“Oh, he just said he’d come to the store to see me when we’re not busy,” Callie answered breezily, trying to distract herself with the task at hand. “I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re kidding, right? I told you that boy’s had a case on you from the beginning,” Tonya chuckled. “Of course he’ll be back.”
Callie picked up the Rolling Stone magazine from the rack. She knew she would be reading the article later anyway. “Look, Tonya, do you recognize anyone?” she asked, thrusting the magazine into her friend’s face. At Tonya’s gasp, she continued, “Do you really think rock stars are hanging out in north Alabama looking for a ‘love connection’?” she asked, questioning herself more than her friend.
Tonya studied the cover for a moment, then flipped to the story inside. After reading for a while she exclaimed, “Damn, girl! When you go to the dark side, you really go! According to this,” she gestured towards the magazine, “Storm Crow is a pretty wild band. They’re huge, and their tour sold out worldwide.” She paused, considering the implications of a major rock star pursuing her girlfriend, then shook her head emphatically. “But even so, he’s still just a man. Just because he’s a rock star doesn’t mean he can’t be interested in you,” she pointed out logically.
“Tonya, he’s a rock star. A white rock star.”
Tonya raised her brows and gave Callie an arch look. “And this is relevant because…” Unlike Callie, Tonya had dated interracially before, had even had a long-term relationship with a white guy in college. Though nothing had come of it, she’d long since made it clear that she had no problem ‘tasting the rainbow,’ as she put it. “Besides, who the hell are you trying to convince here, anyway? Sounds to me like dude made it clear that he intends to see you again, and you’re scared to death.”
Callie leaned against the magazine rack, her head down as she tried to collect her thoughts. “Look, Tonya, he’s nice, you know, but I don’t think he’s interested in me that way.”
Tonya snorted. “All heterosexual men are interested in all women that way.”
Callie demurred. “No, I think he just sees me as a way to occupy his time while he’s exiled to Alabama.”
“Exiled?” Tonya raised her brows.
“Oh yeah, that’s right, I haven’t told you his story yet, have I?” When Tonya shook her head no, Callie slumped down on the bench in front of the magazine rack. Tonya joined her, and Callie relayed the information Bryan had shared during lunch.
“So you see now why I’m pretty sure that he’s just looking for a friend, maybe somebody to hang out with while he’s down here. I mean, this guy has stables of long-legged blondes at his disposal. Can you see him taking up with a skinny, nappy-headed black girl from North Alabama?” Callie asked.
It was just too scary to contemplate the idea that there could be anything more than that with Bryan. Rock stars, especially ones with more than a passing acquaintance with drugs, were way out of her realm of experience. Their lifestyle, while glamorous and exciting, had always seemed sleazy to her. Fame couldn’t be all that terrific, she reasoned, or there wouldn’t be so much substance abuse and other bizarre behavior. Of course, Bryan had been emphatic that he wasn’t into that scene. But he had used in the past. In all honesty, she’d have to admit that she was drawn somewhat to the thrill of it all. Of course, it didn’t hurt that all that excitement came in such a hot package.
Tonya stood up and began straightening the magazine rack. She was astounded that her conservative friend had not run screaming for the hills when Bryan disclosed his association with drugs and a wild L.A. lifestyle. Callie was usually not one to get involved with anything she couldn’t control, and fame seemed to thrive on chaos. She wondered if Callie had any idea how much the fact that she hadn’t cut him off immediately betrayed her interest in much more than a friendship. Tonya never ceased to be amazed that Callie, so savvy in anything pertaining to business, had absolutely no inkling as to how to deal with men. Even worse, she didn’t even notice when one indicated in every way possible that he was smitten with her. Telling her any better now would probably only make matters worse. She’d never believe it, and it would probably only increase her resistance to Bryan. If nothing else, she would enjoy her friend’s reaction when Bryan began pursuing her in earnest. In a small town, you had to take your entertainment where you could find it, and even if Callie was right, this would definitely be amusing to watch.
She casually dusted her hands together. “It’s confusing all right, but I still think the boy is interested in you. I think in a month’s time he could’ve found women all over Maple Fork to hang with if he was so inclined. After all, it’s not like we don’t have long-legged blondes here, you know. But then again, I guess only time will tell.”
True to his word, Bryan continued to make his presence known at Books and So Forth. He seldom missed a day taking Callie to lunch or if it was a busy day, he’d slip in through the back door and bring both of them a meal from one of the local restaurants. He was convenient to have around, especially on days when they received large shipments of books. Stocking the shelves was backbreaking work, and Bryan had more strength and stamina than either of them. Much to Callie’s surprise, he also had an admirable eye for merchandising. Apparently there were many dimensions to his artistic talent. It took some doing, but he persuaded her to rearrange the science fiction section and though she’d initially objected, a number of customers noted that it was much easier to find titles.
Callie didn’t know what to make of his attentiveness, but she had to admit, if only to herself, that she liked it. Tonya, of course, read all types of implications in his behavior, but Callie convinced herself that he simply enjoyed her company and was desperate for something to occupy his time during his interminable exile. For her part, she was certainly enjoying having him around. They had so many interests in common, particularly a love for the outdoors and a fascination with history. Despite his sometimes gloomy demeanor, Bryan had a delightfully silly streak and a sense of fun that matched her own. She didn’t often meet people who appreciated her sense of humor as much as he seemed to. Though flattered, Callie took care to keep herself firmly grounded in reality. Bryan just needed a distraction in his life right now, something to help him deal with some intolerable circumstances, she constantly reminded herself. It would be foolish to read anything serious into the situation. Maintaining a nonchalance she didn’t feel was difficult at times, but it was certainly better than the alternative. She had a horror of making a fool of herself over a totally unobtainable man.
Given that, Callie was surprised to find herself sitting on top of Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga, Tennessee, overlooking a Civil War battlefield at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. As a North Alabama native, she had been to Lookout Mountain many times on school field trips and such, but had never enjoyed it. It seemed that she could almost feel the spirits of the dead in this place, and no matter what time of year she went, she was always cold. She shivered now, reflecting on how this particular adventure had begun.
Bryan had dared call her at dawn on a Sunday morning. Most thinking people knew better than to call her at that hour on the one day a week she had an opportunity to sleep in. Of course, she thought sardonically, Bryan frequently demonstrated lapses in the thinking department, and she hadn’t hesitated to tell him so on more than one occasion. He had begged and beseeched, and somehow she’d found herself in the front seat of his truck at an ungodly hour speeding toward Chattanooga. Bryan had been trying for weeks to get her to go to the battlefield with him. In previous discussions, they’d shared their love for history; Callie enjoyed reading biographies and social histories. Of late she’d been reading a good deal about the Roman Empire. Much to her dismay, she’d discovered that Bryan was absolutely fixated on warfare and battles, the gorier, the better. He’d spent a great deal of time researching the Civil War battles that had occurred nearby and was particularly intrigued by the tale of a local heroine who had done some scouting for General Nathan Bedford Forrest. A statue in her honor was located prominently in the middle of Broad Street downtown. The story of an Indian maiden leaping to her death from a nearby waterfall because of unrequited love had kept him occupied for days as he sought to verify the story. Bryan had regaled her with tales about his collection of war memorabilia, the centerpiece of which was a medieval mace he’d acquired in Germany. Callie had resisted previous entreaties to join him, but he had caught her at a weak moment when she was barely awake.
“Bryan, are you sure I agreed to do this?” she had asked in the truck with yet another jaw-cracking yawn.
Bryan had given her a cheerful grin. “Yep, you most assuredly did. Come on, I bought you breakfast, a huge thermos of coffee, and promised you lunch. What more can a guy do?”
Callie had only snorted and poured another cup of coffee. Maybe if she drank enough, she would feel marginally human.
Now they sat side by side on the grass, the antique cannons an ominous foreshadowing of the conversation to come. They rested their elbows on their knees as they looked out over a beautiful view that had been the scene of bloodshed and horror. The mist that enshrouded the mountain gave it an air of gloom, but also one of transcendent beauty. It was that fog that had earned the famous Civil War battle the nickname, “The Battle Above the Clouds.” Lookout Mountain was almost always foggy, the haze lifting only during the hottest days of summer.
“You know, I always get a funny feeling when I visit battlefields,” Bryan said. “Like when I went to Gettysburg. It was really weird. The gooseflesh stood up on my arms and we whispered the whole time without even realizing it. The whole situation was eerie, and dare I say it, spooky.”
Callie nodded. She had never met anyone else who had experienced the same sensation she’d felt. “It’s almost like you can feel those long-dead soldiers. It’s one of the reasons I’ve never liked to come here.”
“Do you believe in spirits? I mean, like ghosts and stuff?” Bryan didn’t really know where he stood on the issue, but Callie’s comments piqued his curiosity. He’d come to expect the unexpected from her, and her response didn’t disappoint him.
“No, not really, but I believe that maybe when there’s so much violence in a place that energy could be deposited there. I don’t know, I can’t really say if it’s their ghosts or spirits, or what, but there’s definitely something. I’m always sad and depressed when I come here. And no matter how hard I try, I can never get warm.”
Bryan was really surprised that Callie, who had always seemed so pragmatic and businesslike, would actually entertain so fanciful a notion.
“I definitely believe that the spirits, or ‘energy’ or whatever you want to call it, have remained. Sort of like a reminder of the horror of battle or something. I think about how those guys must have felt, how scared they must have been, the courage it must have taken to go forward despite their terror.” Bryan shrugged and leaned forward. “Well, courage or fear of being shot by their own officers.” He gave a low chuckle. “I guess under those circumstances, it would be better to face the enemy. The ultimate damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation.” He paused again. “After we went to Gettysburg, Brodie and I wrote a song about it. It was on our third album.”
As usual, thinking about Brodie evoked painful memories and emotions he still didn’t want to confront. He had borne the guilt and self-loathing about his role in Brodie’s death for months. Refusing to share or even acknowledge his grief, he had tamped it down into the dark recesses of his soul until it had manifested itself in his behavior and feelings of despair. It was as if simple acknowledgment would make the facts concrete, a reality that was more than he could bear. But somehow, perhaps it was the atmosphere of this place sanctified by the blood of long-dead soldiers, he really wanted Callie to understand the pain and abhorrence he still felt. “I gave him his first joint, you know.”
Callie kept up with the topic change and knew to whom he referred. She had suspected all along that Bryan blamed himself for his friend’s sad end, and now this comment confirmed it. Bryan had told her that he didn’t use drugs, and she believed him, having seen no evidence of drug use since she’d known him. But he’d also told her that he’d been pretty wild in the past, and that he’d gotten drunk and crashed cars since Brodie’s death. The degree of guilt and disgust had made her wonder whether Bryan had somehow played a part in the death of his friend.
She leaned back on her elbows and looked up at him inquiringly. “Bryan, did you shoot up with Brodie?”
Bryan gave her a frustrated look. “Dammit, Callie! I told you I never used that stuff! I’m clean; I’ve been clean for years! I’ve never had a drug habit, okay?”
Callie nodded. She was probably being hopelessly naïve, but for some reason, really gut instinct alone, she believed him. This was a new situation. She wasn’t sure what to say, but she knew she wanted to help him. She only hoped she wouldn’t make the situation worse. She took a deep breath, “So, you gave him his first joint. Did you give him his last needle, too?”
Bryan gaped at her in astonishment. He’d never expected this reaction. “What?” he asked, unsure he’d heard her properly. Her directness and honesty were traits he liked most about Callie, but in this situation, they seemed somehow inappropriate.
Callie paused. Maybe she really should just leave this alone. What did she know about helping people deal with grief? However, Bryan was still staring at her expectantly, clearly waiting for some clarification of what she’d just said. She’d already started down this path, and she could see no way to stop now. “Or maybe you have the power of life and death. What do they do, issue you a magic wand instead of a Grammy these days?”