“Birthday cake.”
“Right. The big party was yesterday. How did it go?”
“Big is right.” I had never been to a party like Harmony’s before. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
He raises his brows, considering. “Yeah.”
“All right, well, I’ll put this upstairs. You can eat it whenever you’re ready.” I run the cake up and set it on the kitchen table. There’s a flyer set out, and the band on the cover catches my eye. There’s a diamond shape on the drummer’s base—and I swear I’ve seen it before. I don’t know why, since I’m not much of a country fan. What are the chances that The Skyline Riders aren’t country? Pretty much none. Still, that drum set… I pick up the flyer and study the picture a minute longer before finally reading the text.
The Skyline Riders will be in Jackson one night only—July 16th at The Center for the Arts for an outdoor concert in front of The Pavilion, 7pm. Tickets available at the center’s front desk.
“This is it,” I say to myself. That dream—there is an end in sight.
“This is what?”
I startle at Finn’s voice, but I do my best to hide it. “Hey, have you seen this?”
“Sure, it’s on my kitchen table.”
“Right.” A nervous laugh stifles from my mouth. “Are you going?”
Finn laughs this time. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one,” he taps the flyer with his pointer, “it’s in less than a week. It’s probably sold out.”
I bite my lip. I know that diamond. I can hear the beat from those drums in my ears. I could tap the beat to one of their songs right here, right now. So, I feel pretty confident when I say, “If they aren’t, will you go with me?”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
Why not? Still, my answer comes out with an, “Um, yeah.”
“And when they’re sold out—”
“They won’t be. You just make sure Marley knows we need that night off. Do you think it’ll be okay?”
“That’s a Thursday. Dad will be home to run the store.”
“Perfect.” I grin—I knew it would work out. The mysteries of the universe told me as much. “I’ll go buy tickets on my lunch break.”
Finn adjusts the pack on his back. “Are we still on for this afternoon?”
My lips pull into a grin. “You really want to help me paint?”
“I do.”
“Then we’re on.” A flurry of snowflakes swirl in my stomach, like it might be its very own snow globe.
Hours later, Finn’s at the top of the stairs, a sandwich in his hands. “How’d it go?”
The nerves in my body are tense and ache from the stress of this stupid dream. “Sold out.” But how can they be sold out? One night only the flyer said. I even stooped to playing the sick kid card—trying to get Finn and I a ticket, but it did no good. I don’t care if you’re Oprah and Gail, the woman had said, I don’t have a place to seat ya.
What will this mean? Will the dream just never stop or when the time passes will it realize I was too slow, that I screwed things up, and move on?
Finn starts down the stairs. The last bite of his turkey on rye finding its way into his mouth. He’s slower than normal. “You really wanted to go?”
I shrug—want isn’t exactly the right word. I don’t understand why I get my dreams, but I do believe I need to figure them out, that I’m supposed to be in these places. I feel like they’ve proven that much to me.
He dips his head to meet my gaze. “We can do something else.”
I try to smile. “Yeah.”
“This is called a comb brush, see?” I show the bristles of my new brush to Angelo. “This is how I’m going to make your tree look lifelike.”
“Cool. What can I paint?”
“Up the stairs and to the left,” Summer says from downstairs.
I eye Angelo. “Finn’s here.” I hop up and skip over to meet him at Angelo’s bedroom door. I almost run right into him though. He catches me by the arm. “Oh! Hey!”
“Hey.” His hand trails down my arm, so light that it’s scarcely a touch, and I wonder if I would have noticed it had it been anyone else.
“Whoa, what is that?” Angelo points to the oxygen tubing running from Finn’s nose to his back where the pack is strapped around him.
I didn’t even think about prepping him—is that what I should have done? I don’t really notice it anymore.
“Superhero juice?” Finn says, but his eyes are joking and his mouth pursed.
Angelo scowls. “Nuh-uh. I’m not a baby like Harmony.”
I expect Harmony to burst in and announce that she’s three and not a baby anymore. But she’s outside playing with Rod.
“It’s just oxygen,” Finn says. “It helps me to breathe.”
“That’s right—your oxygen!” Angelo’s eyes light with remembrance. “That’s your mask?” He scrunches his nose, unimpressed. “How come you can’t breathe again?” Unafraid, Angelo steps across the plastic covering on his bedroom carpet to get a closer look.
“I have a lousy heart.” It’s one of the few times I’ve heard Finn talk about his heart without complete malice.
“Oh,” Angelo nods, like this makes perfect sense.
“Okay, are you two ready?” I ask, changing the subject to relieve Finn.
“Yep,” they say at the same time.
Angelo picks up the thick brush I found at the paint shop. “This is called a comb. It’s going to make a tree.”
“Cool.” Finn sits on the floor and Angelo sits by him.
I want to giggle at my students all lined up and ready to learn. “I’m going to work on the tree. I’ll have you two filling in these big jungle leaves.” I point out the ground leaves I’ve drawn. I show them the two greens I’ve purchased as well as their brushes. “You’ll stroke like this, okay?” I move a dry brush over the white wall, then hand them each a tool. “Try it out before I give you paint.” While they practice with dry brushes, I pour a bit from each of the two paint cans into two paint trays. With a third tray, I mix the greens together. “This one is really dark, so use it sparingly.”
“Just a little,” Finn says to Angelo, pinching his fingers to show an inch.
Angelo nods. “Got it.”
My paint pants are splattered with yellows and maroons—it’s silly, but the thought of adding some green and brown makes me giddy.
I’m so focused on the strokes of my tree bark that I almost miss Angelo’s question. “So you can’t run in a race? ‘Cause I was the fastest in my class this year.”
I tense with discomfort—not knowing if I should intervene or stop Angelo or what. I keep picturing Finn pulling out his blue beany and remaining silent the rest of the afternoon—but he just replies like it’s a perfectly normal thing to talk about. And I guess it should be for him.
“You’d beat me for sure, then.”