a place to meet, first inside the past and then into the present. She and Sloan Quentin would never be best friends. But they didn't have to be enemies either.

When the band had been together in Nashville, Sloan had taken on an assortment of jobs mostly in restaurants and lounges where tips were good, and since jobs were simply to support their music, the work didn't matter much. She showed up, worked, and she quit whenever the band faced a tour or a not-to-be-missed gig. Nashville was a big city with a lot of hourly wage options. Not so much in Windemere.

After a week of searching and filling out applications, she took a waitress position in a major chain eatery by the interstate, near the mall. She had to settle for the lunchtime slot because dinner hours were prime time and already fully staffed. Dinner shift was where the best money was, with its higher volume of diners and their tips. Lunch hours were low volume and slow, but it got her foot in the door. Based on experience, Sloan was sure that after Labor Day, many of the waitstaff would move on, return to school, take other jobs, leaving her in a good position to take better and longer hours. She also let it be known that she'd sub for a server whenever anyone needed time off. Her midday hours were steady, the other hours sporadic, but all earned her money.

She came and went from Dawson's freely and counted herself lucky. She had a place to live and a small (very small) income, most of which she saved because she was determined to keep her promise of moving out of the Berke house. She had free time, and she had the rapt attention of a small boy whenever she took her guitar from its case and played. His favorite song was “You Are My Sunshine,” and to amuse him, she performed it in every genre she could think of—country, jazz, classical, rock. He loved every one and took to calling her Sing Lady. The name stuck, defining her for him. And one day, once he was older, and if he ever asked about his mother, Dawson could say, “Remember Sing Lady?”

“Well…they're not exactly…beautiful.” Melody stared down at the large platter of cupcakes smeared with red and blue frosting. “In need of triage, I think.”

“Please, don't spare
my
feelings,” Lani grumbled, standing beside her sister on Dawson's patio in front of the dessert and gifts table. “I've never baked and decorated forty-eight Spider-Man cupcakes before. It took me four hours. Have a little respect for the effort.”

Melody kept eyeing the gooey mess, made worse by the afternoon heat. “Okay…the black squiggles sort of look like spiderwebs…I see that now.” Behind them, the backyard bloomed with the squeals and laughter of children invited for Gabe's third birthday party, all wanting to take a turn on Gabe's new swing set. “Good thing I brought brownies for us grown-ups.”

Lani crossed her arms and scowled.

Dawson walked over from his place behind the grill to listen to the two sisters' banter and grinned. “You should see the kitchen. How'd you get frosting on the wall on the other side of the room, anyway?”

“A slight miscalculation when I forgot to turn off the mixer before lifting the beaters out of the bowl. I'll clean it up.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “And the ceiling too?”

“There's frosting on the ceiling?” Melody rolled her eyes.

“A smidgen.”

Dawson reached around Lani's shoulders and gave her a hug. “That's what tall guys are for.”

“Don't burn the burgers,” Lani mumbled, feeling the hug travel down the length of her. What she wouldn't give to have it last and last.

Dawson returned to his grill, where several neighborhood men had gathered to address his grilling techniques. He flipped the burgers, rotated the hot dogs. “Supper in ten,” he announced.

He owed this party to Lani, for she'd organized every detail…handing out invites to the children Gabe knew from the playground; decorating the patio with “Happy Birthday” banners; setting up tables with Spider-Man plates, napkins, and balloons; and baking the sad-looking cupcakes. As for himself, he and a couple of neighbors had assembled Gabe's oversized swing set in the backyard—a difficult job too, especially when he had two long screws left over. But the expression on Gabe's face when he saw the shiny apparatus glowing in the sunlight had been worth every scraped knuckle and cut finger.