Page 57 of Poetry By Dead Men
I close my eyes, but the memory of Bobby handing me a slightly-wilted rose as he quoted Shakespeare at Joe’s Place circles through my mind.Parting is such sweet sorrow…he’d said, his fingers brushing mine, setting my body on fire.
My phone vibrates, a welcome distraction, and I pull it from my pocket.
Harrison:I’m coming to visit this weekend.
The image vanishes, a feeling of dread replacing it.
It’s not a question or a request. Harrison is coming, no matter what I want.
And having him here is going to make everything worse.
NOW
August 2024: Austin, TX
Blame it all on me
Guess it’s still my fault
But I wanted you to fly
Yeah I made mistakes
Sure I have regrets
It wasn’t meant to be goodbye
—An excerpt from "Please," written and performed by Robert Beckett
Harrison doesn’t wave to me as he exits the terminal, already on his phone and scrolling through Lord knows how many emails he’s gotten since he got on the flight.
"Harrison!" I shout his name, and he finally looks up, a broad smile spreading across his clean-shaven face. He pockets his phone and hurries toward me, setting down his bag so he can pick me up and hug me properly.
The smell of scotch is unmistakable as he wraps his arms around me, and I stiffen, my skin going itchy.
"I’ve missed you," he says into my ear, and even though I’m still struggling with where I stand, not to mention frustrated he decided to partake in the airport bar before his flight, it feels nice to have something from my life back home here with me. I’ve been confronted with toomany memories and emotions since I stepped foot on the tour bus, and that doesn’t even include those regardingthetalk I’ve been avoiding with Bobby.
"Man, it’s good to see you," Harrison says as he puts me down. "I don’t think I like this whole you being a writer thing." He says it like a joke, but there’s an obvious truth threaded into his words, and I wonder how much he had to drink on the plane.
To my disappointment, I realize I expected nothing less, on both counts.
Maybe this time away wasgoodfor us. For our relationship. Since I've been gone, I’m more certain than ever that I’m not content with just being a wife and socialite. It’s not enough for me to pretend I have a job by helping Harrison hook clients. And maybe Harrison being on his own for a little while will help him see how much I do for him that goes unnoticed and make him appreciate it more.
Appreciatememore.
Harrison slings an arm around my shoulders as we walk toward the front of the airport.
"What do you want to do?" I ask. "We could explore Austin. I’ve never been here before."
My suggestion is met with Harrison's nose scrunching up as if he's just smelled something rotten. "Texas has nothing but rednecks, cattle, and cornfields. Why don’t we go back to the tour bus? I feel like I should check in on my client, anyway."
My throat burns as if I’ve swallowed a hot coal. "Why don’t we just go back to the hotel? Bobby will be in soundcheck, anyway—"
He waves a hand. "Nonsense. I canceled the hotel."
My stomach drops.
I made a deal with Bobby, and he’s kept his word. No one outside of his band and Marissa has set foot on his tour bus since I got here. But what do I tell Harrison? How could I possibly explain that he's technically not allowed on the bus without making him want to go there even more?
