Dear Rockstar

Page 27

“No.” I looked down at Dale’s bedspread.
“Engineering?”
“She’s going to major in art.” Dale looked at me. “She’s very talented.”
“Art?” John scratched his head. “Why are you going to Maine to major in art? The New York Studio School is right—”
“It’s a long story,” Dale sighed. “Just forget it, Dad.”
John looked between the two of us, frowning. Now I felt like I owed him some sort of an explanation.
“Do you know who Tyler Vincent is?”
John chuckled. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Well… Tyler Vincent lives in Maine.”
“Yep, he does.”
“So… if I go to college in Maine, I’ll have a better chance of meeting him.”
John stared at me for a moment. Then he laughed, long and loud. “What a reason to pick a college!”
I looked back down at the bedspread, hurt by his laughter. Dale didn’t say a word.
“I’ve got a better chance of it in Maine than I do if I stay here,” I snapped, defensive.
“Here, now, don’t go getting all ruffled up.” John smiled. “I didn’t mean an insult. Come on into the kitchen and we’ll talk about this at dinner. Catfish is frying.”
John waited. I finally got up and followed him. Dale trailed behind us. John piled our plates with catfish and potato salad, boasting that the catfish breading was a “secret recipe” passed down through generations.
“Used to catch it ourselves, didn’t we, son?”
Dale just stared at his plate and shrugged one shoulder. John eyed him for a moment and then looked at me. I poked my fork around my own plate, trying to imagine Dale Diamond holding a fishing pole.
“Let me tell you something, Sara. I love Maine. I was born and bred there, and it’s probably one of the most beautiful places on this earth.” John leaned back in his chair. “There are a lot of good people in Maine. Mind you, they don’t take too well to outsiders, but they get used to you. After a fashion.”
He paused again and looked at Dale, who was picking onions out of his potato salad with his fork. “You miss it, Dale?”
“No,” Dale said, not looking up.
“Well his mother’s there.” John frowned, looking back at me. “I didn’t mean to laugh at your choice, Sara. University of Maine is an excellent school, but it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good school for you… Understand?”
“Yeah.” I understood, all right. I understood plenty. He was going to tell me not to go, plain and simple. He was going to say it was ridiculous to pick a college for the reasons I had. But what he didn’t understand and what Dale didn’t understand, what even Aimee didn’t understand, was this was my chance, my one chance, to get out of here for good.
But I respected his opinion. I respected him. So I shut up and listened.
“It’s a fine school, but sweetheart, you want to major in art. I’m not saying they don’t have a good art program. It’s just fine, but it’s not exactly prime rib for the price you’d be paying per pound. It’s more like… round steak.”
I laughed. He was always coming up with analogies like that.
“What if I decide to go into something else?” I shrugged. “I know they have an excellent education department. What if I decide to teach art instead of becoming an actual artist?”
“An idea,” he conceded. “But I don’t know if it’s a good one, because I’m not you. Is teaching what you really want to do?”
“No,” Dale said in a low voice. I looked at him sharply. He repeated it loudly. “No, it’s not.”
“I can make up my own mind, thank you very much,” I snapped.
“Go ahead. Make up your own mind. Fuck up your life. Why should I care?”
Dale stood and John and I stared at him, both of our jaws dropping.
I’d seen Dale angry before, but not like this. He was like a hot, simmering volcano ready to blow, just barely contained, trembling with fury, shaking with it.
“You want to throw your talent away on a bunch of little kids?”
I closed my mouth, glaring at him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he cried, throwing up his hands. “You think I haven’t lived with the knowledge that your one goal in life is to leave me? I live it every single day, every single minute! And you know what? I love you anyway.”
I tried to speak, but no words would come. Besides, Dale wasn’t done.
“I know you’re scared. I know you’re hiding and you’re running and you don’t want to look around and see what’s right in front of you because it hurts too much. No one in your life really exists because you’re living in some fantasy where you’ll meet Tyler Vincent and he’s going to be your knight in shining armor come to rescue you from your miserable life. He’s going to have some magical cure for all your problems. He’ll say a few words and ‘presto!’ You’ll be happy!”
“Dale, no…” I whispered, but my words were drowned out by his.
“I know how much you hurt. I know how afraid and lost and alone you feel, even when you’re in my arms. Sara, I know.”
I blinked back tears, trying to hold them in, shaking my head to deny it, but it was true. It was all true. He did know, had always known, had been able to see through me and into me from the moment he walked into Mr. Woodall’s class and sat down beside me. I didn’t know how he could see so much, but he did.
I’d always been naked in front of him.
John opened his mouth once or twice, but obviously changed his mind. All the life and meaning and emotion had been sucked up into Dale’s eyes—they were blazing.
“You’re so selfish,” he whispered, chin trembling, lip quivering. I felt tears running down my cheeks. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. “Why are you like that? The world doesn’t revolve around you, Sara. I’ve been here for you. I’ve listened to you. I’ve tried to help you. And you just throw it back in my face. Girl… he doesn’t even know you’re alive. I’m the one who’s here for you. Me!”
His eyes were bright, too bright—with tears—but they didn’t fall.
The world doesn’t revolve around you.
That’s what I’d said to the stepbeast before I walked out.
I’m not like him. I’m not.
“What about me?” Dale took a deep breath. “What about me, Sara?”
“Don’t…” I swallowed, wiping the tears from my face. “Dale, please. I came here first thing to tell you, to share it with you. Can’t you be happy for me?”
“I am.” He shook his head, lowering it, so I couldn’t see his eyes. “But you didn’t come here for me. That was for you, Sara, not me. You wanted someone to cheer with you. And I did.”
He was right. In spite of his fear of losing me, in spite of his jealousy and possessiveness and desire to hold and keep me, he had loved me enough to congratulate me, to even tell me he was proud of me.
“Did you forget you have a prior commitment on April twenty-second?”
I stared at him, shaking my head, confused.
And then I understood.
The Battle of the Bands. The finals. That was April twenty-second.
“You wouldn’t stay for me, would you?”
“Dale…” My throat hurt from trying to hold back my tears, but they were falling anyway, all over my soggy catfish. John handed me a napkin and I took it. I’d forgotten he was even there. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
It was all I could think of to say.
“That’s what I thought.” Dale leaned on the table, meeting my eyes, locking my gaze, not letting me look away. “You think he’s perfect and he’s safe and, in your head, he can do anything.”
My whole body was trembling, aching. I wanted him so much. I just wanted to run to him and put my arms around him and tell him I was sorry, that I wouldn’t go, I would stay with him. That I loved him. I knew I loved him and only him.
But I didn’t know what kept me glued to my chair, shaking and mute and miserable.
“But he can’t save you, Sara.” Dale choked. “And I can’t save you either.”
I can only save myself.
That voice in my head was firm and it steeled my spine. I wiped my tears with the napkin John had given me, my gaze never leaving Dale’s face.
His eyes were full of so much pain, it was hard to not look away, but I didn’t. I told myself I had to do this. It was my one, my only chance.
Dale cocked his head, his voice soft but clear. “He’s safe and perfect and a million miles away. I’m here… and I’m broken. But I’m real and I love you.”
It wasn’t until he turned away that I stood, reaching for him across the table, sobs wracking my body. I couldn’t hold them in anymore.
“Dale, wait! Don’t! I luh—”
“Don’t you dare.” He turned back, glaring at me, jaw set. “Don’t you dare say that to me now. It’s too late for that.”
Dale strode down the hall to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was so quiet, it was deafening. I looked over at John, feeling self-conscious and uneasy about what he’d heard.
“I’m sorry.” I looked down at the now cold catfish on my plate, the yellow placemat beneath, anything but his face.
“I know.” His voice was full of sympathy. “But I don’t think it’s me who needs to hear it.”
I looked at him then, into the familiar dark eyes under bushy gray eyebrows. His kindness radiated in waves. My throat felt choked, thinking of Dale’s accusations. Everything seemed to be melding together, everything I’d kept inside. All of my emotions burst and I sobbed. I covered my face with my hands, ashamed, but unable to stop the flow of tears. It felt as if someone was wringing my heart out.
“It’s okay to hurt.” He’d come to stand beside me, touching my hair, and his voice, so acutely perceptive and compassionate, made my heart ache. Just like Dale. So much like Dale. I looked up at him.
“It’s okay…” he said again, his palm gently cupping my chin. “Everybody hurts. You don’t need to hide it.”
He held his arms out and I went to him, really sobbing now. His arms were strong and reassuring. He smelled faintly of Old Spice. It was a comforting scent. He supported me, easily. I had never let anyone but Dale this close to seeing what was inside. He held me tightly.
“I didn’t mean it,” I managed to say into his shirt. It was white cotton, button-down, soft against my cheek. “I didn’t.”
“Most hurting is unintentional, hon.” He stroked my hair. “That’s just life.”
From Dale’s room I heard the beginning chords of Ozzy’s Crazy Train on his guitar. It helped slip the real world back into focus, tapering my tears.