Paradise (17 page)

Paradise clasped his hands around my hips. His thumbs touching just below my belly button. His breath warm on my neck. His lips tickled my ear. “Have you caught it?”

My pulse quickened like it does when I’m drumming in a hard rock groove, a furious push to a quick end. I brushed my fingers through his hair. “It’s probably close to time for Lacey and me to head home.”

He kissed me, then whispered, “Paisley, I love that you’re fearless. You know what you want. Don’t let some fake, forced promise scare you.” His hands pressed around me. “This is between you and me. Don’t be afraid to say yes.”

“I’m not afraid to say yes to you.” A part of me wanted to. I held on to him. “But I’m also not afraid to say no.”

Paradise dropped his hands from my hips as if I’d vanished, as if he never had hold in the first place. “Fine then.” Paradise shoved the blanket into a wad and slammed the tailgate.

I watched him put his shirt back on, punching his arms through the sleeves. “I’d rather you not be mad,” I said.

Paradise stomped around the Bronco. A low-hanging tree branch swayed in front of him. “Hummph.” He grunted like a rutting buck and struck the limb with a fierce slap. The leaves quivered; the limb snapped.

“I’ll walk back up the hill.” I set out for the campfire.

“Wait.” He put his hat on and opened the passenger door. “I drove you down here; I’ll drive you back.”

“No thanks.” I slipped around him. “You’re mad and picking fights with trees. Think I’ll pass on the ride.”

“Fine,” Paradise warned. “Move quickly in case of water moccasins.”

I stood knee-deep in the tall grass. “It’s dark. How am I supposed to watch for snakes?”

He ignored me and cranked the Bronco. The passenger door was still open. I jumped for the seat. “This is not me giving in,” I said as I slammed the door.

Paradise shifted into low gear then rested his hand on my leg, his fingers pressing against my thigh. “This is not me giving up.”

CAL’S LYRIC JOURNAL

WHEN THE SMOKE CLEARS

I’m stuck throwing rocks at this campfire tonight

Watching the sparks fly and the embers smolder

You’re down the hill with him

I should be stronger and put up a fight

I guess I failed to mention

I’ve been trying to get your attention.

Throwing rocks at the flame

I can’t compete with his game

He’s all hard muscle and heartbreak and swagger

Yeah, I’m not much of a threat with just a skateboard and ink dagger.

But when the smoke clears

I’ll still be here.

I’ve been on the outskirts all my life

The edge of this fire ain’t nothing new

So I don’t have the ride or the hat or the boots

Those things don’t make me less of a man

They don’t make me feel less than

It’s only your indifference that can.

He’s your white hot flame

Styled hair, exotic name

Me, I’m just a slow burning ember

He may forget your face, but I’ll always remember

And when the fire dies down

Look around

The smoke will clear

And you’ll find me here.

24

JUICY DETAILS

Lacey parked me in front of the tri-fold salon mirror in her bedroom. Her hair swept into a business-like ponytail. Her makeup kit fanned open with tray after tray of blushes, eye shadows, and lipsticks. A makeup-brush apron tied in a firm knot at her waist. She wasn’t just passing a Sunday afternoon getting my face “stage ready” as she called it. Lacey had another agenda.

“Juicy details,” she said as she dabbed concealer under my eyes. “Out with them.”

I stared in the mirror, watched the shades in my face even out to a single mannequin-like beige. “I hate to disappoint you,” I said. “But nothing really happened last night.”

“Liar.” Lacey blew into a brush. Puffs of powder clouded the air. “Something always happens. So, you kissed him. Start there.”

I twisted in the chair. The stupid salon cape choked my neck. My puttied-up face itched like it had a sticky coating of honey. “Nothing happened,” I repeated. “And why do you think I need to wear so much makeup at Texapalooza?”

“Stage lights wash everybody out. You’ll thank me when you see pictures.”

Pictures! Like I’d have anyone there to take pictures. The guys were all bringing family and friends. I’d spent a lot of time and effort sneaking around to get there, but now it started to bug me that I had no family to play for.

Lacey spun a slim brush around on a red lipstick tip. “Sweet Cherry Pie. Perfect.” She painted the color on my lips. “So you kissed him, and then?”

I must’ve looked like I’d sucked a lemon.

“Oh God,” she said. “Does he dip?”

“NO!” I yelled it loud enough that Mother and Dad could’ve probably heard it down by the barn. “Lacey, he doesn’t dip. He wasn’t drinking. He didn’t throw me to the ground and pounce on me like some rabid dog.”

“Really?” Lacey raised her eyebrows as she sharpened an eye pencil. “I find that hard to believe.” She twisted the eyebrow pencil until the scraping yielded a fine point. “So, at what body part did the touching stop?”

I closed my eyes and let her draw over the lid. In my mind, I could see Paradise’s bare shoulders and feel how my nose tickled when it brushed his earring. “I don’t know,” I told her. “But when I needed to slow down, he did.”

“Hmmph.” Lacey’s hand pressed against my forehead and her brushing intensified the more I talked.

“He never tried to force me to do anything,” I said.

Lacey stopped. I felt her hands ease off my face. “Well, that’s a new one.” She fumbled around in her makeup kit like she was looking for something she misplaced. “Certainly not my luck.”

My sister had long since broken the promise we made to Mother and Dad. I wasn’t sure when exactly it happened for her or who the guy was. But I knew. And now my promise reminder, my silver purity ring, seemed to squeeze tight around my finger. I had made a promise I didn’t fully understand when the thought of being with a boy in that way was just plain gross and something I’d never do. No one ever warned me that I’d actually want to. Now my mind was stuck with a promise my body wanted to break. “How do you know when you’re ready?” I unsnapped the salon cape. “I mean for, you know, that?”

The blue in her eyes turned as dark and hard as cobalt. “If you have to ask, then just keep saying no.” Lacey tightened her ponytail, picked up the eyeliner, and started on my other eye. “I like doing hair and makeup, Paisley. If I don’t like it, I change it. If I mess it up, I fix it. Lip color and hairstyles aren’t forever. Sex is. You don’t get a do-over once you start. You never get that first time back.”

“Feels right,” I said. “I like being with him, and I think it runs both ways.”

“God, Paisley. I’m sure you do. I guarantee he does. They all do.” Lacey leaned against the dresser. “Have you ever eaten a whole bowl of cookie dough?” Lacey shaped her hands into a circle about the size of Mother’s mixing bowl.

I had not, but I got the feeling Lacey had.

“It’s all there for the taking. It looks good. It tastes good. And in the moment, it feels good. Later, not so much.” She straightened my bangs with her fingertips. “Back slowly away from the cookie dough, Paisley. Time changes things. I’m going to tell you something Mother can’t or won’t tell you because it’d make her out to be a big ol’ hypocrite. Don’t be afraid to give yourself some time. Keep that boy at arm’s length. He’s not going anywhere.”

The corners of her lips turned down when she smiled.

“And don’t make that decision in a truck by the lake. You’ve got to make the choice before you get all drunk on hard muscles and soft lips.”

“What about Levi?” I asked her. “Juicy details. Out with them.”

She gently swept eye shadow in long strokes across my lids. “Levi’s a gentleman,” she said. “But he’s going to go off God-knows-where to school, and I’m going to stay here and go to beauty college. I’m focusing on me and he’s OK with that.”

“Lacey.” I watched her in the mirror as she hunted for another eye shadow. “Do you ever think about getting out of Prosper County?”

“One town’s just as good as the next.” She took a thin brush and painted the crease of my eyelid. “Mother thinks Prosper County is the armpit of the state, but that’s only because she was too beat down to leave. I’m betting folks around here, especially the Big Wells Country Club crowd, treated her like she was a low-class county kid who got knocked up by the major leaguer on purpose. After a while, I’m guessing she quit fighting and just started believing whatever they said and took her place on the bottom rung of the social ladder.”

Lacey might’ve been right. Mother might’ve quit fighting for herself, but that changed when we came along. Mother placed a high value on making sure no one looked down their nose at us.

Lacey popped her gum. “I don’t think Mother ever owned her roots—not her hair roots—you know, her country roots. I think the thought of her stepping outside the county and having people ask her where she left her horse pushed the limits of her pride.” Lacey brushed the corner of my eye with her ring finger. “I ain’t running from nothing, certainly not who I am or where I’m from. I’m running to something, Paisley, and so are you.” Lacey laughed. “If someone wants to know where I left my horse, I’ll tell ’em I hitched it to my oil well.”

“You don’t have an oil well.”

“I don’t have a horse either.” Lacey lifted the bottom tray from her makeup kit. “You really want the juicy, juicy details?” She handed me an envelope addressed to Glamour Beauty College, Financial Aid Department. “Mailing that off tomorrow. Mother can refuse to pay or say we don’t have the money. It won’t matter. I qualify.”

Her slow, methodical march around Mother to get into beauty school, to leave the singing behind, was starting to look like a well-executed battle won. “You’re really doing this?”

“Yep.” Lacey had a little gleam in her eye. “And here’s the real kicker. Last week when I was trimming Uncle L. V.’s hair, he asked me why I wasn’t going to school to get a cosmetology license.”

I smiled. I could just hear him saying, “Do the thing you love to do. Hank Williams died at the ripe old age of twenty-nine. Stevie Ray Vaughan at thirty-five. Jesus at thirty-three. Don’t think you’re special and the Lord’s gonna bless you with time.”

“Paisley, he told me he’d pay for beauty school if I’d promise to follow that by getting a college degree in business or marketing. So I’d know how to manage a salon.”

“He’s right,” I told her. “You should do that.”

Lacey held a fat tube of mascara. “This whole Texapalooza thing got me to thinking. You’re making your dreams come true. I know what I want to do, so I’m making it happen for me.” Then she added, “You and I just have different ways of doing business.”

“You’ve got to tell Mother,” I reminded her. The thought certainly nagged at me often enough.

Lacey slammed the mascara down. “After the fit she pulled when Dad told her about Levi, I don’t feel the need to share anything with her. She can find out when everybody else does. And she can like it or not.”

Lacey whisked an unnatural blush—sparkly pink—over my cheeks. Maybe the take-it-or-leave-it approach could work for her. Probably would. But not for me. I had two years of high school left under the Tillery roof, and one more thing I’d come to realize. I actually cared what Mother thought. I didn’t need her approval, but I wanted her acceptance and maybe even her presence. For me the dream wasn’t just to get out of Prosper County and drum anymore, it was to play it out—flams, rim shots, rolls. I wanted my family, all of them, to be a part.

“Look at the ceiling.” Lacey took the mascara and painted my eyelashes. “Beautiful. The smoky eye is perfect. Damn, I’m good.” She stepped back, admiring her work. “We’re going to not only get you to Austin next week. You’re going to be the hottest drummer in town.”