Dirty

“I’ve known you almost all your life. You put on a good show, but you’re not fooling everybody.”

“We’ve been going through some shit, that’s all.”

Face lined with frustration, Andre shook his head. “I’m not talking about we, about the band. I’m talking about you.”

Nothing.

“Heading back out to the coast is not the only option you—”

“Are you insane?” Vaughan took a deep breath, visibly searching for calm. “This is the biggest opportunity of my life. I’m not stopping now.”

“You played to crowds of thousands, got albums out there, songs on the charts. Sure as hell, you got further than I ever did,” said Andre with a self-deprecating smile. “If your parents were alive, they’d be ecstatic.”

“It’s not enough.”

“When something is no longer working, changing your plans is not giving up. It’s not failure.”

“Maybe not for you. But for me, it would be. Especially with Henning now in the cards. I’m not staying here, I’ve moved on.”

For a moment Andre said nothing and the silence stung. But his next words, and the tone of his voice, was far worse. “Yeah, Vaughan, you moved on, and you left a hell of a lot of people behind.”

Everything stopped as if someone had pressed “pause.”

The two men just looked at each other. Then a car zoomed past, the doorbell jangled, and a customer entered. Nothing had changed. Angry words didn’t stop the world from turning round.

“Just do me a favor,” said Andre. “When you go back to the coast, call your sister occasionally. Maybe even Pat now and then, okay?”

A nod.

“Thank you.”

“Lydia and I have plans,” said Vaughan, reaching for my hand. He squeezed my fingers tight, his grip sweaty. “I’ll catch you before I go.”

“All right.”

“It was good to see you again, Andre,” I said, offering a brief smile.

“You too, Lydia.” He stepped forward, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Take care.”

We were out of the shop, down the street, and into the Mustang in under a minute. Two steps for every one of Vaughan’s, I almost ran to keep up, puffing all the way. He didn’t talk until the key went in the ignition, the engine revving, loud and proud. Slowly, his shoulders descended, the walls came down. But they didn’t disappear. Not really.

Not for him and not for me.

“Sorry about that,” he said, gaze firmly on the road ahead.

“It’s fine.”

“Better get back, finish that work on the house.”

“Right.” I fussed in my seat, gripping the handbag in my lap.

Someone once told me that when people pass in assisted care facilities it’s common for men to be found holding their penises. Women, however, grab hold of their handbags. Our money, our identities, our lives, are stuffed into those things. All of the bits and pieces we’ve collected over the years. Everything we might need to make it through any minor, or major, emergencies.

Men are so much less reliable than handbags.

“I need to read the documents from the Delaneys,” I said, putting my priorities back into place. “I should pack my stuff properly too. Nell and I just threw everything into boxes. It’d be horrible if more got broken in the move.”

A grunt from the man temporarily at my side.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Hey.”

The man lying spread-eagled in the backyard raised a hand, then let it fall back to earth.

“For you,” I said, passing him a beer.

“You’re an angel.” The sweat on his body glistened in the moonlight. Dark wet tendrils of hair clung to his face. He chugged a good three-quarters of the beer in four, five seconds max. It was impressive. Very manly.

Just as well I’d brought out a six-pack.

The scent of cut grass filled the air. Every bush had been neatly trimmed. Instead of an Idaho Amazon, the backyard now resembled a neat suburban garden with an awesome stone fire pit at its center¸ I sat on one of the surrounding rocks, sipping my beer. Stars twinkled overhead. The moon shone. Soon enough, Vaughan finished off his beer and I passed him another.

He sat up, elbows resting on his knees. “You going to say something?”

“About what?” I asked, looking round. “The garden? Great job.”

“I meant about the fight with Andre.”

I raised my brows, taking another sip. “No.”

Nothing beat ice cold beer on a summer’s night. I’d showered and changed into a loose cotton dress. After the dust of the garage and repacking almost everything I owned, it was necessary to clean up. Wet hair sat up high on my head in a topknot. All the better for adding a bit of bounce to it tomorrow. It also left my neck exposed to the beautiful cooling nighttime breeze, a definite bonus. It felt so good after the heat of the day.