Dream a Little Dream of Me, page 16
Standing in the moonlight, she looked like a warrior who refused to be cowed. In that moment, he felt a strange kind of pride. Lizzie would never collapse at his feet, and he loved her for it.
Her voice barely shook as she said, “I’m not going to beg you to be with me. But you’re making a huge mistake. You’re letting your dad win. And why? Because you were a child who couldn’t understand what was wrong with your mom?” He saw the tears glistening on her cheeks. “You’re running away, just like I did.”
She touched her abdomen. “I guess you’re right, in a way. I don’t want a coward around our baby.”
“Lizzie—”
“I love you, Trent. I’ll always love you. But I’m not going to help you punish yourself over something that was never your fault.”
His knees almost gave out. He watched Lizzie walk away—her back straight, her strength unwavering—and he wanted to shout at her to come back.
He collapsed on a nearby bench, his head in his hands. As the moon moved westward, his only thought was: What have I done?
19
Trent didn’t see Lizzie again until the funeral two weeks later. He didn’t speak to her; he didn’t think he could say anything anyway. When she touched his hand and murmured her condolences, he could only nod.
Edward had lingered on, just like Phin had said he would. When he’d passed, though, he’d finally seemed at peace for the first time in his life.
That was a small thing to be grateful for.
Trent had wanted to see Lizzie with a desperation that terrified him. He’d dialed her number and begun writing so many texts, but he’d always resisted contacting her. He’d ended things because it was better for her. He could find the self-control to leave her alone.
He told himself that it was better this way. He thought those words like an incantation every night he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep eluding him.
He worked in his restaurants for twelve, fourteen hours a day. He hoped that if he worked his fingers to the bone, he’d be able to sleep. Sometimes it worked; usually it didn’t.
Trent returned to his place—alone—after the funeral. He’d been surprised at the number of people who’d attended: it wasn’t exactly like Edward had been well loved in life. But when Trent had looked surprised, Thea had taken his arm and said, “They’re here for us.”
He wished he knew how to feel about Edward’s death. Rage? Grief? Mostly he felt tired. He was glad it was over. Was that a terrible thing to think? Thank God my dad is finally dead sounded so cold, yet it was true.
Ash had told him he’d keep him company, but Trent had never been the type of person to want company during misery. Company meant talking, and he didn’t want to talk. He wanted this to end. The funeral provided some measure of closure, and for that, he was grateful.
After taking a shower, he stared at the sad contents of his fridge and decided eating was too much effort. He collapsed onto his couch, but sitting meant thinking. He didn’t want to think.
He’d avoided Edward’s house since his death. Now, though, he suddenly wanted to scrub it clean and wash away every bad thing that had happened there.
When he unlocked the front door, he half-expected his dad to jump out at him and yell boo. I got you! he’d yell, laughing heartily.
When was the last time Edward Younger had truly laughed? Trent couldn’t remember a time.
He started with the living room. Although the weather was nice outside, Edward’s house had been closed up so tightly that Trent started sweating within minutes, even with all of the windows open.
He began to sort through his father’s belongings: trash, more trash, and a handful of things worth keeping. Photos, family heirlooms. Trent discovered another photo album of Bea, this one during the first years of her marriage. Trent flipped through it, tracing his mother’s face.
She looked so happy here. Many of the photos were of Trent as a baby, then Thea. One photo was of Edward and Bea on the couch, their arms wrapped around each other.
Trent closed the album and kept working.
He didn’t know how much time passed. It could’ve been days for all he knew. The pile of trash in the front yard kept getting larger and larger. Trent didn’t know how Edward had managed to accumulate so much junk when he’d been housebound. There was expired food in the pantry and cabinets; packs and packs of cigarettes; ashtrays filled to the brim; old magazines, some older than Trent himself; tools—broken or otherwise—and appliances and even an old VCR in the bathroom.
Trent planned to leave Edward’s bedroom for last, but when he started to pick up trash from the floor and stuff it into a trash bag, he found himself in his dad’s bedroom. He continued cleaning, his mind blessedly silent for once.
Bending down to pick up some papers, Trent found a cardboard box under the bed labeled Kids. He pulled it out, not sure what he expected. More photos?
The box held photos of all five kids, but to Trent’s surprise, there were folders for each child with report cards, drawings they’d done, cards they’d given. Trent found a little book he’d created when he’d been six or so about a dragon. He’d forgotten it had even existed.
He looked through the folder labeled Trent. Inside were report cards, ribbons he’d won for science fairs, medals for track and field. He swallowed against the lump in his throat when he realized that so many of these things were from after Bea had died. That meant Edward had kept all of these mementos himself.
He found a photo inside his folder of himself, his dad, and Bea maybe a year before she’d died. They looked happy. They looked like a family.
Trent turned the photo over and saw in his dad’s scrawling handwriting, My oldest boy, Trenton, winning his first race. So proud.
It was like a dam broke inside him. The tears welled up, and they wouldn’t stop. The grief overwhelmed him. Gasping and sobbing, he clutched that photo and cried: he cried for his dad, who hadn’t been able to overcome his demons; he cried for his mom, who couldn’t find happiness in her own life; and he cried for himself, for the lost childhood that had haunted him for so many years.
He knew that his dad had loved him, in his way. It didn’t right the wrongs of the past, but it at least provided a balm to the pain inside him.
He cried until his eyes hurt, and his throat was sore. He wished, with a suddenness that threatened to send him to his knees, that Lizzie was here.
He closed his eyes, standing in Edward’s bedroom right then. He’d pushed her away, and for what? To be as miserable in life as Edward had been?
God, he was a fool. Nothing he’d done had been brave: it’d been cowardly, just like Lizzie had said.
But how could he get her back? Did he even deserve her at all? He thought of her tears, the ones he’d caused. We only ever hurt each other, she’d told him again and again.
Trent took all of the trash to the dump before returning home. Part of him wanted to go straight to Lizzie’s, while the other part of him hesitated.
He took a cold shower, trying to clear his head. When he went into the living room afterward, someone knocked on his front door.
His heart lifted. Lizzie?
Opening the door, he found not Lizzie, but Seth. Shocked into silence, Trent just stared at Seth for a long moment.
Seth said: “You look like shit.”
“Did you come here just to tell me that?”
“No, I came here to tell you that you’re an asshole.”
“Once again, I’m not sure why you’re here.”
Seth finally looked a little embarrassed at his blunt words. “Sorry about your dad. Lizzie told me the funeral was really nice.”
Trent just waited.
Seth rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I come in?”
Trent knew it was probably a terrible idea, but he didn’t have the strength to say no. Opening the door wider, he let Seth in. He half-expected a knife in the back, or at least a punch to the head.
Instead, Seth sat down on the couch next to him and looked awkward as hell.
Seth cleared his throat. “Um, so, I did have a reason for coming here.”
“Are you going to tell me anytime soon?”
“Don’t push your luck. You remember Lizzie? Yes, my sister? The woman who’s having your kid? Ring a bell?”
Trent’s heart clenched. Worry pulsed through him. “Is she all right? Is the baby okay?”
“They’re fine. I mean, physically. Lizzie looks as terrible as you do.” Seth grimaced. “She’s been like a ghost the past two weeks, all thanks to you.”
Trent was confused. “Did she send you here—?”
“Are you insane? She’d kill me if she found out.”
When Trent sat up, dizziness swamped him. Maybe he really should eat something, he thought tiredly. He realized he’d worked all day without eating anything. That was when he felt a glass of water pushed into his hand and saw a box of crackers set next to him.
“I’m not talking to you until you look less like a damn zombie,” was Seth’s helpful comment. “Eat.”
Trent ate, mostly so Seth would talk and leave. Seeing Seth only made Trent want to see Lizzie even more.
Trent thought of Lizzie at the funeral that day, her face wan and bags under her eyes. She’d looked so beautiful it had hurt Trent’s heart. He had been able to make out the roundness of her stomach by now, and it had almost sent him to his knees.
He just needed her.
“So, you’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Seth said.
Trent bit into a cracker.
“Lizard—Lizzie—she looks almost as bad as you. She’s been moping around our apartment, and no matter how many times I tell her to let you go because you’re a sack of shit, she won’t believe me.”
“Huh.”
“You’re welcome. She keeps telling me she still loves you. I don’t get it. You two only manage to screw each other up, but you’re still in love. Isn’t that enough of a reason to keep trying?”
Trent blew out a breath. The crackers sat like a lead weight in his stomach. “I think that’s a good reason to let her go,” he said quietly. He closed his eyes.
“Look, I’d rather push you off of the nearest cliff, but my sister loves you. And right now, she’s a wreck. If you’re the one person who can make her happy, then I’m not about to let you sit on your ass and do nothing.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “Save me from melodramatic teenagers like you two,” he muttered. “Lizzie told me everything that you said that night. Did you know she came home crying so hard that it scared the shit out of me? I’ve never seen her like that.” He paused, his face creasing. “Well, that’s a lie. She looked like that the last time you two broke up, and when she lost…” He cleared his throat. “You know what I mean. Without you, she’s sad.”
“I miss her,” Trent admitted.
“Then go to her. Make her happy. Take care of your kid, man.” Seth didn’t look at Trent as he continued; he seemed deeply uncomfortable now. “If you let what your dad said get to you, then he wins. Is that what you want?”
Trent rose. He’d already agonized over this, and he’d heard all the arguments. “I’m trying to do the right thing for Lizzie and our child. She deserves someone who isn’t me.” He didn’t know why he was saying this again, when today had filled his resolve with doubts.
Maybe he just needed someone to tell him he was wrong.
“That’s a load of horseshit and you know it. Stop being a fucking coward.”
Anger pumped through Trent’s veins, and he embraced it. Anger was better than this dull sadness he’d been feeling for days now.
“And what the fuck do you know about it?” he countered. “You with your pampered life and rich parents? I don’t have time for this.”
“So that’s it? You’ll let Lizzie find somebody else, and some other guy can raise your kid?” Seth made a noise of disgust. “I’ve never liked you, but Jesus Christ. Come on.”
Trent grabbed Seth by the shirt collar, knowing full well the Marine could deck him if he wanted to. They’d be well matched in a fight and were about the same size.
“You were the one who came here. I’d recommend that you leave the same way.”
“You’re so afraid of turning into him that that’s exactly what you’re doing.” Seth didn’t push Trent away, but just stared at him. “He’s dead, but he’s still controlling you.”
“Shut the fuck up already.”
“You’re going to end up just like him. Bitter and blaming everybody else. Honestly, it’s better that you aren’t around Lizzie.”
Trent didn’t hesitate: he punched Seth square in the nose. Seth’s head snapped back, and he swore a colorful invective. Then a moment later, after wiping the blood from his nose, Seth tackled him.
The two men wrestled on Trent’s apartment floor. Seth punched Trent in the gut, which knocked the wind out of him, while Trent was able to get Seth in a headlock. When Seth grabbed Trent by the hair and yanked, Trent elbowed Seth right below his sternum, but not before Seth kneed him in the groin.
They both collapsed, moaning and gasping. Trent sucked in air, trying not to cry at the ache in his balls.
They lay on the floor in silence. Trent sat up slowly, wincing at the new bruises on his ribs. Seth had already sat up, his nose trickling blood. Wincing, Trent stood up and returned with some ice for both of them.
Seth took the proffered ice without comment.
“Do you think she’ll take me back?” Trent asked some moments later.
“If she doesn’t, I’m taking her over my knee because I’m so over all of this drama bullshit. And I’m tired of being forced to watch chick flicks every day and night. I didn’t know there were so many on Netflix. Lizzie has probably watched every single one in the past two weeks.”
Trent smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. He gave Seth his hand and helped him up. They assessed each other, but Trent knew that they’d reached an understanding.
They’d never be best friends—that wasn’t in doubt. But it was like the air had been cleared with their fight.
“I need to figure out what to say to her,” Trent said.
“Well, you’ll need to do it today. Otherwise you’ll have to wait a week. Lizzie’s going to Seattle to do a show tomorrow.”
An idea lit inside him. “If you tell me where she’s doing her show, I’ll give you free drinks at The Fainting Goat for a year.”
“Deal.”
“You’re about to go on,” Terry said, eyeing Lizzie critically. “Is your mic working?”
“Last time I checked it was,” was her wry response.
Terry normally didn’t involve himself in things as mundane as microphones and sound checks, but he’d been like a mother hen, hovering over Lizzie. It didn’t help keep Lizzie’s own nerves at bay.
Terry had booked one of the artsier venues in Seattle, and although it wasn’t filled with thousands of people, it was absolutely packed. People had to stand because the venue had run out of seats, and Terry had just told Lizzie that they were turning people away at the door.
Lizzie took a deep breath and then smiled when she felt the baby move. It was just flutters right now, but soon she’d feel full-fledged kicks.
Of course, thinking of her baby made her think of Trent, and thinking of Trent made her want to angry-cry. Trent had avoided her ever since he’d broken things off, and true to her promise, Lizzie hadn’t begged him to come back to her. She had her pride.
But more and more, she couldn’t help thinking that pride didn’t keep you warm at night.
“Get ready,” the stagehand said to Lizzie. “You’re going on in five, four, three, two—”
Lizzie took another deep breath and emerged onto the stage to thunderous applause. She’d never had an audience this excited to see her perform, and her heart lifted at the sound. She said a little prayer that they’d enjoy her new music, music that was somewhat similar to her previous music but was also markedly different. Terry had said that her new songs had layers.
Lizzie smiled and waved to the crowd. “Hey, Seattle! How are you tonight?”
The crowd yelled back.
She laughed. “It’s been a while, huh? I hope you like this new stuff I have, but first we’ll start with some songs you know.”
Lizzie fell into the music, her fingers moving on her guitar with ease. She could sing this song in her sleep. It had been one of the first songs she’d written as a working musician, the same song that had gotten Terry to sign her to the label.
She’d been afraid for nothing. Her music had always been inside her; she’d just been too afraid to unlock it.
She thought of Trent as she played: she thought of the look on his face when he’d told her he loved her. She thought of when she’d told him she was pregnant. She thought of when he’d first kissed her, all those years ago. And when she began to play her newest song, a song no one in the audience had heard before, she thought of the moment when she’d first told him she loved him.
Lizzie didn’t know what it was that made her look into the first row of the audience. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe it was simply fate. She saw blond hair and broad shoulders, and she almost faltered in her playing when she realized it was Trent.
Her heart hammered so hard that she stumbled over the next few notes, but luckily, she was too much of a professional to let it show. Finding her place again, she began the opening of the song that she’d written only a week ago.
It was the song she’d written when she’d thought she wouldn’t survive the heartbreak of Trent telling her they were over.
The auditorium was too dim to see Trent’s expression clearly, but her gaze never wavered from him. She knew she should ignore him, stay angry with him, hate him forever, but she didn’t have the heart to do it. He was here for a reason, wasn’t he?
“Two weeks ago you said no more/Two weeks ago you said I wasn’t enough,” she sang, “I wanted to be your everything/But you refused to be my anything.” Her voice rose with each verse, filling each word with barely repressed emotion.
