Page 23 of Elusion

After a while, she starts talking about being forced to attend her brother’s basketball tournament. About the third mention of Cal, I realize she’s referring to Callie. According to Cate, she’s been reading a big book forever, and she is finally putting it down.

“What is she doing now?” I ask.

“Nothing. She looks bored.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

“Maybe,” she says.

“Will you tell her she looks beautiful and give her a kiss on the forehead for me?”

The phone rustles as she grants my request. Callie gushes over her cuteness and thanks her. But when Cate reports back, she realizes she kissed Callie’s cheek instead of the forehead. She goes to correct her mistake, and a shrill whine comes through the speaker.

“Jordan?”

Oh shit.

“Callie?”

“What the hell are you doing, talking to my sister?”

“Uh … we were tired of texting?”

“What?” She shrieks, her voice getting farther away.

Why didn’t it occur to me that talking to her little sister might upset her? If she doesn’t want me bothering her, obviously, her family is off-limits. I’m thinking I’ve royally screwed up, but then she laughs. God, she has an amazing laugh.

“Does this mean you aren’t mad?”

“Oh, I want to be furious,” she says. “But you distracted her long enough that I finished my assignment for Monday.”

Point for Waters.

I grin, proud of my victory. “Sounds like you enjoyed a rather uncomplicated afternoon then.”

She’s quiet for a few seconds, and in my mind, she’s smiling. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft.

“Anytime, beautiful.”

Cate squeals, and then she’s back on the other end. “So, Jordan, I think we should talk about what happened on the playground last week.”

And we do—until she grows tired of me and gives the phone to Callie.

I receive a quick, “Bye, Jordan,” before the call ends.

I don’t care, though, because there was a smile in her voice.

The rest of my day remains, as my new companion loves to say, boring. I accompany Johnny for a touch-up on a tattoo and grab supper with Gavin. By ten, my creative side is seeking an outlet. I pull on a hoodie and make my way out back to the garage, my guitar calling.

Benji’s on a stool in the middle of the space, writing in a notebook.

“This going to bother you?” I ask, plugging in my guitar cable.

He tosses his notebook on the floor. “Play me something pretty.”

I try to think of a piece to fit his request but end up playing “Raining Blood” by Slayer. We both thrash around and headbang. He plays Johnny’s cymbals for a few measures. I shred. By the end, I collapse on the floor and finish out, lying on my back. Being a heavy metal rocker is an exhausting life.

Benji returns to his stool and resumes whatever he’s been working on in his notebook. Other than my profuse sweating and Johnny’s drumsticks sitting an inch farther to the left, no one would ever be the wiser about our impromptu concert.

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