Every Rose (10 page)

I head towards the bar to order a drink and find a seat. It’s pretty crowded. I have to shuffle my way through the throng. When I break through to the bar and turn to face the stage, we make eye contact. Again, he raises his eyebrows at me and gives me a brilliant smile. I’ve surprised him.
Good, I think.

I get the bartender’s attention. Uh, now what? I haven’t ordered a drink in forever. Honestly, I can’t even think of any names of any drinks. “Um…Cherry Coke, please?” I suppress a grin.

“ID, please?”

“For a Cherry Coke,” I gasp.

“Kidding. I’ll be right back,” he laughs and winks at me.

He’s definitely laughing at me, not with me. I spin around on my stool to watch the show. The guitarist is starting up the insanely long guitar solo as the song demands. I see Michael making his way to me. Darn! I thought I would have a minute to acclimate before trying to speak coherently.

He leans over to speak in my ear, “Hi! What are doing here?”

“I couldn’t resist,” I say. I pull back so he can see my meaning in my eyes.

“You have completely made my night, my week, my year!” He laughs.

“You’ve made mine as well. I just…just couldn’t say goodbye to you yet.”

The bartender interrupts with my drink, “Hey, Mike, can I get you something?”

“I’ll have what she’s having,” he shouts.

“Are you sure you’re man enough?!”

Michael turns a surprised look on me. “What are you drinking?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” I respond coyly.

“You’re just full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

“I hope so,” I say breathlessly.

He grabs his drink and takes a deep pull. I laugh as he squishes his face up in surprise. “Cherry Coke, really? Just livin’ on the edge, huh?”

I giggle and confess, “I don’t really drink that often, so I didn’t know what to order.”

He gives me a wink and leans over to shout something at the bartender. He takes another pull from his drink and rubs my knee. Before I can visibly react to the chain reaction his touch sets off with just that little graze, he’s off to sing again.

I appreciate the view as he makes his way back to the stage. He’s taken his jacket off since Mona’s, and his black t-shirt pulls quite nicely across his shoulders and arms. I notice he has a tribal band drawing attention to his nicely toned right bicep. It doesn’t escape my attention that I’m not the only one noticing his exceptional good looks either. He leaps and spins onto the stage, grabbing his microphone and singing into it right in time with the music.
Oh, he really has this whole rock star thing down pat, I muse.

I watch in awe as he works the stage, works the crowd. His movement is so fluid, so focused. I watch him focus that gaze on those around the stage. As he moves from girl to girl, each one turns and either screams or offers a dreamy sigh. I snicker at how ridiculous their behavior is until he turns his heated gaze on me. I’m practically melting on my bar stool by the time he releases me.
My apologies, groupies.

The bartender interrupts my infernal suffering and offers me another drink, “Mike ordered you a Mai Tai. Enjoy!” It looks beautiful. It reminds me of a sunset and has a wedge of pineapple, my favorite fruit, and wedge of lime. It even has a tiny umbrella. Cute, I think. I take a cautious sip. Mmm…It’s good too. I can’t even taste the alcohol.

I spot a table that looks inconspicuous and a little away from the crowd and head that way. I sip my drink and watch as Michael and his band interact with the audience and play a variety of songs. They sound good. It sounds like they even play a couple of original songs. Impressive.

I’m enjoying Michael play, but I’m anxious to have him to myself. The night seems to stretch on forever. Finally, I hear Michael make the last call announcement. I straighten in my seat and mentally clap my hands together.

After their last number, he makes his way to me. Several people, mainly underdressed women, stop him and try to chat him up. He gives them a few words and a polite smile and moves on quickly. He finally makes his way over to me and puts my thoughts into words, “Finally, I thought the night would never end.”

“My sentiments exactly. Do you have to stick around or can you go?”

“My band is gonna take care of everything tonight. Speaking of which, they’re headed this way to meet you.”

“Oh, OK,” I rush out, trying not to be nervous and failing miserably.

“This is Josh, Nolan, T.J., and Taylor,” he announces pointing quickly at the various members. “Guys, this is Lorraina.” We make small talk for a couple of minutes during which they give him a hard time about being a diva since they have to take up his slack tonight.

“Yeah, thanks ya’ll,” Michael mumbles.

One of them gives me a pointed look and informs everyone that it’s not Michael’s thanks he’s looking for.

My face drops and Michael cuts in, “Dude, what the hell?! I’m standing right here.”

Josh, I think, smacks the other one on the back of the head, causing him to wince. “Yeah, T.J., shut the hell up! This is THE Lorraina.” Four sets of eyes swivel around towards me, and I force myself not to shift to stand behind Michael.

“Well, if ya’ll are done giving me shit, I think we’ll cut outta here.” They mumble their goodbyes. The rest of them all smacking T. J. around now. I giggle.

“Sorry, about that.” Michael shakes his head at them as they walk away.

“They’re fine. I’m just happy they finally went away. I’ve been dying to get you alone.”

Michael turns and gives me a hungry look. “Let’s get outta here,” he breathes.

“OK,” I manage to grab my stuff as he seizes my hand.

“You want to drive us?” He asks over his shoulder. “My Jeep has a bunch of equipment in it.”

“No problem,” I answer. And we’re off.

Chapter Fourteen

Partial Confessions

I find myself sitting at the restaurant I worked at as a teen and the last place I saw him almost five years ago. I would’ve preferred to go somewhere else, but I realize that our options are limited at one o’clock in the morning. I vaguely recognize a couple faces, which means I shouldn’t have to deal with any awkward “catching up” conversations as they probably aren’t sure if they know me either.

I’m jolted from my thoughts as Michael rejoins me and slides into the booth across from me. “Whatcha thinking about?” he asks.

“We had our last conversation here,” I reply. Better that he not know how uncomfortable this place makes me.

He fiddles with his straw wrapper, using water to make it worm. I focus on his long, full eyelashes. They jut out and curl up, making me want to run my fingertip over them. “I was thinking about that as well. I never got the chance to apologize for the way I spoke to you.” He makes eye contact with me. He has the deepest, darkest brown eyes, making them almost black. Beautiful. He’s always been so beautiful.

I start to speak but instead squeak. I clear my throat and try again, “There’s nothing to apologize for. You were painfully accurate on every count.”

“I’m sorry that I was right then,” he gives me a slanted smile.

“Me too. But I learned some crucial lessons. I wouldn’t be who I am without them today, so it’s hard to be bitter.”

He takes my palm and makes a little pattern with his fingers. “I’m sorry that you had to learn that way.”

“I always was obstinate,” I joke.

“Aah…very true,” he finally laughs. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been torn up over that conversation more than anything else over the years. Regretted it because I hurt you; but at the same time, grateful because it helped me so much. It was a wake up call, Lorraina. That conversation changed almost everything about me and for the better. It made me take a long look at who I was and what I was doing to myself. I was hurting my mother in all the ways that my father had hurt her. I was drinking. I was lashing out. Indians and hard liquor do not mix, ya know? The result is not pretty. More than that, I realized that I could never ever deserve you while I was on that path.”

I flip my hand over to grasp his in mine. “I wish more than anything that I had listened to you back then. I was too proud and too stubborn to hear the wisdom of your words.” I hesitate. The time for me to be honest about it all is upon me, but I can’t bear to see love replaced by hatred in his eyes. Not now. Not yet. I know I will tell him the full truth eventually. I’ve always struggled with being honest, and that’s a character flaw I will conquer for him as much as for myself. I settle with a partial truth, “Michael, I have to tell you something.”

He looks worried. I ache to massage away the lines created by his frown. I look away quickly, afraid that he will read my thoughts. “Yeah?” he prompts.

“It was no coincidence that I was at Mona’s tonight,” I blurt out.

“Really?” he cocks his eyebrow and looks immediately relieved. Maybe he won’t be put off by my obsession then. I glance down and focus on our hands again.

“Ginny and I were at Mona’s yesterday. I bought your cards, and the cashier told me that you would be playing there. I couldn’t resist.” I look up and smile tentatively.

“So let’s see if I got this right,” he leans in and whispers. “You’re the one stalking me now?”

I feel my cheeks warm. “Yes,” I admit on a sigh.

“Interesting.”

Our food comes and we enjoy the reprieve, switching the talk over to less serious topics.

I learn that he has his own place, a studio apartment by the ocean. He assures me that it is slightly larger than a walk in closet but that he is comfortable. He thought about getting a bigger place and a roommate; however, he likes his privacy too much.

I tell him about life at school. It’s pretty boring, though. I assure him that Ole Miss and Oxford both have a lot to offer; but I don’t partake, working and studying with any spare time that I have.

As the server clears our plates, he asks, “Do you have to go home now?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you have in mind.”

“I want to show you something beautiful,” he hesitates and pins me with his hot gaze, “and I’m reluctant to let you out of my sight.”

I feel the exact same way as if he might disappear on me once again. “I’d love to see something beautiful,” I tell him.

Chapter Fifteen

Through My Father’s Eyes

I find myself sitting on the beach with a monstrous cup of coffee. This is turning out to be quite the night. I can track its progression by the rollercoaster of beverages I’ve consumed—smoothie to relax me, espresso to pep me up, Cherry Coke to keep up the pep, Mai Tai to make me look cool, and coffee to get that energy up again. They mirror my emotional rollercoaster ride as well. We sit on a large stretch of grass under one of the small oak trees that exists on what locals call The Point. I’ve been here a few times over the years, but I’ve never been a beach person. This little area is neat though—no sand.

Michael tells me that he comes here often after his gigs to decompress. He says that he falls asleep for a couple of hours and wakes to the most magnificent sunrise on God’s green earth. Sometimes he writes or strums his guitar or draws. It sounds lovely to me. Very bohemian.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while. I’m loath to break it but there’s something I need to know, have always wanted to know. I’m not quite sure how to ask, so I decide that being direct is probably best. “Michael, I have to ask you something. Something I’ve always wondered about.”

“Yes,” he breathes heavily, “I’ve always been this irresistible.” I stare at him and raise my eyebrow. Cocky as ever.

“Anyway,” I roll my eyes, “I never really understood why you were interested in me or how you even knew about me.”

“That’s not a question, English major,” he replies sardonically.

“OK. How did you know about me? Why were you even interested in me?” I continue undaunted.

“That’s two questions,” he laughs as I playfully smack his arm. “Well,” he begins, “I first found out about you from your dad. He and my dad were river rats. Always drinking and hanging out. I ran beers for them, ya know? I would run them theirs, and I would grab one for me and my friends to share on the down low. Your dad was a talker, though, when he would drink; and he talked about you all the time.”

“Me?” I interrupt, shocked. “What would he say?”

He squeezes his eyes closed for a second, “He told stories. I don’t know that he ever intended to tell me about you specifically, but he would always wind up telling Lorraina stories about how amazing you were with the horses, how beautifully you sang, and how well you did in school. How you were kind and gentle. Oh yeah, and how mature you were in dealing with people. He said you never met anyone you didn’t like.”

I feel tears well in my eyes.
It’s too bad he hates me know, I think.
“Is that all?”

He shifts uneasily and looks at me. “No, not all of it; but I don’t think you want to know the other things he said.”

He’s probably right, and I know where this is leading. Nevertheless, I ask him to continue.

“Are you sure?” I nod my head. “He talked about how he hoped you never turned out to be a whore or ended up with trash. He was quite vivid in his descriptions about that. It was odd the way he talked, though. Like he owned you.”