Page 59 of Bone Dust

“What I could see of it is beautiful. It was a little hard to tell in the dark.”

“You and Gigi are welcome anytime. You should come out during the day. I think she’d like the chickens. I have a few different breeds, so I get some pretty colored eggs. I also have a horse. She’s a rescue and really sweet. It’s almost as if she appreciates her new home. I haven’t named her yet. Maybe Gigi could help me pick a name.”

“Oh, she’d love that! She loves animals.” Savannah’s radiant smile lights up the room and it fists my heart. I could look at her all night and never grow tired of the sight. The gentle slope of her nose. The delicate curve of her lips. The twinkle in her eyes when she talks about Gigi. I take in every aspect, committing them to memory.

Our conversation continues to flow easily as we wait for our food, and I find myself relaxed in Savannah’s company. She has a way of putting me at ease, and I feel as if we’ve known each other for years instead of months.

“Ian, I know some about your time with the band and I know Sam’s your sponsor, but would I be imposing if I asked more about …”

“You want to know what led me to the straight and narrow path?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. You always hear stories about rock stars and their excesses.”

I pause, pressing my lips together as I inhale a deep breath.

“No. Forget I asked.” She waves me off, quickly dismissing her request. “I’m a little too curious for my own good.”

“No, I’ve got nothing to hide. Everybody’s got a story and, honestly, so much misinformation’s been written, I’d rather tell you mine in my own words. The tabloids fed the public whatever would make them the most money because that’s how it works.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Not possible. The truth is it goes way back. My problems started when I was a kid, but then, therapists always ask about your childhood.

When I was a kid—not much older than Gigi—I feared the boogeyman. My room was dark. The white walls picked up shadows from the window and those were scary as shit when I was alone in bed, but not when I was with my momma. With her, I felt safe. We were alone a lot because my dad traveled for work. I was her friend. Her confidante. She talked to me like I was a grown-up. Most of the time I didn’t understand what she was telling me about her relationship with my father. She confused me more than anything. One minute she was mad at Daddy for going away, and then, in the next, she would praise him for being such a hardworking man. There were fits of anger. She’d throw things and break them against the wall, yelling and screaming she didn’t need him. She scared the hell out of me when she got like that. I’d hide under the bed. Eventually, she’d pull me out and we’d get down on our knees and pray that God would keep Daddy safe. That’s what led to mine and Momma’s ‘tea parties’.

She’d chatter while the water boiled, telling me about how she met Daddy at a coffee shop and how he promised to take her to Paris. I’d listen while the tea steeped in the pot. Then she and I would sip from Mamaw’s China teacups. It was a special brew, Momma said, one that would help us sleep and have good dreams.” I look down at my hands as the memory engulfs me, then release a long exhale before looking up at Savi. “I didn’t realize until therapy that it was Rock n Rye. The tea was sweet, like the rock candy she bought me on my birthday, but the brew burned as it went down my throat to my belly. I thought it was the temperature, but it was the alcohol. She’d make me drink two cups every time. Then we’d go back to bed. I’d fall asleep, escaping the boogeyman, as she pet my head. “Goodnight, Peaches,” she’d say so soft and sweet that it lulled me into a dreamless sleep.”

Suddenly I realize my focus drifted and I turn my attention back to Savi. “That’s what started me escaping my pain and I didn’t stop chasing the numbness until I overdosed.” I lean back in the chair, taking in the shocked expression she tries to hide. “Anyway, that’s enough of my history. Dinner’s here.”

She says nothing as the waiter approaches and sets the plates on the table, once he’s gone, she reaches for my hand.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, and I appreciate you sharing it with me.”

“It is what it is. Ancient history.” I nod and we both look down. I have a massive mound of spaghetti and meatballs in front of me, and she ordered a dish of manicotti. She closes her eyes, inhaling a whiff of the meal.

“Mmmm. This smells delicious.” She takes a sip of wine, then pushes away from the table. “Excuse me for a minute. I want to wash my hands.”

As she stands, the chair legs catch on the ground and Savannah misjudges the distance. She bumps the table, hard. The water and wine glass topple, and the plate of steaming spaghetti slides from the table and lands right in my lap.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Savannah

“H

oly shit!” Ian grabs the edge of the table and pushes away from the scalding inferno that’s burning his crotch. He jumps back and the steaming hot food falls onto the bricks below. “That’s fucking hot!”

I cringe as thick, red marinara clings to his pants. “I’m so sorry!” Mortified and stunned, I’m momentarily rooted to the spot. Two waiters rush to offer help, using napkins to brush the lingering food to the ground. It seems to make the situation worse, and Ian takes a backward step, pushing their hands away. “Stop!” He grabs one man’s arm. “Stop!”

The man instantly pulls back. The hostess, seeing the commotion as she seats two more customers, rushes over. “Oh my gosh. Are you okay, sir?” She gives the two men a hard look. “Did one of you drop the plate?”

“No,” Ian stops her. “They were trying to help,” he says.

I look around. Several customers are snapping pictures with their cell phones. I move close to him to block their view.

“I’m so, so sorry. What can I do to help?”

He takes his eyes off me and the mess and he, too, sees the picture happy customers. “I’m going to the bathroom. Can you tell them to box up our food?”

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