CHAPTER 8
It wasn’t long before Zack fell asleep. I took off his shoes and put his legs up on the couch and then found a thin blanket in the hallway closet to cover him up with. Soon after that, my mother arrived home—and I realized I’d forgotten to hide the vodka. There was likely some evidence on my breath as well, but I was almost legal and figured my mother wouldn’t lecture me.
When I entered the kitchen, she asked, “Is that Zack’s car out there?”
I spoke softly. “Yeah. His grandpa died yesterday.”
“Oh, no. How old was he?”
“I don’t know. But I think he was having some heart problems.”
“How’s his mom holding up?”
“Zack said his house is full of relatives. That’s why he came over here. He fell asleep on the couch.”
“Well, I can make dinner for all of us.”
“I don’t know if he’ll be up for that.”
“That’s okay too.”
In between helping my mother make spaghetti and watching Zack, I hid the bottle of vodka in my room. I’d seen him this way before and knew the best thing to do would be to let him sleep it off. So I sent him a text message before I went to bed, letting him know there was food in the kitchen but he could get me up if he needed to.
I slept undisturbed.
When I awoke early the next morning, my mom was making breakfast and Zack was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee.Oh.His face looked younger somehow, vulnerable and soft, despite the redness of his eyes—and I had no way of knowing if the rawness had happened from crying or drinking.
“Hey, doing okay?” I asked, immediately regretting it.
“As good as can be expected, I guess.”
I felt relieved that he wasn’t asking about his vodka.
Yet.
But, of course, my mother was there and he might ask me later when she wasn’t around.
While I poured myself a cup of coffee, I asked, “Can I do anything?”
“Thanks, kiddo. You can go ahead and toast and butter the bread if you want.”
I took a loaf of bread off the shelf where we kept it and dropped two slices into the toaster before pulling a stick of butter out of the fridge. Zack said, “I can do something too, if you want.”
Mom said, “That’s okay.” Then, “Actually, if you want, there’s some orange juice in the fridge if you want to get that out. Oh, and go ahead and get the jelly. There should be two or three jars in the door.”
While we all worked, my mother broke the silence. “Dani said you’re starting to work on your next album.” With that, Irealized my mother must have already given Zack her condolences long before I’d entered the kitchen.
And she was so wise, because asking him that question managed to lift his spirits, even though just a little. He spent several minutes telling her about the songs and the bluesy spin he’d given them, along with initial reactions of the band members. I even talked a little bit about the songs.
As my mother placed a plate with an omelet and sausage patties in front of Zack, she said, “I’ve heard Dani practicing. I could tell some of the drumbeats felt a little different from the ones she was doing a couple of years ago, but I couldn’t tell why without the music.”
Looking at me, he asked, “You’re practicing without the music?”
I smiled as mom placed an identical plate in front of me. While I grabbed a piece of toast from the platter I’d set in the middle of the table, I said, “No, I am, but I’m not cranking it. The drums are noisy enough.”
When my mother sat down with her own plate, she said, “Dani’s trying to be a good daughter. She knows I mostly listen to country music.”
Zack grinned for the first time in a long time. Had I seen this expression when we’d met at the diner—or at his birthday dinner? Even if he had, it hadn’t looked like this…like the Zachary Ryan of old, the boy I’d fallen in love with all those years ago.
