Zade's POV
My fingers waltz across ivory keys; the melody light and sweet. There's no need for sheet music, I know the tune by heart. Closing my eyes I envision the silhouette of a child dancing among clouds of cotton candy and ribbons of peppermint.
"Carmel Dreams?" I glance up at my mother standing in the doorway to the sitting room. Her light brown hair is highlighted with purple streaks and styled into a bob. She's wearing black jeans and a white graphic t-shirt sporting Greenday's logo. A full-time hairdresser and part-time artist, her style is a mix of whimsy and punk.
I increase the tempo until my fingers skate across a sea of black and white. "Right as always." Completing the final few notes with reverence, I end with one final crescendo.
"And to think, you owe your love of music to that sturdy oak tree out back." She's laughing now but 18 years ago she was screaming louder than the ambulance carrying me to the hospital.
I run a single finger along the almost imperceptible white line which travels from the inside of my elbow up toward my shoulder. It's about half an inch in length; long enough to serve as a reminder that seven year old boys cannot fly.
If Colt hadn't dared me that day, then I probably wouldn't have climbed up to the highest branch and jumped, blue and white striped cape flailing behind me. Probably. Maybe. Ok, would have done it anyway. I was Superman!
Breaking my left leg led to many consequences including sitting out football season. Being cooped up in the house, while my buddies were playing kickball at the neighbor's farm, was too much to bear. I became a whiny, prickly pain. Fed up with my mouth running faster than a NASCAR hot rod, Mom set me on the piano bench and taught me how to play some basic scales. Six weeks later I was cast free and playing Mary Had A Little Lamb like a pro.
Closing the lid carefully, I make a mental note to have a piano tuner come out to the house. Mom taught me to appreciate music in all of its forms. Though country is my first love, I'm forever indebted to her and her unwavering faith in my ability to learn something which wasn't sport related. I just wish she would allow me to replace this ancient relic of a piano.
"I'm working on a brand new country ballad but the chorus has me mired in quicksand. Every note I play rings hollow."
Mom takes a seat beside me on the rickety bench, careful not to lean too far to the left.
"Remember the painting that hung in Mamaw's bedroom for years?"
I nod. "The one with the beautiful woman kneeling by the well, hands outstretched in joy and awe?"
"Yes. It took me three years to complete it and even then I wasn't satisfied."
I wrap my arm around Mom's shoulders, squeezing her gently into my side. With my father gone, I'm the protector.
"It's one of my favorites actually."
She lies her head upon my shoulder and heaves a quiet sigh, the type that moves in harmony with the breeze instead of bellowing with the storm. "It was her face. I must have sat down hundreds of times before my easel. As soon as I picked up my brush though, inspiration crumbled, rocks falling from the cliff into the vast turbulent sea."
"I just can't picture you struggling with something which comes so natural to you. Art is part of your soul."
"And yet we meet the waves head on, swimming until we land upon the shore."
"Maybe I want to surf instead?"
If chuckles could be colors Mom's would be honey gold flecked with hints of amber. "Then you might miss all of the magic beneath the waves."
"I'll buy a glass bottom boat." My stubborn nature, which I inherited from my father, is not one of my favorite character traits. No matter how hard I try to run from it, pig-headedness sticks to me better than chocolate on a peanut butter cup.
Mom lifts her head up and glides her fingers across the keys, playing a simple C-scale. When she turns to face me her razor blade scrutiny slices right through the concrete layers concealing my heart.
"Joy. I found joy again and so did she."
Sliding off the bench with the effortless grace of a dancer, she places her hand on my shoulder. "Your sisters are just putting the finishing touches on your favorite: iced oatmeal stars. Why don't we head into the kitchen and enjoy them while they're still hot?"
At the mention of the delicious—albeit diet-busting—treat, I scramble to beat her to the door. What Natasha doesn't know won't hurt me.
"What are they studying in this crazy home school curriculum—how to be a good wife?"
"Home economics sweetie." She skirts around me and enters the kitchen first, snagging an empty seat at the table. "By the way, envy is not a good look on you."
I follow her lead and sit down at the head of the table, relishing the scents of allspice and cinnamon floating in the air. "I much prefer the cowboy look myself" declares a whirl-wind of blue-streaked hair and bangled bracelets.
"Of course you would. You're only in love with the best bronco rider this side of the Mississippi RaeLynn."
"CammieLynn!" The flood of color to my younger twin's cheeks resembles Ol' Red, Lawrence Bend's only fire engine.
Raising delicate blond eyebrows, CammieLynn tosses a lock of long wavy hair over her shoulder. "Chill sis. Zade loves Hank like a brother."
I'm saved from ringing in with my two cents when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, turning off the alarm reminding me to call my agent. Placing the phone on the table, I snag four cookies and accept the glass of milk Raelynn offers.
"Let your poor brother eat before you bombard him with all the latest gossip" Mom admonishes. Her words go unheeded, useless as the 'do not smoke' sign posted outside the Bait and Tackle shop.
"At least I'm not pinning over a guy eight years older than me" RaeLynn snickers.
CammieLynn's jaw locks tight and steam hisses from her ears. "I'm. Over. Him."
"Then why do you keep a picture of him in your jewelry box?"
Covering my ears with my palms, I groan in protest. "Can we please stop talking about Kason before I lose my appetite?"
Both twins take one look at my distress before reconciling over mutual amusement at my expense.
"Maybe we could talk-" Mom's sentence is abruptly cut off as What A Feeling plays.
All three women stare at me bug-eyed and Mom is the first to put her thoughts into words, "Your ringtone is from Flashdance?"
I evade the question, reaching instead for my cell. RaeLynn beats me to it though, smirking as she reads the caller ID. "Sassafras? Really big bro?"
Shaking my head I gesture for the phone. "She's just a friend."
RaeLynn giggles and tosses the phone to CammieLynn instead. "Ooh, its your girlfriend."
"Monkey-in-the-middle? Really? I thought you two were seventeen, not seven."
Mom sneaks up behind CammieLynn and snatches my cell back. "Ask Faith to dinner soon," she commands as she passes it over.
Slicing my hand under my chin in the universal 'cut it out' sign, I hurry to get out of the room and away from prying ears. Unfortunately, the kitchen wall doesn't move as quickly. Clipping my elbow in the process nearly elicits a few choice words.
"Ow, son of a ...biscuit," I yelp in pain.
"Uh Zade, are you ok?"
"Faith, hi. Yeah, I'm fine."
A shuffling noise resounds in the background before she answers, "Ok." She drags out the word, clearly not believing me. "Are you sure?"
Faith's voice is strained today; a sure sign she is uncomfortable. Suddenly the room feels several degrees warmer than before. I tug on the collar of my polo as I walk in front of an open window to catch the spring breeze.
"Yeah, I'm really good." Smooth Zade. Way to sound completely inane.
There's a pregnant pause before she speaks, words erupting like a volcano after a dormant season. "Tossie and I host a Euchre night, third Saturday of the month. Um, usually everyone has a partner and I wanted to invite you and Kason. But ah, he'd have to find his own date."
Euchre. Partner. Kason. Date.
I replay the words in my head, careful to ensure I'm connecting the dots appropriately.
"You asking me to be your date Sassafras?" My grip on my cell tightens until the tips of my fingers begin to turn white.
"Well, we would be partners for the night." Faith dances around the dreaded D-word. I shouldn't be surprised by this bout of hardheadedness but after last night...I thought we'd made progress.
"It sounds awfully close to being a date." I drag the word 'date' out in a sing-song tone of voice. "Not that I mind. In fact, we can wear matching shirts and be one of those adorably awkward couples."
She emits an exaggerated sigh. "I draw the line at matching clothing. And I'm not buying you flowers."
"But I adore calla lilies. They brighten up my complexion."
"You are so full of it Parks."
"As long as you admit you are asking me to be your date, I'll forget about the flowers." I'm pushing it but I have to know she wants to try this. There's a spark ignited between us which I won't deny. Two months ago I had no inclination to date. Now, I'm practically begging for her attention. Kason would smack me upside the head if he could see me now.
"Argh. Fine! Zade will you be my date, just this once, for Euchre night?"
I pump my fist into the air. Victory is sweet as the plump red strawberries growing in my mother's garden.
"Darlin', I'll be your date for as many nights as you'll give me."
I listen intently to what sounds suspiciously akin to a sniffle.
Finally she responds, "I like bookstores, musicals, Italian and white water rafting."
My tongue trips over my teeth, just like the beautiful wrecking ball who has turned my life upside.
"I'll, ah...keep that in mind."
"Well, um, good." Even shyness is attractive on Faith. Shoot fire, I don't know how she does it. Perpetual bachelor to permanent eye candy. Next thing I know I'll be sulking around Tiffany's picking out a diamond and ignoring Kason and Colt's jeers.
I turn away from the window to catch three sets of wide brown eyes peeking around the corner. Busted!
I raise my voice for effect, knowing my family is eavesdropping. "I'm actually visiting with my mom and those crazy annoying twin sisters I told you about." An indignant huff echoes in the room before a hand is slapped over the mouth of one of my sisters.
"Oh, sorry to interrupt. Enjoy your visit and I'll catch you later."
"Not if I catch you first."
A half laugh, half snort is the only response to my words before she hangs up.
Pocketing my cell, I prepare for the inquisition I'll face when I return to the kitchen. For the first time in ages, I have something to look forward to that doesn't have anything to do with music or fame.