The Silent Waters
Page 45

You don’t know anything about Shakespeare.
“I know, Maggie, but that’s not the point! The point is that it’s different and raw and…” She paused. “To be or not to be, that is the question! See! I know some Shakespeare! I’m a college graduate, missy.”
What play is that from?
“Ohmygosh, what is this? Twenty questions? Get off my invisible dick, sister! Anyway, after our call listen to their music. I think Calvin is trying to set something up for the band—some kind of pay-it-forward deal, seeing how they were discovered online.”
Very cool.
“I spoke to Brooks, too,” Cheryl said, making me tilt my head. I tried to ignore the flipping in my stomach.
Is he well?
“Yeah. He looks really good. Happy, ya know? Just tired. He has this crazy facial hair thing going on, as if he hasn’t shaved in years, or something. It turns out it’s only been a few months, but it looks good on him. He looks grown up.”
And happy?
She nodded. “And happy.”
Good. Good. I wanted him to be happy. He deserved to be happy.
After I’d found out he was with Sasha, I couldn’t keep writing him. It hurt too much to know that when he received my books, she could’ve been sitting right beside him. And that wouldn’t have been fair to her, either.
I closed my eyes, trying to envision his new look. The last time I’d seen him was when I watched the Grammys and the band won the Album of the Year award. He looked happy there, too, almost as if his dreams were fully unlocked and achieved.
“Are you happy, Maggie?” my sister asked.
I smiled and nodded, yet she didn’t notice me knock once on my leg beneath the table.
Happiness was hard to find alone in my bedroom, especially when the one you loved was out loving someone else.
As Cheryl and I spoke, Mama started shouting. “I didn’t break it, Eric! I was trying to fix it. You said you would weeks ago and never got around to it.”
“I told you not to mess with it. Now you screwed it up more,” Daddy barked back.
Cheryl frowned. “What is it they are fighting about this time?”
The dishwasher.
She didn’t ask any more questions. Mama and Daddy only had two versions of their relationship: the silent version, and the angered version.
If they weren’t mute, they were screaming.
If they weren’t screaming, they passed one another like ghosts.
Cheryl and I spoke for a bit more before she started yawning and headed to bed.
After we ended the call, I started playing Romeo’s Quest’s videos on YouTube. I tapped my fingers against my stomach, listening to the instrumentals wash over me. Cheryl understood my head and my soul, and when the lead singer started singing, I felt it—an arrow to my heart.
I listened to every video they had online, over and over again. My favorite song was “Broken Nightmares” because it was sad, but somehow hopeful.
Find me in the dark because that’s where I live
Open up your heart and let the shadows in
I blinked my eyes a few times, trying to envision what the band had been feeling when they wrote those lyrics, those words. Music was one of the best reminders that I was never alone in this world. It was that powerful moment when I heard the sounds and the lyrics. It seemed as if the artist crawled into my lonely head and created the song solely for me, reminding me that somewhere out there, there was someone feeling exactly as I was feeling.
I was sure Brooks would’ve loved them.
“Birmingham, you have been amazing tonight! We are The Crooks, and we thank you for allowing us to steal your hearts tonight,” Calvin shouted into the microphone at our second sold-out show in Birmingham, England—over sixteen thousand tickets sold, over sixteen thousand fans screaming our names and singing our lyrics.
I was sure it would never get old, standing in front of people who allowed you to live your dream out loud.
The four of us had been living our dreams for the past ten years, starting as an opening act for our favorite band, and now as the main event. Our lives were far from normal.
“Also, shooting a happy birthday to my partner in crime who turned twenty-eight today. Happy birthday, Calvin! The world’s a bit drunker because your voice exists.” The crowd cheered, screaming for an encore, which we weren’t allowed to do because time was money, and money was something management hated to waste.
We all rushed offstage and I crashed into my dressing room, just to have Michelle, my personal assistant, immediately coming at me with a list of radio and television appearances scheduled for the upcoming week.
“Great show tonight, Brooks,” she said, smiling and juggling her iPad, iPhone, and a pack of Skittles in her hands. “So tonight, there’s an after party at Urban.”
“The same Urban from last year where somehow Rudolph ended up in a fist-fight over tuna being made with dolphin meat?” I questioned, walking over to my sink and grabbing a wet cloth to wash my face.
“That’s the one. They’re throwing Calvin’s birthday party tonight.”
I sighed. I hated clubs, but I loved my best friend. “Therefore I have to be there.”
“You have to be there, at least for photos, then you can dip out whenever. In the morning, you gotta be at KISS 94.3 by five for the radio interview. After that we shuffle over to The Morning Blend at seven, at nine we will go to The Mix 102.3 for a live stream radio shoot, and then by twelve we are meeting at Craig Simon’s talk show. Back to the arena at three for sound check, meet and greet four-thirty to six, then dinner with the opening act where there will be a photoshoot with a few reporters before the show at eight. Any questions?”
“Um, yeah, when do I get to sleep?”
She snickered and began typing on her phone. “You know my motto, Brooks—”
“We can sleep when we’re six feet under,” I replied, echoing her words. I sat down in my chair and lifted up the package I had put together that afternoon before the show. “Can you find a post office to mail this off tomorrow?”
Michelle scowled. “When am I supposed to find time to do that?”
I smirked. “You know my motto: why not find a reason to visit a post office each day?”
“That’s not your motto, but I’ll do it.” She snatched the book from my hand, and narrowed her eyes at me. “Does it bother you?”