They all think it’s hilarious. I just stand there, silent, while they jabber like blue jays. I notice that LeighAnn, Max, and Ultimate Steve all have the same tattoo—the silhouette of an airplane—inked onto their inner right forearms. When Tyler and Patterson reappear, carrying a battered black amp between them, I see that Patterson has the same tattoo. I guess it means they’re in a band together, or maybe a cult.
Tyler and Patterson load the amp into the rear of Tyler’s pickup, then come back to lean against the porch railing. Tyler asks, “Ultimate, you spending the night in South Carolina?”
Ultimate Steve shakes his head. “Have to be at work tomorrow. Dropping Patterson off and turning right around.”
Max says, “Don’t even slow down, just open the door and shove him out,” but nobody’s listening.
Tyler asks, “How many days have you been up?”
Steve shrugs.
“Tyler, we need to go,” I say.
“What? You guys running off already?” Steve asks. “Come on, big guy.”
“Sorry, but yeah. We’ve got some … uh, stuff that can’t wait. But listen, nobody’s called looking for me, have they?”
“No. Should I be expecting someone?”
“Well, just in case my parents call? Tell them I’ve been with you all day, but I just left. Okay?”
“Sure.” The way Ultimate Steve grins at me when he says it is the last straw. Snatching Tyler’s keys out of his hand, I hiss in his ear. “You want to hang out here all day? Fine. Maybe one of the herpes sponges over there’ll make out with you. I’m going to help Holly.”
I walk off the porch. None of them are worth a glance backward. Tyler yells after me, “Okay! We’ll go, Jane. Give me one second, okay?”
I should leave him, Holly. Instead, I slide into the passenger seat and wait for him to say his goodbyes. Steve follows him down to the pickup. “Sometime soon, you need to get with Max. Patterson’s leaving, and we need a rhythm guitar, and—”
Tyler shakes his head as he climbs in. “Thanks, but I’ve just got a lot going on right now.”
“Come on.” Setting his hands above the door, Steve shakes the truck on its chassis. “What’s more important than rock ?”
“I’ve just got a lot going on right now.”
“Well, think about it at least.”
“I’ll think about it. See you around.”
“See you.”
They bump fists through the window. Steve doesn’t say anything to me. Did he hear what I told Tyler? I don’t care if he did or not—him or any of those other losers.
Tyler pulls away from the curb, slipping his Aviators on. “What was that about?”
“You tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Well, when did you start hanging out with Ultimate Steve again, anyway?”
“He called me after Holly’s accident, and, whatever, we started hanging out.”
“So that’s where you’ve been the past month? Getting drunk with Steve and his band? Hiding in that house back there?”
“Did you see me drinking?”
I stare out the window.
“Did you see me drinking?”
“No.”
“Then don’t accuse me of stuff. I said goodbye to a guy I’ll probably never see again. You should get that; you of all people.”
“Fine. I do. But then why don’t you come to church anymore?”
“Oh, come on,” he groans. “Jane, don’t go all Jesus dork on me, okay? I can’t deal with it right now.”
“Our faith is being tested, Tyler, and we’re failing! If you’d been coming to church, maybe God would show us where to find Holly’s pa-paw now.” I touch Tyler’s wrist. “Maybe if you promised to start coming again. If you were sincere, maybe He would—”
Tyler yanks his hand away. “Maybe if you’d visited Mr. Alton once since Holly drowned, you’d already know where he is. Maybe we wouldn’t need a miracle then.”
“I … I’m not pretending to be perfect, Tyler.”
“Good, because you’re not, so stop dumping it all on me.”
We head across the dam to the south shore and Bay Hill Marina. I stare at my hands folded in my lap.
“Tyler, we’re going up against … I don’t even know. But we’re going to need gifts of the spirit. This is a time of trial for us, and we need the gift of wisdom to see truth from lies.”
“This isn’t a ‘time of trial,’ Jane. It’s just crazy shit that’s happening.”
“Tyler!”
“It’s crazy, fucked-up shit, and talking in Sunday sermons won’t help.”
“Tyler, I—”
“You want to know why I haven’t been going to church? Because I never got anything out of it, okay? Not really. I liked spending time with Holly. That’s all.”
“That’s a lie!”
“It’s not! I was never seized by the Holy Spirit or whatever. Like God was showing me things or whatever. Now that Holly’s gone, there’s no reason to go anymore.”
It’s a lie, Holly, I know it is. We saw him filled with the Holy Fire. We saw the tears on his cheeks when he was saved. But now Tyler is hurting and angry and falling away from the Lord’s embrace. I want to help, I want to say the right thing, but I’m pathetic at that stuff. You know I am.
You were the one who loved everybody and made them feel loved. You’re the one they all leaned toward like plants toward the sun. You’re the one who should be here. But I try to imagine what you would tell Tyler right now.
A question. You wouldn’t tell him anything, you’d ask a question.
“So … what’s their name?”
“What?” Tyler’s voice is thin and tight like a wire. He thinks I want to argue some more.
“Steve and his friends. They’re a band, right? What’s their band name?”
“Stratofortress.”
“Huh?”
“Strat-o-fortress. It’s a kind of plane.”
I nod. “So why’d they name themselves that?”
“Don’t know, I wasn’t there.”
I look back down at my hands. “Well, at least it’s better than that other band name.”
“What other band name?”
“The name of the band you and Ultimate Steve were in.”
“Was I ever in a band with Steve?”
“Yes, you—” He almost got me, Holly. Then I see the grin cracking through his mask of confusion. “You’re not making me say it.”
“Say what?”
“The name of the band.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s stupid.”
“I was never in a band called ‘Stupid.’ I’d remember that.”
“No, not—I’m not saying it.”
“Well, you’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”
“Well, I’m the one who’s dropping it.”
“Dropping what?”
I stare out the window.
“Dropping what?”
“Ahghh. You’re like my brother.”
“Dropping what?”
“The band,” I say, hiding my face in my hands now.
“Which band?”
“Quit!”
“A band called ‘Quit’? I kinda like that. Very art rock. Very—”
“Tighty-Whitey and the Banana Hammocks!”
And when I shout the name, you’re shouting it too, Holly, out in that frost-silvered night on the edge of memory.
“That’s disgusting,” I’d said.
“Don’t be like that. This is going to be fun.” Under the street lamps, your eyes shimmered. Your cheeks glowed pink from the cold. Fingers around my wrist, you pulled me up the sidewalk into the bowling alley.
They were some of your school friends. I only knew Tyler, who’d come to youth group with you the week before. I didn’t like him. Two years older than us, big and loud, already a rock star in his own mind. He was—he is—the kind of guy who’d think a band name like that was hilarious.
You didn’t tell me their show was a rock opera, Holly. Or that one of their buddies would run up wearing a rubber dragon mask—but somehow representing their gym coach—and put Jeb White in a chicken-wing armlock. Or that, defeated and stripped to his underwear, Jeb would sing a song rhyming “loneliness and fear” with “Buzz Lightyear.” Or that finally he would battle with the dragon again, this time wielding the unstoppable power of rock ’n’ roll.